A 21st Century Courtesan (29 page)

“I never knew you were married.”

“Again, this sort of personal information is not something I often divulge to my girls. It's not necessary, is it?”

“Why do you feel it's necessary now?”

“You'll understand once I finish my story.” She sips from her tea, holds the cup in its saucer on her lap. “My husband, as you can imagine, was not faithful to me. I didn't love him; it never bothered me on that level. But after a time it became too well known and it was humiliating, which I refused to put up with. I divorced him. But he hadn't handled his finances well and there wasn't as much money as I would have liked. So I went into business for myself. And of course, this is the only business I knew.”

Yet another heavy pause in which her flat, dark gaze meets mine. “So you see, Val, there is never truly any getting out of this business. It is always a part of us. It becomes so deeply ingrained, it is a part of our very nature. If you think you're simply going to walk away, well, I assure you, it does not work that way.”

She looks so self-satisfied with this little speech, I want to slap her. But of course, I would never do anything like that.

My hands itch. I clench them, the nails biting into my palms.

“Deirdre, I'm sure everything you've said is true. For you.”

“Don't be so arrogant as to think you're any different, Val. A woman in your position cannot afford such foolishness. You've become used to a certain lifestyle. And you've become used to a certain kind of sex. Don't think I don't know everything about you, Val. I make it my business to know.”

I'm fucking furious now.

“You don't own me, Deirdre. What do you think this is, the Mafia?”

“Of course not. And I take no credit for what is in your blood.”

“No. That's bullshit.”

She flinches at my language. I don't care.

“Be very careful about the bridges you burn, Valentine.”

“Don't call me that.”

She stares at me, her gaze hard on mine. Her beautiful face is tight. She is waiting for me to back down. I'm not going to do it.

“Very well. You've had your say. I do wish things had ended on a better note. But that was your choice.”

I nod my head. I'm not going to deny it. I'm not going to defend my actions. I am certainly not going to apologize.

She stands, cool and elegant once more. Restrained. Regal. “I believe we're done here.”

I stand, watching her. And I see for the first time how this cold, hard armor she wears is just that. And I feel the slightest bit sad for her.

I extend my hand to her and surprise flashes across her features for one brief moment before she takes it. Hers is cool and dry and perfectly smooth. It hardly feels like flesh to me.

“I wish you well, Deirdre. But I won't be back.”

She nods her head, lets go of my hand. Her maid appears at her side as if magically summoned.

“Lucia will see you out.”

Back in my car and heading toward the freeway, I feel a strange combination of things. I didn't expect to feel sad, but I do. Sad for her. Sad for myself. For all of us call girls. Hookers. Whores.

I play again in my head what she said to me about how we can never free ourselves entirely of what we've been. But I refuse to believe I am permanently tainted. I'd rather believe in what Joshua has told me. And seeing Deirdre has only made me more clear about what I want for myself and what I absolutely don't. I am more done with my old life than ever.

My new cell phone rings and I see Joshua's number on the screen, smile as I answer.

“Hey, baby.” His voice makes me melt a little, as always. “I just got a call and I have to be at a job site in San Diego later today, see an anxious client for dinner, but I want to take you to lunch first. Where are you? How are you?”

“I'm good. I have something to celebrate.” I am still flying from my conversation with Deirdre. I feel victorious.

“What?”

“I went to see Deirdre today. My … madam.”

He pauses, and I hurry to explain. “I had to tell her in person that I'm done. Not that I was any less done before I saw her, but seeing her was … different. More final.”

“I think I get it. How did she react?”

“She was coldly furious. Trying to tell me I can never escape that life. It felt pretty damn good to tell her she was wrong. It felt like … the end. Do you know what I mean?”

“I think so. Sometimes we have to face our demons head-on.”

“Oh, she's an old demon, alright.”

“How do you feel now? ”

“Good. Stronger.”

“Yes, let's celebrate. I'll order a bottle of champagne.”

“That's perfect. Where should I meet you?”

Twenty minutes later we're at The Lobster in Santa Monica. The place is right on the pier and is all soaring glass
with a stunning ocean view. The waves, shades of green, gray, and blue, sparkling in the sun, thunder on the sand below us. And the sun is lighting up Joshua's hazel eyes as he sits across from me, smiling as we drink our champagne, waiting for our food.

Lunch is lovely, relaxed. Gorgeous seafood and this gorgeous man across from me, holding my hand between bites. Impossible that he loves me, but he does. I can feel it in every look, every gesture.

I have never been so happy in my life. I have never even imagined this.

After our meal we have dessert, a nice chocolate mousse, which he feeds me with his spoon. We drink more of the sparkling wine, talking about inconsequential things. Like normal people, after all.

I just want to get him home, to strip our clothes off, to lie beside him, to touch his naked skin. It makes me smile that I will, eventually, later tonight when he's done working. That I can actually have what I want.

We get up to leave, and Joshua comes around and wraps my sweater over my shoulders in an old-fashioned gesture I love.

The place is really filling up now with the late-lunch crowd. We're making our way through the throngs of people toward the front door, Joshua leading me by the hand, when he stops.

“Greg, hi.” He turns to me. “Valentine, this is Greg Stockton. We worked together on the Seal Beach restoration project.”

“Nice to meet you,” I get out, offering my hand, before I realize who this man is.

My client.

Elegant in his gray suit that matches his hair, with his shiny arm-candy wife beside him.

The champagne bubbles in my stomach like a witch's cauldron.

Somehow, I manage not to let my smile falter, to shake his wife's hand, to shake
his
hand, which makes my skin crawl. His flesh is cool to the touch, too dry, like a reptile's. He is uncomfortable, but hiding it fairly well. If only he'd stop looking at me like that. Like I'm a piece of meat.

That's what you are to him.

I hang on to Joshua's hand tighter, and he turns to look at me, a question in his eyes.

I feel dirty standing next to him, with this man, this client, in front of me. With him eyeing me this way, probably remembering fucking me on the dining room table in his weekend house in Playa del Rey a few months ago, handing me a pile of hundred-dollar bills.

“I'm sorry. I'm not feeling well. I have to go.”

I let go of Joshua's hand, leaving mine cold and empty, and walk outside, take a gasping breath of the sea air. Joshua is right behind me, catching up to me in the parking lot.

“What just happened in there?”

I can barely breathe. I can barely stand to look at him.

“That man …”

“What?”

“He's … an old client of mine.”

“Shit.”

He takes a step back, recoiling.

Somewhere down deep, I always knew this would happen. That at some point, the reality of what I've done will hit him full force. I guess I just didn't expect it to affect me this way.

I can't even say anything to him. All I can do is stand there helplessly, watching his face shut down.

Finally, he reaches out for me, pulls me into him hard, wrapping his arms around me.

“Valentine. Shit. Okay. It's going to be okay.”

“Will it?”

I just don't know anymore.

“That was … bad. Hard. But it doesn't change anything.”

“I don't know if that's true. For you or for me.”

“It doesn't have to, Valentine.”

I burrow into his chest, hiding my face, rubbing my cheek into the comfort of his fresh, crisp shirt. I take in a breath, breathe in the scent of him. So precious to me.

“Damn it. I have to go, get on the road. I can't be late. Valentine, just go home, to my place. Wait for me.”

I nod my head. He tucks his fingers beneath my chin, lifting my face to his, forcing me to look at him. His eyes are blazing. “We'll talk. Okay? As soon as I get home.”

“Yes. Alright.”

But I am already going dead inside. All but my heart, hammering out my panic at a thousand miles an hour.

He kisses my forehead, then my mouth. Is he really as distant as he feels, or is it just me? My fear?

“I love you,” he whispers before he lets me go, helps me into my car. “Go straight home, alright?”

“Yes. I will.”

The beach is fogged in when I get back to Joshua's house, after a quick stop at a convenience store to buy a bag of gummi bears. Silly, I know. But I plan to crawl into bed, to make my escape, and this is part of the old ritual. I just need a break, some time to breathe.

I let myself into the house—
his
house—undress quickly,
and crawl into bed in my underwear, the small plastic bag in my hand. Curling up beneath the sheets, the heavy weight of the comforter, I tear the bag open, spill a few of the candies into my palm, put them in my mouth.

That familiar sweet sensation, so sweet it almost hurts. I am trying hard not to think about what just happened. I don't need anything right now but to make my mind go blank, this small shock of sugar on my tongue, and then, blissful sleep.

But I smell his scent all over the pillows, almost as though he is there with me.

Joshua.

I am too much in love with him.

Each day I feel closer and closer to him. Even our little argument drew us nearer to each other. And yet there is this part of me, locked away inside, that's like a hard lump of granite, and even I don't know what's in there. But I know it's ugly.

I am afraid to let it out. I know I can't do it in front of Joshua. And I know I won't be able to really heal and move on until I take that dark place apart, expose it to the light, and deal with it.

Yeah, I know, I sound like some self-help guru. I sound like Lydia. That doesn't make it any less true.

Running into a client today made me realize just how much I am going to have to deal with. Maybe I knew it before, on some level, but having it shoved in my face like this … It does change things, regardless of what Joshua says.

Too much. Don't think about it now.

I close my eyes, let the candy melt in my mouth, the bag clutched to my chest. Pulling the covers over my head, shutting out the misty mid-day light, I drift off.

I don't know how long it is before the telephone wakes me up. I'm afraid to answer it at first. Reaching over to the
extension on the nightstand, I see that it's Joshua, and I am more afraid than ever. He'll know something is wrong and I can't explain this to him. Not now. But I answer anyway.

“Hello?”

“Hey, baby.”

It almost hurts to hear his voice.

“Hi.”

“You sound sleepy.”

“I was … napping. Sorry.”

“You don't have to be sorry. Do whatever you want. Whatever makes you happy. I'm sorry I woke you.”

“No. No, it's fine.”

“I was calling to tell you I'll be home late. I probably won't get there until after ten.”

“Oh. Alright.”

“Valentine? You okay?”

“What? Yes. Fine. I'm fine. Just… I'm not quite awake yet. I'll be fine. Go finish your meeting. I'll see you when you get home.”

“Okay. I'll get there as soon as I can. And we can talk. Or not. We can wait until tomorrow, when we're not tired. We can talk whenever you're ready. This place makes a great tiramisu; I'll bring you some dessert.”

“Yes, I'd like that.”

We hang up, and I immediately curl back into the bed.

I have been playing house here with him for weeks. But it's not right. I have no right. He is too good. But I cannot figure it out right now. My head is fuzzy, heavy.

Settling into the pillows, I bite back the tears and pop another gummi bear into my mouth before I fall back into a dreamless sleep.

I
SENSE HIM IN
the room even before he says my name.

“Valentine. Wake up, baby.”

Then he's there next to me on the bed. I reach for him in the dark and find he's undressed already. Ah, the smooth texture of his skin beneath my searching hands, the fine, strong muscles of his shoulder, his chest. His nipples stiffening when I brush my fingertips over them.

He leans in and kisses me and my hands go into his hair, pulling him down into me. He kisses me hard, sensing my need. And his hands are everywhere, hot, skimming over my skin, lighting me up all over.

I am wet for him; I always am. All it takes is a single touch, a look. Oh, yes, the way he looks at me, really
looks
at me, as no one has ever done before. And I don't have to think right now, not with him this close to me.