C2 Chapter 2

CHASE

I drove to our first scheduled workout of the season, a dull headache throbbing as I navigated the highway. Eric, my best friend and agent, called me on the way in.
"How's my favorite client?" He sounded like he always did—as if he was cruising around Los Angeles, the sunroof to his SUV wide open, living the good life of a top talent agent.
"I've been better," I admitted. "I'm pretty sure Jessica's moving out today."
"Shut the fuck up," Eric said. "For real this time?"
I took the turn that would lead me to the enormous stadium. "Seems like it. She was packing when I left."
Eric let out a low whistle. "I don't know whether to say sorry or…yay."
"Ha ha." My headache got incrementally worse. "I don't know, either."
"Did you call Mickey yet?" Mickey was my attorney. The one who'd begged me two years ago to do a pre-nuptial agreement, an idea that Jessica had completely shot down with the aid of crocodile tears.
I laughed. "Not yet. He's gonna have a field day with this."
"He told you so," Eric said.
"You all did," I admitted.
"Even your Mom, dude. You should always listen to Martha."
I groaned. Of all the phone calls I was dreading, the one to my Mom was at the top of the list.
"She warned you."
My headache moved to between my eyes. "I know—okay? You don't need to be so sanctimonious. Last time I checked, you weren't exactly a relationship guru. It's not like your wife's perfect—oh wait, that's right, you don't have a wife."
"Neither do you, apparently." He started to laugh and I couldn't help it, I did, too. Then I thought about all the money Jess was going to be looking for and all of the shit she was probably going to start, and the laughter died on my lips.
"Talk to Mickey and call your Mom—not necessarily in that order," Eric ordered. "And buddy, I wouldn't tell anybody else about this if I were you. Let's see if Jess is there when you get back. If not, maybe we should think about getting out in front of this."
"Huh?" Eric was a schemer. He was usually two steps ahead of me in that department, which was why he'd made partner at a top talent agency at thirty years old.
"We should maybe leak something to the press," Eric explained matter-of-factly. "Let the story out a little bit at a time so we can control the message and the tone."
My gut twisted. This was not the sort of press I'd been hoping for this year. "Huh."
"Call Martha," Eric instructed again before hanging up.
I pulled into the parking lot at the stadium and took an Advil. It was still morning, but the day had completely gone to shit. 
And it was about to get worse. I hit my mother's number. "Hey, Ma."
She clucked her tongue as soon as she answered. "Well, the world-famous quarterback remembers to call his mother for once. How's my favorite son?"
"I'm your only son," I groaned.
"Aw, honey, you're still my favorite boy. Just like your sister's still my favorite girl."
I steeled myself. "Well, your favorite son has some news."
"What's the matter?" She was quiet for a second, her mom-radar probably going into overdrive. "Is Jessica trying to get you to go to Boca Raton for the holidays again? I swear to God, Chase, if she pulls that this year—"
"She's leaving me," I interrupted.
My mother snorted. "If I had a dime for every time that ungrateful gold digger threatened to leave you…that'd be a lot of dimes, dear."
I grimaced. "She's packing, Ma. Feel free to say 'I told you so'."
"I did tell you so—and that's because I'm always right. But I'm still sorry." Martha seemed to consider the news for a moment. "So, who is it?"
"Huh?"
"The guy she's leaving you for?" She sounded as though she were being patient with me.
"What?" I asked, feeling dazed. "I don't think that's what's going on—"
"Jessica's not leaving you and your piles of money and your mansion in Wellesley because she needs personal space," she said, interrupting me. "Of course there's someone else."
I squeezed the bottle of Advil. I would appreciate it if my mother was wrong, for once.
"Don't you worry," Martha clucked. "No matter who it is, nobody's better than you. Anyways, good riddance to bad rubbish. I always thought that Jessica was like that Ursula from The Little Mermaid—she could make herself appear beautiful, but underneath it she was ugly. Real ugly. Like, run away screaming ugly. You remember Ursula, don't you, honey? The bad witch who was an octopus?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," I groaned. "I never saw The Little Mermaid—"
"Oh, of course you did," she said, sounding exasperated. "And Cinderella, and Sleeping Beauty…you watched all the princess movies with me and your sister. Remember?"
"I gotta go, Ma," I said, holding onto the ibuprofen for dear life. 
* * *
AVERY
I called in to AccommoDating while I was on break at the Sizzling Ranch. "Hey. It's Avery Banks."
"Nice to hear from you again, Avery," Elena, the madam, said politely. "What can I do for you?"
"I need an assignment." I bit my lip. 
"When are you available?"
"As soon as I'm done with my waitressing shift. I'm free tonight," I said. My stomach roiled with nerves.
"I'll see what I have coming in," Elena said smoothly. "I'd love to get you working some more. The other clients were very pleased with you."
"Thank you," I mumbled. I shoved the images of the other clients forcefully from my mind. Then I went back to work, my hands shaking.
A girl I waitressed with had told me about AccommoDating.
"My sister went to a wedding this weekend," Kylie had said, while we were cleaning the chain restaurant's equipment and readying for the day.
I'd smiled at her, trying to be friendly. "Oh yeah?"
"Uh-huh. She said it was high-class, all the way. She got flown to an island. In the Caribbean. All expenses paid. It was a bunch of billionaires or something." Kylie wiped down the soda machine and simultaneously tossed her thick, curly ponytail over her shoulder. "'Wouldn't I like to meet a billionaire', I told my sister. You know what she said?"
"No," I answered. I didn't know Kylie that well, but I liked her. She was always talking, always had a story to tell. I appreciated that. Her friendly chatter helped pass the long shifts at the restaurant.
Kylie moved on to the coffeemaker and wiped it almost violently. "She told me it'd never happen—that I'd never get a billionaire because I'm not pretty enough. And 'cause I talk too much." 
I gave her a consoling look. "I'm sorry. It's not true—you're very pretty. It's just sister shit. I have one. She can be mean, too." 
Kylie gave me a conspiratorial look. "Mine's a hooker," she said in a low voice. "So you'd think she wouldn't be such an uppity you-know-what, but she still is."
I was completely taken aback. "For real?" I asked, finally.
She nodded. "For real. I shouldn't say she's a hooker. She's an escort, is what she calls it. She gets wined and dined all the time. The wedding she just went to? One of her escort friends was the bride. She married a billionaire who was one of her clients."
"Wow." It was all I could think of to say.
"You should do it," Kylie said, nodding at me. "You've got the look. Perfect skin. Rocking body. All that blond hair and those big blue eyes. And you're quiet, unlike me." 
I laughed, but it came out bitter and sharp. "I don't think I'm…qualified. Sexy isn't really my thing, you know?"
Kylie tossed her ponytail over her shoulder again. "My sister got paid ten thousand dollars for one night once," she said. "I think you could fake the sexy for that."
I felt my jaw drop. "So why don't you do it?" I asked, wondering if she was just teasing me.
She grunted. "Maya said she'd blackball me. She said I seriously talk too much and she doesn't want to be associated with me at work. But I'm not kidding, girl. If you want the number, I'll give it to you. Maybe you'll marry a billionaire and set me up with one of his friends. Or eventually put in a good word for me at the agency."
I shook my head. "I don't think I could do it. I'm too shy. And I'm not exactly, uh, experienced." I felt my face flame.
"You're a virgin?" Kylie's eyeballs looked as though they might pop out of her head.
"No," I said quickly. "But I've only ever had one boyfriend. And he was pretty…vanilla." 
"Think about it." Kylie shrugged. "I know you're broke. I've seen you stealing crackers to eat." 
My face got even hotter. I did steal packages of crackers; I pretended that I had to go to the bathroom and stuffed them into my mouth as often as I could. I was always hungry, shaking from the emptiness inside me. Kylie had seen me. She'd known, and she felt sorry for me.
Being poor was so fucking humiliating.
"In case you change your mind," Kylie said. She scribbled something onto a cocktail napkin and slid it into my apron. "It'd be nice to be able to eat three squares a day, right? And it's gotta beat waitressing."
I'd pulled out the napkin after my shift. It had the name and number of the agency.
I didn't call for a few weeks. Not until Lila got fired from her third consecutive job and had started burning through my limited supply of cash at an alarming rate. There hadn't even been enough money for Ramen.
Hunger could drive you to crazy things. 
And then there was my sister, who seemed to be getting even more adrift. She was my responsibility, my family. I needed to take care of her. I hadn't been able to save my mom, but Lila was going to be another story. If only she'd cooperate.
So I called the service. I'd taken a couple of clients. Neither of them were that bad, but I'd still cried afterwards. It was just that I'd always tried to be a good girl. I'd tried to be a good girl my whole life, and still, I couldn't get ahead. 
And it didn't seem to matter to anyone.
Except to me.