Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
I knew I would do it, though. I waited to tap ‘Schedule My Photoshoot’ until the only passengers on the bus were a middle-aged manager type and me. The rest of the young women, as well as the men, had gotten off in East LA. I had stayed in my seat, thinking I should get up and get off but somehow glued there.
The bus pulled out. I tapped the link.
Six timeslots available tomorrow in your apartment complex!
The photographer rang the doorbell of my gorgeous new apartment at exactly 10:00 the next morning. The screen built into my new nightstand flashed, and the apartment’s artificial feminine voice said, “Visitor at the door. Selecta-certified photographer Mary Smith.”
I still didn’t know my way around, and I bumped into the back of the couch as I stumbled from under the covers straight toward the front door. I had a small bedroom with a surprisingly big bed, and a slightly larger living room. The kitchen and dining area had a table for two, off to the left as I found my way in the darkness; the blackout curtains, I couldn’t help noticing, blocked out the light completely.
To help me sleep? I wondered. More likely for complete privacy. One thing I’d learned on the forums was that sponsors generally preferred to take SA girls back to their subsidized apartments for those more intimate moments. It felt a bit invasive, but it undoubtedly represented the reason I had such a nice apartment.
For the convenience of my sponsor, I thought a little sourly as I made my way almost blindly toward the front door.
Indeed, ‘for the convenience of your sponsor’ seemed to be a phrase that popped up a lot in the SA app’s instructions and advice concerning my new life.
For the convenience of your sponsor, it’s a good idea to keep your calendar free in the evenings.
For the convenience of your sponsor, when you accept his allowance offer, the controls of your apartment will be put at his disposal.
Neither of those sent the anxiety crawling in my belly, though, the way the one I saw in the ‘Dating Do’s and Don’ts’ section did.
For the convenience of your sponsor, we suggest wearing skirts and dresses on your dates, rather than pants.
I put my hands out to steady myself on the couch and turn toward where I remembered the front door being. The feeling of the high-end upholstery under my fingers reminded me of my new home’s opulence, despite its size: the way the door had opened automatically to my touch as it sensed the information from the SA app on my phone; the stunningly high-end design that had greeted my eyes when I had walked in late the previous night; the fridge fully stocked with prepared food.
“Lights,” I said, after fumbling at the wall for a switch and remembering that it didn’t exist. The recessed lighting around me blazed to life.
The artificial voice said, “The lights command will turn the lights in your immediate vicinity on or off. You may also turn specific rooms’ lights on or off by name. Would you like to try that now?”
“No,” I croaked, realizing for the first time that I had on only my sleeping t-shirt and a pair of gray cotton panties. I had reached the door: the small screen right next to it had a video feed from the hallway, where I saw a middle-aged woman in khaki shorts and a white polo shirt. She had a camera bag slung over her shoulder.
I frowned, my heart suddenly racing as my mind woke up enough to remember the details of this appointment. I reached my finger out toward the Talk button under the screen, then hesitated, trying to figure out what sort of attitude to take. The photographer, Selecta had made very clear, worked for them. Remembering Mrs. Covenant in Harristown and how badly she had fucked up my life simply for not answering the door, I resolved to show as much eagerness as I could—to become a good SA associate member, to take advantage of the privilege of platinum level, to do whatever it took to make this work.
Did I actually feel that way? Of course not. If I meant to game the system, though, and get as much subsidy as I could, I would have to start here, with the Selecta photographer, despite the embarrassment involved.
I pushed the Talk button.
“Hi!” I said. “I’m really sorry… I just woke up. Can you—”
The photographer interrupted me, her voice gruff.
“Leah Rundin?” she asked.
“Yes?” I replied in the most pleasant voice I could muster. I tried hard to keep down my reflexive rudeness, to match this Mary Smith’s own lack of manners.
“Leah, sweetie,” the photographer said, looking straight into the camera, “I have a busy day. Go ahead and let me in, please.”
The please sounded like an afterthought.