During my college years, I had a rather unexpected roommate. Let’s call her Veronica. With a name that could rival any Hollywood starlet, she looked like any typical 19-year-old in our economics class, sporting her trendy jeans and casual flip-flops. V was always full of surprises, claiming she could teach me some sleight-of-hand tricks, but little did I know about the secrets she was hiding.
As soon as the semester began, she managed to wiggle her way into my apartment, and before long, our lives became intertwined. We settled into a routine, exchanging notes about our study schedules and passing each other in the hallway. However, I soon noticed some peculiarities. For starters, she had two pagers (this was 1992, after all), and I couldn’t fathom why anyone would need two. Additionally, she kept odd hours and always had stacks of cash on her dresser.
The truth came crashing down one night when she called me at an ungodly hour, asking me to pick her up from a hotel. “Bring me sweatpants and sneakers,” she instructed. When I arrived at room 805, she revealed that the police were waiting to arrest her. Her last client had just left, and she needed my help to escape the situation. Apparently, her outfit wasn’t conducive to a quick getaway. In that moment, I felt an unsettling mix of horror and intrigue.
I shared an apartment with a modern-day Cinderella. Veronica offered me a glimpse into her world and revealed her secrets. She worked a “bait job” as a cocktail waitress at a local strip club, where she lured customers with her charm. The process was almost methodical:
- She’d engage her customers, sharing that she was earning money for college.
- They would inevitably suggest paying for more than just drinks—almost like a twisted scholarship offer.
- She’d feign offense, leaving them with a flicker of hope.
- As their offers escalated, she would play her cards right.
- Finally, once the price was high enough, she would grant them their ultimate fantasy.
The service she provided was physical intimacy, but the allure was in the fantasy of the “good girl” persona.
Her second pager was for family, while her first buzzed incessantly with requests from clients. I quickly learned that her regulars were affluent, older gentlemen who enjoyed her company, often inviting her to upscale dinners where she would roll her eyes at their quirks while dazzling them with her smile.
Veronica had this knack for the word “never,” often claiming she had never experienced certain things, which somehow made her more enticing. “I’ve never been with a married man,” she would say, and that alone could secure her a lavish gift. Alongside this, she had a boyfriend—one who was completely unaware of her escapades. This was a tangled web of dysfunction.
Ultimately, our friendship fizzled out before the semester was over. One day, I returned to find her being intimate with a guy I had just started dating. I kicked him to the curb without hesitation, but then I caught a glimpse of her true self. “I’ll never do that again,” she said, declaring her loyalty to me. In that moment of “nevers” and “onlys,” I realized she was a manipulator, and I had to sever ties before I got caught in her dangerous game.
She eventually dropped out of school, and I lost track of her—until social media revealed that she had been married twice. I couldn’t help but wonder what those men had given her.
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In summary, my experience with Veronica was a whirlwind of revelations about trust, manipulation, and the complexities of human relationships.