An Exaltation of Larks

by Suanne Laqueur

“Spoken with confidence.” She turned around and drew her hair aside, revealing the long zipper down the back of her dress. “Now let’s see what you can do.”

  How about let’s see me not have a heart attack?

  He was, all at once, nervous as hell. He set his hands on Gloria’s shoulders and let them rest there (less is more). He took a deep breath, calling on his excellence and understanding he was being paid to pay attention, not get his rocks off. As he picked the tab of the zipper out and slid it down (slow is better than fast), he gathered together his sexual resume and put it with what he’d read in books and seen in the movies.

  He let his fingers linger on her skin as he undressed her, then turned her around and took her face in his hands. He kissed her, letting his consciousness sink deep into the embrace and look at her from all angles. Under his hands and in his arms, Gloria’s body was straight and proud. Then, little by little, it began to soften. Like a pillar candle that had been burning so long, you could press your fingers into the warm wax and reshape it.

  “I love when I’m right,” she whispered.

  “You strike me as always being right.”

  Her lips glistened in the lamplight. “Often wrong. Never in doubt.”

  He took her hand and confidently headed down a hall that looked like it led to a bedroom. It did, and there she stretched out on the bed, on her side, holding up a soft palm to indicate he shouldn’t join her yet.

  “I’m still seeing what you can do,” she said.

  He undressed slowly. He didn’t camp or tease, didn’t smile or crack nervous jokes. He held her eyes and unpeeled his layers. Only then did Gloria’s composed face melt into mischief, as she sank lower on her side and put her cheek on the heel of her hand.

  “Oh my,” she said around a throaty laugh. “Honey, with a cock like that, you’ll have to work really hard to suck in bed.”

  He crawled up her body, nudging her down on her back. “I don’t suck,” he said, filled with a power he didn’t know he possessed. “I lick…”

  He did an excellent job and walked out three hundred dollars richer.

  Plus cab fare home.

  “Take my coat first and give it to the girl,” Gloria said. “Then yours. You tip at the end of the evening.”

  Gloria Landes had the uncanny ability to speak through her smile in a voice meant only for Jav’s ears. And he was becoming adept at listening to it while keeping the other ear on the world. This five-star Manhattan restaurant was definitely a foreign galaxy.

  “The maître d’ will hold out my chair for me,” she said as they were led to their table. “Don’t sit until I’m seated. He’ll ask if you want to see the wine list. Say yes. Don’t stare at the room. Act confident.”

  Table manners were nothing more than common sense, Jav thought. But projecting confidence was an unpredictable struggle. He made mistakes, which Gloria always covered effortlessly.

  “You’re young,” she said. “You’ll get the hang of it. You never make the same mistake twice, which is refreshing.”

  Her eyes swept the wine list and then she handed it across the table. “You’ll order a bottle of Penfolds Grange Hermitage. It’s Australian.”

  “Is it good?”

  She smiled. “It’s easy to pronounce.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. And it’s a lovely wine. Say it back to me.”

  “Penfolds Grange Hermitage.”

  “Good. Don’t point to it when you order. In fact, put the list down.”

  Jav opened the dinner menu and was about to ask what was good to eat here, before remembering it was about Gloria. “What would you like to eat tonight?”

  She had put on her reading glasses and her gaze was slower over the entrées. “I’m not sure yet. Some women like the man to order for them, but I don’t. Always find out what she’s having and when the waiter arrives, simply ask, ‘Would you like me to order?’”

  “Have you done this before?”

  “Done what, darling?”

  His mouth started to say “hired a man” before instinct kicked his ankle, warning the word would be ugly in this setting. He flailed for an elegant substitute. “Groomed a man,” he said.

  Her eyes lifted and her smiled was pleased. “No,” she said. “So take heart I’m learning just as much as you are.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “I want to make money.”

  She closed the menu. “I was married to an alcoholic for fifteen years and endured abuse I won’t speak of at the table. I sacrificed my publishing career for him. Sacrificed money and pride and things you can’t imagine. Although…” Her hand dropped on top of his and her thumb rubbed his wrist. “Maybe you can. When I was finally free, I never wanted to get involved again. I focused on rebuilding my career. But the human heart craves connection, Jav. Many people like being alone, but nobody likes to be lonely. I became lonely, and I decided if I was going to have male company, it would be company on my terms.

  “What made you pick me?”

  “Besides being easy on the eyes? It was the way you treated every guest at the wedding like a family member. How you handled that teenaged girl took my breath away. You didn’t just treat her as a princess, you made her a princess. I thought, This boy has a gift for women and he doesn’t even know it.”

  She took her hand back and folded it with the other on the table. “I want to hone that gift of yours, Jav. Both for my own needs and for yours. I want company and you want money. We can serve each other beautifully. But you aren’t my prisoner. Or my possession. And none of what I’m teaching you comes at a price.”

  The room swam for a minute. Jav bit the inside of his lip hard until it held still again. “You promise?”

  “I promise. And you may order me the sole meunière with pommes château. Say it back to me.”

  “Sole meunière with pommes château.”

  “Every date you have will be an opportunity to learn something,” Gloria said. “Never stop learning. You already like to read, which is an advantage. Read everything. Newspapers, magazines, books. Be informed. Be up-to-date. Be both interesting and interested in others. Everyone has something fascinating about them, Jav. Your job is to find it. Then you can fuck it.”

  At first his only dates were with Gloria. She called him at least once a week. Sometimes twice. Under her tutelage, he began to invest in himself as a marketable product.

  “Your body and your looks are assets,” she said. “Take exceedingly good care of them, darling, and always show them to their best advantage.”

  She took him shopping and showed him how to build the foundation of a wardrobe. She taught him about the importance of good shoes, an impeccably-cut suit and a well-fitting sport coat. Where to get the best haircut and where to rent the best tux. He took a few ballroom dancing classes. Audited French and Italian classes at Hostos. Even took a course in massage therapy. He learned how to choose wine and negotiate the place-settings of a ten-course meal. Social niceties, table manners and all the tiny, essential details of being the perfect gentleman.

  The phone began to ring at his place. “I’m a friend of Gloria’s. I’d like you to take me out.”

  “Gloria Landes told me to call you. I need a date to the opera next week.”

  “Gloria gave me your number. I have a wedding coming up.”

  He had a post-mortem with Gloria after each date. No names or personal details, only what went wrong and how to fix it, or what went right and how to make it better next time.

  “Are you my pimp now?” he blurted out during one such meeting.

  Gloria winced. “Mentor, darling. And do you see me taking a cut of your earnings?”

  His face burned. “No.”

  “Pimp is an ugly word. I don’t want to hear it again.”

  “You won’t.”

  “Apologize.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She gave a prim sniff.

/>   “It was thoughtless,” he said.

  “You must think, Javier. Always think before you speak.”

  “I will. It’s just… I’m not used to people helping me. For nothing in return.”

  Her eyes remained resolutely across the room. The fear he’d disappointed her twisted in his stomach. His eyes blinked fast as he tried to explain himself. “I guess I still don’t understand why you’re doing all this for me.”

  She looked at him then and her face softened. “Because you remind me so much of myself, Jav,” she said. “Nobody helped me. And I couldn’t help myself.”

  She schooled him in safety, both for him and his client. He knew CPR and basic first aid. Along with his daily gym workouts, he took a self-defense course. He never drank or drugged on a date. His client could get as plowed as she wanted but Jav stayed straight and sober. He never, absolutely never, went into a woman without a condom. He’d leave money on the table before he rode bareback. Every three months, without exception, he was screened at a walk-in clinic for STDs.

  “Do not trifle with your health,” Gloria said. “It wouldn’t do not to be around to enjoy the money you make.”

  And he was making good money. $100 an hour. Then $125. Then $140. He got hired for a weekend in Montauk and when he returned home to his apartment, he gleefully ran around strewing $1500 in cash, the most dough he’d ever held in his hands at one time.

  By 1986, he was almost finished with his associate degree in liberal arts from Hostos. He made up his mind to escort the next two years to save enough for tuition at City College, where he could get a BA in creative writing.

  He liked living in northern Manhattan, but his dates took him frequently into Midtown and the Village so he migrated south down St. Nicholas Avenue to an apartment in Hamilton Heights, where he had a second phone line installed for clients only.

  One day he got a call from a woman wanting him as a date for her and her husband. It was the first time he’d been hired by a couple.

  “It will happen,” Gloria said long ago. “And it’s good money.”

  “I don’t fuck men,” he said.

  Her hand soothed the back of his neck. “You don’t have to,” she said. “And often, darling, the man isn’t interested in you anyway. Be professional. Ask what the expectation is and then decide if you can meet it.”

  “He doesn’t want to join in,” the caller said. “He just wants to watch.”

  Jav took the job, but it ended up being an unsettling experience. He’d never deluded himself that some of his clients were married. He’d fucked other men’s wives, but not with those men right there watching him. For the first time, he felt paid, and discovered it was distinctly different from feeling hired.

  As the woman moaned through his kiss and writhed against his thrusts, Jav was hyper-aware of the money and the transaction and of sex being a service. His back squirmed under the husband’s scrutinizing and possessive gaze. The longer the sex went on, the more Jav was convinced the husband didn’t want to be there. Something else was at play. The dynamic of this marriage comprised a fourth party in the bedroom. The money made a fifth witness. All the additional presences left Jav slimy.

  This agreement didn’t agree with him.

  He tried it once more to be sure. This time the husband joined in, but by unspoken agreement, he and Jav stayed out of each other’s way. Jav relaxed into being an extra mouth, dick and pair of hands. A little story curled around the edges of his mind: he imagined the husband was an apprentice, making a first solo run. Jav was just there to assist.

  He was deep in the narrative and thinking couple work wasn’t so slimy after all, when the husband’s hand slid around Jav’s waist and took hold of his penis. His mouth ran up Jav’s spine and touched the nape of his neck with the tip of a tongue.

  “Damn, you got a great cock,” he said, squeezing and stroking with a knowledgable grip.

  Jav froze, balanced on the edge. A melting moment of intense pleasure. A remembered taste of sugar and rum. The burn of cinnamon at the back of his throat and the feel of Nesto’s bottom lip between his teeth.

  “Turn around,” the husband whispered, a hand wide between Jav’s shoulder blades.

  Now Jav was paralyzed with an intense, instinctive fear. The sweet in his mouth went sour. The palm on his back readied to shove him down a flight of stairs. A hole opened in his soul and sucked out his excellence. He deflated in the husband’s hand and pulled away. Without a word of explanation, he put his clothes on, left the money in its envelope and got the hell out of there.

  “So take it off your resume,” Gloria said. “You should be able to look your income in the face.”

  His business card read Javier Soto with a phone number. He was a straight male escort, with or without sex. No pay-to-gay, no couples. No violence, no drugs, no urine, shit or blood. Nothing ugly or degrading. He was a professional lover. A champion date who specialized in attention, both in and out of the bedroom.

  Word of mouth spread to the ears of women who wanted what he was giving. He began to amass regulars. Those regulars told their friends. His bank balance climbed. His clothes grew more expensive. His passport collected stamps. Gloria assured him he was on the way to becoming one of the top-paid escorts in Manhattan. He was a self-made success.

  But he ran into Tío Enrique and Tía Mercedes on the street one day and his confidence stumbled. He stared like a jackass, his hand lifting in a shy wave and qué lo qué on his lips. Thinking, like a fool, that with time passed and debts cleared came forgiveness. Or at least cordiality.

  They walked by. Not a word. Not a look. No acknowledgment. Jav stood on the sidewalk staring after them, feeling freshly seventeen and abandoned, as deeply wounded as if it had been a kick from Miguel’s boot.

  Some things couldn’t be repaid.

  1986

  New York City

  “He’s here.”

  “He is?” Hands reached for compacts and lipsticks. Fingers smoothed hair. Mints were popped and teeth checked in reflective surfaces.

  “He just walked in. Usual booth. Who’s got a quarter? I call heads.”

  The arrival of him was the highlight of the swing shift at Morelli’s Diner on Ninth Avenue, off Columbus Circle. He had been coming in for three weeks now. Always after midnight, always dressed to kill and taking the same back booth. The waitresses flipped a coin to take his order (egg white omelet, dry toast, coffee). They called him Le Handsome.

  “Why don’t you ask his name?” Alex Penda said.

  “Shh.” He was swatted by six sisterly hands. “Oh my God, look, he’s putting his glasses on. Look.”

  “He’s gorgeous.”

  “I swear, I just got wet.”

  Pushing his own glasses up his nose, Alex turned his head from the exploding panties and put it back into his textbook, trying to get some discreet studying done while the diner was in a lull.

  Stuck in the pages were two envelopes from today’s mail. One from Roger Lark, who had been kicked out of the University of Chicago for a fraternity prank that went south. Roland and Meredith were furious and immediately pulled the plug on financing Roger’s future if he were going to show this utter lack of common sense.

  Undeterred, Roger hit the road with a couple of his buddies and turned their collegiate disgrace into a life experience, working and couch-surfing their way across the country. The postmark on today’s letter was from Seattle, where Roger was working in a fishery by day, bartending by night, and spending weekends with a girlfriend in Vancouver.

  “Living the dream, man,” he wrote.

  The other letter was from Trelawney, now in her junior year at Brown, majoring in Gender and Sexuality Studies. Since Trelawney was the most sexless person Alex knew, he couldn’t figure out if her degree made no sense or perfect sense.

  He didn’t get letters from Val. She was here in the city. After graduating from RISD, she was hired by designer Theoni Aldredge to work on the costumes for La Cage Aux Folles. She ran
wardrobe for La Cage another year while freelancing costume design on the side. Six months ago she entered and won a design contest for American Ballet Theater’s Jazz Age production of Cinderella. Now she and her production team were working their asses off in a garment district warehouse.

  Alex saw her every now and then, usually when she needed a last-minute date to a thing.

  “Be my thing for a thing?” she’d ask.

  “What am I, your favorite fallback position?”

  “Yes.”

  “Pick you up at eight.”

  Now in his second year of vet school, Alex didn’t get out much. He and Amanda—his steady girlfriend at Columbia—had finally broken up for good, after a year of torturous on-again-off-again negotiations. Swamped with coursework and lab work and the swing shifts at Morelli’s, he had little time for socializing. But if Val called, he answered.

  He was kind of her bitch that way.

  The glorious hookup in the back room of Muriel’s shop—referred to as The Oral Dissertation—remained a one-off event. Rather than ruin their friendship, the encounter cemented the deal and they parted the best of pals. Their relationship wasn’t without its flirtatious teasing, but they only carried on to a point. When apart, they genuinely missed each other. When together, they wore each other’s company like a favorite pair of jeans. The ones that fit perfect, made your ass look great and didn’t bind in the crotch.

  Val never wandered far from Alex’s thoughts, but he had a feeling about her he wasn’t in a hurry to dissect. An instinctive hunch they were treating each other like a pleasure saved for a rainy day. The bit of expensive chocolate stashed away. The dessert saved for last, but not least.

  One day, he often thought. Not today, but one day…

  “How’s it going?”

  Alex looked up. Le Handsome was at the register.

  “Hey,” Alex said, taking the check and the $20 and ringing it up. He noticed Handsome had a textbook under his arm. Noticing Alex noticing, Handsome turned the cover out a little.

  “Human Behavior in the Social Environment,” he said.

  Alex turned his own book slightly. “Parasitology.”

  “Hopefully in four years, I’ll be able to analyze how you behave.”