Be My Babygirl

Would they notice one more, slightly shorter and curvier, girl in their midst?

My growling stomach spurs me on. I’ll just slip in, grab a bite to eat, and absorb some of this sexy energy they are oozing.

I slide behind a woman with ice blonde hair down to her waist, her hourglass figure wrapped in a shimmery gold dress, and I grab a plate. There’s shrimp, thin slices of braised beef, green beans with slivered almonds. I take a few bits of everything that looks good to me, carrying my heavy plate in my hands.

I look around at the tables dotting the room and lose my nerve to stay. I’ll just sneak back to the slots with my free dinner. This is free, right? Not exactly stealing. As I make my way to the back of the room, a smooth arm covered in jangling bracelets grabs my elbow.

Busted.

Shame covers me like a blanket as I prepare to explain myself. I look up to find a woman so beautiful, my jaw hangs agape. Her mocha skin is shimmering with a fine dusting of gold glitter. “Don’t leave, silly. The conference is just getting started. You can eat with us.” She flashes me a perfect, pearly white smile, tugging me over to a round table.

The seats are already full of exotic, gorgeous women. I take the only open one, sliding in next to my new friend. “Thank you,” I say, popping a piece of bread into my mouth.

She holds her hand out to me. “My name is Sasha.”

I chew as fast as I can so I can answer. Shaking her hand, I say, “Pleasure to meet you. Katie.”

“Katie? That’s cute. You have a fresh face; there’s something so innocent about you. I can see why the agency hired you.”

Agency? Uh oh.

I smile, popping a larger piece of bread in my mouth. It’s delicious and I don’t care what agency I have to pretend to be a part of to finish this meal. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Don’t you think for a second that I can’t remember my first conference and how it felt to be the new girl. Now I come every year and I always keep my eyes out for a newbie. Can you believe I’ve been an escort for five years?”

Escort? The bread lodges in my throat and to my humiliation, a hacking cough ensues.

Concern etches in Sasha’s face and she calls for a waiter to bring me water. He hurries over with a glass and I wash down the bread. “Thanks again. You’re a lifesaver.”

“It’s okay to be nervous. Don’t worry, they’ll go over all the rules and ins and outs of the business. You’ll be much more relaxed once you know what to expect.” A clipboard is being passed around the table. Sasha points at it with a long, hot pink fingernail. “And don’t forget to fill that out. You need to be registered, or this is all just a waste of time.”

A black-haired beauty in a blue dress smiles at me, passing me the clipboard. Should I fill it out, or just make an excuse and get up and leave, sprinting from the room? While I’m deciding, I take another bite of the beef. It melts in my mouth, nourishing my very soul. I’ve been living off cups of noodles for weeks and my body demands that I stay at least long enough to finish this meal.

It’s pretty basic stuff, really. Name, email address. Like signing up for the grocery store discount card. I fill out the information sheet on the clipboard. Sasha peers over my shoulder with the diligence of a mother hen and under her watchful eye, I find myself putting my real name, address, and phone number on the sheet.

I figure, no big deal, I’ll never see this place again, and I take another bite from my plate.

The girls around me talk, idle chatter flows as I devour my food. They take dainty bites, moving morsels about their plates with the prongs of their forks.

A woman who looks to be in her early thirties with perfectly coiffed ice blonde hair and five-inch stilettos glides across the stage in a crimson red dress. It’s perfectly cut to encase her curves, made of what looks to be a fine silk, the material slipping and sliding over her skin as she moves.

Making my own red dress suddenly feel like a burlap sack.

“Welcome, Empowered Women of Vegas.” She raises her hands in the air and a cheer rises in the room to meet them. “I’m Miranda, founder of Sugar Daddies Escort Service and sole company owner for over ten years running.”

Sasha leans over, whispering into my ear. “She’s a legend. Can you believe she came in person to address us?” Light shines from Sasha’s eyes as she gazes on Miranda, clearly a heroine of hers.