Are You Tiffani Caine? Ch. 03

"Of course they are, that's a gift from the Lord. But you aren't my wife and I'm not your husband yet."

"Theological pettifogging is the province of Catholics." She regretted the jab the moment she saw the hurt flash through Isaac's eyes. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

He tore himself a large chunk of naan. "Maybe we both need to do more praying about this."

"Maybe." Oh Isaac, in 48 hours I may be in another man's bed. You need to give me something. I'm not strong enough to do this on my own.

It was the most earnest of wishes, but it went unheard as it went unspoken. Instead Isaac politely changed the subject to church business, and before long they were talking about personalities and sermon topics and the weather, of all things. The serious part of the conversation was over, and the rest of the large and delicious meal was spent in the sort of banal chitchat that would have led an observer to think there was no tension between them. They parted with a chaste kiss and a pleasant hug, an exchange of honest I-love-yous, and cartons of Indian food in their hands.

Sara spent the rest of the evening in heels doing her makeup again and again. YouTube tutorials were great in this regard, and once she started, she discovered that all the old tricks she had learned back when she used to wear heavier makeup were still there and just needed a bit of coaxing to return to the surface. By the end of the evening, even her skeptical self had to admit that she could make herself look very, very good if she wanted to. One less thing to worry about.

The next day, Tuesday, was spent in a fog. Part of it came from the constant pain from the heels she was wearing, but mostly she just felt dull and confused. She couldn't take her mind off of the decision she needed to make, but all the thought and prayer she could give the subject brought no clarity. She made a whole series of stupid little mistakes, but fortunately they were on her own work rather than the things she needed to do for Josh and led only to frustration, not embarrassment or reproach. At least the leftovers she had for lunch were great.

She exchanged a few texts with Isaac - polite, brief, pleasant, just-checking-in things. She was happy that they weren't fighting, but they weren't really connecting either, not like they used to before all this with the Caller started. But what could she do? She couldn't force Isaac to bed. All she could do was pray he would see the light.

After work, Sara drove all the way out 394 to the Ridgedale shopping mall so she could have someplace to walk on a flat surface in her perilous shoes. Malls in general weren't doing great, of course, but this one was still mostly occupied and had enough people around that she felt safe spending the evening there. She stuck around until the place closed, and by then she was in so much pain that she regretted the decision; however, by then she was also certain enough of her footing that she was sure she wouldn't embarrass herself tomorrow night, if she decided to go. She wasn't yet elegant and graceful, but at least she wouldn't trip and sprawl across someone's table as they were in the middle of dinner. It's the little triumphs that make life worth the struggle.

That night she lay in bed, praying for guidance with Isaac and, of more immediate concern, whether or not to keep her appointment on Wednesday. She prayed long after she turned out her light, but finally slipped into an uneasy slumber.

Wednesday, April 21

Sometimes the answers to prayers come with a flash and sense of great revelation, like Sara had felt at the moment she had accepted Jesus into her heart to become saved; other times the answer is quiet, as it was that morning. She awoke at her regular time thinking only about her morning routine, and she was in the middle of making her preworkout smoothie before her date even occurred to her. When she finally thought of it, it was without the turmoil and misery of the previous days; instead she felt an almost grim resolution, sort of like when she faced a root canal: it wasn't something she wanted to happen, it was unpleasant and painful and frightening, but it was something that had to happen, something she knew she would survive. That feeling of certainty was the only answer she needed to her prayer. She would go through with it.

There was a brief text exchange with Isaac where he told her that he was praying for her, and even though she knew that he was praying that the Lord would change her mind about wanting to have sex with him, prayers were always welcome. She told him she was praying for them both and asked him to pray to give her strength today, and because she hadn't told him that she was taking the day off of work (and certainly hadn't mentioned having a date that night!) he responded that he would pray for her to have strength to face the challenges she faced. She said she would be busy that night and let him think it was related to work without actually telling him so. They exchanged I-love-yous. That was that.

She showered and went to the gym, and as so often happened, her workout gave her insight. Isaac said she needed to learn humility, and undoubtedly he was right, hence her remaining in her job. But what she had been forced to do with Man-Bun was humbling and tonight would be humbling too, maybe more than staying at Danforth was. She was submitting herself to her tormentors, as so many of the faithful did in the Bible - not that she could compare herself or her sufferings to those of Daniel or his companions, but their submission and salvation provided a path for her to walk in her own, lesser way. If Daniel gave himself over to the lions and Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego gave themselves to the fiery furnace, she could give herself to whatever indignities her oppressors would heap upon her. Perhaps in the end, she might prove to them an example of faithful virtue as Daniel and his companions did to the Kings of Babylon, but even if not, she would have learned humility and acceptance of God's will from the experience.

But that didn't mean she had to like it.

Sara was just walking through her front door from the gym when her phone rang with the familiar, dreaded unknown number. A brief prayer steeled her resolve. "Hello?"

"Are you Tiffani Caine?" The voice was relaxed, maybe even a bit playful, if such a thing could be discerned through layers of electronic disguise.

"Yes."

"Are we excited about our big date tonight?"

"Half of us are, apparently."

A chuckle. "Are all Christians such smartasses? I always thought you were supposed to be meek."

"I never claimed to be a perfect Christian."

"I like it. It shows you have spirit. You'll need that going forward."

"Are we done after this?"

"Why so eager to put an end to our association? I thought we were having fun. Didn't you like shopping with your friend on Saturday?"

"How did you know I went shopping with a friend?"

"I've got my ways, Tiffani. Answer the question."

"I..." She was going to say she didn't enjoy it at all, but that wasn't true. It had been stressful and expensive, but she had enjoyed spending time with Amy. And truth be told, some of the dresses she had tried on, including the ones she ended up with, were gorgeous. "It wasn't all bad, but I'm not happy I did it."

"We must crawl before we can run. I suppose you're curious about tonight."

"Curious isn't the word I'd use, but yes, tell me what I need to know."

"A town car will arrive for you at 7:45."

She was a bit surprised by that - she had thought she would have to drive herself, or maybe take a Lyft. A town car meant a nice vehicle and an actual chauffeur. "OK, where will we be going?"

"Daubigny, if you've heard of it."

Daubigny was a very upscale French place that had been the rave of the Twin Cities food scene since it opened two years before in the Cathedral Hill neighborhood of St. Paul. Sara had never been there - she could barely afford to look through the windows! - but she did know the place had a year-long waiting list. Food was a real weakness for her, and for the first time she felt an actual twitter of excitement about the evening. "I have. I'm impressed."

"Don't thank me, it was your date's choice. His name is Marku Randa and he's Romanian, so don't make fun of his accent."

"I would never do that."

"You never know, you're a smartass. Anyway, make sure he has a great time tonight, a good enough time that he invites you to the party on Saturday. You do understand what I mean?"

There it was, confirmation of her fears. She couldn't let it bother her, she assumed it would come to this. "Yes. But...I mean...I'm not very good at it. I haven't had much experience and that was a long time ago."

"I wouldn't worry. He asked for a girl like you specifically."

"A Christian?"

"A born-again virgin. You've heard the term?"

"Of course, but...he asked for a born-again virgin? That's ridiculous."

"He wanted a pretty, smart, funny girl who could make good conversation and who was, and I quote, unspoiled. You qualify."

"Thanks, I guess."

"Take at least three condoms."

"Buh...what? Three?"

"At least three. If he wants it a third time, do you really want to raw-dog it?"

That brought the reality of it home for her in a sharp-slap-to-the-face kind of way. "No. I guess not."

"Take more if you want. Lube too. He'll expect you to be prepared, it's what he paid for."

"Paid...wait, does he think I'm a prostitute?"

"He hired an escort from an expensive agency and is expecting a sophisticated lady with good taste and a broad mind - which is pretty hard to match with his desire for a born-again virgin, but we all have our fantasies. Anyway, broad mind aside, you're probably as close a fit to his wildest desires as could be found. Now, this service is entirely legal, so legally you won't be a prostitute at all."

"Legally? That's not a comfort!"

"We aren't doing this for your comfort, Tiffani. Get your head in the game. The money he pays you will be for your time, not for sex, but he might tip you if you make him happy. If I were you, I'd work very hard to get that tip - remember about Saturday."

Sara was numb from head to toe. "I don't want money."

"Your wants aren't relevant, only your agreement. Work for it anyway. Besides, normally half your fee goes to the agency, but with Mr. Randa, you'll be keeping every penny."

"What if...what if I can't get him to ask me to the party? I don't know what I'm doing!"

"It depends how you handle yourself. If you don't get to the party, I'll be unhappy. My unhappiness will reflect in your future...assignments. You don't want that. Still, as long as you don't piss him off enough to complain to the agency, I won't contact the Florida Attorney General - that, as I'm sure we can agree, would be a worst-case outcome. That said, I really want you to get to the party on Saturday."

She was dizzy, plopping down heavily on the sofa. She had decided to go along with it all, but the idea that she would be thought a prostitute was too much. "I don't know if I can do this."

"But you will give it your best try, won't you?"

Her voice was very quiet when she answered, "Yeah."

"Good girl. And remember to have fun. This is an exciting adventure for you. Goodbye, Tiffani."

It was almost twenty minutes before she moved again, and when she did it was because she had to go to the bathroom. When she was done she prayed again about the new information, wondering if her being thought a whore could possibly be in God's plan for her, but at the end she felt the same quiet, unhappy certainty that she was on the right course. A few moment's reflection and it even made sense: if this was about stripping her pride and humbling her before the Lord, what better means could be had than making her seem like the lowest of the low? The prospect was miserable and her whole skin crawled, but the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether - God had appointed her to walk this path, and it would be the worst sort of sinful pride to doubt His wishes.

Shut up and get on with it, Sara.

Condoms. She needed condoms and lube, the Caller had said. She had to get those things, even if the thought of it made her cheeks burn red with shame. Her first thought was to go to Walmart, but people who went to her church shopped there and she didn't want to meet them tottering on high heels and carrying prophylactics. There was a pharmacy just down the street, she would go there instead. Besides, doing anything was better than just sitting around waiting.

The prophylactic section of the store was small but intimidating for all that. So many brands, so many options! Latex, non-latex, thick, thin, ultra-thin, ribbed, colored, flavored(!), large(!!), extra large(!!!), so much more that she was overwhelmed. She hadn't so much as looked at a penis in seven years before Man-Bun and here she was trying to decide what this Romanian guy would want sight unseen! She had no idea it would be so complex. She was tempted to research it online, but she didn't want that in her phone's history. She couldn't ask anyone because the very thought made her want to vanish into thin air.

In the end she just grabbed several different boxes almost at random, snagged a tube of Astroglide, and hurried toward the register. She was mortified when she dumped five boxes of condoms and some lube on the counter, but the bored female cashier didn't even blink. Moments later she was heading for her car, her plastic bag filled with shame clutched tightly in her hand, fully intending never to come to this store again under pain of death. She sat in her car with her forehead against the steering wheel for several long minutes until someone honked for her to vacate the spot; she drove off feeling disgusting.

Humility. Well, I'm learning it.

She went home and washed and dried her hair, then headed out. The salon Amy suggested was a relatively large place in Uptown (which was surprising because Amy loved to ferret out small stores and service providers that other people didn't know about) with fuschia neon around the windows and a bright, elegant vibe that fit in with the perpetually trendy neighborhood. She stepped inside feeling a little nervousness - what if the stylist insisted on cutting her hair short? She couldn't hide that from Isaac as easily as she could her fancy underwear, and the people at church would be very disapproving. She was fifteen minutes early, but as soon as she checked in she was approached by a beautiful Asian (Korean, Sara thought) woman who said, "Hey, you're Sara, right? I'm Leah. Come with me."

Sara followed as Leah led her to a free station at the back. "You cut Amy Beauford's hair, right?"

"For the past three years, yeah," Leah said cheerfully. "Amy's great. She gave me a fantastic stock tip that made me a ton of money. Have a seat." Sara did, and flipped through potential styles on a tablet as Leah did a preliminary exam of her locks. "Did you have any idea how big a change you want?"

"Not a big change at all," Sara told her. "I have an engagement tonight and I want something that's classy but not complicated so I can duplicate it at home without too much trouble. I don't want to lose any length."

"Are we looking at curls?"

"No, but maybe a long wave would be OK."

"Color? Highlights?"

The idea of highlights was appealing - she used to highlight her hair all the time when she was a teenager - but it couldn't be anything too dramatic or the people at church would harrumph at her. "Subtle highlights might be OK."

"Lightening? Or maybe some red tones?"

"Oh, red would be nice, but lightly." Brunette hair sometimes turned red due to the sun anyway, it would provide her some plausible deniability.

"Any objections to a perm?"

Sara gave it some thought. A perm for her length of hair would take several hours at least, but she had time. "Actually that would be great."

Leah did some checking and cogitating before finally saying, "I'd like to do some shaping, but that could cost you some length. Can you spare a couple of inches?"

Sara bit her lip. If she said yes it would be the first time she had gotten her hair shortened since she was saved seven years ago. But she had to get a second date out of Marku, and if slightly shorter hair could help..."A couple of inches is fine."

There were a few more questions, but soon enough Sara was in the process of getting her hair done by a professional for the first time since Adam was still alive. She had always enjoyed it when she was younger (it had always made her feel grown up) and now that it was happening again, she found she enjoyed it just as much in spite of herself. Well, except for the long periods where she was left alone with her dark meditations and the questions started creeping in; it was always a relief when Leah returned to do more with her.

Leah, it turned out, was an interesting person. She had gotten a masters in English and couldn't find a job that paid her bills, so she got her cosmetology certificate and was doing much better now, thank you. She had a lot of hobbies that Sara thought she might enjoy if only Isaac were willing, and she listened raptly as Leah told her about downhill skiing, mountain biking, and travel to various places in Latin America. The experience was quite pleasant overall, and the haircut she was getting would make her look positively glamorous in a way that still preserved an essential innocence - and best of all, she could come close to duplicating it herself at home if she bought a curling iron.

After four hours in the chair, Sara's hair was done. With some trepidation she looked in the mirror and saw her reflection, and it was something of a revelation. She knew she wasn't beautiful, could never be beautiful, but with her chipmunk cheeks, big eyes, and upturned nose, she had always been cute and likely would always be cute; her reflection showed her something else now: she was not merely girl-next-door cute, but pretty in an actual adult, womanly way. She supposed that Isaac had always seen that in her, and maybe others had too, but she had never seen it in herself before. She didn't know what to make of it, but she knew she would be even prettier in that little black dress and some makeup.

She thanked Leah profusely, tipped her heavily for getting her in on an emergency basis, and headed out. On the way back to her car she stopped at a sub shop and got a roast beef sandwich - she would be eating in a few hours, but fancy restaurants like Daubigny didn't serve meals so much as attractive hints of food, and she had a feeling she would need the energy tonight.

Home then. She washed up (scrupulously careful to avoid getting her hair wet), made sure her breath was minty, and began on her makeup. Even though she was opting for a minimal look, she took a long time to make sure she got it right; when she didn't, she wiped it all off and started again. Finally she looked at her reflection with satisfaction: the makeup was light but well done, accentuating her best features (her eyes and her cheekbones) while adding contours to her cheeks and making her lips look bigger than they were. It was, she thought, the sort of makeup that this Marku would probably want, since it made her look "fresh and unspoiled." Even though she knew the very thought to be sinful, she couldn't help the idea that this was the sort of makeup she wouldn't mind wearing more because of how good it made her look. It wasn't quite professional grade, but then a "fresh and unspoiled" woman wouldn't have that, would she?

Her clutch was much smaller than the purses she normally carried, so she had to be careful with what she put in it: six condoms of various types, lube, ID, credit card, a hundred dollars in twenties and twenty in fives, compact, emergency touch-up makeup, breath mints, keys, sealed packets of wet wipes. That filled the little purse up nicely.