THE WIDOWED CEO’S PROSTITUTE

CHAPTER 2

Anne Moore

I arrived in New York after hours of travel. I’m very tired, but I can’t rest yet. The location of the interview is close to Central Park, and I want to get there early. If necessary, I’ll be waiting at the door at dawn.

I can’t afford to miss this job opportunity. I believe that, being far from my parents, I’ll be able to get back on my feet. After all, I’ve completed high school and started college. I’m sure I’ll find a job quickly—or at least that’s what I hope.

As soon as I leave the airport, I immediately feel the cold. It’s winter, and my clothes aren’t appropriate for this time of year, but I’ll have to make do with what I have until I can get a job and buy new clothes. I can’t believe I’m in this situation. I had everything, and now I have nothing, all because I broke a family rule. Damn it!

When I think back to that night, it makes me furious. I’m so hurt and upset by everything that happened. I never expected to be treated that way by Joseph, let alone be humiliated at college.

Just remembering how my parents treated me makes me want to cry, but I don’t have time to feel sorry for myself. I need to take charge of my life and learn to fend for myself. Unfortunately, I don’t know how to do much of anything. Everything used to be done by my parents’ staff. My only responsibility was to study. Now I need to work, and I hope someone will give me a chance, even though I’m inexperienced.

I check my phone for the restaurant’s address and see that it’s not too far. I get on a bus recommended by Google, and soon I’m standing in front of the place.

I notice that it’s still closed, so I stand by the door. I look around at the city of New York—it’s truly beautiful. At this time of year, many people make snowmen and go ice skating. The trees are decorated with Christmas ornaments. It’s lovely to see.

Here in the United States, the Christmas season lasts from December to March, and we’re only a few days away from Christmas. I believe there will be a big celebration, like in many other cities. American families are very close-knit, and that’s just part of their culture. My family used to be like that too, as long as everyone followed the rules passed down from generation to generation.

I was here in New York many years ago with my parents, and I remember having a lot of fun as a child—memories that will never return.

My stomach grumbles from hunger, but I think about the little money I have. How will I buy food? Are hotels very expensive here? And what if I run out of money? I feel like my situation is getting worse, and desperation hits me at times, but I hold it in.

Be strong, Anne Moore—you can do this.

I’ve always been positive, believing that good and bad things happen to everyone, we just need to know how to handle them.

It’s now past 8:00 a.m., and I thought the restaurant would be open by now, but I stayed put with my small bag containing all my clothes—actually just four pieces. Once I land the job, I’ll buy more clothes with my first paycheck.

I saw a woman, about 50 years old, get out of an imported car. She looks rather unfriendly. She stops in front of the restaurant door and unlocks it. I notice she doesn’t even acknowledge my presence. I think about speaking to her, but she just walks in and shuts the door behind her.

A few minutes later, other people arrive and enter the place. Soon, the restaurant opened, and I walked in.

As soon as I step inside, the employees start staring at me, as does the woman I saw earlier.

I felt embarrassed, but I needed the job, so I walked up to the counter. A guy looks me up and down.

"Good morning, I’m here for the job interview," I said.

He looked over at the woman, who’s now approaching us. She stops a meter away, acting as if I have some contagious disease.

"Sorry, but you don’t fit the profile we’re looking for," she said in a superior tone that leaves me stunned.

"I’ve completed high school and even got accepted into Harvard..." I started to say.

I heard laughter around the room.

"The things people do for a job," she said, smiling. "Get out of my restaurant—you don’t fit the profile." She continued as I stood there, staring. "Can’t you hear me, girl? Do I need to call the police to get people like you out of here?" she asked loudly.

I glanced around and saw all the employees watching me. I hunch my shoulders and look the woman in the eyes, despite feeling utterly embarrassed.

"— Sorry to bother you. I hope you find someone that fits your profile," I said.

I walked out of that place devastated. I didn’t have money for anything. All I had were a few dollars, and I wasn’t sure if it would even be enough for a meal.

I managed to find a low-end hotel where I could sleep for the next two days. All I did now was sleep, since I spent most of my time walking the streets of New York looking for a job. But it felt like every door was closed. I didn’t know what to do anymore. I wouldn’t have enough money to stay in that place, and my heart ached as I thought about how my life used to be. I started questioning why I had made that choice and lost everything. I hated myself for it, and a deep bitterness was growing inside me.

Eventually, the day came when I had to leave the hotel I had been staying in. I ended up living on the streets, feeling the harsh winter of New York bearing down on me. The shelters were always full, and they didn’t always have room. After waiting in line for hours to try and get in, I realized they usually prioritized women with children, which I understood was fair.

I no longer had money to buy food, so I started wandering the streets looking for scraps. A bath was a rare luxury. I truly looked like a homeless person, broken and losing hope in life.

Christmas was just a day away, and I was walking through the streets of New York with my bag in the middle of the night. It was freezing, and I noticed some streetwalkers standing on the corners. They gave me strange looks, but I kept moving. Even on the streets, I had seen some shocking things—couples fighting, drugs being used openly—things I’d never witnessed before because I was raised in a sheltered home. My parents had tried to protect me from the evils of the world, but it didn’t help in the end. I made the biggest mistake according to them, and now here I was, wandering aimlessly through New York.

A few meters ahead, I saw a woman wearing leggings, a short t-shirt, and a denim jacket. I noticed she was arguing with someone, but I didn’t understand why. She seemed a bit older than me but had a different accent, not sounding like an American citizen.

I saw the moment when the man she was with pushed her onto the sidewalk, got into his car, and drove off. I was shocked and watched as she got up, cursing furiously.

I was close to her and thought she might need help, so I approached.

"Good evening, do you need help?" I asked.

The woman had her back to me but turned around. She was stunning—black eyes, red hair, a perfect figure. I was struck by how beautiful she was.

"Do I look like I need help?" she asked rudely.

"Sorry," I replied immediately, shrinking my shoulders.

She looked at me and sighed.

"What are you doing on the street?" she asked.

I didn’t answer. I felt embarrassed and even a bit scared, given how rude she had just been.

She sighed again and gave a half-smile.

"You don’t seem like a girl made for the streets," she said, extending her hand. "My name is Valentina. I’m a prostitute, and that jerk—" she pointed in the direction the car had gone— "he was a client, and he didn’t pay me, so I’m out of luck tonight. But I believe I’ll make it up at the club where I work."

I was shocked by what she said and widened my eyes.

"Don’t look at me like that, okay? I’ve been in this life for a long time, and I don’t need your judgment," she said.

"Sorry, but you’re way too beautiful for this life," I replied.

She smiled.

"I’m sure underneath those dirty clothes, you’re beautiful too, but you’re on the streets, so I guess we’re in the same boat," she said, and I couldn’t help but agree.

I took her hand and smiled.

"My name is Anne," I said.

"Nice to meet you, Anne. Are you hungry? I live in a small place nearby. It’s not much—just a single bed—but I can offer you a place to stay for the night. It’s cold out, and I doubt I’ll find another client tonight," she said, sounding discouraged.

"If it’s not too much trouble," I said.

She smiled.

"It’s no trouble. Come on, and tomorrow is Christmas. It’ll be nice to have someone to share a meal and smile with," she said.

At that moment, I felt like I had found a true friend.

To be continued...