Honor Roll

by Collins, Kelly

  "What should I call you?"

  "Call me Claire." The use of her real name was a surprise. She dropped the coat on the floor and pushed her body against me. For a woman in her forties, she had a rockin' body, but I was pretty sure it was because she devoured lesser men for sport.

  “Well, Claire, I’ve prepared a bath for you. Climb in while I get you a drink.” She turned toward the bathroom and walked away, exaggerating the sway of her hips. I knew she’d turn around and expect me to be watching her. I stayed and stared, and she looked over her shoulder and smiled. She was pleased, and that would earn me another bonus.

  When I entered the bathroom, she was tucked neck deep in the water with her hair pulled up in a clip. The light of the candles flickered across the bubbles, creating a kaleidoscope of colors.

  “Champagne?” I offered her a filled flute.

  “No, you drink the bubbly. Tonight, I need something stronger. I’d prefer scotch.” Her jade green eyes had turned the color of beached seaweed. Something was up. She was a creature of habit, and this wasn’t our usual routine. “Get me a real drink.”

  What the hell was going on?

  If I asked her, the fantasy would be ruined. I couldn’t afford for that to happen. I needed tonight’s gig for my rent, so I buried my questions and did as I was asked.

  When I returned to the bathroom, she had her knees pulled up to her chest and was crying. “Tears?” The scotch sloshed back and forth from my unsteady hand. “What can I do?” I wasn’t prepped for this. I was hardwired to avoid emotion since the day I began this job.

  “Take off your clothes and get in the bath.” Her voice cracked ever so slightly. Whatever was happening, she was clutching the ledge with her fingers, causing the tips to turn white.

  Moisture had affected her mascara, making the black gel run into the fine lines on her face. Typically so put together, Claire seemed a bit worn tonight, and that made her look vulnerable and soft—a side I’d never seen from this woman. We didn’t share love or affection, but we had a mutual respect for one another.

  I wanted to reach out and comfort her, and that scared me. “I don’t think so, I hired you.” It was important for me to get back on script. “I want you bathed, naked, and in bed in ten minutes.” Pivoting on my heels, I exited the bathroom.

  Her scream followed me into the bedroom. “Forget the script! I need to be held and comforted. Earn your money, Luca, and get your ass in here.”

  Rage surged through me. When I sold my body, it came with a bit of my soul attached. I felt thin, stretched out, and so very cold. My teeth ground until my jaw hurt. It was the only way to hold in the anger.

  Since the Dom Perignon was mine alone, I pulled it from the bucket and guzzled straight from the bottle. Something told me things were about to change, and I’d need the 12.5% alcohol by volume to survive the night. Hell, I might need Claire’s scotch to make it through the next hour.

  I walked back into the bathroom, tugging at the tie Claire had given me last month. The Windsor knot of the blue silk tie nearly choked me. Whoever said fake it until you make it must have worked on Wall Street. Every day I showed up to work, I prayed it would be my last, but the reality was, I knew I’d keep doing this until my goals were met.

  Claire’s eyes dimmed, and I suppressed the panic that inched up my throat to gag me.

  “Get in the tub, Luca.” She tipped the scotch glass back and emptied the tumbler. “Refill first.” The crystal glass screeched as she pushed it across the marble surround of the tub.

  This was my life. She called, and I came. She demanded, and I delivered. She paid, and I performed. Rather than pour two fingers of scotch, I poured four to avoid another trip to the decanter. Despite wanting to drown myself in alcohol, I abstained. One of us had to be in control.

  I transferred the glass to her hand and began the slow process of removing my suit. She needed comfort, and I needed money. With sixty thousand dollars remaining on my student loan, I couldn’t take my eye off the goal.

  I slid into the hot bubbles and situated myself across from her. I left the foil condom wrapper in clear view so there was no doubt where me, naked, and in the bathtub, would lead. She cupped the amber liquid with both hands and watched me over the rim.

  Like a cat being stalked by a mouse, my internal protection mechanisms screamed for me to escape and evade, but I planted my ass and held my ground. For enough money, I’d ignore the warnings.

  “Do you want to talk?”

  My relationship with her was unique. She never shared personal information, which was probably why this arrangement had lasted so long. We weren’t friends. Once all the bells and whistles were removed, I was simply a dick for hire, and she was a checkbook and a reference letter. For fourteen hundred dollars a night, I’d suffer through it.

  “No.” She stretched her foot out and rubbed her toes between my legs.

  Habit required I make a sound of satisfaction. “Mmm,” came from my mouth without thought or feeling. It was amazing how much a body could do on autopilot.

  “Feel good?”

  “It always feels good.”

  Slow, steady breaths helped me get my head in the game. I was like Pavlov’s dog. In the zone, I could perform without thinking. When thrown off my game, it took a lot of coaxing. Tonight, I was out of my element.

  Below the bubbles, I massaged her foot with one hand and my dick with the other. Once hard, I pulled her body toward me and set her between my thighs.

  “What do you want, Claire?” The question was asked out of courtesy. This woman was a whip-wielding rough rider. She was a take-no-prisoners client. I imagined she operated much the same way in the boardroom as she did in the bedroom.

  “I want to feel wanted.” Her usually demanding voice diminished with each word. “I want to feel valued.” Her shoulders rolled forward. “I want you to take charge.”

  Whoa. “What the hell is going on here? If you want to change the dynamics of our relationship, I need to know the new rules.” This dicking around was driving me crazy.

  “I was fired today.”

  Her body shook, and sobs escaped.

  “What the hell?”

  The air was sucked from my lungs. Although I was head and shoulders above the bubbles, I was drowning under the weight of what her statement meant. All my eggs were in her basket. I’d nourished this relationship, made it a priority because making her happy gave me what I needed. Now, after eighteen months of letting her use me and control me, I was no closer to getting what I wanted. Eighteen damn months of whips and cuffs for nothing. Despair made me go limp. I threw my head back and stared at the ceiling.

  “I don’t want to talk about it. I want to forget about it.”

  She turned around and straddled me. She squeezed and pulled at my flesh, but there was no way my flaccid penis would rise to the occasion. My libido had sunk as low as my hope.

  After several minutes, she gave up and collapsed back into the water.

  Chapter 2

  She shook in my arms in spite of the warm water that covered us. I struggled to gain my footing.

  “Let me help you up.”

  Dripping with water and angst, I helped her up and over the tub ledge, following right behind her. She stood shivering with her arms covering her breasts. The bath bar cried out in protest when I dragged the towel from it. The soft cotton wrapped twice around her body.

  She lifted the tail of the towel and dabbed at her eyes. When I saw she had missed some of the black that had stained her cheek, I pulled the edge of the towel up and wiped it away. Claire was my cash cow. With her as a regular, I didn’t have to court any other overnights. At three hundred fifty dollars an hour, I pulled in an additional fourteen hundred a week with four other clients. All regulars, with lesser needs than her.

  The prospect of having to bring in a new client so close to the finish line made my stomach coil with revulsion. What would I have to subject myself to in order to meet my goals?

  �
�I got it,” she said as she yanked the corner of the towel from my grasp and turned toward the door. She was a certifiable mess, and for the first time in a year and a half, I felt something other than indifference.

  She turned and walked out of the bathroom, leaving me to ponder those thoughts. I didn’t have time to get sentimental. I needed a new plan and quick.

  With a towel wrapped around my waist, I entered the bedroom to find her curled in a ball on the bed. Did I get dressed and leave, or stay and offer comfort?

  “Claire?”

  “Hmm?”

  She didn’t move, so I sat beside her. My hands felt foreign to me as I brushed the hair from her face. “What can I do? Do you want me to stay or leave?”

  “Do what you want, Luca. I’ll pay you for tonight regardless.” She pulled up the sheet and rubbed at her eyes.

  My heart took off at a sprint that my legs begged to follow, but I squelched the urge to run. I didn’t recognize the woman in front of me. Gone was Attila the Honey, and in her place was a broken woman who needed something. What that something was, I had no idea, but I’d dig deep to find it. I owed her that much.

  When I climbed into bed beside her, she curled into my body and cried. Her warm salty tears spilled down my bare chest and seeped into my heart. I stroked her back and her body until her sobs became sighs, and to my shock, I became hard. Rock hard for her without putting my head in the zone. I’d let go of the stress of performance and let my body take over. What the hell was happening to me? She had to feel me. I was pressed firmly against her stomach.

  She slipped her hand between our bodies and softly stroked me. Claire wasn’t soft about anything, and the sensation nearly undid me.

  “Luca, I want to give you something tonight. This meeting will be our last for a while, maybe forever, and I owe you so much.”

  She rolled me back and edged between my legs. Claire took, not gave. She was hard, not soft. I was confused, and my body had no idea how to respond until she wrapped her lips around my length and let her tongue stroke every stiff inch of me.

  Fear, shame, and passion assaulted me, and I was unable to handle the emotions, so my mind shut down, and all I could do was feel. I closed my eyes and took what she offered. With infinite care and patience, she licked and laved at me until my body shuddered, and I spilled into her warm, velvet, mouth. Nothing had felt that intense in years. My heart gripped with emotions that had been buried since my first paycheck from Concierge Services.

  Claire crept up my body and laid her head on my chest. “I’m going to miss you, Luca. I hope you’ll miss me for more than my money.”

  I pulled her up over me and wrapped my arms around her. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing at all.

  * * *

  We sat at the table, eating breakfast. Normally I was out the door long before the sun rose, but today was different. The weight of the world rested on my shoulders, and I wasn’t in a hurry to tackle the day. I’d taken a break last night and let life take the driver's seat, but as soon as I walked out of this room, I would need to steer.

  “Make sure you fill out your invoice for me.” Claire sipped at her espresso and scoured the New York Times.

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to charge you when you didn’t get what you wanted.” My bacon crumbled and fell to my lap. I had dressed in the jeans I had brought with me. Wearing a suit on Sunday brought back too many memories of church and family.

  “Sometimes what we want doesn’t always mesh with what we need, Luca. You gave me what I needed last night. You gave me your time, your patience, and your compassion.” She reached across the table, and in a familiar touch, she gripped my hand. “I needed that.”

  I rose to gather my things. This moment felt very similar to the last day of high school, when I left so many people I’d spent years with but hardly knew. They were familiar and comfortable, and when I left them, it was foreign—scary.

  She rose from her seat and pressed a wad of hundred dollar bills in my hand, along with her personal business card. After a year and a half, she was giving me her cell phone number. “Call me when you need that reference letter. I’d be happy to write one for you.” She leaned into my chest, and I pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

  “I will.” I tucked the money and the card into my pocket. “What will you do now?”

  “Oh…there’s a company in Chicago that’s been trying to recruit me for years. I think I may take them up on their last offer. Maybe I’ll meet someone and fall in love.” Wistfulness filled her voice.

  “Chicago is a beautiful city. It has a lot to offer you, and you have a lot to offer as well. Don’t forget that.” To say it was a small world was an understatement. What were the chances she’d end up at the place I had to escape? She would find her future and freedom in the one place that tried to harness and control mine.

  A smile danced on her lips. “Too bad you’re twenty years too young for me. Luca, find a girl your age, fall in love, get married, and grab the world by the balls.” She looked around the hotel room. “You deserve more than this.” She lifted up onto her tiptoes to place a kiss close to my lips. It felt odd at first because we had never kissed. In fact, kissing was more intimate than intercourse. I’d had sex with lots of women, but I’d never kissed one of them for money.

  I swung the garment bag over my shoulder and walked out the door. My life had changed drastically in a single breath. Yesterday I had a three-month plan to financial freedom, and now I’d be back to eating Ramen and turkey dogs.

  I swallowed my panic. Calm was a requirement in dire circumstances.

  Rather than take the subway, I walked the fifteen blocks toward home. It would give me time to process everything that happened in the last day. Once I turned onto 46th Street, the sound of the pipe organ from St. Mary the Virgin Church echoed down the block. Like a mouse in search of cheese, I wandered in that direction until I found myself standing on the threshold of the church. A big sign out front said they were doing a fundraiser to pay for maintenance on the organ. My heart tingled at the thought of entering, but my feet wouldn’t budge. I had visions of touching the holy water and bursting into flames.

  “Come inside.” The young priest held out his arm in welcome. “We welcome saints and sinners alike. Besides, the music sounds better when trapped by the walls and stained glass.”

  “No thanks, I’m fine here.”

  I leaned against a cement planter near the curb. Far enough away to feel like my presence didn’t sully the parish, but close enough to soak in a tiny bit of grace, and the sound of an antique pipe organ.

  I pulled the wad of hundreds from my pocket and began to straighten them out. Four of them, I tucked inside my wallet. Seeing the MBA coin hiding between two bills caused a stutter in my heart. I rubbed it for luck and tucked it back into my pocket. Instead of keeping my eye on the prize, I was watching it disappear. I snapped the two remaining bills open and tucked them into the priest's palm as I walked away. There wasn’t enough money in the world to save me, but maybe it would be enough to keep the pipe organ playing a bit longer. As I walked away, I could hear it fading, like my hope of salvation.

  When I finally entered the foyer of my apartment building, pallets of tile blocked my usual path. The old tile was homey and comforting with its cracks and worn finish. I counted the steps from one crack to the next. Life was like that, imperfect in a perfect way, but life changed, and so would the tile in the entry of my building. Nothing stayed the same.

  Three flights up, I reached my flat. It wasn’t much, but it was all my budget of eighteen hundred a month could afford. I jiggled the key until the lock gave way. Usually, I’d touch my fingers to my lips and press them to my wish wall as I passed.

  I’d made the collage when I’d first started pimping myself for money. Staring at what hovered just out of reach, I ripped the poster board free from the wall and tore it to pieces, letting my dreams fall to the floor. My plan needed modification.

  After
tossing the garment bag on my unmade bed, I went in search of my black marker and ruler. My new circumstances called for creativity. I sat down to devise a backup plan. I was burning brain cells when my phone rang.

  “Hey, Mom.” I didn’t have to look at the screen. She called every Sunday. In fact, I could set my clock by her call.

  “Luca, did you go to church?” It was the first question out of her mouth every week.

  “Yep, I stopped by this morning. The pipe organ was beautiful.” It wasn’t a lie entirely.

  “Oh, cuore mio,” she sang out. Apparently, I’d made her heart happy. She only spoke Italian when she was pissed or overjoyed. There was no way the term ‘my heart’ could mean anything but happiness. “Did you wear your suit?”

  Again, I lied. “Yes, but I carried the jacket over my shoulder.” Along with my shirt and tie and pants. I had a foot in Hell already, but surely God would give me some dispensation if my lies were intended to bring happiness to my mother. Nah, probably not.

  “Sono tanto fiera di te,” she bubbled as she told me how proud she was of me. Italian mothers never stopped worrying about their kids.

  “When are you coming to see your mother?” She spoke in that direct, no-nonsense way only a mother of five boys could. “Mothers need to see their sons and know they are well. It’s been too long since you’ve been home. Is Chicago that bad, or are you avoiding your parents?”

  I silently blew air from my mouth and rolled my eyes. If she knew the truth, it would destroy her. My mother was incredibly perceptive, and face-to-face she’d see me for what I was—a man-whore.

  “No, I’m busy with school and work.” It was the first full truth I’d said all day. I was busy, and with the loss of Claire, my life would get busier. “I have three months to go, and then I’ll come for a visit.”