Pleasure Seekers (21 page)

A
melia Wells stood in the doorway, watching her lover dress. She’d come to know every inch of the model’s body from her slanting eyes, flawless dimpled cheeks, small firm breasts with large nipples, flat belly, slim hips and long shapely legs, to her narrow, high-arched feet. Ilene Fairchild had become an addictive drug from which she did not want to free herself. Her normally warm dark brown eyes grew flat with an unreadable emotion.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

Ilene halted zipping up a pair of stretch slacks and glanced over her shoulder at the woman with whom she’d shared the most satisfying sex in a very long time.

“You know I can’t stay.”

Crossing her arms under her ample breasts, Amelia walked into the bedroom. “I know nothing.”

“I have to work.”

“Why do you need to work, Ilene?”

Her eyes widening, Ilene stared at Amelia as if she’d taken leave of her senses. “Why does anyone work? To pay rent, buy food, clothes and to take care of the extras
that make life a little easier,” she said, answering Amelia’s and her own question.

“I will take care of you.”

Flipping her hair over her shoulders, Ilene continued dressing as she slipped her feet into a pair of three-inch sandals. “I’m sorry, Amelia, but I can’t let you do that. I’ve lost count of the number of men who’ve offered to take care of me, but in the end I always had to take care of myself. Thanks, but no thanks.”

Panic like she’d never known before gripped Amelia, making it almost impossible for her to breathe. She didn’t want to lose Ilene because she’d fallen in love with her. Ilene had become only one of a string of affairs she’d had since her first encounter at a London-based all-girls boarding school, but at thirty-five she wanted it to be her last.

“What do you want, Ilene?”

Picking up a pair of sunglasses and placing them atop her head, Ilene gave Amelia a long, penetrating stare. “I want financial security for the rest of my life. I want enough money so that I don’t have to skin and grin at wrinkled old men to keep a roof over my head. I want enough money for when the time comes, and it’s gonna come, when I’m too old to pop my ass in a music video.

“I don’t want to be my mother who was forced to spread her legs for the husbands of the women whose houses she cleaned so that he’d throw a few extra dollars her way to feed her children more than corn bread with pot likker. I grew up dirt poor, and I swore on my mother’s grave that I wouldn’t die dirt poor.”

She reached for her oversize designer purse. “I’d appreciate it if you have someone take my bag out to the boat.” Turning on her heel, she walked out of the bedroom, leaving Amelia staring at her retreating back.

Ilene opened the door to her Chelsea co-op, wrinkling her nose. She’d turned off the air-conditioning unit and the buildup of heat was smothering. Dropping her bags in the entryway, she kicked off her sandals and made her way into the living/dining area. She turned on the window unit to the maximum-cooling setting, repeating the action on the bedroom unit.

Discarded slacks, blouses and underwear were strewn everywhere. A week before, Amelia had called to tell her that she wanted her to come back to Pine Cay, and that a first-class ticket awaited her at the American Airlines terminal at Kennedy Airport. Ilene hadn’t heard from anyone at P.S., Inc. for several days, so she threw whatever she could find in her closet into a bag, called down to the doorman to hail a taxi to take her to the airport.

She’d spent a total of ten days on the private island, touring, eating, sleeping and sharing Amelia’s bed. She hadn’t wanted to leave Pine Cay, but the prospect of earning thousands as a social companion proved a greater lure.

Picking up the telephone, she heard the familiar sound indicating she had voice mail. She punched in her code, then sat down on the edge of the unmade bed with wide eyes as she listened to Astrid Marti asking her to contact her as soon as she received the message. There were two
other messages, one from her brother asking for money to pay back child support, and another from her younger sister who was getting married again—for the fourth time. She deleted all the messages before she dialed the number to Pleasure Seekers.

“Good afternoon, P.S., Inc. This is Astrid. How may I direct your call?”

“Astrid, this is Ilene Fairchild. You left a message asking that I call you.”

“Oh, yes, Miss Fairchild. Enid would like you to come to the office at your earliest convenience.”

Ilene glanced around her bedroom. She had to clean her apartment before she did anything else, because she found it easier to think without the clutter. “Will Enid be available tomorrow morning?”

There was a slight pause. “In the interest of continued employment with P.S., Inc., you might want to reconsider and come today, Miss Fairchild.”

Continued employment.
The two words shattered Ilene’s composure, causing a momentary wave of panic. They couldn’t let her go. Not when she hadn’t saved enough for at least five years of maintenance payments for her co-op. She’d depleted her savings when she bought the apartment because she hadn’t wanted a mortgage hanging over her head.

“I’ll be there in about an hour.” This was not the time for her to go into diva mode.

“Enid will be expecting you.”

Astrid hung up before Ilene did, and the click followed
by the droning dial tone chilled Ilene to the bone. Propelling herself off the bed, she headed to the bathroom to shower and change before taking the subway several stops downtown to Soho.

E
nid moved from behind her desk as Astrid escorted Ilene into her office. She motioned to an armchair. “Please sit down, Miss Fairchild.”

Ilene complied, trying to gauge the older woman’s mood, but her impassive expression gave nothing away. Enid, as usual, was fashionably dressed in a long-sleeved white silk blouse and pencil skirt that ended at the knee. Her shoes were a pair of Ferragamo pumps.

Enid sat opposite Ilene, silently admiring the model’s conservative look. She looked every inch the businesswoman, with a black linen pantsuit and matching V-neck silk top. Instead of her usual stilettos, she wore a two-inch leather pump. Her hair, pulled tightly off her face, was fashioned into a chignon at the nape of her long, graceful neck.

Crossing her legs at the ankles, Enid affected a cold smile. “Do you have any idea why I asked you to come in to see me?”

“No, I don’t.” Ilene’s voice was soft and even.

“Are you certain, Miss Fairchild?”

Ilene did not drop her gaze as a pair of blue-gray eyes bore into her. After she’d recovered from Astrid’s veiled
threat, she gave herself a pep talk during the subway ride from Chelsea to Soho. Didn’t they know who she was? And in case they forgot, she would have to remind them that she was Ilene Fairchild supermodel extraordinaire. Her name would always be mentioned in the same breath as Gia, Linda Evangelista, Naomi Campbell, Cindy Crawford and Jean Shrimpton.

Ella Williams had worked hard to erase the stigma of being the daughter of a sharecropper daddy and housemaid mama to hit the fashion runways big-time. And the same determination it took to reinvent her returned by the time she walked into the lobby of the loft that housed the offices of P.S., Inc.

Oh, no, you half-white bitch, I’m not about to let you intimidate me. I know you’re a sister-girl on the down low, but you just can’t stay in the closet because you like dark meat. Marcus Hampton would be perfect for your so-called exotic jewels, but you snagged him for yourself. How long do you think he’ll hang around, Miss Richards? How long will it be before he’ll want someone younger and kick your pale ass to the curb?

“I’m very certain,” she said confidently.

Enid uncrossed her ankles and looped one leg over the opposite knee as she rested her manicured hands on the scrolled arms of her chair. “In case you’ve forgotten what you were told at your orientation, let me refresh your memory.

“You were warned not to attempt to ever see a client without going through P.S., Inc., because a single infrac
tion will result in immediate dismissal.” Enid held up a hand when Ilene opened her mouth in an attempt to either explain or defend herself. “You returned to Pine Cay without going through Pleasure Seekers, Ilene, and because you did I lost thousands of dollars and so did you. And I don’t need to tell you that losing money puts me in a very bad mood.”

Ilene’s rising temper simmered. “How do you know that?”

“I have eyes and ears all over the world, Miss Fairchild. Nothing that has to do with P.S., Inc. gets past me.”

“But I went back on my own.”

A rush of color darkened Enid’s face. “You are a stupid little girl, Ella Williams. Pine Cay
is
my client!”

Ilene wanted to smack Enid in her too-perfect face for calling her that dreadful name—a name that reminded her of who she’d been and what she’d gone through before she reinvented herself.

“You missed the opportunity to take a two-week cruise of the Greek Isles before docking in Saint Tropez with a very wealthy client because apparently you prefer to give away free pussy than get a hundred thousand dollars and the pick of several diamond baubles.” She shook her head slowly. “You’ve come so far and yet you know nothing about how to play the game. And do not lie to me, because I haven’t forgotten all the little tales you’ll attempt to make up.”

Someone had told Enid that she’d been sleeping with Amelia Wells. What did she intend to do with the information? Sell it to the tabloids? It no longer mattered
because she was beyond threats or intimidation, and pride wouldn’t permit her to give in to Enid’s bullying.

“If you’re going to fire me, then do it, because I have to go home and clean my apartment.”

“I’m not going to fire you, Ilene, because I need you.” Ilene gasped softly and Enid successfully bit back a smile. It was apparent her decision had shocked the self-centered young woman. “I’m going to sanction you for two weeks for your infraction. And if you agree, then you
must
make yourself available for Astrid’s calls at any time during this time.”

Ilene’s cheekiness slipped away like a whisper of expelled breath. She’d been given a second chance. Her dimpled smile was slow in coming. “I’ll make certain I’m available.”

Enid studied Ilene for a long while, annoyed because as a social companion her earning power was limitless. Faye Ogden had hit the jackpot as a favorite of Bartholomew Houghton. Alana Gardner was sought after by entertainers and athletes, whereas Ilene Fairchild was adored by men of every race, men who were young, old, rich or poor.

“Go home and clean your apartment,” she said, waving a hand in a gesture of dismissal.

Rising gracefully, Ilene walked out of the office, lips compressed tightly to keep the curses from spewing out and ruining her chance for earning more money. And she planned to make a lot of money before she told Enid Richards exactly what she thought of her.

F
aye sat at a bistro table with Alana at their favorite Greenwich Village outdoor café. Earlier that morning they’d waited at a clinic where Alana was interviewed by a certified HIV counselor, then had blood drawn by a physician’s assistant.

Alana lifted a goblet of club soda. “I never thought I’d say it, but I toast a negative outcome.”

Lifting her own goblet of sparkling water, Faye touched glasses. “Hear, hear.” She took a sip of the cool liquid. “It’s going to be all right, Lana.”

“How can you be so perky when…”

“When what?”

Alana closed her eyes. “I could become a dead woman walking.” When she opened her eyes they glistened with tears.

Setting down her glass, Faye reached over and covered Alana’s icy-cold fingers. “Please, Lana. I spent the night on your sofa tossing, turning and praying for you. Don’t make me question my faith.”

Touching her napkin at the corners of her eyes, Alana
managed to smile. “You are the most focused person I’ve ever met.”

“I’m not that focused.”

“What are you?”

“I’m determined and stubborn as a mule when I believe in something or someone. That’s why it took me so long to come to the conclusion that Norman was cheating on me. I loved him so much that I refused to see his faults.”

“Do you still love him, Faye?”

“No. But I still have feelings for him because we did have some wonderful times together.”

“Do you ever hear from him?”

Faye shook her head. “No. And it’s better that way because I don’t want to dredge up what was and what never will be again.”

A waiter came and placed their orders on the table. “Can I get you ladies anything else?”

“No, thank you,” Alana and Faye chorused. Both had ordered individual pizzas with sun-dried tomatoes and fresh basil.

Alana plucked a sliver of tomato off her pizza and popped it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “I envy you, girlfriend.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” The words exploded from Faye’s mouth. “You’re drop-dead gorgeous, and you have a glamorous job that takes you to Europe several times a year. You get to rub shoulders with and interview the international elite while I’m stuck here fighting with
a hungry-looking whore masquerading as an intern out to get my job. I’m sorry, Lana, but I’m not buying that.”

“It only looks glamorous. There’re times when I feel like vomiting after I’ve spent hours with people who feel I should be honored to just sit in their presence. Most of them are has-beens and penniless. They’d join the rest of the homeless population living in cardboard boxes if old friends or distant relatives didn’t pay their hotel bill. They’d rather live in hotels because it’s more prestigious than a co-op or condominium.”

“I believe an exception would be Trump Towers.”

Alana lifted her glass again. “Touché.” She gestured to the profusion of dark red beads hanging over the white T-shirt Faye had tucked into a pair of jeans. “Are those diamond spacers?”

Faye touched the ruby torsade. “Yes.”

“Bart Houghton?”

“Yes.”

“You like him, don’t you?”

“He’s nice, Lana.”

“I’m not asking if he’s nice, Faye. Do you like him?”

What did her friend expect her to say? Yes, she liked Bart. Liked him a lot more than she believed she would come to like him.

“Yes,” she said, deciding to be truthful.

Propping an elbow on the table, Alana rested her chin on her hand. “Good for you.”

Faye stared across the table, complete surprise on her face. “What are you talking about? The last time we dis
cussed Bart Houghton you warned me about getting in over my head.”

“That’s because I was jealous.”

“How can you be jealous? The man is a
client!
” She’d whispered the last word.

Alana rolled her eyes. “Sometimes you can be so smart, then there’re times when you’re dumb as dirt.” She ignored Faye’s audible gasp. “If he’s paying for you to spend the summer with him it has nothing to do with you being his social companion. You’re his girlfriend and soon-to-become lover.”

“We are not sleeping together.”

“Not yet.”

Faye’s nostrils flared with seething rage. “You’re trying to bait me, aren’t you? You want me to say—”

“I want you happy,” Alana spat out, interrupting her. “You deserve someone who’ll treat you better than Norman did. You get on my ass about Calvin, but as funky as he is at times he’s never fucked another woman in my bed. Oh, you think I didn’t know about that?” she asked when Faye’s mouth opened. “One night when you’d had too much to drink you told me about the time you came home early from work and found Norman in your bed with one of his patients.

“I don’t know anything about your Big Willie, but something tells me that he wouldn’t disrespect you like that, because he has enough money to have a different woman every night if that’s what he wants.” Leaning
over the table, she peered closely at her friend. “What’s the matter?”

“I can’t believe I told you that.”

“Well, you did, and it will go no further than this table. Stop playing, Faye. Bart’s come down with an incurable case of jungle fever. Give the man some black pus-sy.” The word came out like
pooh-say.

“Stop it, Lana!”

“You’ll have him beating his chest, howling and swinging from a chandelier like Tarzan,” Lana continued as if Faye hadn’t spoken. “You know what they say about ‘once you go black you’ll never go back.’”

Both women laughed until tears rolled down their cheeks. Whoever said laughter was the cure for everything was a genius. They sobered enough to finish lunch before setting out on a walking tour of the historic neighborhood, heading east until they reached the South Street Seaport.

Alana stared up at the cables spanning the Brooklyn Bridge. “I’m so busy worrying about HIV and other STDs that I hadn’t thought that maybe I could be pregnant.”

That’s why I wanted you to go to the hospital where you could’ve gotten something that would prevent you from becoming pregnant.
Faye thought it when she couldn’t say it. Besides, her friend had gone through enough without her verbally beating up on her. And she didn’t know what the counselor had told Alana, so she didn’t want to undo what he’d done.

“And if you are, Lana? What do you plan to do?”

An expression of serenity softened her eyes and mouth. “If I’m negative, then I’ll have it.”

“What about Calvin?”

Alana glared at Faye. “Don’t mention that sonofabitch’s name!”

“He still hasn’t called you?”

“Has he called you, Faye?”

“No.”

“There. You have your answer. I don’t need him or his bullshit. If I am pregnant, then I’ll work as a companion until I start showing. The money I’ll earn working for Enid, along with what I’ve saved, will tide me over for a couple of years. Then I’ll hire a nanny to take care of little Faye or little Taj.”

Faye couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. If pregnant, then Alana wanted to have a child that was the result of rape. What would she tell her son or daughter if they asked about their father?

“Are you serious, Lana?”

“I’m as serious as a heart attack. I’ve never had anything that belonged totally to me. My brothers used to break the heads off my favorite dolls, my mother devoted her life to a man who didn’t love her enough to make her his wife, and the first man in my life transferred the love he should’ve had for his daughter to another woman young enough to be his daughter.

“So, don’t stand there acting so sanctimonious because for the first time in a long time I’m in control, in control of my body, and in control of life. I don’t need Calvin to
make me feel like a woman, and I don’t need Dr. Novak telling me that I must think things through before I make a decision.” Alana pressed her hands to her middle. “Growing up, I always wanted the house, the husband and the baby. Well, I’m grown, can’t get any more grown, just older. And if I am pregnant, then I’m keeping it. I’m not asking you to support my decision, Faye. I just want you to be happy for me.”

There was a long brittle silence until Faye extended her arms. “Come give me a hug, Lana. I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you no matter what you decide.” The two women hugged each other, garnering glances from the throngs weaving their way over the cobblestone streets. “I want you to promise to make me godmother to your baby, and if it’s a girl Faye can be her middle name.”

The tightness in Alana’s chest eased, replaced by joy and satisfaction. “I promise.”

“I have a three o’clock appointment at Madame Fontaine for a facial and shiatsu massage. Do you want to come with me?”

“And do what? Watch you?”

“No, Lana. You can come as my guest.”

Alana’s smile was dazzling. “Let’s go, girlfriend.”