Pain Lived, Love Found 2

by Thalia Lake

  Sandy couldn’t hide her shock at my horrible appearance. I knew I looked like a bum off the street, and in many ways that’s exactly what I had become.

  “Sarah, honey, you’ve got to get cleaned up first. It’s gonna be a while before I can put you with any of my clients. I need you to be clean from head to toe - no drugs, no alcohol. If you can’t stay clean, then you can’t work for me, and that goes for all of my girls. Do we have a deal?” Sandy asked as she looked me in my eyes.

  “I need this so badly, Sandy. Yes, we have a deal. I’m going to get clean, and I’m going to stay clean. I promise.”

  Sandy convinced me that I needed professional help. She took me in and covered expenses for a rehab facility that was about an hour outside of Detroit. For years I believed I was strong enough to get clean on my own, but during those times, I always relapsed quickly. I promised to pay Sandy back as soon as I had the money, and I meant it. I knew Sandy loved me, but I would not take advantage of her or our friendship.

  The facility was beautiful and in a remote location. There were lots of trees, bushes, beautiful gardens and sitting areas all over the grounds. It was peaceful, and when you think about it, when you’re dealing with a sickness like addiction, you need peace in your life. Being cut off from the outside world was exactly what I needed. For most of my life I’d been surrounded by chaos. Even when alone, I never had peace because my thoughts and memories plagued me like a recurring nightmare. At the rehab facility there would be no more distractions, no more temptations, no more hiding from the truth and having an excuse for everything. It was my time to come clean - mentally and physically, and I felt like I was ready.

  The withdrawals were awful, but the staff at the rehab facility were right there helping me through it all. I spent four months in rehab, going through all the steps and not rushing anything like I did before. I invited my family to the facility so I could apologize to them individually. I refused to invite my father, but I did extend an invitation to my mother. It was no surprise when she declined. “If you can’t talk to your daddy then you don’t talk to me,” was what she told me. My counselors weren’t happy about the stance I took against my father, but I didn’t care. I did speak to my mother on the phone a second time, and I managed to stay on the phone long enough to apologize to her for all the hurt and pain I’d caused her. I didn’t go into detail about each and every offense because I was afraid she’d hang up on me, so I made my apology broad to cover all of my offenses against her. I tried to keep it as heartfelt as possible, but she was cold and short towards me anyway, and I expected as much. To say it was an awkward and uncomfortable conversation would be a huge understatement, but it needed to be done as part of my recovery and for my own closure.

  If there was one thing that I hated besides the withdrawals, it was talking to the psychiatrist. His name was Dr. Walters and he was an older gentleman and knew bullshit when he heard it. I participated in our sessions, but I kept some things buried and gave just enough to satisfy him. There were things he wanted me to discuss that I simply wasn’t ready to. He challenged me a few times, calling me out on my bullshit and he would remind me how transparency was key to my recovery. I understood this, but I also felt overwhelmed at times. I was addressing so many things at once.

  When I finally left rehab, I felt like I was ready to conquer anything. Now that I’d gone through rehab and had become honest with myself about my mistakes and the choices I’d made, and how they’ve affected those around me, I felt more comfortable sharing these things with Sandy. I was almost at my six month mark of sobriety when Sandy decided to celebrate early by treating me to a day at the spa. She paid for us to have the full-package treatment. It felt so good to be scrubbed, massaged, and pampered from head to toe. I felt like I was shedding my old skin, the old Sarah and her ways, so that the new, fresh skin could breathe and shine. A new me.

  “Sooo...” Sandy started, while we were eating fresh fruit at our spa day. “I have the perfect client for you. He’s just a few years older than you, and the best way I could describe him is sophisticated and manly.”

  “Oh I’m intrigued. Tell me more.” I requested curiously. I also wondered if he minded having someone that was just as seasoned in age as he was. Now mind you, I don’t look a day over thirty, and I have the body of a twenty year old. I don’t mean to brag on myself, but I’ve kept myself physically fit over the years, especially considering the line of work I was in.

  “He’s a business developer who recently moved to Detroit. He’s trying to help rebuild the city with affordable housing and businesses that will give people in the inner city jobs,” Sandy continued.

  Humph. I wanted to be impressed, but so many have claimed to want to rebuild the city after the economic downfall only to find out that they wanted to do so for the rich and affluent, not for the poor who suffered the most. I hoped this client wasn’t another greedy opportunist.

  “Anyway, he has a ball coming up that he’s attending, and he needs a date. I’ll fill you in on the rest of the details when we get back to the house, but I really think you two will hit it off well.”

  I wondered how he looked, and I prayed that he would at least be handsome. Then again, handsome can be dangerous. Handsome can make you do and say things that you wouldn’t normally do or say. What am I saying? I’m making a mountain out of a molehill before I’ve even seen the man. It’s a job, an assignment, and I’m getting paid for it. There’s no need to make this more complicated than it needs to be.

  Before I got into escorting, I thought those who utilized escort services were people who were unattractive, desperate, and lonely. I quickly learned that I was very wrong. For most high-powered businessmen, escort services were convenient. Some were single and didn’t have a lot of time to date, and rarely made time for a social life unless it was a function to network, like a cocktail party or some fancy ball. When attending such events you had to have a beautiful date on your arm if you didn’t want to become part of the rumor mill that questioned your dating history or sexuality. Hiring an escort took care of that and more.

  I knew the game, which is why I didn’t go into the date with any expectations other than to be paid very well for my services for the evening. Once we were back at Sandy’s home, she filled me in on the rest of the details. The event her client was attending was an annual ball thrown by the richest husband and wife in Michigan where all the who’s who of Detroit, Chicago, and New York would be present. I had never been to anything as fancy and I felt myself getting excited. As part of Sandy’s fees, the client had to pay for my designer gown and all the accessories to go with it. He informed Sandy that he preferred that I wear a black gown.

  Soon Sandy and I were off on a shopping adventure to find me a fabulous gown. She took me to a designer boutique called Che’ Chic located in the suburbs where all the rich and famous shop for the latest designs. I’m a girly girl who loves shopping, and I love shopping for beautiful dresses, so this was right up my alley. When we walked into the boutique I saw so many beautiful gowns in every color imaginable, and I knew right then and there that I would not be wearing black. If the idea was to impress, then I needed to stand out, which in turn would make my client stand out.

  “Sarah, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Sandy said cautiously, as she sat in the plush leather chair in the dressing room while she waited for me to come out in the red, Vera Wang, mermaid-styled gown. It is an absolutely stunning, one-shouldered dress with beautiful lace detailing. I knew it would show off my curves perfectly once I had it on. Finally I stepped out of the dressing room and stepped up on the small stage in front of the three-way mirrors and modeled the dress for her as I too looked at myself from every angle. Sandy’s eyes were as big as saucers as she looked at me.

  “Oh my goodness…you look beautiful Sarah! That dress is gorgeous, it’s perfect!” she exclaimed.

  “Now do you see what I’m saying?” I responded smiling. “I’m covered up, no boobs are spilling out,
and it’s classy, elegant, and beautiful. Trust me, Sandy, he will not fuss at me for wearing this. Look at how good I look!” Sandy uncrossed her long legs and stood up on her five-inch stilettos and said “I shouldn’t trust you on this, but I will. Take that dress off so I can pay for it. Now we have to find some shoes, a matching clutch, and jewelry.”

  Sandy winked at me and I smiled in return before I went back inside of my dressing room to carefully take off the dress. We continued our shopping until we had everything I needed. I felt like Cinderella going to the ball only I had no clue who my prince was. Sandy liked to keep that bit of information from her girls until the day of the date so we wouldn’t prejudge them and not give our all in making sure they got what they paid for.

  Once all of our shopping as complete, we went to an Indian restaurant to have lunch. We had a wonderful time laughing and talking and reminiscing about old times. Sandy always knew how to make me laugh, and she put me in a good mood. Shortly after my release from rehab, I shared with her some of the low points of my life and my experiences at the rehab facility. I’d never shared such personal things like my drug and alcohol use and what led me to them with Sandy before. I know I have said that my clients over the years got me into drugs and alcohol, but that’s not entirely true. I made the decision to do them, and to keep doing them. Like a true best friend, she sympathized with me, laughed with me, and cried with me. She listened to me without judgment and without ever interrupting. Ever since I shared those things with her, she always made it a point to make me laugh.

  When we were finally back at Sandy’s home, I took a quick shower and laid down for a much-needed nap. I slept for about an hour before I woke up and wandered out of my room stretching and thinking about what to do with the rest of my day. I walked towards Sandy’s room which was just two doors down from mine. Her door was closed but I could hear her on the phone. It didn’t take me long to figure out that she was on the phone with her fiancé Philip.

  “Philip, I love you and you know that. You know I want to spend the rest of my life with you, but pulling up roots and moving to the Bahamas to be barefoot and pregnant is not what I want to do. You’re a businessman and I’m a businesswoman. You can’t just expect me to drop what I’ve built from the ground up,” Sandy said, passionately. There was a short pause as I’m sure Philip was now making his case. “Yes, we agreed to have kids too, but why can’t I have my career and have kids? I can take as much time off as I want Philip, why are you making it seem like everything I want to do is impossible? It can’t just be me doing all of the compromising. There has to be a give and take, and right now you are being so bullheaded and stubborn that it’s driving me crazy!” I hated to eavesdrop but I couldn’t help myself. She didn’t talk to me much about her and Philip, but I did know that she was crazy about him and loved him deeply. I’d met Philip once and he was a really nice guy, and very handsome. I think he and Sandy are the perfect couple; they are just two career-driven individuals who haven’t figured out how to make a life together work. I think Sandy is simply scared to leave Detroit. Detroit was home to her, this is where her family and friends are, even though she’s not very close to her family. Detroit is where she started her escorting business, not that she couldn’t move it to the Bahamas where Philip wanted them to make their home, but I know there was a fear of change with Sandy that was causing her and Philip to butt heads. Fear and a stubbornness that they both share. I quickly walked by her room and went downstairs to the kitchen to make myself some tea. I didn’t become a tea drinker until I was in rehab. They had all kinds of teas and in many flavors and I fell in love with it.

  As I sat at the kitchen table, I gazed out of the kitchen window and watched the birds eat from the bird feeder and a pair of squirrels chase each other in the grass. I hadn’t felt this at peace in a long time. I hadn’t sat and enjoyed nature and life like this since rehab. I spent a lot of time outside in the gardens at the rehab facility, and when we’d venture out into the woods and take hikes and perform exercises, I loved it. Sandy had walked into the kitchen without me hearing her I was so wrapped up in my daydreams.

  “Care if I join you for some tea?” she asked.

  “Not at all. I didn’t even hear you come in here,” I said, as I turned to smile at her.

  “I just got off the phone with Philip. Once again we were arguing about my work and having kids. I can’t believe he’s being so chauvinistic about everything. It’s driving me crazy!” Sandy snapped, as she poured some water from the tea kettle into her favorite coffee mug to make herself some tea.

  “I would move to Antarctica to be with him, so relocating to the Bahamas isn’t the issue. Who in their right mind wouldn’t want to move there? The only thing that scares me is hurricane season, and I would miss having winter, spring, and fall, but other than that I can’t wait to move there.”

  Sandy gathered the bottle of honey, her mug, and a green tea bag and joined me at the table, sitting across from me. I listened to her as she continued to speak.

  “I want to be his wife, Sarah. I can’t wait to marry this man. I love him so much. But I will not be a baby-making machine housewife. I have dreams. I have goals. I plan on having his kids, but I will not be June Cleaver! I just won’t!” Sandy cried as she slammed down the honey.

  I gave Sandy a look of understanding and sympathy before I spoke. “I understand what you’re saying, and Lord knows I’m probably the last one that should be giving advice on relationships and love. It sounds like you both are stubborn, you’re both used to not having to answer to anyone, you’re both career driven, but most of all, you’re crazy about each other. If you two could just find a way to compromise and meet each other halfway, you’ll be fine.”

  “That’s the problem; I’m willing to do that, Sarah! I provide solutions and backup plans and Philip finds a way to shoot everything down. It has to be his way or the highway and I’m sick of it. I never realized how selfish he was until we got engaged and started to discuss our plans for the future.”

  “He’s scared, Sandy, and so are you. He’s afraid your career will take precedence over him and the family he wants to build with you. You’re afraid of losing a part of yourself and a part of your independence. You both need to reassure one another, without arguing, without accusing. Have a romantic dinner, talk things out, and share with each other what you want out of this, what you expect, and how you plan on getting there. But reassure him that he will not be an afterthought, nor will your children when you have them. Philip will need to give you the reassurance you need as well so you both can move forward and not let this become a deeper wedge between you.”

  Sandy held her tea in her hand and looked at me, awestruck. “That is some great advice, Sarah, thank you for that. It makes a lot of sense. When I think about what we’ve been arguing about, it’s really stupid. We can both have what we want; we just have to get over our fears and compromise. I’m going take your advice and have us go out to dinner so we can talk about it some more.”

  “You two are perfect for each other. If there’s anyone who can make it and should make it, it’s you and Philip. He’s a good man, Sandy; I don’t need to tell you that.”

  “Thank you for that, and I do know that he’s a good man. I kissed a lot of bull frogs before I finally found him, and I’m not letting him go. He’s my prince,” Sandy stated, as she smiled dreamily behind her mug. “And one day, hopefully soon, you’re going to find your prince too, Sarah. You also deserve to be happy.” Sandy reached out and squeezed my hand, and I gave her a small doubtful smile. “Don’t give me that look. Your day will come Sarah. Just watch,” she reassured.

  “You’re a hopeless romantic,” I smiled.

  “I am, but I know that love often comes when you least expect it. You can fight it all you want, but once the love bug bites you, there’s nothing you can do. Your heart and your emotions take over. I’m a walking testimonial.”

  I don’t know why, but Sandy’s words made me feel unsettle
d. I couldn’t remember the last time I thought about being in a romantic relationship. When I dated Carter there was nothing romantic about it. It was a relationship of convenience. He provided drugs and a lifestyle. I was his arm candy and bed buddy. I’d never been in love with anyone come to think about it. I’d never allowed myself to be open to feel those emotions. What if Sandy was right? What if love sneaks up on me and bites me and I’m left feeling so out of control that I make a fool of myself? No, I can’t allow that to happen. I’m better off being alone.

  Sandy had changed the subject, thank God, and was now talking about her wedding plans. I shook my head of my disconcerting thoughts and planted a smile on my face as I listened to Sandy get excited about the flowers she chose and the flavor of cake she wanted. I was so happy for her...too bad this would never be me.

  The next day, before it was time for me to get ready for the ball and my mystery client, I was advised that my client would be picking me up at Sandy’s place at seven o’clock sharp.

  Sandy had arranged for her good friends Trevor and Megan to come to the house to do my hair and makeup. Trevor was a phenomenal makeup artist and Megan was Sandy’s longtime hairstylist. Trevor is a petite man standing just a few inches taller than me, but his big personality more than makes up for his lack of height. As expected of a makeup artist, his smooth, mocha-colored skin didn’t have a single blemish and his eyebrows were arched better than Marilyn Monroe’s on her best day. Megan is short and a little on the plump side, but cute as can be. She wears her hair in its natural curly state, and it’s very thick. She colored it a beautiful caramel color that complimented her caramel latte skin tone and brought out the green flecks in her hazel eyes. I felt like a movie star with all the personal attention I was receiving.