At Your Beck & Call

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  “That’s not all! It’s private and intimate and it’s supposed to be special! But you … you…”

  “You’re such a fucking hypocrite,” I snapped.

  She sat back, shocked.

  My head dropped into my hands.

  “I can’t keep doing this with you, Laura.”

  “Doing what?” she asked, her voice tremulous.

  “Defending myself about how I lived my life before I met you.”

  “I’ve never asked you to … I didn’t…”

  “No? Then why does it keep coming back to that? I can’t change the past!”

  She twisted the wine glass around in her hand.

  “I had lunch with Sian yesterday.”

  I was so over this conversation.

  “She … she misses you.”

  “Like I give a shit.”

  Laura looked up at me.

  “You really don’t care about her at all?”

  “Fuck no! You saw how she spoke to me! You saw how she treated me! I was just a piece of fucking meat to her. A good lay. That’s all.”

  Laura winced.

  “What did she say when you told her about us?”

  Laura couldn’t meet my gaze.

  “Oh,” I said, tiredly. “You didn’t tell her.”

  “I couldn’t! I’m sorry! I didn’t know what to say. She was going on and on about how long you’d known each other and how she was sure that if she made you … a better offer … that you’d change your mind.”

  “Did you believe her?”

  “No, but…”

  “But what?”

  “I felt … disloyal.”

  “To her or to me?”

  Laura didn’t answer, which in itself told me enough.

  Yeah, the whole conversation put a real damper on things. We didn’t stay long after that.

  Happy fuckin’ birthday.

  I drove her home, listening to a local radio station. After a few minutes, she rested her palm on my thigh, smiling timidly across at me.

  “I’ll tell Sian tomorrow,” she said. “She’s going to be horribly jealous.”

  I relaxed and held her hand until I needed to use the stick shift, but she didn’t move away even then.

  At her house, she surprised me again.

  “Do you want to come in?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t.”

  “Thank you. I’d like that.”

  The only part I’d seen of her house so far was the kitchen and the view of the garden. I was curious about the rest.

  “I meant, would you like to stay the night?” she said, tugging on my jacket, bringing my thoughts back to her. “Maggie’s with her father so we have the place to ourselves.”

  “That would be even better,” I smiled down at her.

  I didn’t get to see the rest of her house then either—only her bedroom.

  It was the happiest time that I’d ever known.

  For the rest of August, I saw Laura most evenings, either at her house or mine. Sometimes our schedules didn’t mesh, or she was meeting up with her children—and I still hadn’t met Maggie. According to Laura, she was enjoying college life and barely saw her mom.

  I’d seen Joe once more. To say it had been unpleasant would be like saying that war is bad.

  We’d been out to dinner and a late showing of an Italian film on the life of Caravaggio. When we arrived back at Laura’s place, Joe’s car was in the driveway.

  “Oh,” she said quietly, and glanced at me doubtfully.

  I waited three agonizing seconds, wondering if she’d ask me to leave—but she didn’t.

  We walked inside, hand-in-hand, and Joe shot out from the kitchen. It was obvious he’d been waiting for us.

  “Joe, darling! What are you doing here this late?” Laura asked.

  He stood with his arms folded across his chest.

  “I spoke to Dad.”

  “How is he?”

  “Worried about you.”

  Laura looked puzzled and annoyed at the same time.

  “He’s picked an odd time to worry about me.”

  Joe shot me a filthy look.

  “After he met you at MOCA—with him—he thought he should find out more.”

  “And why’s that?” asked Laura. Her voice, dangerously quiet at first, began to increase in volume. “Because if I remember correctly, he gave up the right to worry about me or to know anything about my life when he cheated on me with his 22-year-old secretary, and got her pregnant. Oh yes, and I do seem to remember that we then divorced. Perhaps your father should be minding his own damn business.”

  Joe winced, but plowed on regardless.

  “Thank God he did find out more, Mom! Do you know what this guy does for a living? He’s a goddamn rent boy, a fucking whore! He tricks gullible women—older women—into…”

  I was furious and sickened by the insinuation, frozen for a second, while my brain tried to compute how much of it was true.

  No fucking way. I was not going to let him cheapen what I had with Laura. I didn’t care if he was her son. He didn’t get to talk about her like that.

  I took a step forward, but Laura gripped my arm tightly and spoke first.

  “Hallen has been nothing but good to me.”

  “Wake up, Mom! He’s conning you! How much money has he asked you for? What sob story has he given you?”

  “How dare you!”

  “Mom, I just don’t want to see you get hurt!”

  “Right now you’re the only one who’s hurting me. Hallen cares about me…”

  “Oh, please!”

  “And I already knew about his escort work.”

  There was a shocked silence.

  “What?”

  “Hallen has told me everything.” She paused, then took a deep breath. “And anyway, how do you think we met?”

  Joe was stunned. That’s the only way to describe it. I guess it would be pretty mind-blowing to find out that your mom is into that kind of thing. Well, for other people—I’d listened to my mum being boned in the back bedroom by strangers since I was 12 years old.

  But the look of disgust on Joe’s face made me want to hit something—or someone, but Laura continued to grip my arm and stuck out her chin.

  “Hallen has never asked me for any money. Ever. I already know everything there is to know: he’s kind to me, he treats me well. So you can tell your father that there’s no need to worry. Besides, Hallen has retired from the escort business and is now a very successful artist. I’m so surprised that your father didn’t find out about that,” she added, sarcastically. “But then again, perhaps I’m not surprised.”

  She left the unspoken accusation hanging in the air.

  “I suggest you go see Hallen’s exhibition at the TAG gallery before it closes next week. And by the way, every painting has been sold. A sell-out exhibition. Check for yourself—rather than taking your father’s word for it. Oh wait, he didn’t bother to tell you that bit of news.”

  Joe didn’t know what to do. Once again Laura amazed me. She squeezed my arm before she let go and took a step forward to hug her son tightly.

  “Thank you for worrying about me, Joe, but I’m fine. Really I am.” Then she turned to me. “Hallen, could you give us a moment?”

  I nodded and went to wait in the kitchen while they talked. Adrenaline was still pounding through me and I felt caged. After about ten minutes, I heard the front door close and Joe’s car drove away.

  Laura looked exhausted when she walked into the kitchen. I wrapped my arms around her and she laid her head on my shoulder.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  She didn’t tell me what they’d talked about, other than that she’d made Joe promise not to say anything to Maggie, insisting that she wanted to do that herself.

  The shouting match she had on the phone with her ex-husband was much briefer. I couldn’t help smiling when she told him off. Her exact words were,
“Get your head out of your ass—if you can still remember how!”

  But the drama wasn’t over, because the following week we came back to Laura’s place to find Sian Te’s car parked in the driveway.

  “Oh God,” Laura whispered, her eyes wide.

  “Had to happen sooner or later.”

  She nodded, then swallowed.

  “Do you want me to get rid of her?” I asked.

  She shook her head slowly. “No, we’re friends. Were friends.”

  “I’m guessing you told her.”

  “Yes. She didn’t take it well.”

  I sighed. No, of course she didn’t. Sian was a vindictive bitch.

  She was waiting for us on the patio, her eyes glinting with malice.

  “Hello, Laura,” she purred.

  Her eyes remained hard as she turned to me, letting her gaze drift over my body, insolently undressing me in her mind. My skin crawled and I wondered how I’d ever been able to touch her, let alone fuck her.

  Laura had been right: sex should be intimate, not something sold to the highest bidder. I was such a fucking fool.

  “Hello, Sian. How are you?” Laura asked, politely.

  “I’m just super. After our friendly chat on Thursday, I thought I’d find out how you’re getting on with your new little fuck buddy? I told you he was good, didn’t I? Talented, you might say. I’m sure there are women all across the Valley who are missing his services,” she said, scornfully. “Are you sure you can’t be persuaded to share? It’s rather selfish of you, don’t you think? Such a pretty little whore. And by the way, are you sure he’s not going to bill you at the end? Well, you needn’t worry—Jack left you with plenty of money. And maybe the whore will give you the discounted rate for pity-fucks.”

  I crossed my arms and stared at Sian’s brittle face, determined not to give her the pleasure of a reaction. That’s what she enjoyed—feeding off of other people’s emotions like a psychic vampire.

  I smiled at her coldly, which made her even more pissed.

  “You don’t have to listen to this, Hallen,” Laura said, hotly. “Sian is leaving.”

  “Look at you getting all territorial!” Sian laughed, nastily. “Have you any idea how many women he’s fucked? Thousands! How does that fit into your fantasy world? Do you know how many women have taken it up the ass from that man? Half of them are at the Country Club? Do you really think you can parade him around and be accepted? You’ll be laughed out of town. He’s a dirty little whore, half your age, which makes it a sad joke, and that’s what you’ll be if you try to pretend he’s anything more than a good ride.”

  I let out a cold laugh.

  “Thanks for the reference, Sian. For the record, you were a boring fuck. But I could close my eyes—and you paid my mortgage. Thanks for that.”

  Her eyes bulged with fury and her hands hooked into claws.

  “Enough!” Laura yelled. “This is my house! You do not come here spewing your filth and jealousy. You of all people know what I’ve been through in the last two years with Jack. We were supposed to be friends!”

  “We were, until you stole him!” Sian shouted, stabbing a finger at me as spittle peppered the ground in front of her.

  “Time to go,” I said, my voice hard.

  She scythed her nails toward my face, but I caught her wrists and dragged her around the side of the house to her car.

  “I’ll ruin you!” she screamed.

  “Try it,” I laughed. “I’ve got nothing to lose—but I bet your bosses would love to know how you’ve been using the company suite at the Four Seasons.”

  “Don’t you fucking try and blackmail me! I’ll have you arrested as the whore you are!”

  “Your word against mine,” I shrugged. “And we’ve already agreed that you have more to lose.”

  Her face crumpled, tears and snot ruining what was left of her makeup. I watched without feeling one shred of emotion other than relief as she fished in her purse for the car keys, and tore out of the driveway.

  I felt Laura’s hand on my arm.

  “Will she go to the police? Will you be in trouble?”

  I put my arm around her, hugging her tightly.

  “Not a chance. Like I said, she’s got the most to lose.” I looked at her closely. “Are you okay?”

  “I can’t believe she said those horrible things. I thought she was my friend.”

  I shook my head. “She doesn’t have friends; she networks. You were useful to her, that’s all.”

  Laura looked crushed, but then a determined tilt lifted her chin to meet my eyes.

  “Are you okay? She was absolutely vile to you. The things she said…”

  “I’m fine. Just glad I’ll never have to see her again.” Or fuck her.

  I didn’t care, except for the fact that Laura had lost someone she considered a friend. I felt bad for her.

  Laura settled back into LA life. She seemed sheepish when she told me that she hadn’t had a job since college and had been happy as a full time mom. I encouraged her to take some classes while she looked into her options. In the meantime, she’d joined a book club and was volunteering at a local elementary school, listening to children read.

  We enjoyed lazy lunches and beach picnics, fucked, loved and laughed together. I tried to ignore the faint but insistent voice of doubt, whispering that she hadn’t invited me to meet any more of her friends or Maggie. I’d tried to set up a meeting with Carl, but somehow it had never happened. I didn’t try that hard—perhaps because Laura and I were just existing in our own bubble of happiness.

  Her friend Magda was badgering me to host my next exhibit. I guess because the TAG gallery was a sell-out, word got around.

  And I was working hard, too superstitious to use the word inspired, although it was becoming evident that I was producing the best work I’d ever done. My style was evolving daily, becoming more figurative and less impressionistic. I was trying to persuade Laura to pose for me, but so far she’d resisted, finally admitting that she’d be far too embarrassed for strangers to see her nude portrait.

  But she hadn’t ruled out the possibility of sitting for me if I promised not to show the result in public. I guess that’s what you call compromise. The whole relationship thing was still a work in progress.

  I was happy, and I thought she was, too.

  We didn’t talk about it much, both too afraid to analyze what was going on. We were dating—we didn’t want to put another name on it.

  But not talking about where we were heading didn’t really work in the end.

  I knew she had residual issues about the age difference, but we were working on those.

  I only became aware how deep-seated those feelings were on the day I went to pick up Laura from her book club.

  She’d asked me to wait in the car, citing our early lunch reservation as the reason we needed to rush away. But after sitting, thoroughly bored, for 15 minutes, I walked up to the door of the large ranch house where they were meeting and rang the bell.

  After a short wait, a Hispanic woman dressed in a maid’s uniform opened the door.

  “Buenos dias, senor?”

  “Hola! I’m here to pick up my friend Laura Anderson. She’s with the book group.”

  She looked me up and down, then nodded for me to follow her inside, stopping at a room toward the back of the house.

  She knocked, then opened the door immediately.

  “A gentleman is here for Senora Anderson,” she announced in heavily accented English, and ushered me into the room.

  Twelve sets of eyes locked on me, wide with surprise, annoyance and expectation. Only one person in the room didn’t look.

  “Good morning, ladies,” I said, pleasantly. “I hope you don’t mind the interruption—we have early reservations at Lucques. Are you ready to go, Laura?”

  I walked over and leaned down, kissing her cheek.

  A faint blush illuminated her face, and she couldn’t do more than glance at me.

 
“Yes, we were just finishing,” she agreed, quietly.

  I waited for her to introduce me, but she was silent, simply picking up her reading glasses and stuffing a copy of Notes on a Scandal into her purse.

  “I hear Lucques does a wonderful persimmon and arugula salad,” announced a thin-faced woman, with a telltale frozen expression. “Lucky you, Laura.”

  I knew I could hear more than appreciation for Mediterranean cuisine in her voice.

  The woman’s face was pinched and impatient, her lipstick perfectly glossy, her hair a helmet of unmoving sculpture fortifying her skull. Her best feature were her eyes, a curious shade of blue-gray. She had a twitchy, unfulfilled air and in another life, she’d have been typical of one of my clients.

  “You must be Marion,” I said, smiling. “I’m Hallen. Laura’s told me how much she enjoys talking about books with you ladies. How are you enjoying the scandal?”

  There was nothing accidental about my choice of words, and my calm façade covered a quiet fury. Laura’s gasp was drowned out by the laughter of the other women.

  “Oh, we’re rather enjoying our ‘scandal’, smiled Marion, knowingly. “You know, older woman, younger man—well, a boy, really.”

  “Sounds shocking,” I grinned at her.

  There was more laughter, louder this time, and I glanced sideways at Laura, her cheeks now flaming.

  A vindictive part of me was pleased: if she was going to deny all knowledge of my existence to her friends, she deserved this. The better part of me regretted embarrassing her.

  She stood quickly, her chin held high.

  “Thanks for the coffee, Marion.”

  “My place next week, Laura,” a woman with long, blonde hair called out. “You’d be welcome to join us, Hallen.”

  “Thanks, I might just do that.”

  Laura shot me a furious look.

  Damn right she was angry—that made two of us.

  We didn’t even get to my car before she started.

  “What the hell, Hallen? Are you trying to embarrass me?”

  “Yes, that’s what I was doing, Laura, because picking up my girlfriend from her book club is so fucking scandalous.”

  It was only when she heard the fury in my words that she realized she wasn’t the only one struggling to keep a leash on their temper.

  “You couldn’t even bring yourself to introduce me,” I said, bitterly. “And it was pretty damn obvious that you’d never mentioned me to any of them. Ever. Your new friends.”