I’m not quite sure how I feel about going to the house of the man who saw me at my weakest and insulted my cupcakes and costume, but I’ll worry about that later. The most important thing right now is that we’ve just been given a golden opportunity, and I’m not about to let it pass us by because I’m offended and a tad bit embarrassed.
“We’re supposed to show up at a party filled with a bunch of sticky, whiny, foot-stomping little girls and what? Wave our magic wand over them to get them to stop being assholes? No thanks. I’ll pass,” Ariel complains.
“It pays three thousand dollars, if that’s any help with your decision,” John yells over to us.
“Holy shit,” Ariel mutters.
“That’s a thousand dollars apiece,” I whisper, thinking about how many bills I could pay and groceries I could buy with that kind of money for just a few hours of work.
“Dealing with a bunch of little brats for a grand? Do you have any idea how many blow jobs we’d need to perform to make that kind of money?” Ariel asks.
“The average prostitute charges $20 for oral pleasure, so we would need to perform fifty a piece to make that kind of money,” Isabelle quickly pipes up.
Ariel and I both look at her with astonished looks on our faces, and her cheeks immediately redden.
“I read a very fascinating book a few months ago about the life of an American street hooker,” she tells us softly.
Shaking my head to clear my thoughts from the idea that Isabelle seems to get all of her knowledge, including anything sex-related, from books instead of real-life experiences, I look back and forth between them.
“So, what do you ladies say? Is everyone okay with putting these costumes back on for a few more hours this weekend and being lovely, well-mannered, perfect princesses for a little girl’s birthday party?” I ask.
I don’t really like the idea of having to interact with that uncouth man again, but maybe he’ll be on his best behavior considering the party will be in his home, and he’ll be the host. A host of a party should always be polite and gracious.
“Well, slap my ass and call me Fuck Truck, I’m in,” Ariel announces, throwing her arm into the center of our little circle. Isabelle and I each place a hand on top of hers, agreeing to this with a three-way handshake.
“We might need to work on the well-mannered thing before this weekend,” I say with a sigh.
Ariel punches me in the arm, and I let out a loud yelp.
“Your stick is showing again, asshole,” she curses at me before turning around and walking over to John to give him the good news.
Chapter 5: Take It Off!
“Did you know Snow White wasn’t the first princess to be in an animated film? It was actually Persephone, the main character of a 1937 Silly Symphony short that served as a test run for Snow White.” Isabella speaks up from the backseat, leaning forward to rest her hands on the armrest between Ariel and me.
The excitement in her voice is contagious, and I can’t help but turn around in my seat and give her a smile as Ariel turns her car onto the street where the party is. As soon as we agreed to do this for John, he immediately sent me a text with the address for the party. It was an easy fifteen-minute drive out of town.
“Pipe down there, Encyclopedia Britannica, and get a load of these houses,” Ariel says with a low whistle as we pull up to the curb in front of John’s friend’s house, since the driveway is already packed with cars.
“It looks like a castle,” Isabelle whispers as Ariel puts her car in park and we all lean to the right to look out the side windows and get a better look.
It’s a two-story colonial with white siding and black shutters, complete with an actual turret on the front left corner that comes to a peak high above the roof.
“Did you know Snow White was the youngest princess at the age of fourteen and Mulan was the oldest at sixteen? This looks like a house they’d live happily ever after in with their princes. It’s all so romantic,” Isabelle states with a dreamy sigh.
“Fourteen? Jesus, no wonder we, as a gender, are so fucked up. It’s been stuffed down our throats since we were born that it’s completely normal to find the man of your dreams when you’re a child, and you’re pretty much a freak of nature and an old maid if you haven’t found him by the time you’re seventeen,” Ariel complains as she unbuckles her seatbelt. Isabelle and I follow suit, all of us getting out of the car and making our way up the walk to the front porch.
“Be nice. She did her research on princesses just like I told you to do, to prepare for this party,” I remind Ariel.
“I prepared plenty. I put on my T-shirt that says FUCK BEING A PRINCESS, I WANT TO BE A VAMPIRE, drank my weight in vodka, and made a list of all the different ways I could kill my ex and make it look like an accident.”
I shake my head at her as we pause in front of the door.
“How is that in any way romantic or princessy?” I ask as Ariel reaches out and rings the doorbell.
“I didn’t actually kill him and make it look like an accident, now did I?”
Before I can admonish her again and remind her that she needs to be the best princess she can be so we can impress everyone inside this house and possibly get hired to do more parties, the door flies open. I realize I’m standing so close to the doorway that my nose is only an inch away from someone’s chest.
Someone’s very muscular chest going by the gray, fitted, long-sleeved T-shirt he’s wearing. My head moves up and my eyes meet that same pair of striking bright-blue eyes that had me momentarily forgetting he was insulting me at the Halloween party. They look down at me in confusion.
“Son of a bitch. Are you kidding me?” the man mutters, his deep, gravelly voice making butterflies flap in my stomach, even though he doesn’t seem to be too pleased that we’re standing here.
Even with his rudeness, failure to welcome us, or even hold the door open so we can enter, I can’t stop staring at him.
Clearing my throat, I hold out my hand and smile, since Ariel and Isabelle seem to be in the same lust-filled daze as myself, both of them standing stock-still next to me with their mouths open, staring at the man in the doorway. It’s not like they haven’t seen him before, but clearly being in such close proximity to him again has turned them mute. And since he made me forget my own manners the night of the party, I figure now is a good time to be polite, since we’ve been invited to his home.
“We never got a chance to exchange names. My name is Cynthia, this is Ariel, and Isabelle, and we’re your entertainment for the birthday party!” I chirp brightly, wishing my voice wasn’t so high-pitched and nervous.
“JOHN! GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE!” the man bellows over his shoulder, his eyes still staring daggers into mine as I slowly lower my outstretched hand.
“You know, it’s awfully rude not to shake someone’s hand when they offer it,” I inform him, which earns me a punch in the arm from Ariel, who finally decided to stop being catatonic.
“Stick. Ass,” she mutters.
“I don’t care. He’s being rude,” I tell her in a low voice, narrowing my eyes at the man before addressing him again in my normal voice. “You’re being rude.”
He opens his mouth to say something, probably another undignified shout, when John comes running around the corner and stops in the doorway.
“Thank God you’re here! It’s getting crazy in there,” John tells me before giving the man next to him a pat on the back. “I see you’ve already met my friend, PJ, I told you about. Now the party can really start!”
John throws his arms up in the air with a cheer, a bottle of beer I didn’t even notice clutched in one of his hands splashing out onto him and the floor as he turns and heads back inside, screaming at the top of his lungs that the entertainment is here.
A loud chorus of shouts and whistles comes from another room as PJ lets out a long-suffering sigh and finally moves back from the doorway and gestures with his arm for us to enter.
“They’re serving be
er at a children’s party?” I whisper to Ariel as we move inside the house and stand in the foyer while PJ closes the door behind us. “That doesn’t seem very appropriate.”
Ariel shrugs as PJ moves around us and heads down the hall in the direction John disappeared. As we follow quietly behind him, the noise gets louder and louder. I take the opportunity to glance at this man’s home, more than a little surprised that there aren’t empty beer cans littering every surface and take-out containers on the floor, considering he’s behaving like a Neanderthal. The walls are painted a light gray, much like the shirt he’s wearing, with black wood accents around each doorway we pass, our heels clicking against the black hardwood floor as we walk. The hallway walls are decorated with random pieces of black-framed artwork that pop with color, giving the home a beautiful, modern feel.
“I don’t care if they’re handing out meth at this kid’s party, it will be worth it just to stare at that guy’s ass all night,” Ariel mumbles under her breath, making it impossible for me to do anything else but follow her line of sight, right to PJ’s . . . asset, which is currently being hugged quite nicely by a pair of worn jeans that ride low on his hips, just like at the Halloween party the other night.
PJ suddenly stops and turns around to face us, and my cheeks immediately warm with embarrassment when he catches me staring at his behind and smirks at me.
“Go on in, ladies,” he says with a nod of his head toward a room next to him.
Ariel and Isabelle immediately move past him and into the room, where the cheering and yelling reaches a level so deafening as soon as they walk in that I’m surprised the neighbors haven’t called the police, I wonder why I haven’t seen children racing by. The only noises I’ve heard are from what sounds like a bunch of overenthusiastic adults. PJ wraps his hand around my arm when I start to walk by him, pulling me to a stop.
“I can’t believe you guys are dressed like goddamn princesses,” he says with a shake of his head, the warmth from his hand on my arm disappearing as he drops it and crosses his arms over his impressive chest.
“Of course we are. It’s a princess party,” I reply indignantly with a lift of my chin. “What exactly does PJ stand for?”
Bringing one hand up, I smooth back my blond hair, which I wore in a beautiful French twist with a sparkling tiara, wanting to make sure I look the part as well as possible, since this is a paying job and not just some street party with neighbors.
“PJ stands for PJ. I mean I can’t believe you’re wearing actual princess costumes from a Halloween shop, the same ones you wore to that boring-as-fuck party. All satin and lace and virginal. This wasn’t my idea, and I’m pissed at John for taking it upon himself to hire you three. But at least put some effort into it and show some tits,” he grumbles, staring at my chest, which is completely covered by satin and lace.
I forget all about how nicely he fills out his jeans and the T-shirt he’s wearing and gasp in disgusted horror.
“Are you some kind of pervert?! This is a children’s party!” I shout, quickly shoving past him and into the room to grab my friends and get the heck out of here.
A loud chorus of screams and whistles pierces my ears as soon as I enter the room, my feet coming to an abrupt halt and my eyes widening in shock when I see what’s before me.
One man is lying on the back of the couch while another man holds some kind of funnel over his head and a tube in his mouth, dumping a bottle of beer into the contraption. Three other men are cheering them on. A man to the left of me gives me a wink and then belches loudly, followed by a small dry heave that he covers with his fist pressed against his mouth. Over in the far corner, another gentleman is currently bent over a ficus tree, throwing up into the base of it. I finally spot my friends over by a large stone fireplace. They’re standing in front of at least twenty men who are catcalling and tossing dollar bills at them while Ariel curses at them and Isabelle burrows her face into Ariel’s shoulder, refusing to look.
“They’re definitely acting like children, but I assure you, they’re all legal,” PJ says softly, making me jump in surprise when I feel his warm breath against the side of my neck as he bends down and speaks close to my ear.
Without turning around to face him, I march over to the fireplace, pushing my way through the drunk and disorderly men until I get to Ariel.
“I don’t think this is a children’s princess party!” I shout over the noise of the rambunctious men as a shower of dollar bills land at my feet. One of the men yells “TAKE IT OFF!”
“Gee, you think?!” Ariel yells back. “Some guy just unzipped his pants and pulled his dick out!”
Isabelle whimpers, shoving her face harder into Ariel’s arm.
“What did you do?!”
“What do you think I did? I looked at it. It was a pretty good dick. Nice length, excellent girth. I give it an 8.5 on the dick scale,” she says with a shrug. “He lost a point and a half for calling his dick Sanford and informing me that Sanford spits when he’s excited. Like I haven’t heard that one before. Lame.”
I move to Ariel’s other side, and she wraps her free arm around me protectively as the men keep cheering and begging us to start removing our dresses.
“Did you know seven out of ten men name their penis and testicles and often talk to them, urge them on, and flatter them?” Isabelle tells us, finally pulling her head away from Ariel’s arm to look at us.
“What do we do?” I ask Ariel nervously, smiling and waving at the men.
“Stop giving them a fucking princess wave for starters!” Ariel screams, dropping her arm from around me to smack my still-waving hand.
I don’t know why I still feel the need to remain in character when our plans for this evening have been turned upside down. This costume just naturally transforms me into a walking, talking princess. One who smiles and waves politely even while drunk men are throwing money at us and puking in potted plants.
“Here, do something with these!” John says, coming toward us with a bucket full of long, blown-up balloons in varying colors, setting the bucket down at our feet with a smile.
“Ooooooh, balloon animals!” Isabelle says excitedly, reaching down and grabbing a red balloon.
“I read a book about balloon animals to prepare myself for this party just in case,” she informs us before giving John a huge smile. “I can do a dog, a snake, a monkey, or a fish. Which one would you like?”
John looks at her in confusion.
“You’re supposed to swallow them. I mean, that’s what the stripper did at our last party. It was awesome! Shoved the whole damn thing down her throat and didn’t even gag,” he says proudly.
The balloon in Isabelle’s hands suddenly explodes with a loud pop when she squeezes it too hard, the broken and deflated rubber falling from her hands and onto the floor.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I mutter.
“Tiffany didn’t puke. She took that thing down like a champ,” John informs us before turning away and starting up a chant with the group of men still standing in front of us with money in their hands, waiting for us to do something.
“TAKE IT OFF! TAKE IT OFF! TAKE IT OFF!”
“What do we do?!” I ask Ariel frantically.
“We have two choices. Start taking shit off, or run like hell.”
I think about the three thousand dollars that is waiting for us at the end of this night. I think about the overdue bills stacked up on my counter. I think about the three new voicemails I received from my in-laws today, each one angrier and more demanding than the ones before. I think about how it’s time for me to take a stand and do something about the sorry state of my life.
Glancing around the room at the all the men, my eyes meet the gorgeous blue ones attached to the rude owner of this house. He’s still in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with his hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans and a bored look on his face. I suddenly want nothing more than to watch his eyes light up with something other than ru
deness and irritation. Like maybe shock that this princess isn’t as virginal as he thinks.
And then I think about the fact that the only man who has ever seen me naked is Brian.
Lifting my chin in the air, I smile at the men standing in front of us, their cheers growing louder and louder. I grab both Ariel and Isabelle’s hands, which just makes them even more excited.
Clutching my friends tightly, knowing it’s now or never, I open my mouth and scream at the top of my lungs.
“RUUUUUUUUUUN!”
Chapter 6: It’s Time to Get My Hands Dirty
“We look like we went through a princess war zone,” I complain, crossing my legs on the love seat and doing my best to smooth out the wrinkled, torn mess of my costume.
“No, we look like princess gang-bang survivors,” Ariel complains, flopping onto her back on the sofa across from me in the sitting room, holding her hand against her chest when the ripped bodice of her slinky mermaid costume starts to fall off.
To say that running and screaming out of PJ’s house was not the wisest decision around a bunch of inebriated men who had anticipated watching strippers perform is an understatement. They assumed it was part of our “act.” But after we dodged several grabby hands, which resulted in Ariel kicking one of the men between the legs, they quickly realized we weren’t acting and wanted out.
“Do you always have to be so crass?” I complain, sighing in annoyance when the ripped sleeve of my costume keeps falling down my arm.
“Do you always have to be so un-crass?” she complains, pushing herself up from the love seat with one hand while she continues to hold the top of her dress together with the other. “Say something offensive. Right now.”