Her Dirty Professor Series (21+)

“Thanks.” I’ve got the number pulled up on my phone and by the time I’m finished dialing I’m already taking the elevator down to the lobby.

“MISS, CAN I HELP YOU…?” The maitre d’ looks serious, but his voice sounds distant as I walk into the restaurant.

I have tunnel vision as my eyes focus like a spotlight just got thrown on and is illuminating a single table with four people seated and one standing. Two women. Three men.

All but one of them I recognize.

And I cannot believe what I’m seeing.

This is a million times worse than what I imagined. A bazillion times worse. How could I be taken in so easily? Was this just an elaborate setup? How would they have known where I’d run that night? How would Vito have put himself in a position to ‘save’ me?

I swallow hard, trying to keep from being sick.

Nadine is one of the two women at the table. And from what I’m seeing, she’s fully involved in whatever it is that they’re doing. To her right is a woman I don’t recognize. She’s pretty and very young. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s barely able to legally drink the glass of wine in her hand. She’s laughing and smiling and leaning in close to Salvatore.

I’m suddenly freezing cold, and there’s a buzzing in my ears. Standing off to his right, I see the man from the pool at Vito’s. And then there’s the last person at the table.

Vito.

Nadine leans in, talking to Salvatore, and from what I see, they all seem pretty damn friendly.

“Miss, do you have a reservation? If you’re not eating, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

I turn and stare at the waiter, who looks embarrassed to be confronting me. Then I see a flash of recognition in his eyes and his manner softens. He’s the same waiter that tended to our table all night last night.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize it was you, miss. Nobody told me you would be coming. Please, can I get you anything while you wait? Would you like me to tell Mr. Vitaglia that you’ve arrived?”

I shake my head. “No. Please. Don’t tell anyone that I’m here.”

The waiter glances over at the table, then back at me as I take a step back behind the corner of the wall out of sight of the others. “Mr. Vitaglia might not be happy if I don’t tell him you’re here…”

“Please…” It’s clear that appealing to his compassion isn’t going to work, so I change tactics. “I want to freshen up before he knows I’m here.” Forcing a smile onto my face feels like the most difficult thing I’ve ever done, but it works.

“Okay… Of course. The bathroom is-”

“I know. Thank you.” With my heart pounding, I flee in the direction of the bathroom, feeling queasy, and my head doesn’t feel attached to my shoulders.

Inside, I run for the nearest stall and lock the door behind me, sitting on top of the seat and burying my face in my hands. Desperate for help, I take out my phone and dial my mom’s number. Sometimes you just need your mom, but there’s no answer.

I have no idea what I’m going to do. I’m trapped here in the bathroom, and if I don’t come out in the next ten minutes, that waiter is going to tell Vito I’m here for sure. The dress I’m wearing, the shoes, they’re Vito’s. He bought and paid for me, just like Salvatore planned to do. I’m being groomed.

Then I hear the squeal of the bathroom door hinge and soft giggling, then voices.

“So, you and Sal, huh? The job turned into something more.” Nadine’s voice hints at pride. “You owe me, you know?”

The other woman answers. “I know. I was scared at first, but turns out escorting isn’t so bad. The money is great, and now that Sal and I are together, who knows. Maybe he’ll retire me, and I’ll be a kept woman.”

Nadine chuckles. “I wouldn’t mind being Vito’s kept woman. Fuck, he’s hot. If things go the way I want, he won’t be leaving here alone. I’m hoping I can at least offer him a little taste. Maybe get on my hands and knees under the table for a little pre-show.” They both giggle some more, then the first woman’s voice comes through again.

“Honestly, I’m happier with Salvatore. He’s talked about Vito. Says he has no soul-a sociopath sort of. Sal says you brought him a girl from work. That was ballsy, an intern for the DA… you didn’t think she would go running back and blow things up for you? The five grand you get for each recruit wouldn’t pay for your attorney fees.”

“Sal would pay. Besides, she’s like a scared little mouse. The DA would believe me. I’d just say I had no idea what she was talking about and why was she meeting with a known crime boss at his place of business at night. I’d spin it just fine. It’s what I do.”

My throat is closing. It feels like there’s a black hole where my heart should be sucking all the light out of me.

All I can think to do is run. I pull the door open, slamming it into the stall wall, putting my head down in a sprint for the exit. Adding insult to injury, I twist my ankle, falling into the wall on the ridiculous high heels just this morning I thought were so glamorous.

With a sharp pain in my ankle, I push through the door and out into the restaurant. The waiter sees me and steps my way, his arm outstretched, ready to usher me to the table, but I push past toward the nearest door, which turns out to be the kitchen.

Everything seems to be spinning as I stumble, nearly falling flat on my face as a heel breaks. I kick the shoe off, then the other, and dart for the back door, tumbling out into the restaurant parking lot struggling to breathe.

I dart my eyes around, trying to figure out what to do, then hear my phone ringing in my brand-new Gucci handbag-another “gift” from Vito. When I fish it out, I see my mom’s number, and despite the fact that I want to run away and never look back, I try to calm myself because I need a friendly voice right now.

“Hi, Mom.” My racing heart thunders in my ears as I press myself against the back wall of the restaurant and slide over toward the street.

Only my mom is crying.

“Esme, it’s all gone. There’s no money left, and I now have a final foreclosure notice on the house. I’m so sorry, baby, we tried.” Her voice cracks, and it’s hard to make out what’s she’s saying. “I have a week to come up with the house payments and late charges. If not, the sheriff will come and remove me and our belongings. Your father doesn’t know, it would kill him. He was thinking he was coming home soon.”

“Mom, calm down, we’ll figure it out.” For a moment, my problems seem less important. I knew things weren’t good; I knew they had debts, but not this. Not losing the house in a week. “You should have told me sooner,” I say, fighting back tears. “But it’s just money. We’ll figure it out.”

“Oh, Esme, I’m sorry, I saw you called, and I just got the final notice… I think I was just pretending it wouldn’t happen. There would be some miracle. You say it’s going to be all right, but it’s not. I don’t have this kind of money.”

“How much do you need to save the house?”

“Too much.” She chokes out a laugh, and I can hear that it’s mixed with a sob.

“How much?”

“To save the house, we need to buy it back from the county at this point. It’s gone into foreclosure sale. We had four months to buy it back, but time is up. It’s two hundred and eighty thousand dollars. That’s the minimum payment. With all the medical debt and other past-due bills, I don’t know. It’s probably around seven hundred thousand by now. With no insurance, it could be a million by the end of the year. We are in a hole we can’t crawl out of, and it just keeps getting deeper. Besides that, now that there’s no insurance money, they are going to move your father out to a Medicaid-run home. He won’t get any of the therapy, he’ll just sit there. He’ll never get better.”

“We’ll figure it out, Mom. Please, don’t cry.”Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

“It’s so much money, there’s no way. I’m going to claim bankruptcy, but it’s too late to save the house.”

“Just… don’t worry about that. Mom, I have to go. I’ll call you back. Just don’t give up.”

“I love you, baby. I’m so sorry.”

“I love you, too, Mom.”

I end the call, and my heart is in my throat. I’m an unpaid intern living on the savings from a waitressing job. How can I possibly find that kind of money?

I choke back the tears, trying to focus on what I need to do right now-which is to get as far away from Vito Vitaglia as possible.

As I start dialing the number for A2B Taxis, I look over and notice a guy sitting in an open-top sports car just at the corner of the restaurant parking lot where I’m standing, staring at me.

When he climbs out and starts to wander my way, I figure he’s going to ask me for a light or why I’m standing behind the restaurant with no shoes on, but instead, he meets my eyes and pulls his lips to one side looking concerned.

“You okay?” he starts as I swipe away the tears running down my cheeks. Before I can answer, he adds, “Hey, I know you.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”