I got a job as a bartender at a nightclub through a friend of mine. At first, everything was great; I was happy with the pay and the schedule. But after a while, I realized the money I was making wasn't actually that much—especially compared to what the girls dancing on the weekends were pulling in. The customers were incredibly generous with them—gifts, flowers, and hundred-dollar bills tucked into their lace...
"I'm living in a rented studio, I can't afford any new clothes... this isn't a life, it's just scraping by," I complained one evening to one of the dancers.
"So, get a side hustle," she suggested. "A lot of the girls do."
"What do you mean, a side hustle?" I asked naively.
My friend looked at me with genuine surprise.
"Chris, I didn't think you were so clueless about how this works. Hang out with the clients—there's your pay raise right there."
"You mean sleep with them?!"
"Well, honey, they aren't exactly going to open their wallets just because you read them a bedtime story," she giggled.
"Oh, Chrissy, don't be such a sheltered little thing. Make the most of it while you're young. In a couple of years, you'll be yesterday's news," said Anna, before adding philosophically: "Beauty and youth are temporary assets."
"No way! That kind of work definitely isn't for me."
I had no desire to become a call girl, but a few weeks passed, and a streak of serious bad luck hit. I'd managed to lend my entire emergency fund to a friend who had begged me for help, in tears. Now, that "friend" had vanished. Her phone was disconnected, she wasn't at her apartment, and she hadn't shown up for work.
Rent was due, and I had nothing. To top it off, a filling fell out, and I needed an emergency trip to the dentist—an "extravagance" that wasn't cheap. Anna's words kept echoing in my head. I thought about it for a couple of days and decided to try and "earn" some money from my dentist. The guy had been hitting on me for a while, even if he was a bit past his prime. When I showed up for my appointment, I hinted that I wouldn't mind paying in kind rather than cash. Three hours later, I was walking out of his apartment above the clinic with a crisp hundred-dollar bill in my purse and a brand-new filling in my tooth.
That evening behind the bar, I started looking at the customers more closely. I settled on one guy. Nice suit, expensive watch, and not too repulsive. All in all, worth a shot...
"Can I get you anything else?" I asked, leaning over the bar to show off my curves to their best advantage.
"No, I'm good," he grunted, finishing his scotch.
"I can offer you something besides a drink..." I whispered, provocatively licking my lips.
The man gave me an appraising look before handing over his business card.
"Call me tomorrow at eleven in the morning."
I called, was given an address, and told to be there by three.
That evening, large bills were rustling in my wallet. Now I didn't have to worry about the rent. But I didn't really want to hang around behind the bar anymore either. It felt like a waste of time...
The club was dead that night; I was bored out of my mind. Then an older man walked in. He looked sixty-five, maybe older. He sat at the bar and stared at me, chain-smoking one cigarette after another.
"What's your name?" he asked as I walked past.
"Christina," I said, nodding toward the nametag pinned to my chest.
"Christina..." he repeated, his eyes locked on my neckline. "Would you like to make some extra money? I'll pay very well."
"Not for less than a thousand," I snapped, throwing out the figure immediately.
He laughed and told me I was underselling myself for some reason.
"I'll pay. Just say yes."
"Fine," I purred, discreetly sliding a card with my cell number into his hand.
"Call me tomorrow around two in the afternoon, but not before. I need my beauty sleep."
The man promised he would call and went back to staring. Up close, he looked even older than I first thought—at least seventy. I realized I'd need to have a few drinks before heading over to his place. "Pops," as I called him, called in the afternoon and invited me to a restaurant, which was a pleasant surprise. We had a heavy lunch and plenty of wine; he had a little, but I made sure to have enough to take the edge off. Afterward, we headed to his place.
Pops lived in a luxury high-rise, and I felt a pang of regret for asking for such a small amount the night before.
"You didn't even ask my name," he said.
I wanted to tell him it didn't matter, but I decided not to ruin the vibe before I got paid.
"I'm Arthur," he said, before hurrying into the bathroom.
I took the opportunity to look around the apartment. It was a wealthy place, renovated to the highest standard...
I wonder what role I should play to get invited back? I wondered. The innocent girl? Or the experienced mistress?
While I was looking around, Arthur came out of the bathroom.
"Come here," he said, putting his arm around my waist.
I instinctively flinched. I hadn't actually dealt with anyone this old yet.
"Dance for me," he requested suddenly.
Arthur sat on the sofa and turned on some music. The wine helped me loosen up. I hoped my performance would get him so worked up that the rest of the job would be quick. I danced slowly, gradually undressing...
Arthur watched motionlessly for a while, then took off his tie and wiped sweat from his forehead with a jerky motion.
"Are you okay?" I asked, stopping the dance.
"It's a bit hot in here," he whispered, leaning back on the sofa. "Get me some water, please..."
I brought him a glass of water. He downed it in one gulp and unbuttoned his collar.
"You look stunning," Arthur said. I realized I was standing there practically naked, in nothing but my heels.
He began to kiss me hungrily, desperately.
I closed my eyes and tried to imagine George Clooney instead of this old man. In that moment, he let out a strange gasp and... slumped over.
"Arthur?!" I called out. "Hey, what kind of joke is this?"
The only answer was a muffled groan.
Oh my God! I paced the room in a panic. I tried to remember how to do CPR, but then I realized I couldn't bring myself to touch him. While these thoughts flashed through my head, he went completely silent. Stepping closer, I saw that no one was going to be able to help him now...
Should I call 911? Or the police? And say what? That I decided to make some easy money, but the client decided to skip the bill by dying? No, I have to get out of here...
I scrambled to pull my dress back on, but the zipper got stuck. I had to throw Arthur's blazer over my shoulders. I felt his wallet in the pocket. I opened it automatically and saw it was stuffed with cash—hundreds, fifties, the works.
Well, I guess my services are being paid for after all. I did another sweep of the apartment. By all accounts, he lived—or had lived—alone. No feminine touches in the bathroom or bedroom. It didn't look like any kids or grandkids lived there either. Who was all this stuff going to go to? Strangers? Paramedics and cops who would probably help themselves? How were they any better than me?
With those thoughts, I started a deliberate search of the apartment, checking every corner. I tucked every valuable find into my purse. In a dresser drawer, I found a velvet box containing a sapphire necklace. It took my breath away as I fastened the beautiful thing around my neck. I wondered who it was originally meant for. Not that it mattered.
I left the apartment long after midnight. I decided not to risk the elevator—the noise might wake the neighbors—and took the stairs instead. I caught a cab immediately and was home in fifteen minutes.
I returned to my apartment in a state of mild euphoria. One night, and such a haul. Granted, Arthur's death cast a bit of a shadow, but after thinking it over, I decided not to sweat it. The old guy had a good run; younger people die every day.
The next day, I went to work in high spirits. I decided to dazzle the rest of the staff with my look. I put on a new bright blue dress and the sapphire necklace. The police showed up at midnight...
"Christina A.?" a man in plainclothes asked. "You're under arrest."
"What?!" I asked in horror, not understanding how they could have found me. Was I really going to prison?
"You're under arrest," he repeated, a little louder.
"For what?"
"Are you acquainted with Arthur K.?"
"Do you have any idea how many customers we get in here?" I tried to dodge the question. "I can't remember all of them."
"You remember this one, though, since you spent yesterday evening with him. And when an elderly man fell ill, you... well, you already know. So, what are we looking at? Failure to render aid, grand larceny..." the detective listed off.
"But how..."
"How did we find you? That was the easy part. The housekeeper found the body this morning and called us. We found your card during the search. Plus, we checked the security footage in the lobby, and there you were in all your glory. You probably shouldn't have decided to wear the necklace."
They put me in handcuffs and led me to the car. What happens now? Am I actually going to serve time? I don't want to.
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