The Girlfriend Experience Ch. 03

Chapter Three

“Are you sure you’re okay? Want me to pull over? There’s a rest stop about a mile up the road.”

“No, no. I’m fine. I really am.” Lindsay Anastacio pressed her forehead to the passenger side window and rubbed two fingertips against closed eyes. Despite claiming otherwise, she did what she could to combat the torment swirling through her as Jim Mayer drove his 2018 Audi A3 sedan along U.S. Route 50 toward the town of Oakfall near the Nevada-Utah border. Lindsay’s excitement for a daylong shopping spree was ruined by the harsh reality check she received first thing this morning at the Sulaco County Sheriff’s Department.

“Hi. I’d like to apply for a sheriff’s card.”

Once the older, heavyset woman behind the counter realized Jim was accompanying Lindsay, darkness crossed her eyes, and her mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. “You’re wanting to work at the brothel? Get a job there?”

“Yes.”

She snapped a desk drawer shut. “Have you applied for a sheriff’s card before?”

Lindsay pivoted her torso to the side and cringed. “Umm, no.”

The woman responded with a look of unmitigated fury but still handed the paperwork over. “You’re so young. So pretty. Why do you want to throw your life away and become a good-for-nothing whore? Is that something to strive for? To be proud of?” She spat the words out through gritted teeth. “How could you do this to yourself? To your family? Have you no respect for them?”

Lindsay wanted to run off and hide, to cry and scream, but her body became petrified stone as she clutched Jim like he was her lifeline. No one had ever belittled her like this before.

“It’s wonderful to see you again too, Irene,” Jim said in a sarcastic tone. Protective instincts took over as he guided Lindsay back to a corner of the lobby. “The law in these parts don’t approve of us. Just fill out the application. They’ll fingerprint you and run a background check, and you’ll talk to a social worker – the county wants to be certain no one is forcing you into this – and then you’ll be approved for your card and we’ll be on our way. Won’t be long.”

“All whores go to Hell!” Irene had to land a parting shot. “You’re going to burn forever because of this!”

Lindsay gasped again, this time at the memory of those words as her head smacked into the cold, hard glass. For a split second she gazed at Jim, his brow furrowed, then leaned forward and covered her face with both hands while struggling to maintain her dignity.

After a minute, Lindsay sensed the vehicle slow down and come to a stop. She lifted her eyes and again glanced at Jim.

“Contrary to what you’re telling me, you’re not okay.” He jammed the vehicle into park. “Talk to me, sweetheart. What’s going on? Are you still upset about what happened at the sheriff’s office earlier?”

“Fuck yeah, I’m upset.” Lindsay undid her seat belt, opened the door, and staggered out to the parking lot. Her hands trembled like she was freezing, and she clamped them underneath her armpits despite the July sun searing the asphalt pavement all around her.

Jim had pulled over at a rest stop about fifteen minutes from the state border which offered travel info, washrooms, and vending machines. Lindsay plopped down on the curb.

Within seconds, Jim nestled so close their shoulders bumped. His hand gripped her wrist and their eyes connected. “I told you earlier, you can’t let Irene affect you. She’s a mean old bitch who lives alone because no one wants her, and she’s jealous of you. She wishes she was as young and pretty as you.”

But ignoring what happened was easier said than done. Mean old bitch or not, that woman shed an alternative light on Lindsay’s situation. Was accepting a job at Happy Ending Ranch the right move? When her medical results came back this morning and she was cleared to work, Lindsay was sky-high with excitement. But now, mere hours later, she found herself overcome with doubt. Do I really want to go through with this? Her stomach quivered, the knots tightening and creating a stranglehold.

What right does that hag have to talk to me like that? Back in Citronelle, things were different. Lindsay was on a first-name basis with over half the town because she worked at the fairgrounds every summer. A monumental event for the community, the residents enjoyed it. She always met them with cheerfulness and was never impolite. Her parents raised her to be respectful of everyone, especially her elders. Mom says a smile is the best makeup any girl can wear.

This harebrained scheme of leaving home at eighteen for a controversial job could end in so many horrible ways. What if Lindsay made a misstep and got thrown in jail? The head honcho in town, Sheriff Spaeth, held a vendetta against the brothel and its employees. Being arrested would be terrible but would pale in comparison to her parents ever finding out why she left everything behind in California and ran off to Nevada.

Whore.

The term hit hard. Being called one gutted Lindsay to her roots and provided her first reality check for the new life she had chosen. It was taboo to say that word in the industry, but in all fairness, it was the truth. I am a whore. Not yet, but soon.

Lindsay hadn’t heard the other ladies say it yet. They referred to themselves as working girls, working ladies, courtesans, or providers. Those terms sounded somewhat acceptable. Colt mentioned “prostitute” a few times yesterday but said it was a dirty word too. Not as dirty as whore, though.

Did Lindsay want to lie on a bed and let a random man fuck her for a living? Once his time was up, chances are there’d be another waiting to use her next. Scarlett claimed this past Saturday, she had sex with eight different guys over fourteen hours.

Eight. Different. Guys!

As much as she wanted to visit the upscale lingerie boutique in Oakfall that Pamela recommended, Lindsay needed to compose herself before getting back into the car. “I’m gonna use the ladies’ room. I’ll be back.”

Though no one else was inside, Lindsay locked herself in a stall, anyway, and shucked in labored breaths. Tears glistened in her eyes. Seriously, am I cut out for this?

* * *

“You’re awfully quiet. It’s unusual for you. Haven’t said much of anything since we left the rest stop.”

Lindsay startled as she whirled to face Jim. She grated her teeth into a smile and hoped it didn’t appear as anxious as she felt. “I’m sorry. I just have a lot on my mind.”

On the highway, Jim swept the hair on his forehead back as he took a moment to inspect Lindsay. Oakfall waited at the next turnoff. She departed for the sheriff’s station in a pair of gray sweatpants and a loose-fitting checkered blouse to maintain her modesty and not rouse any suspicions.

But once they dashed out of Flagstone, Lindsay stripped down in the front seat to skintight denim shorts with frayed edges and a fluorescent orange halter top that clutched her nubile form in all the right places. Sexy was an understatement. In all his thirty-five years of working at the house, Jim had never seen a woman as stunning as Lindsay.

Even better, she was untouched with zero experience. Screwing her boyfriend back in high school meant nothing. Lindsay was as pure as the driven snow, yet also ripe for the picking. Innocent until proven filthy? In time, this gal would be a featured attraction for the brothel.

But only if things stayed positive and people like Irene were kept out of her life.

Jim was quick to realize yesterday that Lindsay wasn’t the stereotypical girl who sought work at the ranch. She had a wonderful, close-knit family and was raised the proper way. Outsiders would never believe that. Sad, but true. Lindsay didn’t come from a fractured home. No past hardships to speak of. She had never been beaten or molested by her father.

The fact was, most of the ladies who’d come and gone over the years at Happy Ending Ranch had decent backgrounds. They’re normal girls. A misconception amongst the ignorant masses was every working girl had been abused by her dad and was up to her eyeballs on drugs.

That’s the only reason she chose this life, right? She’ll be dead in five or six years from an overdose.

In reality, no, that wasn’t the case. Still, Jim admitted a few underwent difficult struggles, whether at home or otherwise. Like women and men in every line of work. Doctors, lawyers, construction workers, you name it. And yes, prostitutes too.

“Where are some of your favorite places to hike?” Jim could have said he understood Lindsay’s negative frame of mind and asked if she wanted to discuss it. But he knew a better way to go about this. He could tell she was rattled over what happened earlier and now second-guessed her decision to leave the sanctity of her family. I don’t want her to bail on us and go running home. Courtesans obtaining their sheriff’s card through Irene (and her sharp tongue) was a necessary evil.

What’s worse, it needed to be renewed every six months.

Lindsay tucked one leg beneath her. Last evening, Jim inquired about her interests so he could list them on her biography page for the website. Lindsay mentioned that, more than anything else, she loved to hike.

“The Clouds-to-Cactus Trail, without a doubt. My dad and I hike it two times a year.”

“Clouds-to-Cactus Trail? Where’s that located?”

“California. It originates in Palm Springs and ascends over ten thousand feet to San Jacinto Peak.” Lindsay blinked before adding, “It’s twenty-one miles long and can be difficult for beginners, but Dad and I have hiked it so many times it’s old news for us these days.” She put her hands behind her head. “We’re pros.”

“Impressive. I’d go hiking a lot back in the day.” Man, I haven’t done any of that in thirty years. Where did all the time go? It just flew by. “Two miles up, huh? I bet it’s freezing cold when you reach the top, even in the middle of summer.” Or is it? He didn’t know.

Jim glanced at Lindsay again, torn between his professionalism and a potent desire. He was elated earlier when Colt suggested he be her chauffeur for the day. Jim assumed Colt would want to drive Lindsay to Oakfall himself but opted to spend time with Pamela instead. Those two need more time together. They can never have enough. “Twenty-one miles, huh? How long does it take to hike?”