Page 11 of Dirty Work
Chapter Eight
The dress was a white bandage-style dress, which four years ago fell straight down on my body and skimmed against my hips just slightly. It looked professional and polished, and I felt confident and put-together in it.
That was four years ago. Tonight, the dress clings to my curves and leaves very little to the imagination.
“This totally works on you. You’re going to get bid on in like, two second.” Karen starts rooting through a jewelry box she has atop her dresser.
“I don’t know. I keep going back and forth. It seems a little silly.” I turn to see my ass in Karen’s full-length mirror.
“It’s not silly. It’s for a good cause. And listen.” Karen lowers her voice as if she’s about to tell me the secrets of the universe, something that has to be handled with discretion and care. Something that not everyone could be privy to. “Guys are always buying us. Buying our attention. It’s what the whole thing is.” She waves her hands around in the air, gesturing randomly.
I have no idea what this girl is talking about. We just met a few months ago, and even though we click well and have become friends quickly, her opinions sometimes seem a little out there.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I mean,” Karen says as she makes her way to her closet to retrieve a pair of sky-high stiletto sandals for me to borrow, “that our whole society is set up this way. Men pay, we don’t. I’m just saying. Don’t delude yourself into thinking something else. You might as well have fun with it.”
“Do you really believe some of the stuff that you come out with?” I turn around in the mirror, this way and that, examining my body and poking at what I think to be imperfections. “I can’t tell if you’re a complete genius or totally full of crap.”
“Why can’t it be a little of both?” Karen stands behind me, beaming. “My little girl is all grown up.” She wipes an imaginary tear from her eye. “Now. Take these.” She shoves the shoes into my arms and swats me on the butt.
With that, I’m off to the auction.
