Private Relations

by J. M. Hall

  “You’re hiding something,” Bobby said. “I can see it on your face.”

  “Don’t start,” I pleaded. “Not tonight of all nights.”

  Bobby opened his mouth to speak, but no words escaped. In just five words, I revealed that I held onto a piece of our history that he probably would have liked to forget. For on this same night ten years ago, I told Bobby that he and I were over. It hurt at the time, but I knew it was the right thing to do.

  “I didn’t think you’d remember,” Bobby said. “I’m not sure if it’s a good or a bad thing that you do.”

  “Come on, Bobby. There was no ‘happily ever after’ for us. We wouldn’t have worked. The sooner Drake realizes the same thing about him and Simone, the better off he’ll be.”

  “You honestly believe that?”

  “That Simone is using Drake to make herself feel desirable? Yes, I do.”

  “No, not that. Do you honestly believe that Simone and I are alike?”

  I threw up my arms and let them fall atop my thighs. I opened the door and asked Bobby to leave, adding that I’d send him a recap email within the hour. He rushed forward, kicked the door shut and threw me against the wall.

  “I am nothing like her!” he said.

  “Well if you’re nothing like her, why do you get so fucking angry when I claim that you are? My comparison hitting a little too close to home?”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about…”

  “At least you never used drugs,” I said, shoving Bobby hard against the chest. “According to Lauren Peters, Simone did. The quicker I find proof, the quicker I can get her arrested and terminated from the Academy permanently.”

  “Drugs?” Bobby whispered.

  I nodded. “Weed, probably some prescription pills, too. Lauren said Drake started sharing the wealth, so to speak, with other students at the Academy. He didn’t reveal his source, but take a wild guess who Lauren thinks it is.”

  The color drained from Bobby’s face. He sat on the foot of the bed, buried his face in his hands. He remained there, and after a few moments, his shoulders began to shake. He whispered “no” over and over again, his voice somewhere between a plea and a sob. This wasn’t like him. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

  “My father…”

  “What?”

  “My father was a drug addict!” Bobby said. “It destroyed him. He lost everything. The house, my mother and I. She worked two jobs to keep a roof over my head and food on the table.”

  In all our time together, Bobby had rarely spoken of his upbringing. As far as I’d known, he’d had a picture-perfect upbringing in suburban Chicago before attending Villanova University on Philadelphia’s tony Main Line. But his father? A drug addict who’d lost everything, including his own family?

  “Addiction is genetic, you know,” Bobby added. “If Drake somehow inherited what my father had, this could be…”

  “I won’t let that happen,” I said. “I’m close, Bobby. All I need is for one of Lauren’s friends to come forward with some proof, and we’re set. Hell, maybe you can talk to his parents, so we can go through his computer and find it for ourselves.”

  “They already did that. Didn’t find anything.”

  “Well maybe they didn’t look hard enough. Trust me, I’ve worked plenty of cases in the past. Things have a way of turning up.”

  “Did you talk to Simone at all?”

  “This afternoon,” I said. “She’s a real ray of sunshine.”

  “More like a narcissistic bitch.”

  It was a fairly accurate description. I sat on the bed beside Bobby, rested my hand atop his. I’d had my hesitations about this case -- but seeing him like this, I was certain of one thing: He deeply cared about Drake, and he was counting on me to make sure that Simone got out of his life forever.

  “Well, we’ve come full circle, haven’t we?”

  “What do you mean?” I said.

  “It looks like you’re the teacher now. I’m in your hands.”

  I looked down and saw that my hand will still clasped over his. Heat emanated from my palm and warmed his flesh, even more so when I linked my fingers into his. He looked into my eyes, shivered when my thumb brushed his lower lip and my palm cupped his face. By the time I leaned in and kissed him, he actually gasped in surprise.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  What the hell was I doing? Had being back in New Hope caused me to mentally retard to the age of sixteen? Did I still harbor feeling for Bobby -- feelings I’d buried so deep over the past ten years, only to have them resurface when he and I were finally reunited, face-to-face?

  Bobby didn’t waste any time. He moved in, took my face into his hands and pressed his mouth against mine. How long had it been since I’d felt the burn of a man’s stubble against my face? I relished the splendid scratch of it, all but surrendering as he laid me on my back.

  “Well, this is déjà vu all over again,” I said.

  “Do you want to stop?”

  I thought about it. “No. Keep going. I’m not a kid anymore.”

  “Definitely not…”

  Bobby kissed my forehead, cheeks, and finally my lips. He dragged his tongue along my throat and bit down on the lobe of my right ear. I could feel his cock straining against the denim of his jeans as it brushed against my inner thigh. Yet at no point did I feel I was any way younger, weaker. We were equals now -- and if anything I was the one who had the advantage.

  After all, I’d been having sex professionally for seven years.

  I slipped off my shirt, brought Bobby’s head down to my chest. He nuzzled my chest hair and pressed a trail of kisses along my collarbone before moving up to my throat. I wrapped my legs around his waist, bucked my hips against his groin. I could feel his hot breath against the skin beneath my ear, a spot as delicate now as it was ten years ago.

  “Wait,” I said. “Fuck. We can’t do this.”

  “Why not?”

  “Condoms. Lube. I don’t have either.”

  Bobby groaned, realizing I was right. He rolled off of me and lay on his back, gazing up at the ceiling. Sweat beaded across my forehead, and I could feel my heart pounding inside my chest. We lay there, sweaty and horny and frustrated at our lack of gay sex essentials.

  “Well, isn’t this ironic. The one time I don’t have any condoms…”

  “You carry them with you at all times?” Bobby asked.

  “Duh. For work.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Now seemed as good a time as any to let Bobby know about my other job. I propped myself up on my elbow, took a breath. “Listen, there’s something you should know. And I’ll tell you right now, you probably aren’t going to like it.”

  “Try me.”

  “In addition to working with Bobby, I have another job as well. I’m an escort, and I’ve been having sex for money for the past seven years.”

  Chapter 25

  Steam rose from the tub and cloaked the bathroom in a hazy mist. Water bubbled and churned from the jets, though it seemed the water was still too hot for Bobby’s liking. I kissed his temple, told him to lean his back against my chest and let the water do its thing.

  “Is this your way of punishing me for bringing you into this mess?” Bobby asked. “You’re going to boil me alive?”

  “Tempting, but no. And it’s not like this case doesn’t have its benefits. Namely, a fat paycheck for me when it’s all over.”

  “So, if you make good money working for Kurt, why escort on the side?”

  Bobby hadn’t taken the news of my foray into sex work very well. Only after I assured him that I didn’t see male clients -- and that I didn’t have my first-ever client until I was already at NYU -- did he settle down. I’d coaxed him into the tub, told him we could go over everything he wanted to know.

  “I don’t get it,” he said. “But I suppose I shouldn’t be so puritanical, all things considered.” />
  “You were great practice. You’d be surprised how many women request anal sex these days.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake…”

  I kissed him the cheek, assured him I was joking. Not about women being curious about anal sex, but that I didn’t consider him “practice” for anything. Our time together, in and out of the bedroom, stood on its own accord. I realized that now. It didn’t have to be right or wrong. It just… was.

  “You don’t regret anything?” he asked.

  “Regrets are a stupid thing to have. I certainly don’t regret coming to the Academy. God knows what would have happened if I’d stayed in the Philadelphia public school system. I would have been left there to rot.”

  “There were Charter Schools. You probably could have tested into Masterman if you studied hard enough.” Bobby was referring to one of Philadelphia’s premier public schools, one that required passing a stiff admissions test designed to allow only the best and brightest to enter its hallowed halls.

  “Even if I’d gotten into Masterman, I still would have been stuck living in Tacony. I know this is an awful thing to say, but that place is a shithole. A complete and utter shithole.”

  “Are your folks still living there?”

  “My mother isn’t, thank God. After she and my dad divorced, she and one of her girlfriends moved in together out in Huntingdon Valley.”

  “And your father?”

  “He’s living in South Philly now, not far from Passyunk Avenue. You know, Restaurant Row.”

  “Do they…?” Bobby trailed off, seemingly answering his own question.

  “No, they have no idea. That goes for my job with Kurt, too. They think I work for a PR firm and leave it at that. Frankly, they’re just so proud I made it out of Tacony they could care less what kind of day job I have.”

  “They have every reason to be proud of you,” Bobby said.

  “Do they? Sometimes I wonder.”

  Bobby shifted uncomfortably in my arms. I kissed his neck, told him we could change the subject if he wanted. He insisted that he was fine -- that while he was uncomfortable with the idea of me selling sex, he still wanted to know more. How often did I do it? How much did I charge? Who were my clients -- men, women, or both?

  “I see around five or six clients a month,” I said. “Mostly couples that are looking to bring someone new into the bedroom. The wife and I have sex while the husband watches. I’ve had a few threesomes, but not too many.”

  “Do you charge extra for that?”

  “Honestly, I don’t like it when the husband joins in at all. Too many cooks can spoil the broth. I start at around two-hundred dollars an hour. Eight hundred for an overnight, and two-thousand dollars for a full weekend.”

  “Jesus,” Bobby said. “You must live like a king.”

  “I have a nice apartment in Battery Park overlooking the Hudson River, yes. Combine my escorting money with how well Kurt pays me, and I have a pretty nice life for someone my age.”

  “I hope you’re saving some of it?”

  “Absolutely,” I said. “I won’t stay in PR forever. Or escorting, for that matter.”

  Bobby leaned deeper into my chest, then turned around and kissed me chastely on the lips. No more than a peck, but it was a symbol of his love. Still, worry married his blue eyes, and it didn’t take a psychic to know what he was thinking.

  “It doesn’t have anything to do with you,” I said. “Trust me.”

  “I had sex with you when you were a teenager, and now I find out that you have sex for money. You’re meaning to tell me there’s no correlation?”

  “No, there isn’t. What happened between us ten years ago might not have been right, but I started selling sex for completely different reasons.”

  “And what would those be?”

  “Well, there’s really only one reason anyone should become an escort -- money! It’s easy cash to do something I’d otherwise do for free.”

  “Do you enjoy it?”

  “I do,” I said. “And I’ve met a lot of nice people along the way.”

  “Still not sure if I believe you.”

  “Well, I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree.” I dragged my fingertips across his forearms, then smoothed my palm across his hairy chest. “It didn’t stop you from getting naked with me.”

  “You’re not going to bill me, are you?”

  “It’s on the house.”

  The water had cooled, and the steam had gone from intoxicating to oppressing. We got out of the tub, though I climbed out first. Bobby took the opportunity to reach out and slap my ass, hard enough to make my cock twitch in excitement. I toweled myself dry, then opened the bathroom door to let in a burst of cool air. Bobby and I dressed in silence, and then he announced he had to leave.

  “You don’t have to go,” I said. “You can stay…”

  “Tempting as that is, I think we should keep our distance until all of this is over. Speaking of which… are you going back to New York right after all this is settled?”

  “That’s the plan. Not much to stick around here for.” I paused, took in the pang of pain across Bobby’s face. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong.”

  “No, I’d say it came out just right. I get it, Jesse. You have your own life now. No point in rehashing the past with some over-the-hill boarding school principal.”

  “You have at least another five years before you’re considered over the hill,” I teased. “And who’s to say you can’t take time off and come to New York with me?”

  “You mean it?”

  “Let’s lay low while I’m in town. After that, we can talk.”

  I opened the door and kissed Bobby one last time before he left my hotel room. After he disappeared into the elevator, I fell back into bed, and immediately called Autumn. She picked up, and listened to me rehash the night’s events for the next hour and a half.

  “So, what now?” she said.

  “I have no idea. If anything, tonight proved what I’ve suspected all along. I still love him.”

  Chapter 26

  Drake was waiting for me in the hotel lobby the next morning.

  He rushed at me with such force that the concierge looked on in horror, then threatened to call the police. I assured him that all was fine, that Drake and I had some personal matters to attend to, and that we would handle them outside the hotel.

  “I can’t believe you fucking bullied her!” Drake hissed.

  “Keep your goddamn voice down,” I said. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is a matter with you?” I grabbed him by the arm and led him outside onto the street. He continued the verbal assault from there: accusing me of stalking Simone and conspiring with his friends behind his back.

  “You can’t trust a word of what Lauren Peters says,” Drake added. “She’s a fucking liar, just like you!”

  “How did you find out I spoke with Lauren?”

  “Word travels fast around here, in case you haven’t noticed. Lauren tells a few friends, and one of them told me. Simple as that.”

  Good, I thought. My plan is working…

  “You were completely out of line following Simone around town like some sort of goddamn stalker,” Drake said. “If you threatened her I swear I’ll…”

  “You’ll what? Look, I get the fact that Simone has filled your mind full of lies and your bloodstream full of drugs. But newsflash, Drake: I’m ten years older and around twenty pounds heavier than you.”

  “Your point?”

  “I could drop your ass without breaking a sweat. I grew up in Tacony, you spoiled little brat. You honestly think I’m afraid of some coddled rich kid from Bucks County?”

  Drake had no response. His lips pressed into a thin line and his hands balled into fists at his side. Angry, silent, without recourse -- it was a typical adolescence response to being outgunned. Still, I needed him on my side. Having him angry wouldn’t help my cause.

  “Look, you want to go grab a bite to eat or something?”

&nb
sp; “Are you fucking kidding me? After what you did?”

  “Well, don’t you want to know why I did what I did? What I learned, perhaps what Lauren Peters and her parents said to me?”

  Again, nothing but silence. I decided to level with Drake, to talk to him like an adult rather than a child. Yes, Bobby and I had been involved. Sexually. Part of me had been in love with him, too -- at least that’s what I thought at the time. But in the end, I recognized that what we had wouldn’t last, and that it was time to let him go.

  “This is what I don’t understand,” Drake said. “How you can be such a hypocrite! You and Uncle Bobby did the same thing that Simone did…”

  “No we didn’t, Drake. Simone never gave me drugs, for one thing. And despite his lapse in judgment, your uncle is a good man. Simone is not a good woman.”

  “I bet your relationship with Simone started off innocently enough,” I said. “She’d be nice to you during class, compliment your work. But then you started hanging around after class, didn’t you? Maybe swing by her classroom on your lunch periods or study hall?”

  Drake stormed off, but I followed behind him and kept talking. “She treated you like an adult, an equal instead of a subordinate. Then, you met off-campus. She told you not to tell anyone, didn’t she?”

  “The fact that you admitted what happened to you back when you were a student makes you such a fucking hypocrite,” he said, his back still turned to me. He walked across the bridge, arms wrapped around his chest as the wind blew off the Delaware River. His shoulders shook, both from the cold and probably from the fact that everything I’d just said had hit too close to home.

  “How long before she gave you alcohol?” I said. “The first date? Maybe the second or third? You two probably had your first kiss not long after that.”

  “Shut up!”

  “I’ll stop talking when you turn around, look me in the eye, and tell me that I’m wrong.”

  Drake stopped dead in his tracks. He leaned over the railing of the bridge, his eyes gazing down at the half-frozen river below. His jaw quivered in anger, and his knuckles were nearly as white as the clouds above. I moved forward, told him we didn’t have to have this discussion out in the freezing weather if he didn’t want to.