Wherever the Dandelion Falls

by Lily R. Mason

  I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

  My hesitation must have shown, because Dr. Turner was quick to reassure me. "Don't worry, he's cute." He reached into his pocket, then flicked through his phone until he came to a picture of a young man about my age, with nicely cut hair and high cheek bones. He was cute.

  I looked at the picture and then up at Dr. Turner, noticing the resemblance.

  "Think you can do that for me?"

  Glancing back at the picture one last time, I nodded. I wasn't accustomed to being asked to date people I'd never met. But if Dr. Turner's nephew had half the intelligence and charm of my boss, I'd have a good time.

  Dr. Turner tucked his phone back in his pocket and smiled.

  "Thanks, doll," he said, turning to go. "I'll set something up for Saturday night. You'll like him. Vance is a good kid."

  As he left the room, I realized that I had plans with Faye on Saturday night that I'd now have to cancel.

  Because I knew that Faye didn't like Dr. Turner, I didn't tell her why I had to cancel our plans for Saturday. I just told her that I had to take a raincheck because of a work thing. She was gracious, using smiley faces in her texts, and said she hoped we'd see each other soon. I assured her we would and tried to focus on being excited for my date with Dr. Turner's nephew.

  When Saturday night came, I decided that this time I would buy a cute outfit to wear, since I was sure it was a real date. Dr. Turner had made us dinner reservations. After getting ready in my room with the door closed, I discreetly slipped out of the house while Justine was in the shower.

  I arrived at the restaurant to find Vance waiting at a table for me. He stood when I approached and shook my hand, and even though I expected the date to be awkward, it was anything but. He was charming and friendly and had great stories about his work in a mobile app startup in San Diego. He said he was in town interviewing for a few positions, which he talked about. His work sounded much more exciting than mine. The conversation was easy, and as the meal went on, I found myself leaning closer and closer to him across the table. Maybe I had been too distracted by Dr. Turner to notice guys my own age that were poised for good careers, even if they didn't have advanced degrees or 401ks yet.

  At the end of the meal, Vance paid, refusing my offer to split the bill. He held my coat up for me to put on, and then the door as we left. Then he gestured down the street and I took his lead, looking at the wonder of the city at night.

  We had walked a few blocks when he pointed to a doorway. "This is where I'm staying," he said, looking up at the windows towering ten stories up, then back at me. He studied me as though making a decision.

  Then he smiled. "I had a great night with you, Riley. I hope I can see you again while I'm in town."

  His courtesy and politeness flustered me, to the point where I could only smile nervously and nod. Then he leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. It was adorable, in a way. I would have preferred a kiss on the lips, but his old-school charm made me giddy. I walked all the way back to the bus stop on cloud nine.

  Since my date with Vance had been so pleasant, I told Justine the next day. I kept it casual, not wanting her to blow my hope out of proportion. Justine encouraged me to text him to let him know I'd had a good time. In dating language, that meant I wanted to go out again. Which I did. Vance and I exchanged a few texts and he asked me out to dinner the following Saturday. I agreed, unable to contain my goofy grin as I fell face-first into the couch in excitement.

  Only a few minutes later Faye texted me. Hey, how about dinner this Saturday? There's a place on Columbus I want to check out :)

  My excitement about Vance drooped with my guilt about blowing Faye off. But the fact that my date had been good made lying to Faye seem a little more justified. Which is probably why I lied again.

  I'm sorry, I have another work thing. Friday maybe?

  She wrote back immediately, Friday I'm getting back late from a press conference in Sacramento. Sunday?

  Hesitant, I answered, Sure.

  A few days later, I was making copies right before for lunch when I heard Dr. Turner talking animatedly in the entryway.

  "Hey, kiddo! What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting for drinks later."

  Then I heard Vance's unmistakable baritone and my stomach started fluttering with nerves.

  "Yeah, we're still on. I just came to take your assistant out to lunch. Is she around?"

  My heart raced.

  "My assistant?" Dr. Turner asked, confused. "Oh, Riley? Yeah, she's here." There was a pause and Dr. Turner lowered his voice. "That good, huh?" I heard his hand smack some part of Vance's body.

  They didn't know I was in the copy room, so they didn't know I could hear them. I hoped Vance wouldn't say anything that would embarrass me.

  And to my relief, he didn't.

  "We had a nice meal," he said. "She's a nice girl."

  I heard more shoulder patting and Dr. Turner said, as though apologizing, "I'm sure she is."

  Even when Vance didn't know I could hear him, he was a gentleman.

  I realized what him showing up unannounced to take me out to lunch meant.

  As the copy machine flicked through the last of my copies, I started panicking. I smoothed my hair and rubbed my index finger over my teeth to make them shiny. I didn't know what else to do to make myself presentable. I didn't look anything like I'd looked on our date. I was in my drab work clothes and my hair and makeup had been given minimal effort this morning. I'd put a tube of lipstick in my purse for the date, but that was in the other room. I could buy myself time by staying in the copy room, but that wouldn't do any good. Vance would eventually find me or give up. I didn't want him to leave, so I cinched my papers together and took a shaky, excited breath. I had just straightened up to walk out of the room into the main section of the office when Vance appeared in the doorway.

  Instantly his smile spread unevenly in a grin. "Hey," he said, holding up a single daisy toward me. "I was hoping I could take you out to lunch."

  Not trusting myself to answer orally, I gave a quick, enthusiastic nod. All I could do was gaze at his jawline and cheekbones and sturdy shoulders. He looked even more handsome than he had on our date.

  "How does Thai food sound?"

  "Perfect," I said. It came out a cross between a whisper and a moan, and I wished I'd just given another enthusiastic nod instead of sounding like I was currently being aroused by toners and collators.

  He held the flower toward me and, blushing, I took a few steps forward to accept it. But halfway toward him I realized I had left my copies on the copier, and awkwardly turned back to get it, while at the same time reaching out to accept the flower, resulting in a weird torque that was probably the least graceful thing I'd ever done.

  Vance didn't seem to notice, because after I'd retrieved my copies and put them on my desk, he held the flower out for me to take again and walked me outside.

  "I forgot my purse," I realized halfway down the block, feeling like an idiot.

  "You don't need it," he said.

  I smiled and tried not to wonder if he was too good to be true.

  He was just as cordial as he had been on our first date, and as we looked at our menus and ordered our food, I studied how his face looked in daylight. What stood out were his eyes. They sparkled. Kind of like Faye's did.

  We ate and chatted and he told me he'd had a great interview at a tech company that morning. I was happy for him, and that selfish, lonely part of me hoped he'd get the job and move to the city and we could keep dating.

  The rest of our lunch was perfect, and my only complaint was that I didn't get a kiss. But I didn't want our first kiss to be in front of my office. That wasn't romantic at all. So I supposed I could wait until Saturday.

  On Saturday he took me to a restaurant in North Beach called Rose Pistola. He ordered a nice bottle of wine and after the full theatrical display the waiter put on of pouring a sample for his approval, he raised his glass and
told me he had good news. I raised my glass and my eyebrows as his smile spread across his face.

  "I got the job I was hoping for," he announced. "I start two weeks from Monday."

  I felt like I was soaring. I made a congratulatory exclamation that wasn't a word and wasn't an outright yell.

  Vance grinned as we clinked our glasses and took a sip, never breaking eye contact.

  Fueled by my overwhelming curiosity, anxious attraction to him, and the liquid courage that I knew would soon create a low hum through my body, I leaned forward. Now that I had reason to believe I had a shot at actually dating Vance long-term, I took a risk.

  "I'm sorry... I just have to ask," I said, playing bashful. "Why are you single?"

  He gave a wincing chuckle as he looked down at the tablecloth and something shifted in his face. "My most recent girlfriend and I broke up because she went to law school across the country."

  I felt myself pang with sympathy. I didn't know what to say, but he quickly said, "But these things happen. And I'm enjoying getting to know you."

  Then he winked. He winked. Even though ninety-nine percent of the time I think a guy winking is tacky or creepy, when Vance did it, I loved it.

  I was halfway through telling him everything I knew about the neurobiological process of being drunk when I was distracted by someone sitting at the bar.

  She had long black hair and a trim little waist, legs crossed as she perched on her stool. In her manicured hand adorned with a sparkling tennis bracelet she held a glass of red wine.

  Faye was sitting not twenty feet from Vance and me.

  I flushed cold, caught off guard. As if on cue, Faye looked over her shoulder and saw me. Her hand tensed around her wine glass, but then she gave me a forced smile.

  I fixed my gaze on Vance and started muttering about losing my train of thought as I put my hand to my cheek, hoping to conceal the flush Faye had caused. He just smiled and told me that I'd been talking about neurons and alcohol and that he thought I looked cute when I talked nerdy.

  I was relieved that I had a reason to blush as I said, "If there's one thing I can do, it's talk nerdy."

  "I like it," he said, leaning toward me and lowering his voice. "I like smart girls."

  I blushed deeper into my wine glass.

  Then there was a delicate hand on my shoulder.

  "Hey, Riley," Faye said.

  I forced myself to make eye contact, feet squirming under the table.

  "Oh, hey!" I said, forcing cheer into my voice. "How was your trip to Sacramento?"

  She tilted her head, amused and possibly offended by how fake I was being.

  "Fine. Are we still on for tomorrow?" she asked, glancing up at Vance.

  "Yeah," I stammered. "Definitely."

  "Great." Her expression was victorious and disconcertingly sly. Then she looked directly at Vance and gave him a smile I was pretty sure was fake. "I'm Faye, by the way," she said, extending her hand, tennis bracelet flashing as she overrode my lack of introduction.

  "Vance," Vance said, standing and accepting her handshake. "Pleasure to meet you."

  She maintained her exaggerated smile, then folded her arm back into her body.

  "I better get back to my drink," she said, twisting her torso toward the bar but still looking at us. Then she looked directly at me, giving me a pat on the arm as she said, "Enjoy your work thing." Then she walked away without further comment.

  I didn't know which was more humiliating: Faye catching me in my lie, or the way she had treated Vance, appearing polite and friendly while mocking him.

  I took a big sip of wine.

  "Friend?" Vance asked.

  I nodded, not wanting to say any more or have to explain why Faye had referenced my date as a "work thing." I knew I deserved to feel bad about lying, but that nagging disappointment of having a great date ruined made me a little angry.

  I put all my effort into my conversation with Vance, desperately avoiding looking at Faye. Her presence loomed huge in my peripheral vision, but I didn't turn to look at her once, focusing on Vance and how beautiful he was. I probably asked too many questions, but he didn't seem to mind.

  After our meal, I allowed myself a single glance at the bar where Faye was seated. I noticed that she was sitting with another woman. The woman was tall and had long, wavy blonde hair and sparkly silver earrings. In the moment I stole that glance, Faye reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind the woman's ear, leaning into her as though she wanted to fall into the woman's cleavage.

  And without knowing why, I burned. I was so angry at Faye. With sudden energy and determination, I turned to Vance.

  "Want to grab another glass of wine somewhere?" I asked, sounding too forceful.

  "Sure," he smiled. Then, cautiously, he suggested, "My hotel has a nice lounge, if you like."

  And because going back to his hotel with him felt like the surest way to escape my anger at Faye, I agreed.

  We walked down Columbus at least a mile. We talked about books we'd recently read. He seemed remarkably well-read, and that was just one more thing on the long list of boyfriend-material traits he possessed.

  When we came to the intersection of Broadway and Columbus — where all the strip clubs are — he kept his gaze directly ahead and asked what it was like to move out to California from the Midwest. Uncomfortable under the glare of the neon signs, I babbled about the different shops and the linguistic differences — cart instead of buggy, soda instead of pop — until we had safely passed the clubs. He pointed out his hotel, and I felt like we were heading towards a beacon of relief. We'd have another drink and relax some more, and we'd stand an almost nonexistent chance of Faye ruining our date any further.

  And I hoped that I'd at least get a kiss from him before the night was over. I wanted to be close to him however I could. Touching his arm, holding his hand, kissing his lips.

  We had another drink and all my anger and guilt and awkwardness melted away. Keeping my attention on him was effortless. We discovered we had both taken a film class in undergrad, and we had many of the same favorite directors and genres. As our conversation went on, I found it harder and harder to focus on what he was saying as my attention zeroed in on his lips. I scooted closer to him on the couch of the hotel lounge. I had to kiss him.

  So, with bravery I didn't realize I had in me, I did. And he kissed me back. Over and over and over, and my whole body melted into his torso.

  And then we were kissing in his room and I was folding his jacket off his shoulders, tugging his tie off as I stepped out of my shoes, pushing him toward the bed. We didn't stop kissing until our clothes were strewn over the floor and we were sweaty and panting and dazed with the satisfaction of our orgasms and the relief of releasing the sexual tension between us.

  I woke up feeling my stomach twist with hunger and the excitement of possible morning sex. Morning sex is my favorite. I still felt sticky and a little sore from the night before, but I was definitely up for it. I rolled over to see if he was propositionable, remembering what had worked on Damon back in the day, but I found an empty pillow.

  Hoping he was in the bathroom, I listened for noises behind the papered wall. When I didn't hear anything, I sat up.

  His clothes were gone from the floor.

  So were his shoes.

  So was his suitcase.

  There was no note on the dresser or bedside table.

  I checked my phone.

  No messages.

  I deflated into the bed, feeling stupider than I had in my entire life.

  Something interesting started happening to me once Dr. Turner and I started our formal arrangement: I started feeling as though I had two bodies. Riley and Violet were fundamentally different. One was purely a sexual object and existed for the pleasure and critique of others, and one that needed food and comfort and rest. I became aware that Dr. Turner was uncomfortable with my body having the same needs as his. So, to keep my customer happy, I never ate in his presence, only dran
k water, and only used his bathroom when it was unavoidable.

  And above all, after our first negotiation, I never broke character.

  I went back on birth control. I figured it would be prudent, even if I was adamant about using condoms. So far Dr. Turner had been cooperative, reaching for one without needing to be reminded.

  Watching the balance of my student loans tick down faster than I thought they would was satisfying. I hadn't called my mom or dad — or god forbid, Kimi — to ask for help paying them. I was an adult making a living, and how I did that was my business.

  I came to realize that Dr. Turner was turned on when he believed he was turning me on. The more convincing I could be that I was aroused and enjoying our interaction, the more I got paid. A quick jaunt through internet boards gave me a few ideas. I tucked bottle of lube in my purse and used it to create the illusion I was wetter than I was for him. I learned to simulate my usual movements of pleasure; the way I arched my back and curled my feet. I learned choreography in order to earn a bigger payout. And though some people would have shaken their heads, ashamed of me, I couldn't help but think that I was resourceful. Who else could get paid for something she had originally agreed to do for free?

  I had, after all, agreed to go home with Dr. Turner that first time, knowing we would probably sleep together, without knowing he would pay me. I wasn't revolted by his appearance. He was an attractive man. The fact that he wasn't someone I'd picked up on the street made a big difference to me. I couldn't imagine sleeping with various strangers for money. I didn't have the acting ability to convince unattractive people they were turning me on.

  But knowing him in the way I did, knowing the price he was willing to pay to feel as though he was turning a woman on made him less attractive. Not so unattractive that I couldn't stand his presence, especially when I knew that I had a planned exit time. He paid me by the hour, and I was firm about enforcing the time limits. A few times he had lagged and I'd offered to extend his time by half an hour, and once by a full hour, which he took me up on. But our interactions were finite and generally predictable.