Our Third Contestant

Rachel

Rachel expected to be thrown out of the building immediately. Shambling in like a wet shivering alley cat, she dripped all over the place, licking her teeth and scratching at that perpetual itch behind her ear. Her stash was gone and she didn’t know any dealers in Seattle. The bus ride from Mesa had exhausted her and she was willing to take the precious seconds of sitting on the comfortable couches before security threw her raggedy ass back out in the cold.

She’d walked all night, crying through the withdrawals until she’d found a junkie who she fucked for a needle. Today was her first day and she couldn’t be a spazzing aggravated mess was her reasoning nine hours ago. But now, as her muscles ached and her empty stomach continued to try and vomit all of the nothing within it, she realized how terrible that idea was.

She heard heels click on the marble towards her and pretended to be asleep, knowing the ruse would not be believable. The heels tapped closer and closer as if the seconds hand of a clock counting down until she would have the cops called.

“Ms. Gaye, welcome in. We have a change of clothes here for you.” A woman said chipperly, setting something next to Rachel. She recognized the voice. It was that same crazy lady who offered her the job last month. Handed her a bus ticket and said that if she made it to Seattle she’d have a job and corporate housing.

Rachel opened her eyes and saw the red haired woman in a commanding pinstriped pantsuit. It was surreal seeing the woman again. Milky skin, grey eyes, and a face devoid of any emotion but professional respect. “Congratulations. Go ahead and get changed in that bathroom and we’ll bring you upstairs for orientation.”

Then before Rachel could ask if she looked high, the woman walked off, disappearing behind a great big wall of black marble. There was a woman behind the front desk seemingly oblivious to Rachel as she typed away at a computer.

What was wrong with this fucking place? Couldn’t they see she was a junkie? Her clothes were torn and faded, the rain having rid them of only the worst smells. She had scabs from picking at her skin and her forearm still had a puncture from the needle a few hours ago.

They need an Olivia, Rachel mused, shambling to the bathroom as her neon green rain boots squeaked with each step. Much like the bus ticket and apparently this job, the rain boots had been a gift from a stranger. A different stranger, though about the same time. They were pretty good boots, despite the color. And definitely served her better here than in Arizona, where she had been given them.

The woman had given Rachel a bag containing a pants suit identical to hers. Blue with white pinstripes. It hid her arms and legs quite well, though the blouse did expose her skinny collarbone. There was even dry shampoo, perfume, and toothpaste, all of which Rachel was all too eager to use, though her shaking hands made brushing with any technique impossible.

Aside from her sunken face and chipped teeth she almost looked human, she quipped. Almost looked like her sister.

Except she had to be real with herself. This was all gonna be sex stuff. It just was. No business would actively recruit a junkie thousands of miles away. But fuck it, she figured. They promised to pay her an $85,000 salary plus bonuses. She fucked for heroin, she could fuck for cash, too. Even if this was some weird shit to be into.