labels. I needed to look like twelve hundred bucks while spending as little as possible. I had other plans for the balance.
They knew me at the boutique and knew I usually shopped on a time crunch. As I walked in, the clerk, Twyla, dropped what she’d been doing to help me.
“He wants something red tonight.” They never asked who he was and why should they? It was none of their business.
“Oh, we have this adorable new romper—”
“It’s a black tie function.”
Twyla deflated and twisted her lips, her gaze scanning the neatly organized racks. She suddenly perked up. “We just got a new shipment in. I think I saw something red in satin back there. Hopefully, it’s in your size. Let me check.”
I moved to the shoe display while Twyla searched for a dress. A great pair of nude Nappa heels for only forty dollars caught my eye. They likely retailed for a couple hundred. They were a size too small, but for a deal like that... I took them off the shelf and moved to the jewelry display, not seeing anything fitting with tonight’s theme.
“Avery, you’re in luck!” Twyla reappeared, carrying a devil red gown draped over her arm and nearly trailing on the polished floor. “And it’s a size two. But it might need a hem.” She lifted the gown and hooked it on an ornate sconce.
“Oh…” Drawn into the sultry ripples, I ran my fingers along the gently pleated chiffon. It wasn’t satin but somehow better. “Can I try it on?”
“Of course.”
Once in the dressing room, I shimmied out of my clothes and Twyla helped me with the zipper. The dress fit like a second skin and draped perfectly along my curves.
“What do I do about this?” I gestured to the plunging neckline that plummeted to my lowest rib.
Twyla arched a brow. “Nothing. You look incredible. That dress was made for you.”
Now, for the painful part… “How much?”
“Retail, it originally went for nine. I can go as low as one-fifty for you. One seventy-five if you want it pressed. Two if you need a hem.”
“The nude Nappa pumps out there. I left them by the jewelry—”
“Perfect!” Twyla snapped her fingers and disappeared, returning to the dressing room a second later with the heels in hand.
Mindful of my still tender ankle, I slipped the shoes onto my feet. Finding my balance, I stepped onto the pedestal facing the half octagon of mirrors.
“How do I look?”
“My God. What I wouldn’t give to have your body just for a day.”
I smiled at the sweet compliment, but no amount of flattery removed the longing for a Philly cheesesteak and a chance to sleep in rather than hit the gym every day at dawn. This body took a ton of work.
“Thanks. I’ll take it.”
“And lucky you, with those shoes, you won’t need any alterations.”
I left the gown with Twyla so it could get steamed and delivered to my apartment in an hour. I took a cab to Jeweler’s Row.
I only shopped for wear and toss jewelry. If the paste held the stones for one night, I got my money’s worth and walked away with money in the bank.
Settling on a stunning black choker and sophisticated studs, I’d found the perfect compliments to the red gown. Everything I knew came from watching others, fashion sense like, sometimes less was more.
As I left the store and hailed a cab, I reevaluated my spending. One-seventy-five on a dress, forty on shoes, eighty-five on jewelry. And hair and makeup shouldn’t be more than one-thirty—including tip.
I prided myself on being a generous tipper since I, too, benefited from the practice. My total cost came in under five hundred but looked over a thousand, a successful shopping spree if I ever saw one.
I made excellent time and saved over seven hundred dollars to put toward tuition—plus the money I’d make tonight.
Leave it to Micah, the man who introduced me to the sugar baby profession, to also remind of the perks. The price of financial independence only cost me a little time each week.
I never expected to be a sugar baby or, more impressively, a college graduate. When I earned a scholarship and packed up my childhood bedroom back in Blackwater, I had doubts that I’d succeed. I feared I’d eventually return to that shithole called home.
My brothers left years before, long after my mother drank herself into a depression that deteriorated into abuse. But I couldn’t abandon her completely. Maybe I was fucked up, but she needed help and