Excerpt, Chapter One

“Once in, never out.” The Johnny Carson look-alike with a cigarette the size of a small brown stump dangling on his lip looking like it was about to pop out and hit me in the eye is giving me the once and the twice over. I am now officially merchandise and it doesn’t feel good at all.

I try not to fidget as I stand in what looks like someone’s apartment, in a living room where the furniture is still new and unused. Except this isn’t anyone’s home. It’s a bordello on Fifth Avenue in New York City, and it’s similar to hundreds of other make-believe apartments neatly tucked away across the city where women sell themselves to businessmen every day from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m., and where neighbors never suspect anything of this sort is happening.

My heart is going thumpety, thump, thump. It’s almost lodged in my throat. My palms are clammy, and I wonder if I’m going to make it through the interview. I tentatively lift my eyes up from where they’re glued to his brown penny loafers and dare look at him. He’s wearing a preppy sweater vest under a white shirt with khaki pants. Geez, who knew pimps looked like someone’s dad?

I was raped, lost my job as administrative assistant because the firm I worked for moved to Connecticut, and my floundering new business as a fashion designer was suddenly in the toilet. So much for going at it on your own. I am standing here in four-inch stilettos with a short pink dress I wore to a friend’s wedding. My belly is only slightly swollen and doesn’t betray my missed period and confirmed pregnancy…