Sugar Baby Read online

  “Oh, please. I was 30.”

  “How did you go from two kids to sitting here with me? There must have been some drastic changes in your life.”

  “A few,” she admitted. “He had an affair.”

  “You were married.”

  She nodded. “He had an affair with a woman from his office. I got mad, so I had one, too.” She smiled. “With a woman from his office.”

  “The same woman?”

  “Oh heavens, no,” she said. “I was actually ready to forgive him, but he couldn’t forgive me.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I’m not sure I blame him,” Fanny said. “It was his boss.”

  I laughed, and rather loudly at that. “Seriously?” She nodded. “How was it?”

  “Good, actually. We both knew it was a fling, but in the end, she did me a pretty big favor. It was tough on the kids, but she helped me figure out a lot of things.”

  “And that’s how we arrived here.”

  “Just so,” Fanny said.

  “What happened with her?”

  “She did me another favor. She gave me a chance.”

  “A chance?”

  “A job. A chance to prove myself.”

  “You went to work with your ex-husband?”

  “Not directly. It was a pretty flat organization. I became a lead generator and was never in the office. I stayed three years.”

  “What is a lead generator?”

  “It’s a sort of sales person,” she explained. “My job was to identify potential customers. I would get my foot in the door, so to speak, then pass the lead to a more experienced sales person. It was a different world. The Internet was brand new, and virtually no one knew how to use it. Our methods were far different than they are now.”

  “I suppose,” I said.

  We talked about that for a while, breaking to give our dinner orders. We chatted easily, and then I realized something. “You have the most amazing voice.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I bet you’re told that a lot.”

  “A time or two,” she said with a smile.

  “I bet, in a world on the telephone, you did well.”

  “The secret of my success,” she admitted.

  We had a nice dinner. Fanny was really easy to be with. I loved her voice, and I liked her. But I didn’t know if I could feel a spark of real attraction. Still, she paid the bill then asked if I’d go home with her, “to continue our conversation”. I had doubts that was all she wanted, but I nodded and then took her arm as we strolled from the restaurant.

  She led me to her car but then pressed my back up against it, sliding a leg between mine and pinning me in place. We were of a similar height, and I found myself looking her in the eye. I turned my head, making it more difficult to kiss me.

  “This is a little faster than I usually move,” I told her.

  “Don’t worry,” she replied. “I’ll pay you.” Then she lifted a hand and pulled my face back towards her. Avoiding the kiss would have meant struggling with her, and I wasn’t quite ready to do that.

  As kisses go, it was okay, but I was growing upset, not turned on, and I didn’t like the way she had suddenly turned aggressive. So I let her kiss me, but as soon as she released me, I turned away again.

  I was panting, and it wasn’t from passion. I was on the verge of full on panic, trying to figure out what to do. She, of course, misinterpreted my breathing.

  “You liked that, baby,” she declared.

  I had thought about how I’d act if any of the women grew aggressive like this. All my plans were for naught. Instead, I was on the edge of panic, and tears, and I didn’t know what to do.

  Then I got mad at her for doing this to me.

  “This doesn’t work for me,” I declared. I got my hands up and pushed her away. As soon as there was room between us, I shifted sideways so I wasn’t pinned against her car again. “I’m not a hooker,” I added. “And I don’t appreciate being treated like one. I love your voice, and I enjoyed dinner.” I wanted Uber money, but at that point, I wasn’t going to ask. I stared for a moment, and as I did, her expression grew hard, and I knew she was about to say something caustic.

  “Maybe one of the other girls will be more appreciative of your style,” I said before she could say something hurtful. “But this was only my second date, and I’m scared and wanted to take it slowly. I’m just a kid, and there’s a lot I don’t know, but I’m not a prostitute. I’m just a girl who needs help.”

  And then I turned my back on her and walked away.

  Did she say something hurtful? Yes. I’m not going to type it.

  * * * *

  I cried quietly during the ride home then did my best to pull it together. I texted Maggie that I was back on campus, but she wasn’t having that. My phone rang, and I didn’t want her to hunt me down. I answered.

  “That’s not our deal,” she said. “We speak voice. Anyone can send a text.”

  “I just got dropped off,” I said. “It went well until it didn’t.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not. Where are you?”

  I sighed and knocked on her door. It was on the way to my room, after all. A second later, she opened it, took one look at me, then pulled me into her room. We both clicked off our phones, and I turned to her.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “It was good until it wasn’t,” I said. “This plan may be a bust, Maggie.”

  She took my hand and pulled me to her bed. We both sat down, and she said, “Tell me.”

  “I need to go study.”

  “You had one bad date, but you’re worried they’re all going to be like this.”

  “She’s going to leave a bad review for me, and then none of the other women are going to want me.”

  “I told you that Gentle Affection was my favorite because they promise to do their best to protect the girls,” she replied. “So, this is their chance to stand behind their word. What did she do?”

  “She just got pushy,” I said.

  “Did she rape you?”

  “No, but if we’d been in private, I don’t know what would have happened.”

  “Fuck.”

  “It wasn’t that bad. She was great, and then suddenly she became aggressive.”

  “Did she know this was only your second date?”

  “She knew I was new at this,” I said. I sighed. “I’m fine. I’m going to go study.”

  “You cried.”

  “Yeah. So? I cry at the drop of a hat.”

  “So what happened, Astrid?”

  “She pinned me to her car. I had to push her away, but not until she’d kissed me. I told her this wasn’t going to work for me. She said a few hateful things. I took an Uber home.”

  “You’re supposed to be making money, not spending it on Uber fees.”

  “Tell me about it,” I said a little harshly. “This may be a bust.”

  “Roma wasn’t like that last night.”

  “No,” I said. “But maybe she’s biding her time.”

  “And you like her.”

  “And I like her, but that doesn’t mean she likes me enough to help me as much as I need help.”

  “No, but if there’s one Roma, there are others,” Maggie said. “You have a date with her tomorrow, don’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you know what you’re going to do?”

  “Go on the date, I suppose.”

  “Uh huh. That’s not what I meant. You need to set expectations.”

  “I don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “Tell Roma you had a bad date and ask her if you can talk about it. Tell her what went right and what went wrong, and tell her that you liked the way she’s treated you so far. Even if all she wants is to get inside your skirt, at least you’ll have taught her a good way not to do it.”

  I laughed. “You’re right. I will.”

  “Good
.” She looked me up and down appraisingly. “You know that’s what they want. You understood that from the beginning. And it’s a skirt very worth getting into, or I’m not judge of skirts.”

  “Knock it off,” I told her. I paused. “Yeah, I knew that.”

  “So. You like Roma.”

  “So far.”

  “And you’re going to like others.”

  “I liked Fanny until she turned aggressive. I wasn’t attracted to her, but I liked her. I might have gone along, if she’d stayed sweet.”

  “Well, you said you weren’t going to do anything you don’t want to do. So you’ll have to think a little more, but you’ve had two dates. One was good. One could have been good, but wasn’t. Give Roma and the others a chance.”

  I nodded. “I don’t have that many choices, if I want to stay in school.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault.”

  * * * *

  The next day was Saturday. My phone rang promptly at ten. I was only slightly surprised to see Jean’s name. I answered and said, “Let me take this somewhere.”

  “Do I need to call back?”

  “Ten minutes,” I told her.

  My phone rang again just as I took off my coat in the academic building. I plopped down in one of the waiting classroom chairs and answered. “So, she reported me.”

  “Tell me what happened, Astrid.”

  “It was nice, up until she decided I was some sort of whore, and as long as she intended to pay me, she could do whatever she wanted, whether I liked the idea or not.”

  Jean was quiet for a moment then said, “I’m sorry. I need details.”

  “Jean,” I said. “Am I?”

  “Are you what?”

  “Am I a whore? Is that what I’ve signed up for?”

  “No, Astrid,” she said gently.

  “It’s supposed to be a relationship, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And I’m supposed to feel safe.”

  “I’m sorry she made you feel unsafe, Astrid. I need to know the details.”

  I told her everything. It took about ten minutes. She listened quietly until the end, then asked a few questions. Finally we got to the meat of things. “Did you call her a bitch?”

  “No,” I said. “That was one of the things she called me. It wasn’t the worst.”

  “A woman scorned,” Jean said. “Fanny has gotten good reviews from most of the other girls she’s gone out with, or we’d have dropped her.”

  “I’m I the first who has had a bad date with her?”

  “No.” I heard typing for a moment, then she said, “I’m going to suppress her review. You have a date with Roma tonight, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you going through with it?”

  “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

  “We’ve had a few girls decide they’ve made horrible mistakes.”

  “I was ready to decide that last night.”

  “I’m glad you’re feeling better this morning.”

  “Jean, I thought I’d knew what I would do if any of the women turned aggressive on me. I thought I’d be all cool and sophisticated and turn it around with a smile and a gentle laugh. Instead, I barely held it together.”

  “I know,” she said gently. “But we learned something from this, didn’t we, Astrid?”

  “What did we learn?”

  “We learned several things. What is most important is that we’ve learned a little more how you want to be treated.”

  “I don’t understand. Who would want to be treated like that?”

  “You’d be surprised,” Jean replied. “Although Fanny should have known better. But you want a gentler hand. And Fanny may have treated you in a fashion that you might have enjoyed, if the situation were only a little different.”

  “Why would I want to be treated like that?”

  “Well, the first time we talked, you expressed attraction to one or two of the women whose profiles you read.”

  “Fake profiles.”

  “Still. You expressed attraction. Imagine one of those women. You’ve been on a few dates. You’ve had some make-out sessions.”

  “Oh,” I said. Then I repeated it. “Oh.”

  “That behavior, from Fanny, on a first date, and when it was only your second since signing up with us, wasn’t what you wanted. It was too soon and from the wrong woman. Change a few things, and maybe it’s an approach that would work quite well for you. Or maybe I’m wrong.”

  “You might not be wrong,” I said. “I don’t know.” I thought about it. “Maybe you’re right, but it was definitely wrong last night, and I won’t respond well if Roma acts the same way tonight.” I paused then told her what Maggie told me.

  “That’s not a bad plan,” Jean said. “I was going to offer to talk to her for you if you wanted.”

  “I think I’ve got this.”

  “Well, I’m going to modify your profile and add a note that you need a gentle hand. And I’m going to hide your profile from anyone who tends to be aggressive from the beginning.”

  “Thank you.”

  “That part is temporary. If you don’t ask me to extend it, your profile will automatically open up in a month.”

  “Not to men!”

  “Ladies only,” she assured me. “Are you all right, Astrid?”

  “I wasn’t, but I think I am now.”

  “Good. But be open with Roma.”

  “I will.”

  “Let me know how it goes.”

  “I will,” I promised.

  Roma

  I asked Roma to pick me up across campus instead of from my dorm. I waited inside the student center doors, stepping outside as she drove up. I climbed into her car, and a moment later, we were on our way.

  “Well, that was unsatisfying,” I declared.

  “Excuse me.”

  “I would have liked a ‘Hello’ kiss, but not in the front seat of your car. I want us to do this a little differently next time.”

  She said nothing for a moment, and I wondered if I had offended her, but then she said, “I’d like that.”

  I offered her my hand. She reached over and took it, then drove one-handed for the rest of the drive. I waited until we had parked at the restaurant, then made sure she couldn’t let go of my hand. She turned to me, but I smiled and shifted the car into park for her. “I need to talk to you about something.”

  “Are you dumping me already?”

  “No,” I said. “Was that a serious question?”

  “Yes, actually.”

  “I had a date last night and it went poorly. I want to tell you about it.”

  “You don’t have to tell me about your other dates, Astrid.”

  “I want to tell you about this one.”

  She paused. “Ah. So I don’t do whatever she did. I assume it was a she.”

  “It was.” I looked down at her hand and squeezed it. “Is this making you uncomfortable?”

  “No. Were we going to talk right here?”

  “Do you mind?”

  “No, Astrid.”

  I’d actually practiced what I was going to say. It took about a minute. Then I took another half minute to relay a little more about what Maggie and Jean had said about it, ending with, “So I just need a gentle hand. That’s how Jean put it.”

  She shifted in her seat and covered my hand with her other. “I understand, Astrid.”

  “I wanted to be clear. I like you, and I enjoyed our time in your car on Thursday.”

  “Do I need to adjust our plans?”

  “I don’t know what our plans are, so I’m not sure.”

  “Dinner, then I was going to take you home. You said you wanted to talk about your situation.”

  “So you mean your home.”

  “That’s probably insensitive, after what you just said.”

  “No. If you shove me against a wall and jam your tongue in my mouth, that might be insensitive. I like your pla
n.”

  She offered a little grimace. I’d been a little crude, so I dropped my gaze. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that.”

  “It’s okay, Astrid.” She squeezed my hand. “I imagine all of this is intimidating.”

  “19-year-olds think we’re adults,” I said. “The further I’ve gotten in this process, the more I’ve realized how wrong we are.”

  “You’re adults, but you haven’t stopped learning. Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  I had to let her hand go, but as soon as I could, I took it again, and we walked that way towards the restaurant door. We kept glancing at each other, and I thought perhaps the looks she was giving me weren’t that different than the ones I was giving her. “I’m happy to be here with you,” I told her as we stepped inside.

  “I am, too.”

  We were seated, reviewed the menu, and made our choices. The bread basket came, but we both ignored it. I smiled then pointedly set my hand back on the table. Astrid covered it with hers, and then we were both smiling.

  If I’d thought about it, I would probably have been more self-conscious. Instead, I actively ignored everyone else in the restaurant, and I focused all my attention on my date. From what I could tell, she did the same.

  We chatted easily. She told me about growing up in Italy but moving to America when she was eight. Her mother was American, so she had dual nationality. Immigration had been easy. “But I was eight,” she added with a laugh.

  “So you speak fluent Italian.”

  “And French,” she said.

  “You have an accent, but it doesn’t sound Italian.”

  “Mother has a heavy Boston accent,” she said. “But she insisted I not copy her. I actually received diction lessons. So what you’re hearing is a hodge-podge. There’s a hint of my mother’s Boston. There’s a hint of my father’s Italian. There’s more than a hint of the British accent of my diction coach. And then I’ve lived in the US for most of my life. Depending upon whom I’m talking to, my accent shifts. It turns more Boston if I’m around Mom for a few days. I speak Italian with my father, but when I’m with him, the Italian portion of my accent tends to come out more. Tell me about your family.”

  I thought about it and then said, “That will be part of the discussion later,” I replied. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know, but it’s not all good, and I’d rather not spoil dinner.”