Code of Ethics

I pulled open the glass door to the Starbucks café, my eyes scanning the chairs for any sign of the curly-haired boy. Although I thought I’d looked carefully, it was only after he stood and waved in greeting that I realized there was no way I would have picked him out among the crowd. A baseball cap was stifling his hair, hiding the only distinctive feature about him, and he was dressed in a dark gray sweatshirt and a pair of skinny khakis.

I held up a single finger to let him know that I’d be there in a minute before going up to the counter and ordering my mocha. Once they took down my name, it only took a few minutes for my drink to make an appearance.

“Okay,” I started as I approached the table, pulling Harry’s attention away from the mobile in his hands. I planted by butt in the seat and slid my drink a little bit away from me, just to make sure that I didn’t spill it with the grand gestures I always made while speaking. “Before we start negotiating, I have a couple things I have to lay down.”

Harry’s green eyes looked captivated as he nodded. Clearly, he was willing to do anything to get a private showing.

“I want to get one thing straight right off the bat. How old are you?”

“Nineteen,” he replied. “And everyone at the party will be over eighteen.”

“None of them are going to be virgins, right? I don’t need anyone gawking at me because I’ll be the first mostly-naked woman they’ve ever seen.”

“No virgins,” he agreed. “I don’t think any of my mates are virgins, anyway.”

“Good.” For the second point, I leaned into the table, lowering my voice so neighboring tables wouldn’t overhear. “And, just so we’re clear, a private show means that I dance, and I leave. I’m a stripper, not a prostitute. If any of your friends tries to make a move on me, or offers to pay me for services beyond what I’m saying I’ll provide, we’re going to have issues. Understand?”

Harry nodded. “Completely agreed. I mean, I can’t control what crazy things my friends will say or do if they’re pissed, but I’ll try to control them.”

That didn’t sound too convincing, but I allowed it, anyway. Private parties paid well, and I definitely needed the money. A new college semester was approaching, and I needed as much money as possible to make sure I could pay for all my books. Lord knew getting into law school took a lot of books.

“Alright, so when’s the party?” I asked. Not that it really mattered. If I happened to have a shift during the time block, I could easily get one of the other girls to cover for me. The great thing about strippers was that they were always willing to work, since none of them were there for fun. They all used the money for various noble purposes, like Bethany with her three-year-old daughter.

“Two weeks from tomorrow,” Harry answered. “It’s my best mate’s twenty-second birthday, and we kind of want it to top his twenty-first.”

“So you’re hiring a stripper.” I actually found myself laughing at the scenario. “Okay, that’s fine.”

“How much do you ask for?”

I finally took a sip of my mocha, being careful not to sear my tongue, as I always managed to do. “I usually negotiate on a case by case basis. You’re pretty young, so I’d be willing to go fairly cheap for you.”

“Oh, trust me, money’s not an issue for me.” His throaty laugh was just friendly enough to avoid being condescending. There was a small pang in my stomach as I struggled to keep myself from getting offended.

I took a deep breath and nodded. “Well, we can always discuss a price after I finish my services. If you don’t pay me, I’ll just sue your ass. Clear?”

“Crystal,” he replied obediently. “Thanks, Tara.”

He used my name so casually, as if we were longtime acquaintances that had finally reunited after some long time apart. Not at all as if we were merely business partners that had just met each other.

“No need to thank me,” I responded uncomfortably, picking up my mocha, careful to keep all my fingers in my sleeve so my hand didn’t go up in flames. “It’s my job.”

The both of us rose to leave, and I shuffled around the stuff in my hands so I could seal the deal properly. But he seemed to have another idea as he moved around the table, putting his hand on my waist and leaning toward me.

I stiffened, wondering what the fuck he was doing. “Um, I have pepper spray,” I warned him in a strained voice, noticing that my chin had tucked into my neck, cringing away from whatever it was he was trying to accomplish.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably as he retracted his arm and nodded. “Point taken.”

There was an awkward silence before I pointed out, “I’m going to need the address and time of the party if you want me there.”

Without another word, he dug into his pocket and pulled out his receipt from his coffee, working to lay it flat on the table. I finally found a pen after shifting all the contents of my purse around about fifteen times, and I rested it next to his hand to allow him permission to use it.

“Thanks,” he muttered, picking up the small metal instrument and scribbling the proper information on the shiny paper. “Here you go. I, um, guess I’ll see you then.”

“You will,” I agreed. “Bye, Harry.”

“Bye, Tara.”

I didn’t look back as I hurried toward the exit, ignoring the sloshing noise my mocha made as it splashed around my cup, searching desperately for a way to escape and make its way onto the white button-down shirt I was wearing.

The London air was frigid, the air misty as usual. I was thankful that it wasn’t snowing, since I’d decided to wear heels instead of the boots I typically rocked during the winter, trying to look as professional as possible for the interview. I’d been dismissed once before as being too immature by a client, and I wanted to make sure that it never happened again.

On my way back to my flat, I passed by a series of shops, my fingers itching to go inside. I’d always been envious of the girls who could go into boutiques and drop hundreds of dollars without blinking an eye. They always looked so put-together and stylish, while I had to spend hours and hours sifting through goodwill bins to find a few decent pieces. Granted, my new job gave me a little more leeway, but they never would have hired me when I was still in high school, still a child, which is when someone’s image defined whether he or she would be accepted or not.

I let out a sigh and shook my head. One day, when I was a highly-successful, ultra-rich lawyer, I could be those girls who could drop hundred-dollar bills like they were mere pennies. I just had to work my arse off to get there first.

My mind flashed back for a second to when Harry had leaned in to kiss me on the cheek, and I felt my face fill with a violent blush, fueled by secondhand embarrassment. What the hell had he been thinking? I told him explicitly that I didn’t provide any services outside the party, and just because I was a stripper didn’t mean that I was easy, or that I’d just let him get close to me after a ten-minute conversation.

I just didn’t understand men at all. They made no sense to me, and I knew I had no prayers of figuring them out better as I got older. My mother had never been successful, and she had plenty of specimens to study during my childhood and adolescence.

Shoving the thoughts of my mother out of my mind, I took a giant gulp of my mocha, feeling it burn the surfaces from the tip of my tongue all the way down my esophagus.

Graceful.