Page 8 of Judge Me Not

I freak and look at Cee Cee. I avoid telling her about the sex toys comment. "I don't have a club dress. I'm a mom."

"You used to."

"Yeah, like, a decade ago," I sarcastically reply.

Cee Cee takes my hand and pulls me into the bedroom. "Sit." She flicks her wrists, moving my everyday wear until she's able to pull out a few dresses from my closet.

"I was young when I wore those," I point out.

"You're thirty-two and don't look it."

"Yeah, I look older."

"No, you don't." She scans through her stack and pulls a black, sleeveless minidress out. "This is perfect. Go do your hair and makeup. I'm going to get ready."

Within an hour, both of us have on our dresses and makeup. We arrange for Opal to come over, kiss our girls goodnight, and leave.

We're on the subway when I admit, "I'm nervous, are you?"

Cee Cee snorts. "I'm not the one considering whatever this is."

I turn to face her. "What if this is a strip place?"

Cee Cee's face falls. She pauses before answering. "I'm not going to judge you for anything you do. If I had the body, I would do it if it got me enough money for Abby."

"So, I should do it?"

She shakes her head. "I'm not saying that. We don't even know what it is."

"You just confused me."

She squeezes my hand. "I will never judge you. But I don't want you to get hurt in any way or do something you'll regret."

"If Abby dies and I didn't help her, I won't be able to live with myself," I blurt out, and tears well. "Oh God. I can't even talk anymore without crying all the time."

Cee Cee puts her arm around me. "You've always done all you can. We have figured it out up to this point. We will find a way to pay for her treatment."

"We only got the treatment because of my insurance. The denied bills keep coming in. I'm going to have to claim bankruptcy, you know? I'll never be able to repay the million dollars of debt."

She nods. "We can't worry about that. We live in an unfair world where some people have it all, and some people have none. We must be grateful for what we do have."

"I don't feel very grateful for anything anymore," I admit.

"Well, let's check out whatever this is, and maybe we'll have something new to be grateful for."

We get to our stop, make our way off the subway, and walk several blocks until we get to the address.

"This can't be it?" I say. The building is a residential unit.

"Are you sure you have the right address?" Cee Cee asks, looking at the front door.

"Yes."

"We are in New York. Everything goes here. Come on." She climbs the steps, and I follow. When we get to the top, she rings the doorbell.

A man in a very expensive suit opens the door. His sandy blond hair is wavy. His brown eyes are warm, but something tells me he isn't someone I want to meet in a dark alley. His body is full of muscle, and the fabric of his suit stretches over it enough to show off his physique. He checks us out and raises his eyebrows.

"Are you Donovan?"

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