Chapter 8

Chapter

Eight

Blanche is at the airport when Lily and I arrive at the terminal. She smiles when I spot her and makes her way toward us, an airline porter at her heels.

"Is that her?" Lily asks, nodding toward the woman.

"Yep. That's Blanche." I regaled Lily with Blanche stories after my transition meetings. She was dying to meet the woman, sure that looking at her would be like seeing herself in the future. She could be right. The snark and profanity were already on par with the older lady; add in a pixie cut, some pastels, and an air of condescending authority, and she'd be a ringer for Blanche.

"Are you ready for the sexual adventure of your life?" Blanche asks when she reaches us.

"Uh, I guess so?" I mean, how ready can I be? This is uncharted territory.

She clicks her tongue. "Now, that won't do, Eden. You're about to live on an island full of swinging cocks and glistening pussies. The least you could do is show some enthusiasm. What I wouldn't give to feast my eyes on such pleasures," she sighs, drawing out the sound before ending it with a smirk.

Lily's mouth is hanging open. True to form, Blanche did not disappoint. "I'm Lily." She all but shoves me aside and extends her hand. "It's an honor. I think I've met my personal hero."

Blanche lifts a brow. "Is this the roommate?" Her eyes flick to mine, and I nod. The woman shifts her attention back to Lily and looks her over like a prized heifer, sharp eyes missing nothing. "A few years ago, you would've been a perfect candidate. But don't fret. You never know when an opportunity may arise. If your girl, Eden, does what I hope for, you may one day end up with a personal offer from me. In the meantime, enjoy the sadly inferior dick of the outside world and watch your friend blossom on screen."

Lily grins. Her body is vibrating with excitement, and I want to share it with her, but my stomach is churning, knowing I'm about to say goodbye.

Motioning to the porter, who, from the look on his face, has clearly heard every word, Blanche announces it's time to head to the gate. I turn to Lily, who wraps me in a hug.

"Pages and Pastries," she whispers in my ear.

I nod, unable to say anything through the lump in my throat.

"I'll miss you." Lily kisses my cheek and steps away.

I want to reach for her, to turn away from this crazy plan, but I don't. I can't. The Pleasure Academy is my Golden Ticket. Lily knows it and wouldn't let me squander the opportunity no matter how much I pleaded. So, I say goodbye to my roommate and best friend, wishing she could go with me, knowing I need to do this alone.

When I arrive at the gate, Jolene and Nick are there. Blanche remained behind for the other two when we reached the security checkpoint. I paste a smile on my face in an attempt to match theirs, but my stomach has gone from bubbling dread to roiling acid, and I feel like I'm either going to puke or have explosive diarrhea right here in the terminal. Neither is appealing.

I listen halfheartedly to their conversation, nodding and offering hums of agreement as I focus the bulk of my attention on calming the fuck down. When my gut makes a particularly loud burble, I jump to my feet and speed-walk to the restroom. Of course, there's a line. Clenching my ass, I stand rigid, shuffling forward as stalls slowly empty and refill, willing my stomach to calm the fuck down. If I shit my pants, I'm not fucking going to Pleasure Island. I will slink back to my apartment and drift into obscurity.

After another torturous few minutes, during which I fear I'm prairie dogging, I finally make it to the toilet and let loose an avalanche. I have to bite my lip to keep from groaning with relief. Thank fucking God I held it. Two courtesy flushes, not that they made a difference, and a long pause on the porcelain throne with the hope that anyone who saw me enter is long gone and I'm feeling better.

Pull your shit together, Eden , I tell myself .

The irony of what I just flushed did not escape me. When I get back to the gate, Brad and Piper have arrived. Like me, Piper looks a little green, but she's a trooper and pulls it together when boarding is announced.

I've never flown first class before, and I'm unsure how I feel about the exclusivity thing. A handful of people make a left, while most make a right, and I'm not the make-a-left type. I couldn't afford a jump seat, much less a ticket with free booze, real food, and a complimentary toiletry kit. Jolene squeals with excitement, oohing and aahing, when she sinks into her luxury seat. I'd be sitting next to her, which is not a good idea when my bubbly-personality-tolerance-meter is already in the red, but Brad asks to swap seats. I try not to look pleased as I jump at the chance and park my butt next to Piper, biting my tongue when I realize Jolene's exclamations are spot on. The seat feels like butter and has more cushion than my bed—the same bed I had throughout high school because I'm fucking broke.

Piper has the window seat, and her eyes are fixed on the runway beyond the glass. I consider sparking a conversation, but honestly, I don't have anything to say, and it appears she doesn't either.

When the plane is loaded, we taxi down the runway. My hands grip the arms of my seat, leaving a residue of sweat on the buttery leather. I don't like flying. Falling to the Earth from thirty thousand feet freaks me out. As we pick up speed, I grip harder, my stomach dropping when the plane lifts into the air. This is it. No turning back.

Portland shrinks and disappears under the banks of clouds as we ascend, heading toward the Pacific. The Pleasure Academy is located on a tiny island near Tahiti. We'll take a hopper plane to get there. I try not to think about Buddy Holly and Richie Valens. Did I mention I hate flying?

When the flight attendant offers me a complimentary drink a few minutes later, I ask him for two. It's going to take a whole lotta vodka and orange juice to get me through the flight.

He smiles and jokingly says, "One for each hand?"

"Pretty much."

Piper orders a rum and Coke. Four drinks later, my body feels heavy, and I sink into my ridiculously comfortable seat, pushing the magic button to recline it and giggling when a footrest unfolds. Gone is the guilt I felt when I boarded. Vodka chased that away after the second drink. First-class fucking rocks.

The hum of the engine, mixed with the alcohol, lulls me into a mild euphoria. "I can't believe I'm doing this," I mutter to myself.

"Me neither," Piper says with a grin. She, too, has loosened up considerably.

"You know, I'd be pretty much down for anything if they put me in a seat like this and plied me with booze," I tell her. Did I slur? Fuck it. "In fact, maybe all I need is this seat." I run my hands along the cushion for the hundredth time. "So soft."

Piper follows my hand with her eyes, her mouth quirking up in the corner. "I'll add that to their suggestion box."

We erupt into a fit of snorts and giggles, earning us a few glares from the other first-class passengers. I want to flip them off, but even in my liquor-induced state, I acknowledge the stupidity of that idea. The last thing I want is the attendant forcing me into coach because I pissed off the hoity-toity fuckers who actually paid for their tickets.

It's gonna be a long flight.