by Hadley Knox
When I walked up to him, he leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. Blushing a little, I tried to maintain my composure.
We ordered and then took our seat near the back. I made sure that nobody else was sitting near us so that I might have a little privacy. The conversation I had envisioned was not one that I wanted strangers to be privy to.
“Thank you for seeing me again,” I said to him.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because of the way I treated you.”
“You didn’t treat me in a way that was unexpected,” he said. “I told you not to worry about it.”
I reached into my purse and found the white envelope from the bank. Placing it on the table, I slid it across to him.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Your fee.”
He scowled and slid it back across the table. “I told you not to worry about it.”
“I know,” I nodded. “But I don’t care. I want to make sure you get paid.”
“For what? Having a great time with you?”
“Let’s not play this game,” I said. “You were just doing your job, which by the way, you were excellent at. You can’t deny that you went into last night thinking anything else. Why else would you have brought up the charge?”
“I didn’t know you weren’t aware.”
“That doesn’t mean that you weren’t on the clock in your mind when you slept with me,” I continued. “You shouldn’t have to work for free just because I was too stupid to ask or pick up on the clues.”
“I really can’t accept your money,” he said, sliding the envelope even closer to me.
“Please stop trying to be so chivalrous,” I said. “Being with you has helped me out on a very deep personal level, and I was able to realize some aspects of my personality that need some work. Had I not slept with you, I don’t know how long it would have taken me to realize these things. I owe you so much more than what is in that envelope.”
“Then I was glad to help.”
“No,” I shook my head. “You don’t understand. To complete this revelation and personal battle, I feel like I need to pay you. It may not make sense to you, and it certainly doesn’t make sense to me, but please accept this money so that I can put closure on what you and I shared.”
“So you don’t think there’s a chance we can go out again?” he asked.
I couldn’t be sure, but he actually looked a little hurt when I said the word ‘closure.’ It was strange to see his pretty blue eyes look so pained.
“Why would paying you make that impossible?” I asked.
“Because I don’t want to think about our night together as business,” he said.
“Why not?”
“Because I think you’re special,” he said. “From the moment you left my apartment, I couldn’t get you out of my head. When you called, my heart did flips in my chest.”
“I’ve thought about you, too,” I said. The hypocrisy was not lost on me. True, I did think about him. However, what kind of person did that make me that I thought about him and then had sex with my pool boy, just hours after leaving his place?
“By the way,” he said, his frown changing into a smile. “How did you know my number?”
“I grabbed your business card on my way out,” I said.
“When you were storming out mad?” he laughed.
“Yes,” I smiled. “I don’t know why I grabbed it, but I just did.”
“So you think there’s something here, too?” he asked.
Before I could answer, the server brought our food out. I had decided to go with a burger and it looked fantastic. I spent a minute doctoring it up. When I looked up, I saw that he was waiting on me to finish before he started eating his wrap.
“Are you on a diet?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “But I have to watch what I eat all the time. I’m getting older and in my line of work, staying in shape is an absolute necessity. Ten years ago, I could have eaten ten hamburgers and never gained a pound.”
“But your body is perfect,” I said.
“Because I eat wraps,” he smiled.
“Good point.”
“Now, back to my question,” he said.
“What question?” I asked, trying to play stupid.
“Do you think there’s a possibility of us going on a date?” he asked.
“I would like to think so,” I said, being completely honest. “It’s hard for me to say, because I felt a connection between us last night, but then when I found out that you were on the job, it made me rethink everything. It’s almost like a betrayal, but I know you didn’t mean to do that.”
“If it makes you feel any better,” he said. “When we were actually making love, I wasn’t thinking about the money at all. During most of my sessions with clients, thinking about the money is all that gets me through the sex.”
“Well, that’s nice,” I said, but I lied. It didn’t really make me feel better at all, and I still wasn’t sure when he was being sincere.
“Would you go on a date with me?” he asked.
“So are you willing to give up your work to date me?” I asked.
“That’s asking a lot,” Greg said. “I wish that I could, but honestly, this has proven to be the only thing that I’m good at. The money is very nice and I don’t have any other work experience. I’ve been doing this since I was a senior in college.”
“So you have a degree to fall back on?”
“No,” he said. “I quit before finals that year, so I never finished.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“I started escorting. The money was too nice to pass up, and as I got further and further into the business, it took more and more of my time. I was soon making more than most people make right out of college, and I just didn’t see a reason to finish. Clients don’t really ask about degrees.”
“What about when you’re older?”
“I’ve learned that clients are into all sorts of different men,” he said. “When I was twenty-one, there were women who liked me, and now that I’m thirty-two, I have a whole new client base. Realistically I can stay in this business into my fifties.”
“Really?”
“Probably,” he said. “It just depends on how well I take care of myself and my general health.”
“So how much do you make?” I asked.
“That’s a little personal.”
I blushed. “You don’t have to answer. I asked more out of morbid curiosity.”
“Honestly, I don’t mind answering that,” he said. “For a while, I made a lot of money because I also worked as a dancer at the Steel Hammer.”
“How was that job?” I asked. Every woman in the city had been to the Steel Hammer at one point in her life. It was a popular hangout for bridal parties. It was exactly like a regular bar with one key exception. Nearly naked men danced on stages and boxes everywhere. I had gone with the girls years ago for Betsy’s first bridal shower, and I remember the place as very seedy.
“It was amazing,” he said. “There were nights that it was miserable if we were really crowded. Women grabbed at me for hours, and sometimes I’d end up with bruises from all the pinching. But I made more money doing that in one night than I would make in a week on my own.”
“How do you make so much working there?”
“Well, the tips were great, but at the end of the night, the women were practically bidding on taking us home. I’d always end up with at least one client, most of the time more. They would pay a lot more money for my company.”
“So I take it you no longer work there,” I surmised.
“Not anymore,” he said. “I decided to go my own way. Now I make about a hundred and fifty thousand a year if I can average two hours a night at work.”
“Wow,” I gasped. “That’s a lot of money for so few hours working.”
“It is,” he agreed. “I’ll have one night that I spend six hours, and then I might take a few nights off. Occasionally
I have clients during the day. You know, the bored housewives and such.”
“I never realized there was so much money in escorting,” I said.
“There can be a lot of money,” he said. “If I were better at my organization and scheduling, I could clean up.”
“Sounds like you need a pimp,” I laughed.
“Actually, I would love to have a pimp,” he said.
I kept laughing, holding my hand over my mouth, so that I didn’t lose any of the bite that I had just taken. “Maybe I should just take the job,” I said after I chewed my food.
“Really?”
It was then that I realized he wasn’t joking. From all appearances, he appeared to be sincere in his request.
“I think you’d make a great pimp,” he said. “I mean, it’s basically just scheduling.”
“Wait a minute,” I said, holding up a hand. “You were being serious?”
“Oh no,” he said, trying to hide his smile. “Why do we keep doing this? I swear we have the worst time trying to read each other, don’t we?”
I chuckled. “I appreciate that you think I’d be a great pimp for you, but I already have a job.”
“That’s unfortunate,” he said. “I could really use the help.”
“Just try to adopt more precise forms of organizing,” I suggested.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t reconsider taking the job? You could make some really good money.”
“I really couldn’t,” I said. “But just for curiosity’s sakes, how much does a pimp usually make?”
“Well, you would get a cut of what I earn per hour,” he said. “The percentage is negotiable.”
“Wow,” I said. Maybe he had something there.
No, I told myself. There was no way I could do that. I had to consider the children and my reputation. Not to mention the fact that prostitution was illegal.
“I could offer fifteen percent,” he said, pushing the issue.
“I really can’t, Greg,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“Well, if you change your mind, let me know,” he said.
“So you don’t plan on ever getting out of the business?” I asked.
“Would that be a condition for dating you?” he asked.
“I don’t think I could date anyone that was an escort,” I said. “It would be too weird knowing you’re out there having sex with other women all the time.”
“That’s too bad,” he said. “I think we really could have had something.”
“Are you being serious?” I asked. “How do I know you’re not just trying to keep me coming back as a customer?”
“I guess you don’t,” Greg shrugged. “All I can do is to tell you how I feel and it’s up to you to determine if I’m telling the truth. But do remember that, right now I’m not at work, so I wouldn’t have a reason to lie to you.”
“I have a suspicion that in your line of work you are always on the clock.”
We both tried to twist the conversation around to something else at that point. He asked me about my work, so I told him about the latest few manuscripts I had edited. I avoided talking about Jeremy Towers, my new assignment and apparently my new date. Somehow, that just didn’t seem appropriate to bring up at a lunch with the man I had just paid for sex.
Once we ate, I was in a hurry to get out of there. I enjoyed spending time with Greg, and in an alternate universe, I could even see myself being with him romantically, but the fact that he slept with countless women on a regular basis was a deal breaker for me. Although it wasn’t like I had room to talk when I considered my last twenty-four hours.
A half hour later, I walked back into my house and set my keys on the bar. So much was swirling through my mind, but none of that bothered me as badly as I knew it should.
I was on top of the world. Two men had found me attractive enough to have sex with me. Betsy was helping me to realize my psychotic hang up, and I felt that I was on a path to overcoming them.
The coffee pot needed cleaning and I knew that the dishwasher was full. I walked into the kitchen, but decided that I could leave that for the maid. She would be in tomorrow.
I realized that for the first time, I didn’t have an impending deadline for my job, and the children were at school. I could have a free day. One of those elusive periods of time that never appeared in my life.
The phone rang just as I was about to sit on the couch. My heart dropped.
It may have been part of my newfound desire to take control of my life or sheer stupidity, but I decided to answer the phone.
I expected the usual heavy breathing, but for the first time since the calls began, I heard a voice.
“I want my money.”
So it was a bill collector? Was it some credit card that Frank had taken out while we were married that I didn’t know about? There was no possible way that one of my bills was behind. To the detriment of my bank account, I made sure all of my stuff was current.
“Excuse me?”
“I want my money,” the muffled voice repeated.
“What money is that?”
“One hundred thousand dollars. You have three days.”
The line went dead. What the hell was that about? Who could possibly be asking me for such a large sum of money? My first instinct was that Frank had finally shown back up in the picture and had run out of money. Why wouldn’t he just approach her directly? Maybe he just felt so ashamed for leaving her and the kids in such a lurch that he was embarrassed to show his face.
The voice had been gruff, a very low tonal quality, which only made it impossible to identify. I thought that I would recognize Frank’s voice if it had been his.
There was one thing that I was certain of about the caller. He meant business. Each time he had spoken that same sentence, I could hear the threat laced in his voice.
I knew from the first syllable that it was not something that I could ignore. It appeared that I had three days to come up with one hundred thousand dollars.
Chapter Nine
It was as if lightning had struck me square in the head. I knew exactly what I was going to do.
The man on the phone had asked for one hundred thousand dollars. Even combining my savings and checking, I was still short by a good deal. I would have to sell nearly everything in the house, and even then, I wasn’t sure I could get to that amount. There was no way to come up with the money.
I considered ignoring the threats or even going to the police. But what would happen if I did that? My primary concern was, and always would be, my children. I may not actually give the man the money, but I had to be prepared to do it if it was needed to protect my children.
Maybe I should call Betsy and Pearl. They would provide clear heads for a solution. They would certainly not approve of me giving into the caller’s demands. I really needed to know more.
However, the truth remained that I was broke. Sure, I could afford the bills for a little longer, but in a year, I would be out of cash. Once the children graduated from high school, I could sell the house and move somewhere more affordable. However, for now, I had to maintain my current residence. The problem was that I still had four more years until Mallory graduated and that was more time than I had money for.
My epiphany came as I glanced at the countertop and saw Greg’s card. Was I completely nuts by giving his offer credence? The fact remained that I needed money and he had presented me with an offer where I could make some on the side. All I had to do was work out a schedule for him. What was the harm in that?
I felt immediately that my moral standards would lower if I did this, but I was in a bind. Now my survival instincts were kicking in. If lowering my standards were what it took for my children to get the best education, then was that so bad? It wasn’t like I was the one going out and having sex. I would just be the one who scheduled it.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I picked the phone up and called Greg.
I didn’t want to waste time with small talk. When he answe
red the phone, I spoke quickly. “Twenty percent and I am in.”
“That was fast,” he said. “You were pretty set against not doing it.”
“Are you trying to talk me out of it now?”
“No,” he said quickly. “I just can’t believe it.”
“Believe it,” I said. “I need the money badly and your proposition sounds promising. Do you accept the twenty percent?”
“Of course,” he said. There was a pause on the phone. “So what do we do now?”
“I guess we need to come up with a plan,” I said.
“Do you want to meet somewhere?” he asked.
I had been away from the house a lot lately and didn’t really want to leave again. I would have to pick the kids up in the afternoon, so I wanted to be close. There was something strange about mixing my new sordid business life with my home life, but I knew that the combination was inevitable.
“Come to my house,” I said.
“When?”
“Now,” I said. I gave him the address. “The only thing I ask is if you see my children, do not say anything to them about what we’re doing.”
“You have kids?”
“A fifteen and fourteen year old,” I said.
“Okay,” he said. His tone sounded strange, but it may have just been my imagination.
“See you in a minute,” I said and hung up.
He arrived a few minutes later. I was surprised at how quickly he made it.
“Come in,” I said as I opened the door. The moment my eyes landed on him, I felt the raging inferno in my chest and pelvic area that I had felt the night before. He was unreasonably attractive, and even the way that he carried himself exuded raw sexual energy.
“You have a lovely home,” he said. His eyes traveled all around, looking at the columns and archway that marked my front entrance.
When he walked into the foyer, he glanced around, and the widening of his eyes indicated that he was clearly surprised at how large my home was. I led him into the kitchen where I had set my laptop up on the breakfast table where Betsy and I had spent the morning talking about my issues.