A friend helped me get a job as a bartender at a nightclub. At first, everything was great: the salary was decent, and the shift schedule worked for me. But soon, I realized the money I was earning wasn’t all that impressive. Especially compared to what the girls who danced at our club on weekends were making. The clients were generous with them—gifts, flowers, cash tucked into their outfits…
— I’m living in a rented apartment, can’t afford new clothes, it’s not a life, just a miserable existence, — I complained one evening to one of the strippers.
— Why don’t you pick up some side work? — she suggested. — Lots of girls do it.
— Side work? What do you mean? — I asked naively.
My friend looked at me, surprised.
— Chris, I didn’t think you were *that* clueless about these things. Have some fun with the clients, and there’s your pay raise.
— Sleep with them?!
— Well, darling, they’re not exactly going to pay you to read them bedtime stories, — -she giggled.
— Oh, Chrissy, you can’t be that naive. Use what you’ve got while you’re young. In a couple of years, you’ll be past your prime, — Anna said, then added philosophically: — Beauty and youth are temporary.
— No way! That kind of work is definitely not for me!
I had no desire to become a prostitute, but a few weeks later, the infamous black streak hit. I’d lent all my savings to a friend who begged me to bail her out. Now, that beauty had vanished. Her phone was off, she wasn’t at home, and she hadn’t shown up at work either.
Rent was due, and I had nothing to pay with. To top it all off, a filling fell out, and I needed to see a dentist urgently—an expensive ordeal. Anna’s words crept back into my mind. I thought it over for a couple of days and decided to try “earning” enough for my dentist. The guy had been eyeing me for a while, though he was far from fresh. At my appointment, I hinted that I wouldn’t mind paying with something other than cash. Three hours later, I left his apartment above the dental office with a crisp hundred-dollar bill in my wallet and a new filling in my tooth.
That evening, behind the bar, I started sizing up the clients more closely. I settled on one. Nice suit, expensive watch on his wrist, and not entirely repulsive. Worth a shot…
— Can I get you anything else? — I asked, leaning over the counter to show off my figure to its best advantage.
— No, thanks, — he muttered, finishing his whiskey.
— I could offer you something besides a drink… — I whispered, seductively licking my lips.
The man gave me an appraising look, then handed me his business card:
— Call me tomorrow at eleven in the morning.
I called, and they gave me an address and told me to show up at three. That evening, my wallet was stuffed with large bills. I no longer had to worry about rent. But standing behind the bar didn’t appeal to me anymore. It felt like a waste of time…
That night, the club was slow, and I was bored. Then an older man walked in. He looked about sixty-five, maybe older. He sat at the bar and stared at me, smoking one cigarette after another.
— What’s your name? — he asked as I passed by.
— Christina, — I nodded at the name tag pinned to my chest.
— Christina… — he repeated, his eyes fixed on my neckline. — Would you like to earn a little extra? I’ll pay well.
— Not less than a thousand, — I blurted out.
He laughed and said I was undervaluing myself.
— I’ll pay. Just say yes.
— Alright, — I purred, discreetly slipping him a card with my phone number.
— Call me tomorrow around two in the afternoon, but not earlier. I need my sleep.
He promised to call and kept staring at me. Up close, he looked even older than I’d thought—probably seventy. I realized I’d need a drink before heading to his place. I nicknamed him Grandpa. He called the next day and invited me to a restaurant, which was a pleasant surprise. We had a hearty lunch and drank wine—he sipped lightly, while I went all in. Then we headed to his place.
Grandpa lived in a luxury high-rise, and I kicked myself for naming such a low price the night before.
— You didn’t even ask my name, — he said.
I wanted to say it didn’t matter, but I decided not to ruin things before getting paid.
— I’m Edward, — Grandpa announced before hurrying off to the bathroom.
I took the chance to snoop around. The apartment was lavish, with top-notch renovations…
*What role should I play to get invited back? The innocent girl? Or the seasoned seductress, skilled in the art of love?* I wondered.
While I was poking around, Edward came out of the bathroom.
— Come here, — he said, wrapping an arm around my waist.
I instinctively pulled back. I’d never dealt with a man *this* old before.
— Dance for me, — he suddenly requested.
Edward sat on the couch and turned on some music. The wine helped me loosen up. I hoped my striptease would get him so worked up that I wouldn’t have to do much afterward. I danced slowly, peeling off my clothes…
Edward watched motionless for a while, then yanked off his tie and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
— Are you okay? — I asked, pausing my dance.
— It’s a bit warm in here, — he whispered, leaning back on the couch. — Could you get me some water, please?
I brought him a bottle of mineral water. He chugged it and unbuttoned his shirt collar.
— You look stunning, — Edward said, and I realized I was standing in front of him nearly naked, in just panties and heels.
He started kissing my chest and stomach, eagerly and hurriedly. I closed my eyes and tried to picture George Clooney instead of this old man. Then, he let out a strange whimper and… collapsed onto his side.
— Edward?! — I called out. — Hey, what’s going on?
A muffled groan was my only answer.
Oh God! I panicked, racing around the room. I tried to recall how to perform CPR but realized I couldn’t bring myself to touch him. As these thoughts raced through my head, Edward went completely still. I stepped closer and saw he was beyond help…
*Call an ambulance? Or the police? What would I say? That I was trying to make some easy money, but the client decided to check out in an unusual way? No, I need to get out of here…*
I hurriedly pulled on my dress, but the zipper got stuck, so I threw Edward’s jacket over it. In the pocket, I felt his wallet. I opened it instinctively—it was stuffed with cash. Not just local currency, but dollars and euros too…
So, my services *would* be paid for after all. I scanned the apartment again. It seemed he lived alone—no women’s items in the bathroom or bedroom. No signs of kids or grandkids either. Who would all this stuff go to? Strangers? The ambulance crew or cops who’d probably help themselves? Why should they get it instead of me?
With that, I started methodically searching the place, checking every corner. I stuffed anything valuable into my bag. In a dresser drawer, I found a velvet box with a gold sapphire necklace inside. My breath caught as I put it around my neck. Who was this meant for originally? Not that it mattered.
I left the apartment well past midnight. I avoided the elevator to not wake the neighbors and took the stairs. Outside, I caught a cab and was home in fifteen minutes.
Back in my apartment, I felt a light euphoria. One evening, and what a haul. Sure, Edward’s death dampened the mood, but after some thought, I decided not to dwell on it. He’d lived a long life—plenty of younger people die too.
The next day, I went to work in high spirits, determined to outshine my coworkers. I wore a vibrant blue dress and the sapphire necklace. The police showed up at the club at midnight…
— Christina A.? — a plainclothes officer asked. — You’re under arrest.
— What?! — I gasped, unable to fathom how they’d tracked me down. Would I go to prison?
— You’re under arrest, — he repeated, louder.
— For what?
— Are you acquainted with Edward K.?
— You know how many clients we get here? — I dodged. — Can’t remember them all.
— But you *do* remember him, since you spent the evening with him yesterday. And when the elderly man took ill, you… Well, you know the rest. What do we have here? Failure to render aid, theft… — the officer listed.
— But how…
— How did we find you? It was easy.
The housekeeper found her employer dead in the morning and called us. During the search, we found your business card. Plus, we checked the building’s security footage, and there you were, in all your glory. And you shouldn’t have worn that necklace.
They handcuffed me and put me in the car. What now? Would I really have to serve time? I don’t want this.
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