It was my fifth week at the Hop when, one morning, Daddy turned up at my door before I woke. His knock was in my dream as one of Ma’s manfriends turned violent, beating my bedroom door down with his fist. But it wasn’t a manfriend and Ma was dead and here I was, at the most famous brothel in America, a hooker, Lady.
I woke up nauseated. I remember that. The overwhelming wave that surges, the dry mouth, tickle in the back of the throat. I thought it was because of the dream, memories resurfacing in the form of sickness. I chugged a glass of water and opened the door. Rabbit ran past me and jumped on the foot of my bed, curled up, and fell asleep.
Daddy looked me up and down, the way he did, and he said, “Morning, sleepyhead.” He gave me a cup of coffee, black, and said, “Didn’t know how you took it. Cream, sugar, I played it safe.”
“Just like this is fine,” I said. But what I was thinking was that he looked handsome, so handsome with his hair ruffled with sleep, and that he, this handsome man, was bringing me coffee. Coffee in the morning, like a real couple, like two people in love. I said, “Come in?”
“No, no, I’m just doing the rounds,” he said. “But I wanted to offer you an opportunity.”
“An opportunity?”
“I can’t remember a new Bunny landing as many guests in her first month as you did. Not in a long time.”
“Since Willa,” I said. “Mia said I broke Willa’s record.”
Daddy smiled a tight smile and said, “You did such a good job with Dave. Man’s been coming here for years and hasn’t ever rebooked with the same girl. He likes to play the field, the dog.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I liked him.”
Daddy laughed. “Sure you did,” he said. “I’ve got a VIP coming in later this week and he wants to skip the lineup for privacy’s sake, just wants a one-on-one, and he asked me to pick the girl.”
“And you’re picking me?”
“I believe in rewarding good behavior.”
Good behavior. Like I was a kid getting stickers for doing my chores.
He said, “You rebooked on your first sale. Not every girl can do that. You keep this up and you’ll be one of the top Bunnies in no time. Maybe you’ll even be Bunny of the Year. Keep it up, Lady, and I’ll see what I can do for you.”
“Do they pay more?” I said. “VIPs?”
“They pay whatever you tell them to pay, Lady. You’re your own boss.”
“Except you’re my boss.”
“Exactly,” he said. “Now, I’ll need you to sign a nondisclosure, okay? To keep you safe.”
“To keep me safe or to keep me a secret?”
“They’re one and the same, aren’t they?”
I shrugged and Daddy headed for the door. “You’re doing good, Lady,” he said.
“I like it here,” I told him, and it was the truth. I did.
He ran a hand down my doorframe. I thought about kissing him.
“Maybe you should think about decorating some,” he said. “It looks like you just moved in.”
“I did just move in.”
“Why don’t you head to the store for some cushions? You could order them online? Amazon brings packages right to your door, you know? Delivers in two days.”
“Do you work for them?”
He laughed. “You’re funny, Lady. Why don’t you get some cushions? Make your guests feel more at home.”
“Daddy,” I said. “Who’s Willa?”
Daddy frowned.
“People keep saying I’m your new Willa. Who is she? Who was she?”
“You’ve got to stop worrying about so many things, Lady,” is what Daddy said. “You’re going to stress that pretty head of yours.” He kissed me on the forehead gently, and I felt smaller than myself. The lights went out—a reset, but Daddy held me close. “Let me take care of you, okay?” To be taken care of. Has anyone ever wanted anything but that?
I’m not sure that I was in love, but I was something. Enamored, maybe.
“I’ll take care of you, okay?” Daddy said. “Come on, Rabbit.” He whistled and the dog jumped off my bed and followed him away, toward his office.
When he left, the nausea returned. I ran to the bathroom and threw up once, twice.
A woman throwing up in a movie always meant pregnancy, but I’d been taking my birth control like clockwork, every morning, 8:00 a.m., I had an alarm and everything. A virus. I decided it was a virus. I checked my stomach in the mirror and it was flat as a board. A virus. I ran a search for Willa and the Hop, but the only results that came back were Willa Jordan interviews and film trailers. Willa Jordan was a famous movie star. She was not a hooker and she was not, I was certain, the Willa everyone kept comparing me to.
It sounds stupid now, I know that. But if someone tells you that you look like Cindy, you don’t assume Crawford.