Page 2 of Valentine's Slave

Until next time, my dirty little Valentine.

2

Ava

Is thirty too old to be a sugar baby? The word still freaks me out—thirty, I mean, not so muchsugar babybecause how much worse could things really get?

I thought Shawn and I would get engaged when I turned thirty, that we’d be planning for the future, for kids and a house in Brooklyn. But nope, the fucker decided to cheat on me with a nineteen-year-old, and when I confronted him about it, he tried to make it my fault, and then jumped the gun and kicked me out. I got hardcore depressed, like Oli Sykes, the frontman of Bring Me The Horizon, when his first wife cheated on him, and he wrote the song ‘in the dark’. I had a meltdown and lost my job, and now, to be honest, I’m struggling to stay off the streets.

But back to SugarDaddy.com. I have five responses, and I have to sayyesto one of them. I guess to these old guys, thirty is still young—young enough, at least. I might have put on some weight from all the emotional eating with the stress of the breakup and work and my living situation, but I’ve got a nice face, I think.Shawn always told me I had a doll’s face, though I felt like he wished I were his sex doll.

I try to stay still on this futon couch so it won’t creak as I scan my inbox. I already read the first message last night while I was waiting for the bus. It was from a guy named Alwith gelled-back grey hair and a smile that gave me chills.

It’s nearly 6 a.m., and I’m still half-asleep on Janelle’s couch. She’s one of the nicer girls at work, and she said I could stay at her place for a few nights. I brought my stuff over the day before yesterday, but I need to find my next move, get a deal settled so I won’t be continually bouncing. I’ve been working at Cora’s for the last two months, trying to get myself back on my feet, but I’m living off savings, and money’s disappearing fast.

Life in New York is expensive, and maybe I should just leave, but where would I even go? Besides, I can’t leave Mom, whose Alzheimer’s is taking a turn for the worse. She’s not just putting her oranges in her dishwasher anymore, she’s forgetting which people are dead and which people are alive.

I also can’t bear the thought of being so far away from Hailey, the best friend I’ve ever had, as well as sister, and her son, Malcolm, who’s turning ten soon. Despite being her kid, he’s like my little mini, begging me to take him to hard rock shows ever since I got him into Billy Talent last year. Hailey would kill me if she found out what deep shit I’ve gotten myself into without asking her for help. I just don’t want to be a burden on her. She has it hard enough, barely making it trying to get her hairdressing business off the ground, taking care of Malcolm, and now Mom as well. Plus, her place is barely big enough for her and Malcolm. I can’t live with her. But I will update her on things, soon.

Focus, Ava, I tell myself, turning back to SugarDaddy.com. There’s a guy named Scott who looks to be the youngest of the group, maybe late fifties. He’s got grey-flecked brown hair andblue eyes, but there’s something unsettling about him. Is it just me, or does every guy on this site seem like a serial killer just waiting to prey on innocent female flesh? Or maybe I’ve just watched too many horror movies. I was hoping for a ninety-something in a wheelchair.

I reply to a guy named Ted, since at least he has a nice name, like Ted fromHow I Met Your Mother, though he looks like he could be Ted’s grandpa. Holy shit, he’s eighty-eight. But that also probably means he can’t get it up, and he must have cash. Maybe I’ll meet him for coffee or at least do a phone call to negotiate a deal. I also reply to Willy, a runner-up at seventy-nine years old.

If I can just land a ‘real’ job, then I can sign a lease, and everything will be better. I worked in advertising for years, and my last job was amazing, blogging for a travel agency. I haven’t gotten any callbacks, though, and I’ve been desperately trying to keep my own little blog alive to make some cash that way, but with all the stress of life and just trying to survive, I don’t have time to put out content and do affiliate marketing, and I’m getting desperate. Besides, a blog has to be aboutsomething, and I’m not sure exactly what. I know I need a niche, but I have no idea what to specialize in.

Last week things hit an all-time low. When I couldn’t find a place to stay, rather than use up my hard-earned savings on money-sucking motels, I ended up wandering the streets for half the night, looking for a shelter before finally taking a breather in a bus shelter. That was when a creepy guy who smelled like piss and smoke slithered over and claimed it as his territory, then reached out to grab my hand and told me he’d be willing to share, for a price. I hightailed it out of there and hardly slept the entire night.

What shitty luck, running into the very same creepy hobo on the bus just days later. The other guy, who looked like JasonMomoa but fiercer, a hulk with long black hair and a beard, who’d been waiting for the bus behind me, seemed to think he had to step in and protect me or something. But I don’t need protection from anyone. I’m a grown-ass woman, and I can take care of myself. The guy was a character—he seemed interested, the way he gazed at me so intently with fire in his eyes. Was he interested or something? But he didn’t make a move, and obviously neither did I. I’m not exactly in the dating game right now.

It’s 6:30 a.m. when I finally get out of bed and drag myself to the bathroom to throw on some makeup.

The day passes in a blur. At lunchtime, a mother spills her coffee, and it nearly gets on her toddler, which makes everyone at the table freak out. I hardly catch my breath until finally it’s 4 p.m., and I’m free, free to hunt for a room so that I don’t overstay my welcome or end up on the street again. I open my messages on the sugar daddy site, hoping to fit in an interview tonight. Whatever I do, I have to act fast.

There’s a new message from a guy named Marco. I don’t recognize him from this morning. He’s a stranger, and he looks equally old. Yep, seventy-two. But the message has nothing to do with pleasantries or asking about the weather. No, it’s direct and to the point.

Marco:My nephew would like to offer you $50,000 to spend Valentine’s Day week with him. He’s not a daddy, and he isn’t looking for a baby, but he’s incredibly attracted to you. If you are interested, you may call or text him this evening at the below number. He is a good man. Please at least hear him out.

Who the hell is Marco, and more importantly, who is his nephew who’s so attracted to me? My heart is thudding faster, as if this is the beginning of some cliche romance movie, and I grab my phone, add the nephew’s number, and search for himon WhatsApp. When I find him, I click on his profile picture, and my eyes turn to saucers.

Marco’s nephew, the ‘good man’, Valentino Rossi, is no one other than the studly hulk who tried to protect me on the bus last night. I have no idea how his uncle so conveniently happened to be on the same sugar daddy site that I’m using, but he apparently wants to buy me for Valentine’s Day week.

This sounds like messed-up shit, and while I’d had high hopes of being a vanilla sugar baby who was more like an ego boost than a prostitute, I’d had a feeling that wasn’t going to cut it. I was going to have to sell my body if I wanted to survive. But would I really do it?

Biting the bullet, I call Hailey up and share the news. She knew that things were rough since I lost my job and started working at Cora’s. Obviously, I don’t have a place since I’d been living at Shawn’s for the last year. But I didn’t tell her how bad things were, that I was near rock bottom.

“Ava, sweetheart, why the fuck didn’t you tell me something before getting on asugar daddysite?” Her voice is shocked over the phone. I have my laptop open at a café, and I’m brainstorming for blog ideas. I already job hunted until my head split open. Calling Hailey was supposed to be my break, but it’s not exactly pleasant.

“Chill, Hails, I’m figuring it out,” I say.

“You know you can stay with Malcolm and me, right?” she asks. “You could crash at Mom’s place. Why would you sleep on strangers’ couches?”

Mom lives in the tiniest one-bedroom apartment, and she’s very particular about her space.

“I’m a big girl, Hailey. I can take care of myself. The reason I’m telling you all this now is because I’ve received a strange and lucrative proposition.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re an official sugar baby,” she says.

“Not exactly.” Valentino is about a thousand times better looking than any of the daddies. He’s better looking than most guys in general with that tall, broad frame of solid muscle. “One of the daddies has a nephew, a young, hot-looking guy who may be interested.”

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