“So long as you don’t have one until you get there, it’s fine with me.”
She took her clown kit downstairs, thanking God for cold cream and moisturizer even as she dreaded the scrubbing ahead. She didn’t know what had possessed her to take Clown Class, as her friends had dubbed it, but she couldn’t help but be glad for it. She earned a few extra dollars here and there performing at parties for friends and co-workers, and the absolute joy on Lily’s face when Aunt Gabidell first stepped through the door in bright silks and floppy clown shoes was worth every minute of torture from the foam clown nose.
Freshly scrubbed and dressed comfortably in her favorite jeans and Chiefs shirt, she headed back upstairs to grab a sandwich and a Coke for the drive home. Mike never failed to make sure she had caffeine on hand, though Gabe had made the long drive home too many times to count. She knew her sister worried, so she accepted the mothering without argument.
“I wrapped you up some cake, too.”
She switched her kit to her stupid hand and took the brown bag supper in her right, stepping forward for a bear hug.
“Thanks, Sis. Turkey?”
“Would I pack you anything else after the roast beef fiasco?”
Grinning, she stuck the bag in the crook of her left elbow so she could dig her keys out of her pocket. Mike walked her to the door, frowning softly.
“Something on your mind? You know I’m good to go, so long as I have a Coke.”
Her sister managed a distracted smile. “Oh, it’s not that. I just…was wondering…”
When she didn’t continue, Gabe decided to pry. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.” A pause. “I just…are you seeing anyone?”
She rolled her eyes. “Not this again—”
“No, no, no.” Mike rarely interrupted, mostly because she hated being interrupted herself. Very unusual. “I mean…well, I was hoping you weren’t seeing anyone.”
Gabe blinked, lost for words.
“Never mind. It’s none of my business.”
“You’re right about that.” Wary, she nudged her sister with her elbow. “But since when do you admit it?”
That got a ghost of a grin. “Get outta here, runt. All that grease paint is stinkin’ up the place.”
“There’s gratitude for ya.” But she smiled, glad that whatever strange mood had darkened her usually smiling sister’s eyes had passed. “And no, I’m not seeing anyone.”
“Good.”
She was halfway home before it occurred to her to wonder why her sister had pulled such a one-eighty in the seemingly endless relationship stand-off.
Chapter Two
Pick Just the Right One
January
Two hundred and forty-three dollars.
Mike had scrimped and saved and added a few extra dollars here and there, and she still had over three weeks before Gabe’s birthday. Things looked great, except for one little detail.
“Why is it so hard to find a good male prostitute in this town?”
Tucking her birthday nest egg into her wallet’s back pocket, she scowled up at the supermarket’s garish, neon sign. She didn’t want to shop right now. She wanted to find a disease-free tomcat and get this all over with. She simply didn’t know the right kind of people to set up something like this, to contact a reputable professional to travel to Joplin and sex up her younger sister. She didn’t even know where to start.
“You might try Briggs’ Escort Service.”
Blushing to the roots of her hair, she debated if she should turn around and face whatever stranger had overheard her damning complaint or walk on as if she hadn’t heard.
“They aren’t quite what you’re looking for, but if you schmooze the receptionist, she might be able to give you a name for an…independent contractor.”
Biting the bullet, Mike pasted on a smile and turned to face her unexpected helper. A middle-aged lady in a casually elegant slacks-and-silk-blouse combination met her forced smile with a considerably more realistic one.
“Don’t be embarrassed, dear. We all have our needs.”
Nearly groaning with mortification, she squinched one eye shut. “I didn’t mean to say it quite so loud.”
The lady gave a motherly chuckle. “You didn’t. I just happened to be at the right place at the right time.”
She managed a real, if sheepish, smile. “Is Briggs’ just in the phone book?”
“It is. It’s a perfectly legitimate business, renting lovely people out to escort the unfortunate or date-weary among us to the various weddings and reunions and parties that plague us. There’s nothing illegal or even under-the-counter involved.” The lady dipped one eyelid in a disturbingly knowing wink. “But if you are very polite and ask just the right questions, Regina has been known to drop other names and phone numbers.”
Feeling low and a little dirty, Mike thanked the elegantly dressed and uncomfortably helpful lady and all but ran into the market, half-wishing she’d just kept her big mouth shut. Who asked a question like that aloud in the grocery store parking lot, for heaven’s sake? And who on earth actually answered it?
But she at least had a name, and that was one step further along than she’d been before her unfortunate bewailing. She had a place to start.
Grumbling and hoping the blush would fade by the time she got home, she tackled her grocery list. “One less thing, at least.”
Prostitution wasn’t what he’d had in mind when he moved to Kansas City. Seven years ago, Jack Savage—Blade to his clients—had been a graduate student at the prestigious Mid-Missouri State University. Well, MMSU was prestigious for the middle of the country. If he’d wanted Ivy League, he would’ve stayed in Boston.
Instead, he’d picked somewhere halfway to the other side—far enough away to not have to visit, but close enough that no one could say he was running away. Plus, MMSU had one of the best graphic arts programs in the Midwest.
And instead of a master’s degree he could parlay into a comfortable salary anywhere in the country, he’d gotten a surefire quick buck doing what every red-blooded, heterosexual man in America loved. Somehow, he didn’t think his mother would approve. Luckily, he hadn’t spoken to his mother in three years.
His cell buzzed at his hip, intruding on his runner’s high, and he slowed to a jog as he squinted down at the unfamiliar number. His breath puffed out white clouds in the frosty air, and he idly walked in place to keep his heart rate up a while longer. He always felt strange when he saw a new phone number. An escort never knew what he’d get when he answered on a new client. Before he’d told everyone but Regina to stop giving out his name, he’d come across some real oddballs. Women wanted strange things sometimes.
But he had long since learned to trust Regina’s intuitions, so he swiped rapidly cooling sweat from his upper lip and dropped onto a nearby park bench to take the call. He hoped whoever was on the other end wouldn’t get the wrong idea from his breathlessness. Women had the bizarre tendency to freak out if they thought he was having sex with someone while talking to them.
“Blade Savage, at your service.”
The line hummed quietly for a long moment. Just as he was about to ask if anyone was there, a hesitant voice ventured, “Um…Regina gave me your number.”
A first timer. He could always tell.
Drawing on his silkiest voice, he smiled and plied his trade. “And I couldn’t be happier that she did. What can I do for you?”
It wasn’t so much what he said but how he said it. The emphasis on do. The intimate, sotto voce tone. Worked every time.
“Oh, it’s not for me.” Yeah, he’d heard that before. “I want to…uh…contract you…well, your services, anyway…for my sister’s birthday.”
He’d heard that one, too.
“And does your sister have a name?”
An embarrassed cough. “Really. She is my sister. She lives in Joplin. Is this enough lead time for you to drive there in a couple of weeks? I’ll pay ahead of time and cover you
r travel expenses. Even for a hotel room, in case, you know…she turns you down.”
His forehead creased in something like a frown. He didn’t know if he should be insulted or intrigued. “You’re serious?”
A sigh. “Do you not go outside Kansas City either?”
He grinned at the near-irritation in the question. “I didn’t mean that, though I usually don’t have to go that far for a call. I meant to ask if you’re serious that this is for your sister.”
“Oh!” He could almost see her blush. “Of course it is. Good grief, I’m a happily married woman.”
He’d definitely heard that one before.
“Look, Mr. Savage, I have no idea how to go about this. I don’t know if you charge by the hour or by the night or what. Can you help me out a little?”
Caught between laughing at being called Mr. Savage and a twinge of irritation that he hadn’t been Regina’s first choice, he dropped some of his charm and skipped to business. It didn’t look like he was talking to his prospective client, after all.
“So you want me to drive to Joplin and show your sister a good time?”
“Well…” There was the hesitation again. “I guess I want you to try.”
He frowned. “Is there something wrong with her?”
“No! Good grief.”
This was going nowhere.
“Then why would I not be able to show her a good time? I’m a little confused, miss.” And he would have to read Regina the riot act for giving his number to this crackpot.
Another sigh. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this. Let me start at the beginning.”
Settling back on the park bench despite the cold seeping through his sweats, he prepared for the worst. “Please do.”
“My sister is lovely and intelligent and fun. She really is. But somewhere along the way, she picked up the idea never to get married or even get involved in a relationship. That’s fine, I guess. To each their own.”
The woman paused, and he caught himself drumming his fingers on the bench’s back, wondering when she would get to the point. The situation had not improved. Usually when a family member described another family member as lovely and intelligent and fun, they meant fat and geeky and self-deprecating.
“The real problem is that she also doesn’t believe in casual sex. Won’t even consider it.”
Before he could stop himself, he jerked forward and blurted, “Really?”
“Yes, really.” If her tone was any indication, this sister shared his astonishment. “So she hasn’t, you know, been with anyone since her last serious relationship four years ago. She’s almost twenty-eight, Mr. Savage, and she refuses to let me or her friends set her up. She turned down three dates and one honest-to-God proposition last month alone. It just isn’t healthy.”
He agreed wholeheartedly, but he hesitated just the same. “No, it isn’t entirely healthy, miss, but I’m not a dating service. You do know what you’re contracting me for, right?”
She huffed something between a sigh and a grunt. “I didn’t fall off the hay truck yesterday, buddy. I want you to go down there and try to boink some sense into her.”
He couldn’t help it. He laughed, long and hard.
Luckily, the woman laughed with him. “I cannot believe I’m having this conversation with a man I’m planning to pay to seduce my little sister.”
Somewhere between surprise and laughter, he decided to give this odd proposition a try. He was just intrigued enough to make it worth the drive. “What do you hope to get from this?”
A long pause, so long that he wondered if she would answer. “I don’t know, really. It just kinda hit me, and she acted so astonished that I guess I want to shock her.”
“Wait, she knows?”
The blush crept back into her words, coloring them a deeper tone. “Well, not exactly. I said it just kind of as a joke. She doesn’t know that I’m actually, you know, doing it.”
“Fair enough, I guess. Do you think it’ll make her think twice about casual sex, if not dating?” The question popped out before he could stop it.
“Probably not. She’s smart, which means she’s also stubborn.” A sister’s rueful affection lurked in her voice. “Besides, she actually has good, practical reasons not to go for just any guy who offers. She’s not a virgin, but she’s no prude, either. She just doesn’t want kids or a disea—”
He could almost see her biting her lip in the sudden silence and regretting the word she’d started to blurt. “Don’t worry about that, lady. I’m as clean as a baby’s butt.”
She laughed, clearly relieved. “I don’t know if that’s good or not. I have two kids, and I’ve seen my share of babies’ butts that I’d gladly turn the hose on.”
Another laugh escaped him. If this woman’s sister were even half as fun, tumbling her would be all sorts of entertaining.
“All right, then. You have a deal. I do charge by the hour, but I’m a nice guy, so I give discounts for clustered hours. A hundred dollars for the first and eighty for each thereafter. I’ll take you up on the offer of a hotel if I can’t drive back here that night for some reason. Add probably fifty bucks for gas there and back and we’ll consider it done.”
A long pause.
“Miss?”
“I’m calculating. I can do an hour and gas if you want a hotel room. I can’t imagine a decent room being under forty dollars, even in a smaller city like Joplin. But if you don’t need a room, I can cover two hours and gas.”
She sounded hesitant. He abruptly wondered if she were on a budget. She’d said she was married with kids, after all. How hard would it be to squeeze out an extra almost three hundred dollars for a kid sister’s birthday present? He didn’t imagine that this kind of thing came up often.
Sighing, he wondered why he’d gotten into this business if he were always going to be such a nice guy. If he didn’t watch it, he’d be handing out freebies.
“Look, I’ll take two-fifty and give her two hours she’ll never forget. If I don’t drive back, the hotel will be on my own dime. It’s my decision to drive back or not.”
“You know, you’re a pretty decent guy.”
“I try. Do we have a deal?”
“I think we do. How do I pay you?”
“Do you have cash?”
“Oh, yeah.”
He smiled at her tone. “Good. Just put it in a blank envelope and leave it with Regina. She’ll see that I get it. Can I get some directions to your sister’s house? I’ve only been to Joplin once. It’s no Kansas City, but it’s a little bigger than a one-horse town.”
“I’ll lead you right to her door.”
“Great. And miss?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s her name?”
The woman chuckled. “Well, that’s kind of a funny story.”
Grinning, he settled back against the bench, preparing for the worst.
Chapter Three
Trial Run
February
How had her office friends talked her into catering her own birthday party?
Trying to scowl, Gabe tipped half a cup of shredded coconut into the bowl. Cheryl had demanded her famous peanut butter bonbons. Worse, the accounting pool lobbied for the infamous walnut chocolate chip cookies, and the lawyers posited that no one could buy a cake better than she could make herself.
God, she loved baking.
She put the butter and peanut butter on the stove to melt together, and her doorbell chimed. Frowning, she wondered who on earth would drop by on a baking Saturday without calling first. Everyone who mattered knew better.
A salesman? Great. Just what she needed, a lengthy sales pitch for something she didn’t need while her butter mix scalded on the bottom of the pan. Sighing, she turned off the flame and hoped the interrupted melting didn’t do anything weird to the recipe.
Brushing at the powdered sugar dusting her old T-shirt, she crossed her dining and living rooms and bit back her annoyance. It wasn’t some salesman
’s fault that he was interrupting. Well, it was, but the poor guy probably hadn’t intentionally picked the absolute worst time to grace her porch.
Thus, when she opened the front door and saw a winsomely handsome, tall man in jeans, hiking boots, and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, she didn’t quite know what to say. What on earth could this guy be selling? Tick repellant? Camping gear? In February?
“Happy birthday, Gabe. Your sister sent me.”
She blinked. Part of her mind recognized that the man seemed fairly well-spoken with a pleasantly rough, low voice and that he somehow knew her name. The rest couldn’t seem to tell if he was speaking English or some strange pidgin, beyond the greeting.
“Can I come in?”
She forced her mouth to work when she recognized actual words. “Um…no?”
His soft smile didn’t diminish. “It’ll be hard to give you her full money’s worth from the porch.”
She blinked again, feeling her face scrunch into a confused frown. The expression probably wasn’t terribly attractive, but she couldn’t help it. “Money’s worth? What is it?” She crossed her arms, eyeing him up and down. “Why would my sister send you? To deliver it? Why didn’t she just bring it herself? Is it heavy or something?”
The pleasant smile widened into something that made her want to back a step away.
“I’m not delivering a present, Gabe. I am your present.”
There was that pidgin again. It was so close to English. Trying to make it fit understood syllables gave her a mild headache.
“So…my sister…bought me a man?”
His not-smile deepened, his green eyes darkening. He tilted his head forward just enough to look at her through his eyelashes. “Rented is more like it.”
She could almost make it out. He almost made sense. One more exchange and she’d know exactly what he was talking about.
“Come again?”
“I’m your escort for the evening.”
“What, are you taking me someplace?”
My Gigolo: The Care and Feeding of a Male Prostitute Page 2