I was impressed with how graciously you handled those trolls, the initial message had read. Despite coming out of the blue, I was intrigued, and secretly hoped that it was a potential client, attracted by my Instagram feed. Alex was smart, easing into things before he finally revealed the reason he’d contacted me.
I was taken aback at first, but Alex was just as tactful as he was persistent. And he was an excellent salesman. By the time he’d given me his personal email and cell phone number, I was ready to join the club as a consort. Luckily, the rigorous approval process forced me to slow down. After sleeping on it, I had emailed Alex the next day, explaining that I was hesitant and I wanted to think about it.
I’d almost forgotten about it until his follow-up email, but thoughts of the club and the potential it offered had been in the back of my mind since that first contact.
I scrolled down to the bottom of the email and clicked on his phone number. My stomach flipped and clenched as the phone rang, then Alex was on the line and I had no choice but to say hello.
“Shelton,” Alex said, his voice pleasant and friendly. “I hope you’re doing well.”
“I am,” I muttered while my inner voice screamed at me that this was crazy. I couldn’t be a consort. Right?
“Have you given our conversation much thought?” Alex prodded gently. “I don’t want to rush you, but there is an open call tonight, and you’ve been pre-vetted.”
“I was thinking about it,” I began. “But I’m not sure.” I looked down at my vintage chocolate-colored corduroy pants and my bare feet and sighed. “And I don’t have anything to wear.” I did, but most of my wardrobe was the same. Comfortable, a little on the hippie side, and more pastel than anything. I was pretty sure it wasn’t what most potential consorts wore.
“That will be taken care of. There’s plenty of time to get you ready before the event.”
“Really?” I asked, shocked to see that it was not quite noon when I looked up at the clock on the living room wall. “Oh. I guess it’s early.”
“Shelton, you sound nervous. If you’re not sure, you don’t have to do this.”
“No, it’s fine.” The lie of the day, I thought to myself, mouth dry as I rattled off my address and Alex chuckled.
“I have your address, Shelton. You gave it to me when you applied.”
“Oh, right. So what exactly does this entail?” My tongue was sticking to the roof of my mouth. I swallowed, then cleared my throat. “I want to make sure I understand what’s expected of me before I commit to anything.”
“You’re not committing to anything tonight,” he said, unbothered by my waffling. “This is just a getting-to-know-you type of event. You’ve already passed the hardest part, which is getting an invitation. Tonight, the only thing you have to do is have fun and mingle with the patrons.”
“That sounds easy enough.”
“It is. And you don’t have to associate with anyone you don’t want to. If you don’t click with someone, walk away, or catch my attention and I’ll whisk you away. It’s that easy.”
“And when the party is over?”
“The driver will bring you home.”
“I won’t be expected to go home with one of the patrons?”
Alex chuckled. “Absolutely not. If you hit it off with a patron and want a date, let me know and I’ll feel the situation out. But even then, there’s nothing required. What goes into a contract is entirely up to you and a potential patron.”
“What if I’m still not sure after one date?”
“You can date the same patron multiple times, or multiple patrons one at a time. A date guarantees nothing and agreeing to a date means you’re agreeing to let the patron wine and dine you while you get to know them.” He paused, then continued, upbeat and reassuring. “You’re in control here, Shelton. If you don’t like something, you let me know and I’ll take care of it.”
“All right,” I said, still a little leery. “I’ll come tonight.”
“Perfect. I’ll send a car for you shortly. They’ll take you for a fitting and a makeover, and-”
“What if I don’t want to be made over?” I interrupted, running my fingers through my hair that was a few inches shy of scruffy, but far from kempt. “I’m not interested in changing who I am to fulfill some rich person’s dream.”
“Think of the makeover as more of a style session and a bit of pampering. You want to look your best, and when you feel your best, you look amazing. Our stylists will work with you and come up with something you love that fits into our requirements.” He snorted. “Besides, I’ve seen plenty of videos and pictures of you. The stylist should be paying me for the privilege of working with you.”
I felt my face get hot. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you. I’ll see you this evening. In fact, the driver should be there any moment.”
“So soon?”
Alex laughed. “I sent a gift to try to entice you to come tonight since you’ve been dodging my emails. I was hoping you would accept my invitation, so I sent a driver, just in case. He was on his way before you called me.” As if on cue, there was a knock on my door and Alex chuckled. “I’ll see you soon, Shelton.”
Then he hung up and I opened the door to a man dressed in a black limo driver’s uniform, a small, blue box in his hand. “I’m supposed to deliver this with your invitation, but I guess you’ve already accepted.” His grin was bright, friendly.
I nodded and took the box from his large hands. “Thank you.”
I started to set the box down when he stopped me. “Alex asks that you open it now.”
“Okay,” I said, pulling the end of the ribbon and lifting the lid. I gasped when I saw the white gold watch accented in perfectly cut diamonds, the face of the watch the most amazing shade of deep blue. “Wow,” I whispered in awe. I flipped it over, admiring the attention to detail when the inscription caught my eye. “Shelton Greene,” I read out loud, more to myself than the man who stood patiently in my doorway. “May this be the choice that changes everything.”
The sentiment was simple, yet it weighed more than the heavy watch I slipped onto my wrist right then. Alex didn’t assume that I would join, but his offer was genuine, as was his belief that being a consort was an honor and a privilege. The last bit of worry about the possibility of joining the club dissipated right then and there. This wasn’t about finding playthings for the rich and powerful to enjoy. Whatever happened, being a consort had just as many benefits as being a patron. Maybe even more. Alex had been very clear. In this world, I had all the power. If I didn’t like something, all I had to do was say the word.
I left the apartment excited to see where the night went, my messenger bag slung over my shoulder as I followed the driver out to the sleek black Jaguar F-Pace. “Nice car,” I said. “I was expecting a limo, you know, with your uniform and all.” I leaned forward so I could read the writing etched in cursive on the silver name tag. “Jason.”
“This is how I always dress,” Jason said. “I don’t want to forget my name.” When I blinked in surprise he cracked a smile. “Just kidding,” he said as he opened the passenger door for me.