Blowing out a breath as she emerged from her bedroom, Lindsay was on a mission to talk to her best friend – again. It was easy to find her as the smell of cinnamon percolated through the air. Francisco is off today, so that can only mean one thing. Following the scent, Lucy soon joined her, rubbing and bumping against Lindsay’s ankles.

“You look cute.”

“I’m baking.” In the kitchen, Pamela’s blonde hair was piled on top of her head. At thirty-one weeks pregnant, she wore maternity clothes, a black apron with the embroidered inscription, Real Men Make Your Panties WET, NOT YOUR EYES, and had smudges of white powder on her nose. Per her custom, she stopped what she was doing and wrapped both arms around Lindsay for a good morning hello and hug.

Pamela liked to hug.

“Baking, huh? So that must be flour on your nose, then, and not cocaine. Makes sense now,” Lindsay teased.

“You’re a comedian, aren’t you?” Chuckling, Pamela swatted her with the oven mitt. Her eyes then crossed downward, verifying the substance on the bridge of her nose. “Hmm.”

Lindsay reached down and picked up her wiggling little companion. She pressed kisses to Lucy’s warm, soft fur as the feline sniffed and bunted at her shoulder. “Oh, I missed you overnight, babycakes. Have you been a good girl for Aunt Pamela? Been behaving yourself?”

“That is like, the best cat ever,” Pamela had a faint streak of flour in her hair too. “No issues, no problems. She’s been keeping me company all morning. Curious, yes, but hasn’t made any motion to jump up and try counter-surfing yet. You really hit the jackpot with her.”

A refugee from Citronelle as well, Lindsay rescued Lucy from the alleyways almost a year ago. Once a stray who fed on scraps and struggled daily to survive, Lucy received all the food, love, and shelter she could ever need as Happy Ending Ranch’s unofficial mascot. She treated the house as her kingdom, too, allowing all the silly humans to loiter about and bump their bodies together in strange ways as long as they provided her with plenty of food and affection.

Glancing at the time on her smartphone, Lindsay suppressed a frown. “Christina must already be on her way home to Cincinnati. She has a layover in Houston, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Pamela said as she added more flour to the dough she was rolling. “Colt is almost back to the house from Vegas. Christina was on the plane two hours ago.”

Lindsay, Pamela, Colt, and Christina had a long talk yesterday evening in the office, and it was unanimously decided that Christina, at the very least, needed to press pause on her new career and reevaluate things. “You’re welcome to stay and work in the LPIN industry if you wish,” Colt initially told her. “That’s your choice; it’s up to you, and I cannot stop you. I cannot tell you how to live your life. Just be aware that if you do decide to continue working, it won’t be happening in this house.”

But Christina opted to make the smart decision and return home to her family, particularly her parents, who were worried sick about her. She squashed fears of resorting to anything drastic, thankfully, and had a good, long discussion with Suzi later on as well.

“I know what it’s like to be mentally traumatized,” the former prostitute, now age fifty-two, said to Christina. “To be emotionally abused, all of those things, but there’s a healing process, and we need to transition you from being a victim to a survivor. What Charlie did to you today is reprehensible, and there is no call for it.

“I remember that I always used to want to be a model. Cindy Crawford, Kathy Ireland, I loved those people – Stephanie Seymour – I wanted to live their life, to be them. I wanted to get to the big time like them. And I was lookin’ for the man who was gonna help me to become this famous model. But it turned out he was a pimp.

“When he came in front of me, he had the Cadillac, he smelled good, he looked good, and I wanted that. And he told me, I’m gonna help you to get to be that pretty model because you are so pretty, girl, you are gorgeous. And I believed him. I was eighteen, the same age you are now.

“But eventually, what happened was he put me on the street. It’s scary when you get on the other side and they close that door, isn’t it? The casting agent from California coerced and manipulated you last week, didn’t he, Christina, in exchange for a film role and promises of fame and riches? As for me, all I remember was that I’d be praying, please God, let it be over with, and let me come out of this room safe. And then, whatever the payout was for that night, I had to turn it over to him. My pimp.

“And that’s how we get locked in, Christina. That’s how we get locked in. And the same thing happens at brothels too. They take fifty percent of your gross right off the top and hit you with fee after fee. God, I worked at this house for years myself. For years … and I hated it. You need to go back home, distance yourself as far away from prostitution and pornography as you can, and never look back. Forget all of this ever happened. Nothing good will come out of being here.”

In the current moment, Lindsay made a face. “I wonder if Suzi hit Christina with that same holier-than-thou speech she spewed on me two years ago.”

“You need to realize something.” Pamela stopped rolling and looked up at Lindsay.

“What?” she asked, setting Lucy down and sliding into the breakfast nook.

“You want to own this house one day, right? This business? You want to take on that responsibility? You want the dual role of owner and sex worker at the same time?” Pamela shook her head as if that was an insurmountable task. “You need to learn to manage, Lindsay, and handle all the varying personalities and volatile situations that happen here. But before all that, you need to understand that not every girl approaches this job the same way you do. In fact, no one does. Only you.

“Tell me, what would you have done yesterday if you were tending bar, and Charlie threatened you like he did Colt? How would you have responded? What would you have done if he took it a step further and put his hands on you? If he threw punches at you?”

Okay, Pamela had Lindsay’s attention. She’d always looked up to her, admired her, and valued her opinion.

“I … uhh … I …”

Pamela continued, “Ninety percent of the girls who’ve worked here absolutely despise this job and this house. They’re not like you, honey. They don’t fill with anticipation when the doorbell rings like you do. They don’t guess if it’s a Hollywood actor, a politician, an athlete, or just a garbage man and get all excited like you do. They just don’t care. You, on the other hand? No matter who it is, or what these men do, you welcome them with open arms. You crave sex, and it doesn’t matter who it’s with. There’s nothing wrong with that, either. It’s to be commended, and any guy who pays money to be with you, any woman, they’re in for the time of their life because of it. You are, like, the ideal, picture-perfect courtesan. The prototype. Because the sheer joy you receive from this is all you truly need. The money is secondary to you, isn’t it? You need it, too, I guess, but the sex is what drives you.

“But the other girls are only here for the money, for themselves. Mongers are meaningless to them as people; they are disposable. This is a horrible, mundane job for them – Nicolette, Elisabeth, Gwen, Mariko, Jenna, Scarlett, even Kenzie. Aaliyah was the same. Sahara and Riley were on their way to that point as well. Kenzie used to care about her mongers, but not anymore. She and the rest of those girls, like the overwhelming majority of Working America, hate their job, and only do it because they have to. But that’s okay because they have the mental wherewithal to handle this industry and won’t allow it to destroy them.

“But girls like Christina? Tessa? Evie? You talked both Tessa and Evie into applying and working here. You made it sound so great, and it is great – for you – but you never considered how they would react themselves to everything that being a sex worker in a brothel entails.  

“If you want to become that leader, you need to know when to step in and intervene like Colt did with Christina. You’ll need to make hard decisions – unpopular decisions – over and over again, and be firm about them. That’s where Colt shines. He really shines. He is amazing. Especially after what happened with Evie, Colt has his finger on the pulse of everything. He’s like a hawk. He sees everything; he knows everything. And if one of our girls is struggling or not working out, Colt isn’t afraid to put his foot down and send her packing. He refuses to prioritize business over anyone’s mental health or welfare.”

Pamela spoke so passionately about the job that Colt did, which was great. Lindsay agreed with her. He was an outstanding boss, a considerate man in an inconsiderate line of work. But at the same time, her stomach seemed to drop to the floor as Pamela continued to speak.

“That’s where you need to step up, Lindsay, and improve. You have so much to learn. But most of all, you must realize that not every sex worker sees their job through the same rose-colored glasses that you do. Be that leader, that people manager, and know when someone is struggling, or needs guidance, and don’t be afraid to make difficult decisions. Learn to see things from their point of view. Be understanding, empathetic, caring, but also make the difficult decisions. Don’t be afraid to hurt someone’s feelings or even make an enemy. It comes with the territory. I had to learn that back in the day myself, too, you know.” Pamela finally dusted the tip of her nose with her apron. “Otherwise, this house will fall into chaos, into ruin, and city hall will shut it down. Certain people throughout town would have so much joy lynching and stomping it to the ground. And you’ll lose out on the five-hundred-thousand-dollar investment you’re wanting to make.”

“Tessa?” By now, Lindsay was slumping against the back of the alcove. “Why did you mention Tessa?” Her face was pained, her tone subdued. “I wouldn’t put Tessa in the same boat with Christina and Evie.”

“Why not? Colt and I do.” Pamela stared at her for a moment. “I know Tessa is your friend, and you care about her, and even though she’s only been here for five days, she’s already skating on thin ice with Colt. He doesn’t think she can handle it, Lindsay. Working here, that is, this business. I don’t think she can handle it, either. We don’t want someone who constantly gripes and bitches and complains and then cries herself to sleep like she did with you the other night. Not a vibe we need. Seriously, I doubt Tessa – Becky – survives the weekend. Wouldn’t surprise me if Colt calls her into his office once he arrives home and gives her a pink slip.”

Pamela sprinkled cinnamon and sugar on the dough, and Lindsay’s mouth, though silent, twitched. Pamela’s cinnamon rolls were to die for. Lindsay could smell that some were in the oven, too, and she couldn’t wait.

“You want Colt to sell you the ranch, honey, but you need to prove to us that you have the capability to lead it to bigger and better things. Both Colt and I may want out – we want to build our family and do other things in life – but we still want the house to succeed. Colt’s dad opened this place in 1972. Forty-nine years ago. No matter what, Happy Ending Ranch will always mean a lot to Colt, to me. It’s where we met and fell in love. We want it to carry on.”

Lucy jumped up on Lindsay’s lap and curled onto her side for attention.

“You’re really good with numbers, the business side of things. I’ve been impressed with how well you’ve taken to that. So has Colt. It shocked him, really. You can manage the books and know how to juggle expenses. The people side needs work. Lots and lots of work.”

“Do you … I mean … don’t you think I can handle it?”

“No.” Pamela shook her head. “The opposite, really. I know you can handle it.”

Okay, I’m officially confused. Why did Pamela tear Lindsay down if she thought she could succeed?

“You are light years away from the eighteen-year-old who showed up on our doorstep three years ago, from Podunkville USA, the same girl who was so painfully shy she could barely string two sentences together. You’ve matured so much, evolved so much. Just continue along that same path, okay? Keep growing. But realize that Colt and I want you to focus on your people management skills just as you have the fiscal. You do that; you put your heart and soul into it like you have everything else that you’re passionate about, and you’ll be golden. You’ll ace it. You’ll take this house to heights it’s never seen before.”

Pamela made it sound so simple. So easy. But it wasn’t. Nor would it be.

“Colt and I are going back to Maryland in two, maybe three weeks tops, to prepare for our child. To get our lives situated for Kaden. When that day comes, you and Jim are gonna be on your own. Though he’ll still be the owner, Colt won’t be calling each day and checking up on things or giving feedback. I won’t allow him to. He’ll be focusing on me, on Kaden, and finding a new career.” Pamela grimaced, shifting from one foot to the other. “Jim will be here to help, but we’re putting all the responsibility on you, Lindsay, and you’re either gonna sink or swim. This is your big opportunity. It’s what you’ve always wanted. All I can say is … don’t blow it.

“And by the end of the year, hopefully, the sale will be approved, and Colt and I will wash our hands of this place forever.”

A knot of worry twisted in Lindsay’s stomach like a fist trying to bury itself in her ribcage. “And what happens if I sink and fail over the coming weeks and months?” She wiped at the moisture developing on her brow.

“Then we sell the house to Colt’s cousin from Vegas.”

((End of Chapter Forty-Two - to be continued))