I exhale deeply, breathing out a long sigh of relief as I close the door behind me. My eyes drift close for a moment, and I try to breathe normally, coaxing my frantic heart to slow down.
The restroom is quiet, and I realize that except for me and my rapidly thumping heart, it’s completely vacant. I find solace in the recluse space, thanking my stars that I’m the only one here so I don’t have to deal with an audience witnessing me have a mini panic attack.
The area is huge, just like everything else in this place. I could pretty much live here! I suppose it’s only fitting to have mansion-appropriate restrooms in a mansion. I walk over to one of many long mirrors lined up above an array of sinks and dispensers.
Each compartment even has its own blow dryer, fresh towels, and an assortment of hygiene and cosmetic products that look quite expensive. I look more closely, and my heart immediately sinks like the world’s heaviest anchor as my eyes fall on something I wish they hadn’t.
Lots and lots of condoms; in lots of different sizes, packaging, and flavors. There are even mouth condoms in there!
Immediately, unwelcomed images of the men downstairs run through my mind, their knowing looks, lusty smiles and lecherous eyes all zoning in on me, and I feel the bitter foretaste of bile that’s threatening to make its way up my suddenly constricted throat.
I quickly avert my eyes as the troubling thoughts start to take over. I avoid looking at the stack of multicolored foil squares as my shaky fingers grip both edges of the sink, willing myself to not cry.
This can’t be my life. It just…can’t.
I want to kick myself in the head with these gigantic heels. How the hell had I agreed to any of this?
I take more deep breaths, although I’m not sure how effective they’re being right now.
I give myself one of my mental pep-talks in order to calm my nerves.
It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay…
Once I’m done talking myself out of ditching this joint and sprinting all the way back home, I reapply my lipstick and smooth my hair, pinning back a few rogue spirals with a large bobby pin.
As I do my finishing touches, one of the stall doors open, and I immediately go bug-eyed when I see a woman’s reflection behind me come into view in the long mirror.
Ho. Ly. Shit…
My body instantly whips itself around to face the owner of the reflection.
“Gina?!” I blurt her name a lot louder than I mean to. Seeing her startles me, and for a second, I think I’m hallucinating.
She’s equally startled, her eyes wide and her mouth open even though nothing comes out of it for several seconds.
Her dark brown eyes search mine frantically, while darting left and right over my shoulder as if to make sure no one else is here. Her rapid blinking and shallow breaths are dead giveaways of someone caught doing something or being somewhere they shouldn’t.
Her chestnut hair looks longer than usual, falling in big, loose waves around her face. I’m guessing they’re extensions, but they frame her petite frame well.
She’s wearing gold earrings and a watch that look like they could pay my rent for the rest of my life. She’s all glammed and dolled up, a lot more than usual. Her presence here can only make sense if—
No fucking way!
Despite my disbelief, it all quickly clicks in my head.
“Ramona…” she finally says, seemingly unable to voice much more.
I, on the other hand, can’t keep my mouth shut. “Y-you…you’re a…you’re a Rainbow girl?”
I wouldn’t have been able to hide my reaction if I’d tried—though I’m not even sure what I feel more of; utter surprise, or straight-up disbelief.
The sight of her here, knowing that she’s in this building right now working as another call girl, is beyond shocking. This day seriously can’t get any more bizarre!
Just then, the door swings open. Both Gina and I turn to see two girls waltzing in, their heels clicking haughtily against the marble floor. They look nothing alike save for the fake platinum blonde hair they’re both sporting. I immediately recognize one of them from the meeting on Tuesday, the one who stormed out of the lounge.
They’re lost in their own little conversation until they realize they’re not alone. They finally look our way, giving Gina and I once overs, almost as if they’re sizing us up.
One of them—the one I recognize—smiles at me, although you can clearly tell its disingenuous, while the other eyes me up and down again a few times before rolling her eyes and resuming her conversation with her counterpart.
What the fuck is their problem?
I can only give Gina a quizzical look, silently asking her the same question. She just exhales, giving them an eye-roll of her own, but she remains silent. I think she’s just eager for them to leave so that we can resume our conversation—or whatever it is we were having before they interrupted.
The blondes fix themselves up in front of the mirrors, applying and reapplying perfume and lipstick and adjusting their tight dresses to show even more cleavage than they did before. From the looks of it now, they’d be lucky to go ten seconds without being the center of attention for a nip slip. Then again, maybe that’s the plan.
After a few more minutes of unnecessary grooming—more like overkill, to be honest—the blondie pair finally head out the door, taking their giggles and big silicon chests along with them.
As soon as they leave, Gina reaches for me and hastily grabs my hand, and her voice leaves her throat in a stream of desperation. “Please don’t tell Bill! Or Trixie!”
I’m so shocked, I don’t even know what to say. I just keep looking at her, blinking several times as I try to process the fact that I’m standing in a stranger’s restroom with friggin’ Gina Walters—someone who couldn’t be more different from me—because we apparently have more in common than I could have ever imagined. I just didn’t think being call girls would be one of them.
God, this is just…unbelievable.
I guess what they say is true. It really is a small world, after all.