“What kind of price?”
“Name it.”
She leaned her chin onto her hand as she thought. “I’d have to think about this. My girls count on me to help them. Where would they go if I left?”
A moral madam. Now I’d seen everything. “They could stay here,” I said.
Vaughan shook her head. “How would they buy groceries? What would they do?” She paused for another moment and then shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Vaughan.” I leaned closer and lowered my voice. “What you’re doing is illegal, and it’s only a matter of time before you’re stopped.”
But she lifted her chin defiantly. “My business is not like that. I don’t sell sex. I sell companionship. A sympathetic ear. A beautiful dinner date. Whatever sex follows is consensual.” She looked at me coldly. “I run an elegant brothel.”
“An elegant brothel,” I echoed. “Vaughan, get real. Name your price and I’ll buy out the rest of your lease. The girls can stay here and maintain the inn. I’ll pay them good wages for that. If you care about them, let them do something respectable.”
“There’s nothing wrong with what they do. They have full agency. They decline dates all the time. They set boundaries and enforce them.” Vaughan’s spine was rigid in her chair. “I support and protect them. The rest of the world has to catch up.”
She could justify it however she wanted to. She was still running a brothel, and in this part of the world, that was illegal. “Listen, I—”
“I can’t change your mind, and I’m not going to try.” She rose to her feet. “I’m not selling, Brett. Now.” She took a breath. “You’re welcome to stay here if you’d like, but I have some work to do.”
I stood, too. “Hey, Vaughan? I’d appreciate it if you kept this between us.”
“Don’t want the girlfriend to know?” She lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, I don’t have any reason to tell her.”
I watched as she walked toward the back of the room and out of view. Well, that didn’t go as expected. I left the inn by the front door and looked in both directions before stepping out into the evening again. If I saw Mindy now, that would only raise questions and complicate things. But instead I saw one of Vaughan’s employees coming up the path, reading the screen on her cell phone. I’d seen her around town and her name was Bree. “Hello,” I said.
She glanced up and smiled, one finger still on the screen of her phone. “Hey.”
“Nice night.”
“Mm-hmm.” She was back to reading.
I took another step, but just as she was about to pass me I said, “Are you busy right now?”
Bree looked up. “Why?”
I shrugged. “Just wondering if you’d like to talk.”
Now I had her attention, but she was suspicious as she tucked her phone into her back pocket and studied me. “You’re Mindy’s boyfriend.”
“Yes.”
“I wouldn’t do that to her.”
Bree folded her arms across her chest and I looked away, uncomfortable with the way she had tightened her tank across her chest with the gesture. She was wearing very little, just that tank, some very short shorts, and sandals. “No, I don’t mean—I actually meant talking.”
I studied her face now. How old could she be? Twenty-one? As if she were reading my thoughts, she continued, “I don’t need a savior, people walker. You think Vaughan grabbed us off the streets and made us work for her? You think you’re going to turn my life around?”
“Whoa.” I held up my hands. “I didn’t say that.”
She looked me up and down, her guard still up. “Just conversation?”
“Just conversation. I promise.”
We walked around to the patio behind the inn. It was dark, but Bree turned on some string lanterns that lit the space nicely. “You can sit down,” she said, gesturing to a wrought iron bench covered with a white cushion. “I have to turn on this bug thing for the mosquitoes.”
I waited patiently; then she came back, sitting on a chair across from me, not on the cushion beside me. “I promise I won’t lecture you,” I said. “I just want to understand what you do.”
“Sex is cheap,” Bree began. “That’s what Vaughan always says. There are plenty of people who will trade sex for money. We do something different.”
Bree went on to explain the rules of the inn. She didn’t do anything or spend time with anyone who made her uncomfortable. All of the guests understood that sex was in no way guaranteed. “So, we might do a massage, or we might talk if that’s what he wants to do,” she continued. “I have guys come to me and all they want to do is have someone listen. They tell me their wives are always too busy, or, I don’t know, they feel like they can’t tell them about money problems.” She shifted in her chair and pulled a leg onto the cushion. “I had this one guy who wanted me to pretend to be his wife. So I sat there for, like, two hours, calling him ‘baby’ the way she did and using phrases she used. No sex.” Bree looked faraway as she remembered it. “Turns out his wife had died three months earlier.”
I didn’t speak while she was talking. I’d learned from all of my walks with strangers that talk—like sex—was cheap. Listening was what mattered. As long as I sat there, engaged in Bree’s story, she would continue to open up. “So it’s not about sex,” she said again. “It’s … different. Yeah, sometimes I’ll do things. But I don’t have to.”
Bree had dreams of being a fashion designer. She wanted to go to the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York and launch her own line. “Bold patterns, flattering designs for curvy girls,” she said with a smile. “Look, you want to see?”
She pulled a small pad out of her handbag and showed me her designs. I didn’t have a clue about fashion, but her designs seemed creative to me. There were gowns with lots of ruffles that she’d sketched in shades of orange, black, blue, and red. “See?” she explained. “Lots of color.”
“You’re very talented.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” She shut the notebook. “But it takes money, so I have to save up.” She paused then to look at me with a lopsided smile. “How about you, people walker? You gonna make something of yourself someday?”
I laughed at that. “Someday. Maybe.”
She shook her head. “You’ve already got millions of dollars. Don’t look shocked,” she said when my eyes widened. “You live in that house back in the woods. I knew the guy that used to live there. He and his wife were divorcing and he told me he had sold the house to some tech millionaire. Billionaire?”
I shook my head. “Not billionaire.”
Bree pulled a tube of lip gloss from her pocket and applied it. I smelled raspberries. “So why are you walking people? Did you have a nervous breakdown or something? It’s okay if you did,” she added. “Everyone’s entitled to at least one.”
I chuckled quietly at that. “Maybe that’s what it was. My brother died. Hanged himself. He was this successful lawyer, but the last time I saw him he told me how he wished he’d been a people walker. It was this running joke between us.”
Now it was Bree’s turn to listen. She leaned her cheek against her hand. “Do you like it?”
“Walking people?”
“Yeah.”
It’s strange, but until that point I’d never stopped to consider that question. I’d been numb from my brother’s death, going through the motions. Setting up a people-walking business kept me busy enough, but I didn’t stop to think about whether it was a business I enjoyed. “I love it,” I said. “It’s a weird job, but I’ve met some nice people.”
“And then they leave town,” Bree said.
“Yes, most of them do.”
We talked for a little while longer, but then Bree yawned and said she had to get to bed. She gave me a quick hug. “I can see why people like walking with you. You’re a good listener.”
“You are, too.”
She smiled at that and then turned to walk inside. The lights to Mindy’s cottage were on when I walk
ed past, but I didn’t stop. She’d told me not to, and I would respect that. But Bree’s words stuck with me. She was right: my life was a series of nice people who eventually left. I shoved my hands into my pockets as I headed home, feeling the heaviness. Everyone leaves. Life was a series of entrances and exits.
I thought of the couple from Delaware who’d bought the wooden fish from the guy at the trail. I thought about Earl Samuelson and his heart condition, and about my parents, all the way across the country in their ivory tower. I thought of David. And then I thought of Mindy, and how she was going to leave, too. That loss hit me differently from the others. I could accept that most of my relationships were transient, but I could do better in holding on to the ones that mattered the most. I just didn’t know how.
CHAPTER 17
MINDY
August
I WAS LUGGING a large box into the inn while Sorelle followed, clutching two bottles of champagne. “I forgot how heavy this stuff is,” I mumbled as I mounted the front stairs.
“Fifty pounds,” she said. “You got everything?”
Barely, but she wasn’t going to help. “Yep.”
Sorelle had been living in the cottage for almost two weeks, and we’d spent our time together plotting. Nana was only too happy to help with our shenanigans. When I told her about the provision in the rental lease that gave us access to the inn, she nodded solemnly. “I told that lawyer to put it in there. I wanted to keep an eye on that woman.”
“That woman” was Vaughan, of course, but the statement surprised me. “You didn’t trust her?”
Nana tapped the corner of one eye. “She has a look,” she said, and left it at that.
“Is Nana coming tonight?” Sorelle asked.
“No. It’s checkers night and they’re serving baked chicken for dinner.”
She chuckled. “See what we have to look forward to when we get old?”
I opened the door to the inn and saw Joss sitting at the front desk, painting her fingernails. “Hey, Joss,” I said casually. “How’s it going?”
Her pretty face scrunched in confusion. “Mindy. What’s all that?”
But Sorelle answered by hoisting the two bottles of champagne into the air. “Lit Chick champagne boutique. Want to join us?”
Joss didn’t reply, but she rounded the desk and followed us into the sitting room. I was already rearranging the furniture. “We can set up the clothing racks over there,” I said, and pointed to the back. “Let’s clear the bar for the champagne.”
“Gotcha.”
Joss stood in the doorway while we worked, but she didn’t participate. She was chewing on her thumbnail as we worked. “Does Vaughan know about this?”
“Don’t think so.” I removed some of the throw pillows and shoved them under the couch. “Hey, Joss? You think you can get us some folding chairs?”
She nodded and hurried down the hall. “She’s a sweet girl,” I said to Sorelle.
“She really is.” She was assembling a clothing rack.
The plan had evolved quickly last week at bingo night. Over the course of my many interactions with Luanne, I’d realized that she didn’t seem to have any preconceived notions about what went on at the inn. There were never any odd looks, moments of discomfort, or suggestive questions. Bless her pure heart, Luanne was so engaged in her bingo night and her nonsexual coffees with Father MacGovern that she wasn’t as tapped into town gossip as other West Portsmouth residents appeared to be. This made her perfect for our plan.
Sorelle had volunteered to call bingo numbers, so I took the opportunity to pull Luanne aside. “I’m thinking of setting up a Lit Chick boutique at the Bayberry Inn,” I said casually. “You know anyone who might be interested?”
“I’m so glad you asked.” Luanne grabbed my forearm and leaned in closer. “I need some new undergarments and those Elizabeths are my favorite.”
That was a lot of information that I didn’t need. “Okay. I’ll hook you up.”
“What night were you thinking?”
“Next Thursday?”
Luanne’s face fell. “Oh, not Thursday. That’s our Bible discussion group meeting night.”
Thank you, Universe. I looked solemnly into her eyes. “Luanne, you must invite your Bible group to the inn. I insist.”
“Really? And Father MacGovern, too?”
I nearly started giggling with glee. “Absolutely. Bring him. It will be Bible discussion and champagne boutique!” Because really, what two things went better in a brothel?
Would you believe that when I told Brett what I was going to do, he said he’d rather spend the night at home alone? “And miss all the fun?”
“Fun?” He cocked his head. “I thought you said it was Bible study and women’s clothing?”
His point was well taken, but I was still disappointed. That was why when I recognized the tall, muscular figure approaching the inn that night, I rushed to the door to greet him. “You came! I thought you said you were going to skip it?”
Brett leaned over to kiss me. “Did you really think I was going to let you do this alone?” This was why I loved him.
Yes, love. We’d been dating all summer and my feelings were undeniable. I craved his company. I was happier around him. Brett could turn a simple dinner and a walk on the beach into pure romance. It was in the way he held my hand, kissed my wrist, and asked me to tell him about my day. No one had ever listened to me that way, patiently and without judgment. I didn’t want it to end, and yet it still felt too good to be true. He would find someone new, or he’d lose interest, or he’d figure out that I’m not that great, after all. I worried about leaving him here, in West Portsmouth. “What’s going to happen when I go back to school?”
We’d had this talk only a few nights ago, sitting on the Adirondack chairs outside of the cottage, holding hands. “What do you mean?”
“I’m going back to school in River Junction. Are you planning to stay here? What are you going to do for work over the winter?”
Brett had avoided my gaze and stared straight out into the evening. “We still have time. Do we have to talk about this now?”
The response made me nervous, like this great relationship we had was going to crumble. But now Brett was here, helping me to put pressure on Vaughan. That had to be a good sign.
I put him to work setting up for the evening’s events and then I watched out the window as vehicles pulled into the inn parking lot. “You expecting any guests tonight, Joss?” I asked as she entered the room, carrying a folding chair in each hand.
“Uh, a few, I think.”
Perfect. “I hope there’s enough parking,” I said cheerfully.
Joss was wearing a blue cotton dress that flattered her soft curves, and she tugged at it a bit awkwardly as she said, “Is Vaughan going to be okay with this? She’s coming back soon.”
“It’s fine,” I said, and patted her upper arm to reassure her. “Do you want to look at the clothes? You’d look beautiful in a Maya scarf.”
So Joss joined our boutique, and then Bree wandered in a few minutes later, carrying an iced coffee drink. “Is this that Lit Chick stuff?” she asked as she walked straight to the rack Joss was poking through.
“Cute, isn’t it?” Joss said. “You’d love their leggings.”
Some members of the church had arrived by then. They stood in the entryway by the front desk, looking uncertain. “Come on in,” I said. “We have coffee and champagne.”
Brett led them to their seats and offered drinks. As Joss and Bree held clothing up to themselves and tried on scarves, more members of the church community trickled in. Among them: Luanne and Father MacGovern. “Mindy,” he said, shaking my hand formally. “It’s nice of you to have us.”
For the record, Father MacGovern did make me swoon a little. I realize this is wrong, but he does look like a classic film star. “I’m happy you could make it.” I tried to play it cool while avoiding more than passing eye contact.
Once Father MacGovern
arrived, the meeting came to order. He started with a prayer—blessing the inn and all who lived and slept there—before turning to the Book of Leviticus. Sorelle handed me a champagne flute and we ducked into the hallway to clink and mouth, “Cheers.”
• • •
SORELLE, BRETT, and I waited by the front desk for the Bible discussion to end, but Bree and Joss hung around in the sitting room, poring over the clothes, drinking champagne, and presumably getting an earful. A couple times men came through the front door, took a quick glance into the sitting room, and turned around again. I saw a few headlights enter the driveway and then pull out. It’s working. But I didn’t gloat.
Brett excused himself and said he was going to get some fresh air now that we were set up. “Like I said, this isn’t my scene.”
I blew him a kiss. “Have fun. Thanks for helping.”
Mira was at the front desk, and the three of us were whispering over a celebrity magazine when Vaughan stormed through the front door. “What’s going on here?” she hissed. Then she looked at me. “I should’ve known.”
I smiled. “Hello, Vaughan. Would you like some champagne?”
Her upper lip curled in fury. Mira shrugged and set the magazine aside. “I thought you knew.”
“I did not.” She looked over my shoulder with narrowed eyes. “I should have you arrested.”
“But you won’t call the police. And you can’t, actually. Because we’re all guests of my grandmother, and she’s entitled to use this room under the lease.” I leaned one elbow onto the raised counter of the desk. “This is the Bible discussion group from St. Ignatius. Then in a few minutes we’ll be offering Lit Chick clothing. I thought if tonight goes well, we could make this a weekly event.”
Vaughan looked like an angry bull, between her flared nostrils and the fists on her hips. “You little bitch.”
I gestured to my flute. “Was that a yes on the champagne?”
She grabbed my wrist so suddenly that my glass fell to the floor. “Ow!”
Violently, she yanked me down the hall and into the dark kitchen. Without releasing my arm, she flicked on the light switch. Then she dropped my arm just as forcefully as she’d grabbed it, thrusting me away. “I should slap the shit out of you for this.”
Losing Mr. Right Page 21