FEATURED POST: Everything Comes At A Cost

I once tried my luck at fictional writing. Boy oh boy, didn't I rack my brain that day. I came up with a decent story, so I think. Okay, it was fairly decent. I must say, I got a few good reviews but I don't think it's something I'll do too often. Anyway, today I'll share with you a really good post I read. I thought to myself it was to good to read and not share. So brace yourselves for the writings of Chipo B.

Before we get into that, I want to say this is an awesome story. If you want to read more of her work, you can check her blog THE CHRONICLES OF EVERY WOMAN; http://chroniclesofeverywoman.wordpress.com/.

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 Everything Comes At A Cost

The shopping bags hit the floor the moment Cynthia entered the door.

She kicked off her Jimmy Choo’s and sighed with relief as she felt the blood rush back to her toes.

“Beauty knows no pain, my foot!” she grumbled as she bent over to pick up the load of shopping bags. She paid no mind to the weight of the load as she semi-limped to her bedroom. She threw the bags onto her bed and fell next to them. She felt her body cry out in delight as she hit the plush, silk covers that covered her king-size bed. She sighed as she allowed her body to rest. Shopping was no menial activity. She shook her head. It was work – hard work. She willed herself to get up before she dozed off – she couldn’t afford to fall asleep. She entered her bathroom and stopped to admire it. It had just been renovated and she loved it. The ebony and ivory theme she’d chosen looked much better in reality compared to the picture – and the picture looked amazing. She made a mental note to send Steve another “message of gratitude”. She smirked. It paid to have a close connection in the architecture industry. Especially a connection who was able to get a renowned interior designer to offer her services – free of charge. If it weren’t for Steve, she probably wouldn’t have found the amazing penthouse she was able to call her home.

Steve… she wondered. It really did pay off to have such a close connection.

She walked over to the favorite part of the bathroom – the large black and white pearl bowl in the center of the room that was her bathtub. She turned the gold taps and let the water run as she returned to the bedroom. She jumped onto the bed and reached for her handbag – Original Louis V of course. She smiled at her bag.

“Nothing less than the best!”

She pulled out several purses. She emptied each one and examined her phones. She picked up theiPhone and quickly typed a sweet message of gratitude to Steve. She added that they should meet up for drinks sometime soon. She chuckled. She doubted that his wife would approve. She rolled her eyes. These church-going, pretentious wives were all the same. She chose not to dwell on her thoughts. She paused to look at her newly-manicured nails. What a day it had been, she thought.

Her vibrating HTC reminded her that her day was far from over. She looked at the number on the screen – Tito. She slid her finger across the phone’s screen and answered the call.

“My sparkling gem,” he greeted. The sound of his gravelly voice made her smile.

“My big boss man,” she spoke like a lovesick teenager – she knew that was what he wanted to hear.

“Did you enjoy the outing today?” he asked.

“Yes I did,” she upped the pitch in her voice as she dragged her voice a little bit. Vulnerable. She needed to sound vulnerable.

“Thank you for spoiling me,” she simpered.

“Do you like what you got?” he asked. He was beyond chuffed. It was in his voice. She looked at the mountain of shopping bags.

“Yes I do,” she cooed. “I love every single thing!”

She could barely remember half the things she’d pulled off of the racks.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t drop you off myself,” he said, sounding guilty. “I had to…”

“I know,” she replied calmly. “Your wife needed you.”

“You understand right?” he asked. She rolled her eyes. Men always sound so tough until their weaknesses are exposed, she thought.

“Of course I understand, honey,” she said. She listened to him sigh with relief. “But I hope you haven’t called to cancel on me.”

“Of course not, angel!” he was very quick to assure her. He sounded so desperate; it was rather pathetic. Tito was a very successful man. But there he was begging for her approval. She wasn’t even his wife. But he sounded like he couldn’t afford to lose her. He wasn’t the first man to need her so much. She found it fascinating. The power she had over these men.

“Good,” she said. “Now I need to go and get pretty for you. I’ll see you later, honey.”

“Okay, angel,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”

She ended the call and put her phone aside. She looked around the room. Nothing – from the Persian carpets on the floor to the Egyptian silk bed sheets she had – in the room was anything less than premium quality. Her life revolved around opulence – a lavish home, designer clothes, gourmet dining – the list was endless.

She remembered the days when she was a little girl. Her answer to every “What do you want to be when you grow up?” was “A Princess.” And she was a princess – to some extent. She was beautiful. She had her own castle. She had beautiful clothes. She had everything she wanted – two luxury cars, technology galore, enough accessories to supply a chain of stores…

She had everything.

She jumped off of the bed. The tub! She rushed to the bathroom but sighed with relief as she saw that the tub hadn’t overflowed. She removed her clothes and slid into the welcoming hot water. Her body shuddered as the heat worked on her muscles.

She thought of Tito. He was new to her. Well a new “client”. A new source of provision. She sighed. Everything came at a cost.

Women in her area – mainly uppity housewives – looked at her from afar and gave her the widest berth they could possibly give. She knew the names they called her.

“Prostitute.”

“Upperclass whore.”

“First Class Hussie.”

“Prime-time gold-digger.”

She smiled bitterly. Everything came at a cost. Yes, her lifestyle had been funded by wealthy – usually married – men. Yes, she gave them sex in exchange – but only when they required it. She knew what she was. Her “ways” were her own.

It all started when she was working as a PA for an esteemed CEO of a large insurance firm. They had an affair. He showered her with gifts and money in exchange for a listening ear. That’s all. Yes, they were intimate but all he ever wanted was what he never received from his wife – care. His wife was so into her life as a wealthy man’s wife, she neglected her husbands needs. Ironic. That’s how Cynthia got the job. His wife didn’t have time to keep his life in order, so she hired Cynthia to do that for her.

Cynthia’s natural ability to empathize and listen well made her hit it off with her boss. They became firm friends fast. His wife paid no mind. As long as her husband was happy, she was happy.

It was no surprise to both Cynthia and her boss when they ended up in a lover’s clinch one warm, summery night. That was their first moment. During their two year-long relationship, Cynthia knew that her boss would not leave his wife. She didn’t want him to leave his wife. She didn’t love him and she knew that he didn’t love her. He loved the attention and affection she gave him. The same affection and attention he craved to receive from his wife. The gifts and all of the money weren’t bribes. He never had to beg her to keep quiet. Confidentiality was an unspoken agreement. When they parted ways, he gave her a kiss on the forehead and said,

“Thank you for letting me see you as my wife. Thank you for filling the void she’s been failing to fill.”

That’s how it was with all of her “clients”. She was their temporary wife. Whatever they lacked in their marriage – they came to her. In return, they gave her gifts. They gave her money. They contributed to her life as a princess. Her family never asked questions – there were barely any family members to ask questions. Her father passed away when she was twelve – alcohol poisoning. Her mother lived with her younger sister in a quiet suburb in another city. Cynthia had demanded the house as payment from one of her “clients”. She sent them money every month. They asked no questions. She told no lies.

The men she’d helped saw her beauty first and they’d come to her to distract themselves from their failing marriages. But once they’d talked to her, their needs for her developed into something more emotional. Something more sincere. She smiled as she thought of how each man’s  ”tough guy” act would drop once she got to their core. Once she figured out what it was that was making them come to her. Everything she owned was a result of her hard work. She gave men compensation for the damage they received at the hands of their wives.

Their wives thought that as long as their husbands physical needs were met and they, the wives, still looked young and fabulous – then everything was fine. How wrong they were.

She thought of the anguished confessions she’d heard from “her” men. Their cries for attention. She’d seen their tears. She’d held them and rubbed their backs as they hurt and healed. She saw herself as an unorthodox therapist for men. She laughed when she thought of the judgmental housewives. They were busy mocking her but it’d only be a matter of time before their husbands were at her door, begging for her services.

She drained the water in the tub as she got out. She wrapped herself in a fluffy towel. Everything she’d sheen and heard pained her. It made her want to love her future husband so much in any and every way possible.

She winced at that forbidden thought. Everything came at a cost. What sensible man would accept her past? He wouldn’t see her as a ‘therapist’. He’d see her the same way the housewives did – as a money loving whore.

He wouldn’t laud her. He wouldn’t pat her on the back for “helping” all of those men. She sighed. Not every princess got her heart’s desire.

There were some clients that had fallen in love with her. They tried to propose to her but she’d turned them down firmly. She would not break a marriage. She sometimes regretted saying no, though. She sighed.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her heart did long for love too. For someone to call her own. She shook her head vigorously. She erased all ridiculous thoughts and looked at the bags on the bed. She’d bought a number of dresses. She’d wear one of them on her date with Tito.

Everything came at a cost.

This princess had to keep the ball rolling in her life – regardless of the cost.