by Alex Lucian
He looked back at me and tilted his head to the side. “How so?”
“Well,” I began, surprised that he wanted to know my opinions, “it’s not uncommon for someone who receives the Eucharist to also tout their belief in karma. Karma is a concept in many religions, but not in Christianity.”
“Christians don’t have a form of karma?” he asked, and I saw the way his eyes changed. He was absorbing what I was saying, genuinely interested in my thoughts. He was unlike any other client I’d had before.
“An argument can be made that karma is similar to how Christians view sin and its effects. But that’s debatable.”
“Hmm.” He finished his whiskey and stepped around me to pour another mini bottle into his tumbler. “An argument can also be made that it’s all a load of horseshit.”
I listened to the tinkle of the ice cubes as he poured whiskey over them. I didn’t get upset when people asked why I was an escort. For me, it was a job, something temporary as I pursued my studies. But Elias essentially calling my degree ‘horseshit’ raised my hackles. “You have a grudge against religion?”
He turned around, and there was a little fire burning in his eyes. “I was raised Catholic. I received the Eucharist. I was faithful.” His voice hadn’t raised, but I could feel the tension radiating off of his body. “I was faithful,” he repeated, “until that supposed God ripped away my sister. I don’t understand a divine being who can allow terrible things to happen to good people.”
I was taken aback by his admission, and it caused me to forget the only relationship we had at that moment. I spoke the first thing that came to my mind, which in hindsight was probably not wise. “In all your years as a Catholic, did you study the Bible?”
“Of course I did.” He didn’t seem angry with me, but he did seem angry at God.
“Then you’ll remember John 16:33, ‘You will have suffering in this world.’”
Elias stared at me, his eyes hooded and his mouth in a line.
“The God you believed in never said it might happen, he said it would happen. And First Corinthians 13:12, ‘Now we see things imperfectly, like puzzling reflections in a mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity. All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but I will know everything completely, just as God knows me completely.’ This infers that you’re not meant to know. Not in this world.” He stood there, just feet from me, a cloud overtaking his eyes. And then I realized my gaffe and felt the blood rush to my cheeks. “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, a little embarrassed that I was adding that in belatedly. “And I’m sorry for the theological treatise. That’s not what you needed.”
But he didn’t say anything, he just stared at me with that fire burning. Despite the anger in his eyes, I didn’t feel any threat to myself. In fact, I noticed in a rather inappropriate way, how attractive he looked like that, dark all over and storming silently inside.
I knew then that I’d said too much, so I wrapped my hands around my clutch and resolved to leave. Giving him an apologetic smile, I stepped up to him and tentatively placed my hand on his chest, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek. “Goodbye, Elias.”
As I stepped out the door, I marveled at his complete silence. And I knew that putting my foot in my mouth had nipped in the bud any chance for a steady summer client.
Chapter Four
Regardless of the fact that Ruby was the best sex I’d had in recent memory, that flash of stubborn backbone and mildly haughty intelligence at the end—not to mention the fact that I was her paying customer—should have ensured that I never thought about her again after walking out of the hotel only twenty minutes after she had.
Except that’s not what had happened.
Her words kept turning over and over in my head, as did the flash in her big, dark eyes when she spouted words at me that I had no problem admitting I had to look up after she left. I liked it. A fucking lot.
Ruby was a pleasant surprise, much more than the easy release that I’d been expecting. Her pictures had intrigued me, her aloof personality sparking a challenge that I hadn’t felt in a while. The sex was better than good. No way was she faking when she clenched around my dick. And I knew more than one escort who told me they used lube before even laying eyes on the client so that it came off as natural.
But those last few minutes were inked on my brain for the next couple days. I was still getting settled into my Upper West Side apartment, finally outgrowing the bare bones landing spot I’d rented in between jobs in the Meatpacking District. Maybe my mid-thirties were changing the biology of my brain to the point that I needed more than a mattress on a floor and a television bolted to the wall to keep me satisfied.
The good thing about my spartan home base in Manhattan for the last decade was my savings account. Women were my only vice outside of travel. And to my way of thinking, they were worth every penny.
Just like that, a flash of Ruby on her knees, bracing her hands on the wall of the hotel while I fucked her from behind the second time made me close my eyes. It had taken everything in me not to call the next morning and try to set up another appointment. The only reason I hadn’t was because I’d seen in her in eyes when she kissed me on the cheek that she never expected to see me again. My stony silence—intentional silence—had ensured that.
But in that moment, I’d still been so fucking stunned that our post-coital conversation had somehow turned to my sister and how her death had ripped the curtain back on any belief system I might have had.
It was far more likely to me that there was some cartoonish Wizard of Oz character hidden up in the clouds than an omnipotent savior dictating the events of my life. And she’d all but nailed me to the wall calling me out on it. I still couldn’t figure out why that was making me hard days later.
Not thinking too deeply about it, I pulled my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans and tapped out a text to the number she’d given me. I’d like to see you again.
I was staring at the screen to make sure it said delivered when someone called my name. Randall Francis from the last office I’d done freelance for in Pakistan was jogging across the street with a wide smile on his face.
“Good to see you, man.”
I nodded, giving him a polite smile. “What are you doing over in my neck of the woods?”
“I was over at the Lincoln Center for something and thought I’d walk back to work. I didn’t know you lived over here.”
“Just.” I hooked a thumb over my shoulder at my building. “Moved in a few weeks ago, but I like it so far.”
“The wife and I do too. We’re actually hitting up a place tonight for dinner that she just heard about, thought it sounded cool. The Library Bar?”
“Oh yeah,” I said, tucking my phone away. “I’ve never been.”
Randall smiled indulgently, like he always did when he was talking about his wife. I didn’t know him well, but he seemed like a nice guy. A lot like the rest of the guys I came into contact with through work but never went past surface politeness. “Sarai always finds the best places. You should check it out, man.” He lifted his arm to look at his watch. “Hey, I’ve got to run. Are you coming to the dinner in a couple weeks?”
I lifted my eyebrows. “Not sure yet.”
“Fuck, man. Your pictures are part of the book. You’ve got to come. Bring a woman maybe, so Lizette in Accounting can stop salivating over you.”
We both laughed, because Lizette was pushing sixty and had more jowls than a fucking bulldog. “See ya, Randall.”
While he clapped my shoulder and walked past me, I felt my phone vibrate. With a deep breath, I pulled it out.
Ruby: What did you have in mind?
I slicked my tongue along the underside of my front teeth while I thought through what Randall had said. Part of the reason I was going to be in New York for the longest stretch that I’d been in years was my contribution to the book he’d mentioned, a collaborative effort of over a dozen photographers’ work from the
last eight years in the Middle East and Asia. There were more events that I was strongly encouraged to attend, but I fucking hated them. Hated the tedious, inane conversations with strangers who felt like they knew me. Who felt like they had a right to ask intrusive questions about what I’d seen. Hated the monkey suit that I had to wear that felt like a straightjacket most nights.
As I stared at her response, I had an idea.
Care to meet for drinks? The Library Bar on W 60th at 9?
Ruby: Just drinks?
For now.
Miss Ruby was about to go on an audition, and she had no fucking clue.
I arrived before her and was sitting in a dark leather couch on the first floor, the lighting in the second level giving a perfect view of metal railings and case upon case of books. The low hum of chatter around me was soothing after my quiet day of developing photos.
The beer I’d ordered was crisp on my tongue, somehow feeling like a more casual choice than whiskey. I’d just set my glass back down on the round, oak table when I saw her. Tonight she was wearing white, a long, sleek column of white covering her damn near divine body.
It was sedate, covering her shoulders with only the slightest hint of cleavage and wrapping down around past her knees. Nothing about it screamed sex appeal, but because it was on her, I couldn’t stop my grin.
The look she gave me back when I stood to kiss her on the cheek wasn’t a smile. It was a smirk.
“You look like you should be illegal,” I said as she sat on the opposite side of the couch from me, crossing her legs so that I had no choice but to look at the wicked spiked heel of her sandals.
“I am.”
When I lifted an eyebrow, she laughed under her breath. “Touché.” My eyes roamed her face, and she stared back, unabashed. “But you’re worth the risk.”
“Thank you,” she said with a slight lift of her chin. “I have to admit that I didn’t expect to hear from you again.”
“After your theological treatise, you mean?”
Ruby was about to answer when the server came back to our table and about fucking drooled over her when she ordered, looking up at him through her long, dark lashes.
“Grey Goose and tonic, please.” He scurried off and Ruby turned to me again, regarding me with banked interest in her dark chocolate eyes. “Yes, after that. Though I’m impressed you knew what that meant.”
“I didn’t,” I tossed back, holding my beer up to my mouth while she smiled at my honesty. “The second you fled from the room, I had to look up about half of the words you used.”
“I find that hard to believe,” she said, angling her legs more in my direction when the server dropped off her drink only seconds later.
“My talents don’t lie up here,” I told her, tapping the side of my head with two fingers.
“Not all of them, at least.” Her eyes not-so-subtly dipped down to my lap.
An erection wasn’t prudent, given where we were, and who I knew would probably drop by our table at any minute. “Glad you don’t have any complaints in that department.”
Ruby’s tongue poked out of her mouth to press along the edge of her plump upper lip, and all my skin tightened. “I almost felt like I should have paid you after the third orgasm.”
I pulled in a slow breath through my nose and leaned forward so I could speak more closely to her ear. “If you’re looking to get fucked in the bathroom of this bar, then by all means, keep it up.”
I was fully hard, and nothing about our interaction felt like she was selling her body and I was one the buying it. Adrenaline bubbled under my skin and I desperately wanted to use her as the outlet.
“Elias,” Randall boomed from behind Ruby and I had to blink out of the sexual haze that had wrapped around my head. “I see you took my advice.”
“Randall.” I stood, hoping my dick wasn’t at a right angle against my zipper. We shook hands and he gestured to a pretty, petite woman next to him. “Sarai, this is Elias. We work together.”
She smiled and shook my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” I held a hand out to Ruby, watched her settle an amused look in my direction while she took it and stood. “Randall, Sarai, this is my friend, Ruby.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet both of you,” she said, clasping both of their hands with a warm smile on her face. “Are you a photographer too, Randall?”
He laughed good-naturedly, wrapping an arm around his wife. “No. I leave the exciting stuff to men like Elias. Couldn’t handle all the travel and being away from this one.”
While Sarai beamed at her husband, Ruby wrapped an arm around my bicep and gave them such a genuine smile that I had to blink at her. “That’s so lovely. How long have you been married?”
“Seven years,” Sarai answered, still smiling up at Randall.
“Seven is the number of perfection in most cultures,” Ruby said, still holding on to my arm. “It certainly seems true with the two of you.”
Well fuck, if they weren’t eating out of her perfectly manicured hand before, they were after that gem. We made small talk for a few more minutes before the Francises had to leave. As I sat, I motioned to the server for another beer. “Another Grey Goose?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“One of the reasons I wanted to meet you here tonight was to make sure I didn’t remember you incorrectly.”
She breathed out a laugh, taking the last sip out of her lowball glass. “I’m not quite sure how I’m supposed to take that.”
“As a compliment,” I assured her. “Despite your sermon at the end of our date the other night, I find myself wanting more.”
“I’m certainly open to negotiating that,” she told me in a low, throaty voice, her eyes glowing in the dim light of the bar.
“That’s good. Because I have numerous events over the next month to attend while I’m here. And I’d like you to be at my beck and call for the next thirty days. For whatever I need. Whenever I need it.”
Chapter Five
I wished for more Grey Goose at that moment. “A month?” I said, trying to keep my voice smooth. I didn’t want to reflect any of the shock I felt.
“Yes.” His eyes were warm and intense.
“That’s,” I began, but didn’t know exactly where I was going with it. “I don’t have rates for extended periods of time.”
“I’m sure your manager does.” He raised an eyebrow, and I felt a little silly for saying I didn’t know the rate for thirty days. But it had never been offered to me before.
“I’m sure she does,” I said. “You know, I’ll take another drink after all.” I pointed my head at my empty glass. “Would you excuse me a moment?”
He nodded, not appearing to be the least bit fazed by my leaving the table. But I needed to text Lenore, and gather my thoughts.
The bathroom was bright white, decorated with whimsical, floral prints depicting literary quotes. I tucked myself into a stall to pull out my phone and when I looked up, I faced a quote that was framed and glued onto the back of the stall door. “Money, like vodka, turns a person into an eccentric. – Anton Chekhov.”
It made me laugh, possibly erring on the hysterical side. Because while I may not have felt eccentric, I certainly felt strange. The idea of thirty days at Elias’ beck and call and the amount of money that would bring in was making me feel unstable. I typed out a quick text to Lenore. What is the rate for something like thirty-days exclusivity?
I knew Lenore would see dollar signs in her eyes and gently encourage me to accept such an extravagant offer. I had dollar signs in my eyes too—the six figures’ worth of student loan debt that followed me into situations just like this, the very reason I’d agreed to take Elias on in the first place.
Lenore: Exclusive? Meaning every night?
I don’t know. “Beck and call” is how he described it.
Lenore: 15. See if he bites.
Fifteen thousand dollars sounded like five months’ rent. It sounded like a nice d
ent in my student loans. It sounded like freedom.
It also sounded like it might be suffocating. One man, for thirty days. Right when I was coming out of my finals.
I returned to the table, still not decided yet.
“Sorry about that,” I said and smiled appreciatively at the filled drink on the table. I picked it up and sipped it. “Why?” I blurted out.
“Why what? You’re going to need to be more specific.” He looked ever the picture of calm confidence. He didn’t doubt I’d take him up on his offer, especially with very little convincing.
“Why me?” I realized immediately how that sounded and cooled my voice as I continued. “You’re obviously not a gremlin. You could pick up a date very easily. Why would you need to pay someone?”
He leaned back against his seat as he regarded me. “I know that.” He didn’t say it with a smirk, like he was highlighting his enormous ego. He sounded matter-of-fact about it. “But I don’t want to pick up a date, especially not one with expectations.” At my look, he continued, “You know, dates and meeting the families and friends. Chick flicks. Along the line, moving in together. I’m quite happy with the life I’ve carved out for myself and I’m not interested in complications at the moment.”
“Chick flicks are a deal breaker for you?” I asked, tucking my tongue between my teeth to keep from smiling at that.
“They are. I’m not interested in traditional dating. I’d much prefer an agreement that you could provide for me, whereby you’re available when I need you and when you leave, I’m not obligated to do anything else.”
Sipping my drink, I contemplated. “Okay. But I have finals this week.”
“I’m flexible,” he said immediately. “What do you have after finals?”
“Nothing, but—”
“Great. Then it’s settled.”
I narrowed my eyes a little. Not threateningly, but enough to show him my annoyance at being interrupted and his assumption I’d agreed. “It’s not settled yet.”
