Page 99 of Madam, May I

It took less than five minutes to line up a four-hour session with the Swedish twins. The notification for his dress order came through. Patrice would ship it Monday. The twins would collect the cash once they met at a luxury boutique hotel in Midtown known for its discretion.

Double his fun. Half the grief. For four hours, anyway.

“Now,” Desdemona said, clapping her hand. “Back tome.”

For hours she studied and then completed the practice test in good time with a solid score. It wasn’t until then that she stripped off her clothing as she made her way to her bedroom and went to bed—not bothering with a bath or the à la carte dinner of Ossetra and Kaluga caviar on warm brioche followed by a dry-aged rib eye with caramelized garlic and a side of swiss chard.

She was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. Not even dreams of Loren proclaiming his love for her before they ran away together could stop her from jumping up as soon as her alarm sounded at six o’ clock.

Her one and only focus was her test.

It’s time to right a wrong.

She felt like it was the first day of school. Nervous and excited. Childlike.

Once dressed and in the back of her Lyft Black, Desdemona stroked her tattoo, played with her diamond butterfly bracelet, and played with the necklace and charm that Loren had given her, which she wore for good luck.

“I am such a cornball,” she said.

“What’s that?” the driver, Yusef, asked.

“Nothing. Just talking to myself,” she said. “I’ve been doing alotof that lately.”

“As long as you don’t answer yourself you’ll be okay,” he said.

“That’s good to know,” Desdemona said before falling silent.

As the vehicle turned onto West 125th Street, Desdemona clearly recalled how much she used to love going to school and learning. Even when she ran away and was homeless, she had made her way to school. And even after Majig had her working the streets at night, she went to school during the day until her humiliation sent her running from her education for good.

Until now.

“Thank you,” Desdemona said to the driver as he pulled to a stop in front of the towering building in which the SUNY Manhattan Educational Opportunity Center was housed.

She climbed from the vehicle and squared her shoulders before crossing the sidewalk to reach its front doors, thinking that for the first time in nearly twenty years her parents were finally proud of her.

* * *

Desdemona turned her head this way and that as she studied her reflection in the full-length mirror. Everything about the night was extra, including her appearance. Full-on makeup beat with smoky eyes and pale glossy lips. She wore all of her diamond jewelry, including necklaces of varying lengths and thickness. The jewel-neckline dress she wore had a full, dramatic skirt with the layers barely concealing the black thong she wore beneath it. The northeastern April air was still chilly at night, and she loved the short fur she wore that looked like a fur ball. Her purse, which she treated herself to today once she finished the seven-hour testing, was a Judith Leiber Couture Collection in the 3-D shape of a butterfly with gold, white, and black crystals.

Desdemona felt as good about the test as she did her look.

Time to celebrate.

She double-checked her glitzy purse as she walked down the hall and eventually left her apartment. Melissa was about to walk into her apartment with Frenchie in her arms at the same time. Her eyes widened at the sight of her, and Desdemona did a turn this way and that before wiggling her shoulders playfully. “You like?” she asked.

“Yes!” Melissa said, clapping her hands as best she could with her French bulldog in her arms. “Where are you headed?”

“To the Met,” she said, after a pause during which she considered inviting her but decided against it. “I have a love for Chopin, and there’s an opera based on his music.”

“I’m not an opera type of girl, but you look amazing,” she said as they began walking down the hall together.

“It’s my first time going, so I’ll see if I love it or fall asleep,” Desdemona admitted. “I better get going. I called a Lyft to avoid the parking.”

“Stop by when you get back and we’ll have wine while you fill me in on your night of glamour and classical music and I’ll regale you with my poop-filled adventures in dog walking.”

Desdemona laughed. “I definitely will,” she promised before picking up the hem of her dress and rushing down the hall on her Louboutin heels at the sound of the elevator’s arrival on the floor.

She joined an elderly gentleman in a beautiful linen suit with a paisley ascot. “Good evening,” she said, inclining her head.

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