Roxy's Story (The Forbidden 2)

“Stuff?” she replied.

“I mean get their hair and makeup done.”

“This is a training facility. Our girls are first remade here, and then they return periodically, but those who are out in the field have their own fitness centers, salons, and favorite boutiques.”

“How long is the training?” I asked, this time more firmly.

She looked me up and down. “That depends on the candidate, of course. Suffice it to say, no one is brought here who doesn’t already have a great deal to recommend her. You have a beautiful figure, but you’re young. If you are not taught how to maintain it, it won’t service you for long.”

“Service me?”

“Everything we have, everything we do, is meant to service us, my dear. That’s something you have to realize as soon as possible. Unfortunately, most realize it too late,” she added.

I had often heard that people get to look like their pets, especially their dogs. Mrs. Pratt was not nearly as attractive as Mrs. Brittany, but she certainly took after her with her tone and attitude, especially toward me. Maybe mirroring Mrs. Brittany was the only way anyone could last working for her.

Just a few feet farther, she opened another door on the right and revealed a beautiful dining room. There were two dark maple tables, one that sat four and one that sat ten. The room looked about six feet larger than our dining room, with rich paneling and a hardwood floor. There were beautiful paintings of country scenes and lakes on the wall at my left and a full wall mirror at my right

“This is the main dining room?” I asked.

She laughed. “Hardly,” she said. “This is a classroom. Nigel Whitehouse, a famous restaurateur from London, conducts lessons in dining etiquette, appreciation of wines, and knowledge of some of the world’s most famous restaurants and recipes. When a girl leaves this room, any man she meets would think she was brought up in one of the finest royal families in Europe. The girls return periodically for updates and, shall we say, recertification.”

“My parents taught me dinner etiquette,” I said. “And I probably know as much about good wine as he does.”

She smiled. “I love it when a girl your age has such arrogance. It’s like watching a bullfight. Have you ever?”

“No.”

“You’ll learn about them. When a girl like you comes here with your attitude, it truly is like watching a bullfight. The bull is so strong and confident at the start. Slowly, the matador frustrates and frustrates it, forcing it to realize its failure and inadequacies until it practically falls on his sword.”

“That’s the first time I’ve been compared to a bull.”

“Really? No one’s called you bull-headed?”

I had to laugh. Papa had done that often. “I’m afraid someone has.”

“I understand you speak French?”

“Oui. J’ai parlé français toute ma vie. Parlez-vous français?”

“Bien sûr. That’s a big plus for you. Learning another language is always the most difficult thing for a trainee to accomplish, but Mrs. Brittany won’t put a girl into the field who doesn’t demonstrate sufficient proficiency with at least one other language. Many of our clients come from Europe, and they love it when an escort can speak their language.”

I looked at the dining room, thought about what I had been shown, and shook my head. “Learning another language?”

“Enough to fake it,” she replied, “but they continue to get lessons in the field. In a day or so,” she continued, “you’ll be shown the stables.”

“Stables?”

“Mrs. Brittany has three of the finest Arabian riding horses. Do you ride?”

“A horse?” I started to smile.

“Equestrianism is the art of horse riding. It teaches you grace and is excellent physical exercise. Many of Mrs. Brittany’s clients have private stables, and if you should be lucky enough to attract one of them, he could invite you to ride.”

“But I never . . .”

“Brendon Walsh is in charge of the stables and trains our girls. He was part of the Irish champion equestrian team.”

“Champion team, Olympic team, famous masseuse. Is anyone here just anybody?”