Call Me Cat (7 page)

THAT NIGHT I
dreamed of men in masks chasing me, killing everyone around me. I woke up in a cold sweat, shaking from fear. Bridgette drove me to the precinct that day to talk to Detective Gray and fill out paperwork. He had no leads, they knew nothing and I felt the same hopelessness I'd experienced during the investigation into my parents' murder.

I chec
ked in with The Pleasure Palace and got back on the schedule. They understood my troubles and offered to pay me early to help replace my clothes, an unexpected kindness that made me teary eyed. "Us girls gotta stick together," Donna had said.

When my shift
started that night, Bridgette tossed out excuses for me with her family, and I locked myself in my room and grabbed the phone. I had no desire to talk sex to strangers, but I needed the money. While I waited for calls to come in, I skimmed more articles on Ash, obsessed with figuring out the truth about him.

I was reading through another
news story on his arrest when my phone rang. Clearing my throat, I answered with a sultry, "This is Cat, how can I pleasure you tonight?"

The man on the other line sniggered. "That's new. Seems you've been refining your
call skills since last we spoke."

I stared a
t the picture of the smiling guy on my computer screen and sighed. "Hello, Ash. I didn't expect to hear from you again."

"Did you miss me?" he asked.

"Not really," I lied.

"Ha! Of course you didn't. You've no doubt had the cream of the crop calling you the last few weeks."

I closed my laptop and set it on the table next to me. "Naturally. So, what can I do for you this evening?"

"I still haven't figured that out," he said. After a pause, I could hear him deeply inhale, then exhale.

"Are you smoking?"

"A
Cuban cigar," he said. "I gave up cigarettes a long time ago, but still enjoy a cigar now and then."

"Aren't those illegal in the
States?"

"Let's pretend I'm in Mexico right now, then," he said.

"You know," I said, "I actually smoked my first cigar, a Cuban cigar, in Mexico during spring break once. They aren't bad."

I could almost see his smirk when he spoke. "Maybe one day we'll meet in person and share one together. I'd like to see you smoke a cigar. I imagine it would be very sexy."

"But you have no idea what I look like," I reminded him.

"I've seen your picture on your profile page."

It was my turn to snigger. "You know those are all fake, right? None of us use our real picture."

"Well, that's a relief. I didn't imagine you to be an over
made-upblonde with a tripl
e-
D rack."

"Nope, I could be a
thre
e-
hundre
d-
pound woman who happens to have a sexy voice."

"And who says a
thre
e-
hundre
d-
pound woman can't be sexy? I've known many curvier women who are just as sexy as their more petite counterparts. Sex appeal isn't a number on a scale, it's an attitude, a state of mind. Any woman can be sexy."

His words deeply affected me. I expected someone shallow and obsessed with a certain kind of look,
but he kept showing more depth and wisdom than I gave him credit for. Which made my feelings for him all the more confusing. "You have a refreshing attitude about women, Mr. Davenport. I wish more men thought the way you do."

He exhaled into the phone. "I think you'd be surprised how many men think like me, at least in regards to this. We're not nearly as hard to please as women like to think. It's women who a
re their own harshest critics, fo
r
reason
s
I've never understood."

After a long pause, during which time I couldn't help but mentally calculate how much money he'd paid to list
en to me breathe, I asked him the question I'd been dying to ask since I found out about his arrest. "Do you have any regrets? Anything you wish you could change about your life?"

"That's a heavy question for so late at night. I'll make you a deal. I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

I agreed and waited while he found his words.

"I got into a lot of trouble when I was younger. Let's just say growing up in the shadow of my father and g
randfather didn't leave much room for innovative thinking. They expected their carbon copy, and I disappointed in every way possible." He inhaled his cigar before continuing. "My solution was to act out. I experimented with drugs and girls. Got into fights for stupid shit and generally made a public nuisance of myself. I'm not proud of it."

"What made you change course?"

"One night, at a bar, a guy came at me with a tire iron. I'd had years of training in Krav Maga. The guy never stood a chance. It was self-defense. I was arrested but quickly released. I thought I'd just banged him up bad, but I found out a few days later… he died from head trauma. His family wanted to press charges, but there were too many witnesses. He was armed, I wasn't. Still, it was the night I decided I didn't want to be that guy."

I couldn't imagine living with the
death of someone on my conscience and wondered what it did to his.

"Now
fess up, Cat. What's your biggest regret?"

How mu
ch did he know about me already? About the real me, not the phone sex operator. I couldn't risk bringing up my real regrets. That I didn't act sooner to save my parents. That I didn't stop the man before he escaped. So I picked something easier to talk about. "I have a lot of regrets, some so old they've grown into something else I can no longer identify. But lately I've wondered how much I'll regret this job, once I've finished my education and am happily married with kids and a career. Will I look back and realize there were other options that I didn't look hard enough to see? Will it scar me in some way that damages me beyond repair, preventing me from creating the life I imagine for my future? So I guess my biggest regret is what might be my biggest future regret, if that makes sense."

"It does," he said. "How do you feel about this job now? Right now, not in five years or ten years, but tonight?"

"I don't know. At first it was really hard, and sometimes it still is, but it's gotten easier. I have some regulars that call in. Guys who seem harmless, lonely. I guess I'm getting comfortable in this role, and that scares me most of all. Who am I becoming that all of this feels normal now?"

"You're adapting to your life circu
mstances. That's a healthy response and one that helps you cope. There's nothing to be ashamed of in that."

"I guess not."

"Tell me about your clients. Who's your favorite?"

I laughed. "Is this where I'm supposed to say you?"

"Of course," he said, a smile in his voice.

"I will confess that talking with you doesn't suck sweaty monkey balls."

"Sweaty monkey balls? That's… creative. And gross. I'd hoped I'd rate at least as high as clean man balls."

For the next hour we bantered back and forth, not talking about anything, really, but sharing something nonetheless. I felt alone and a little empty when we finally hung up the phone, and I wondered not for the firs
t time what I was doing having this relationship with one man who thought I was two women. Guilt tore at me for what this might do to him, and to me, when the truth came out, because I finally realized that somehow, someday, the truth would come out. It couldn't be avoided at the rate I was going.

When the phone rang again, I didn't
want to answer, but I had a shopping trip tomorrow with Bridgette and would need the money to cover rent. My recent check would barely replace all my clothes and schoolbooks.

So I took
the call and didn't balk when Donna told me this client wanted something a little differen
t
.

"This is Cat, how may I pleasure you tonight?"

"Hi, sweetheart. What are you wearing right now?"

I went through one of my scripts. The black lace and satin with stilettos one, and waited for him to give me an indication of what he wanted, which didn't take long.

"You're a single mom in desperate need of a job," he said. "And I've hired you and given you and your daughter a place to live at my house, where I work from home. You answer my calls, take down information, write letters, that kind of thing. Make sense?"

"Yeah, baby, I can do that for. Whatever you need. How do you want me dressed for work?"

"You're wearing a short skirt with no panties and a button down white blouse with no bra."

I worked with his fantasy, doing
everything I thought would turn him on within the world he'd created. But then… things turned strange. He said I'd messed up an important letter and needed to be punished. When he undid his belt, lifted my skirt and bent me over the table, he wanted me to scream. Like, actually scream. I hid in my closet in the guest room, hoping no one would hear as I acted out this torture.

But it didn't stop there. After he forced himself on me in a rape scenario, he
asked me to get my daughter. When I brought her in, he started touching her, and told me to torture her, or he would, and worse. Bile rose in my throat, and I couldn't breathe. I was about to hang up when I heard someone in the background. Someone banging on wood and a little girl'svoice sayin
g,
"Daddy, please let me out now. Can I come out?" She was crying, and so was I.

I h
ung up, nearly hyperventilating, and called my handler at The Pleasure Palace and told her what happened. She sounded horrified and vowed to call the police and give them any information they had on the guy.

I ended the call, but
couldn't stop shaking. I ran a hot bath and soaked in it until the water was cold and my fingers pruned. I couldn't stop thinking about what that man had wanted me to do. Couldn't stop wondering what kind of monster got aroused by such violence.

That
night my nightmares turned darker, and when I woke up I vowed to quit my job once and for all, even if that meant dropping out of law school.

BRIDGETTE HAD SPENT
the night at her new boyfriend's house (someone I hadn't even met yet), and was going to have him drop her off at the mall later that day so we could shop. So I borrowed her car to run errands in the morning. I hadn't heard back from The Pleasure Palace, so I didn't know if anything had come of the creep last night. I also hadn't told them I was quitting. The thought scared me. The thought of losing it all, of not being at Harvard, not being at law school. What career could I pursue with my current degrees? I couldn't teach at the University level. I could go into law enforcement. I was aptly qualified and would just have to go through the academy. It was something to consider.

First I needed to talk to Professor Cavin and get his advice.
Bridgette was the only person I'd told about my new job, and while I was loathe to involve someone I admired so much, I needed someone else to know, someone I trusted to give me guidance.

Cavin sat behind his desk,
white bushy hair a mess as he bent over another esoteric and ou
t-
o
f-
print book on law. "Thanks for meeting me over winter break," I said by way of greeting.

"I had to come in anyway
to catch up on some lesson plans. I heard about the break-in at your apartment. Are you okay?" His blue eyes pierced through me, demanding the truth.

"No, not really. My parents' killer is back and I'm scared. The police are as incompetent as ever and I don't know what to do. To top it off, I'm in a sticky ethical dilemma that I need your help with."

He raised a thick eyebrow. "I'll do what I can."

I stood to close his office door, then
sat in the seat in front of his desk. "There's a very real possibility I won't be coming back next year. Maybe not even next semester."

He frowned. "Is it really that bad? I know you wanted more hours a few months ago, but I had no idea…
"

"It's really that bad. The thing is, I found something, a job that's helping me squeak by, if barely, but… there's a cost to this job
I'm not sure I can pay."

"Nothing illegal, I hope."

"No, nothing illegal. You know I wouldn't do that. But, well… I'm a phone sex operator."

His eyebrows jumped, and then fell with sympathy, and he nodded for me to continue.

With a lot of starts and stops, I told him everything. It felt so good to unload all the crap building inside of me that when I was done I understood why people go to confession. There's something inherently healing in exposing your sins and fears to the light of a trusted witness. To be seen and absolved.

The clock hanging behind him clicked by the seconds as we sat in silence. My relief turned to fear as I worried through his possible reactions. Perhaps this had been a horrible idea.

"Catelyn, I'm so sorry you've been forced into this situation, and I wish I could help you more than I have. I don't judge you for doing what you've had to do to stay in school and follow your dreams. I'll tell you something I've never told anyone. When I was in Los Angeles pursuing my undergrad degree, I once worked sweeping up sex clubs after they'd closed. Not, perhaps, as bad as what you have to do, but I do understand getting your hands dirty to survive.
We all have to survive. There's no shame in it."

I nearly sobbed in relief
and had to laugh at the image of him sweeping up used condoms.

"There may be a chance I can get you a good internship this summer
—a paying internship. It would go a long way to helping with next year. I'm also looking into some scholarships I might be able to recommend you for, things only professors are privy to. Unfortunately, none of this will help for spring semester. So I guess the question is, with everything else going on in your life—which is not insubstantial—can you suffer through this work until July?"

***

His words stayed with me as I purchased replacement books in the school bookstore and stuffed my backpack with study material for the break. It was only a few more months, and if any more calls like the one I'd just had came in, I could hang up. I could tell Donna not to send anything unusual my way. I could make this work, knowing there would be a way out soon. Knowing we all had to survive.

And if Ash kept calling…

I jerked my mind from that dangerous road. If he kept calling, I would have a whole other host of problems to contend with.

On a whim, I went to check the bulletin boards to see if any new jobs had been posted, anything that might be easier than phone sex, when Jon waved at me from a bench under one of my favorite trees. "Catelyn, hi." He walked up carrying his own
armload of law books.

"Hi, Jon. What are you doing here during break?"

He flicked his blond hair away from his eyes. "I was at the library catching up on some studying. I find it easier to focus. What about you?"

"I had a meeting with my advisor," I told him as we walked together.

"Did it go well?" When he smiled, I could see bits of Ash in his face, and it made me miss my mystery man.

"You know, I think it did. He gave me some things to consider for my future."

"I'm glad to hear it. Hey, I was just going for coffee. Care to join me? We can compare spring classes and see if we've got anything together."

"I'd actually love that," I said, surprised I meant it, "but I'm meeting
Bridgette soon and have one more errand to run first. Rain check?"

"Sure, anytime." He wrote down his number and slipped it in my backpack, since my hands we
re full. "Give me a call."

Jon had a kindness to him that put me at ease. Like the sun peeking through clouds, he seemed to bring warmth with him and I liked that. I didn't get the same head rush his brother inspired, but I wouldn't mind sharing a cup of coffee with the guy while we talk
ed law school and life. It could be fun.

I found myself smiling and humming to the radio as I drove to my apartment to
salvage my past.