“Yes!” He pumped his fist and high-fived her.
And like that, he forgot all about asking Cole and Sarah for money. If only all her problems could be solved by a game of Angry Birds and a tomato and basil pie.
They got off the subway and walked the few blocks to the professor’s office. They had to pass Washington Square Park where Sean had invited her to go for a picnic on Saturday. Maybe she’d run into him today.
Yeah, right. More than a million and a half people in the city and she was hoping one of them was hanging out by the park, waiting for her to pass by. Still, it was a nice image. Even if the reality was that she would have to introduce him to Jonathan. She might have forgotten to mention her son when they talked.
Liz held Jonathan’s hand again as they walked, the promise of her phone keeping him from balking at the contact. She didn’t tell Sean about Jonathan because it wasn’t any of his damn business. But if Liz was being honest with herself, she didn’t tell him about Jonathan because she didn’t want to see the interest in his eyes fade just yet. Nothing killed a little flirtation like the introduction of a child. She squeezed Jonathan’s hand and blew him a kiss when he looked up.
“Mo-om,” he sighed, making the word five syllables long.
“I love you, honey.”
“Love you too.”
If Sean got group approval, she’d tell him about Jonathan before the first FATE meeting. If he didn’t, well, she could just have a quick fling and end things before it got too serious. After all, if her friends didn’t like a man she was dating, there was probably something wrong with him. They all hated that asshole Holly had been with before she moved in with Marc.
Checking her phone, Liz confirmed the building number and then walked up the steps. Inside, some students milled in the hallway.
“Excuse me,” she asked one. “Can you tell me where Dr. Jenkins’s office is?”
“Last door on the left,” the student said, pointing.
“Thanks.”
The doors were only marked with black numbers. The last door on the left was number seven.
“Lucky number seven,” Liz murmured, her thoughts flashing back to a porn set filming a movie of the same name. Seven couples in seven settings having seven orgasms. Not for the first time, Liz was glad that her job now consisted of seven posters, seven websites, and seven business cards. “Let’s try for seven classes.”
“Are you Professor Donovan?” a pretty young girl asked her.
“No,” Liz managed to get out. She plastered on a tight smile and shook her head.
The girl let out a big sigh. “Do you know where I can find her?”
“I’m sorry, I’m new here.”
“Okay, thanks.” She opened door number five and asked the same question.
For a moment, Liz almost turned and walked out. All the students here were easily ten years younger. She was nearing thirty. When she was their age, she’d just been memorizing her limited dialogue and perfecting her orgasm face while running through most of the positions in the Kama Sutra. Sure, her salary for each film had been nearly as high as what these students paid the school for a semester’s tuition, but that didn’t matter. What made her think she could do this? Part of her wanted to run out the front door, tugging Jonathan behind her. Liz heard the monkeys in her head strike up the band, playing the same tune they always did. Usually, they waited until the witching hour of three a.m. before starting on her self-esteem.
You’re too old.
You’re too dumb.
You’ll never do this.
You’re only good for shaking your boobs at the camera. If you didn’t have those, you’d starve.
Okay, the last one was from Steve when she told him she was leaving porn because she was keeping their son. But it was a memorable one. Taking a deep breath, she confronted the monkeys.
Number One: Sean is my age and he’s getting his degree.
Just the thought of Sean burned away the monkey’s taunts.
Number Two: I am smart and I will do this.
Number Three: I lost my tits to cancer and I’m still here. Nothing is going to stop me.
Liz squeezed Jonathan’s hand again and knocked on the door.
“It’s open.”
Letting herself in, Liz saw a college student texting behind a desk.
“Are you Liz Carter?” he said without looking up.
“Yes.” Liz settled Jonathan into the sofa and handed him her phone and a granola bar.
“You can go in.” The student indicated an inner door with his head, never missing a beat with his thumbs.
Kissing Jonathan on the forehead, she whispered in his ear, “Be good. If you need me, yell.”
“I know,” he said exasperated, already lost in the game.
Liz looked at the student behind the desk and back to Jonathan. Maybe they were playing the same game. With a last look at her son, she tapped on the professor’s door.
“Come in.”
The office looked like it had been ransacked by thieves. Drawers were pulled out and papers flung and stacked everywhere. Liz recognized Professor Jenkins from her picture on the school’s website. Jenkins was stabbing keys on an ancient Mac and glaring at the screen.
“Sit down,” she said. “Let me save this and I’ll be right with you.”
Liz removed a stack of papers from a Victorian spoon-back chair that needed reupholstering and eased herself into it, wincing as one of the cushion springs poked her in the ass. She had left the door open so she could keep a casual ear out for Jonathan. While the professor was distracted, Liz risked a glance over her shoulder. He was still engrossed in his game. She willed herself to relax.
“I’m glad you could make it out here today,” Dr. Jenkins said, pushing her glasses up to the top of her thin, aquiline nose. For all that her office resembled a disaster area, the professor was elegantly professional. Her chestnut hair was wrapped in a chic bun at the top of her head and she was decked out in a designer suit. The professor wore heavy makeup, but managed to look more like a fashion model than a clown. Liz hoped she looked as good as Jenkins when she was her age. Hell, she’d settle for looking half as put together right now.
“I wouldn’t have missed it,” Liz said, wringing her hands. “I was very excited to see the scholarship opportunity announced.”
“I could tell.” Jenkins said. “You were one of our first applicants. Your résumé is impressive.” She looked up at her over her glasses. “Nine years of freelancing can take its toll.”
Liz nodded. “That’s why I’m looking to finish my bachelor’s.”
“It says here you were an English major at UCLA.” Professor Jenkins paused, flipping through her application form.
“I came back to Manhattan when I was pregnant. I grew up in Queens and on the East Coast, and it seemed a better place to raise a child.”
That and it removed some of the temptation to star in a fetish film about pregnant women. But Liz didn’t think she should share that part with the professor.
“Is that your son out there? He’s very well behaved.”
“Thank you.” Liz concentrated on keeping her breaths even. She hadn’t expected to be this nervous.
“Your portfolio is very diverse. I like what you can do. In the event you are selected for the scholarship, I think we can work within the schedule you provided.”
“I can start tomorrow.”
“Whoa,” Professor Jenkins said, holding up her hand. “I like the enthusiasm, but we’re still making our final decision. Although, I have to say, you are a strong candidate. If you are chosen, we’ve got a lot of hoops to jump through and forms to sign. You need to clear everything through the Bursar’s office and through Admissions. It’s a lot of running around.”
“I can do that.” Liz was practically bouncing with excitement. Things were finally coming together for her.
“You’re going for a bachelor’s degree in psychology?” Jenkins looked at the folder to confirm.
“Yes, I am.” Tears pricked the corner of her eyes.
“We’ll be in touch by the end of the week, hopefully with good news.”
“Thank you.” Liz rose and shook the professor’s hand. She couldn’t wait to tell all her friends. Sarah would scream her head off. Sarah suggested going back to college a few years ago, but with the cancer, Liz never saw the point in pursuing her degree.
“What will my duties be?” Liz asked. “If I get the scholarship,” she added, even though the vibes she was getting said the scholarship was as good as hers.
“We’ll need you to design brochures and posters for the various programs the department will put on. You’ll be needed to work at some of the events, but not too often—maybe once a semester.”
“As long as I know in advance,” Liz assured her. “So I can make arrangements for a sitter for my son.”
“Sure, sure. Not a problem.” Professor Jenkins stood up and shook her hand. “It’ll probably take over a week to get everything in order, but then we can start right in. Thanks again for coming down.”
“Oh. No. Thank you. You don’t know what this means to me.” Liz clasped the professor’s hand warmly. “I can’t wait to start.”
The professor walked her to the door. “Gene, put that damned thing down and do the filing.”
The student behind the desk jumped to his feet. “Sorry, Professor.”
“Come on, baby,” Liz said to Jonathan as she pulled him to his feet.
“I just need to finish this level.”
“We’re going to have ice cream for dessert.” She held out her hand.
“Ice cream?” he said, handing over the phone. “What for?”
“It’s time to celebrate!”
Chapter Five
Sean had better ideas for a Saturday morning than wasting it at the clinic waiting for someone he was pretty sure was going to blow him off. But he was just killing time before his date with Liz this afternoon anyway. It was hard to think of anything else. Sean had picked up two large corned beef sandwiches for the picnic, but then he remembered she told him she was vegetarian. He’d stashed those in his fridge for later and begged his party planner neighbor for help.
He was just about to give up when the on-duty nurse let in a nervous looking woman.
“Sabrina?” he asked, rising out of his chair. He wasn’t sure if that was her real name. It was the name she used on the DVD she made with Mary Katherine. A quick Internet search gave him her agent’s number and he had requested this meeting. It had taken a while, but she called him and made arrangements to come and talk to him.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“She said she had an appointment. I can stay if you need me.”
“That’s all right, Gladys. I’ll handle this.” The nurse pressed her lips together in a disapproving line and gave him a warning glance over the woman’s head. When he went to shake Sabrina’s hand, he noticed her pupils were wide and dilated.
Shit. She’s high.
Gladys shook her head, but she left the room without a word, shutting the door behind her. Sabrina smiled and sank into the chair opposite his desk, crossing her long pretty legs and showing off her fashionably ripped stockings. She wore a push-up bra, and her ample breasts threatened to spill out of her frilly pink shirt.
Sabrina wasn’t his usual client. He saw middle school and pre-teens who needed some help staying out of trouble, with trouble broadly defined as anything from acting out in class to using drugs. Sabrina was about his age, but looked a little older. He could see it in the lines by her eyes and mouth, which she tried to hide with heavy makeup.
“Desiree said you were a doctor,” Sabrina said, slouching down in the chair and smiling up at him.
It took him a second to connect Mary Katherine’s stage name to his sister. “I’m not. Not yet. I’m going for a doctorate.”
“She also said you taught at NYU. She was very proud of you.” Sabrina gave him a small smile of sympathy.
It hurt.
“I wish she could have told me,” he said. “About everything.”
Sabrina snorted. “Why are you rooting around in her life? You should just keep the good memories you have of her. She was a really nice girl. And a friend.” Sabrina looked down and started chipping the polish off her fingernails.
“I want to understand.”
“What’s to understand?” Sabrina said. “She wanted to be a dancer on Broadway—”
“A Rockette,” he interrupted.
She waved her hand like it didn’t matter. “It didn’t work out. She tried exotic dancing to pay the rent and then she got into acting.”
“How?” Sean already knew the answer to this. Had tracked the guy down, the same way he tracked Sabrina down, but he wanted to hear if her side was different.
“You got a cigarette?” she asked.
“Sorry, don’t smoke.” Sean pushed a candy dish toward her. “I’ve got some licorice that might help with the craving.”
“Is it Marlboro Light flavored?” Sabrina’s laugh brayed out. “What about something else to take the edge off? You can prescribe drugs, right?”
“No.” He shook his head.
“How about a drink?”
Sean got up and went over to the small fridge. “I’ve got water or a soda, which would you like?”
She sighed. “You really are a stick in the mud. I’ll take a cola.”
Handing her the can, he asked, “Is that what my sister said about me?”
“She said her whole family was like that.”
Sean shrugged. “We are who we are.”
“Ain’t that the truth. My parents are hippies.” She gave the peace sign. “I was allowed to smoke pot, have sex, and drink alcohol. I take it Desiree didn’t grow up like that?”
Coughing to hide his amusement, Sean said. “No, she had a curfew until she was eighteen. Her boyfriends had to come into the house and talk with my parents before she was allowed to go out. And the only alcohol she ever drank that I knew about was wine during communion.”
“So in your message, you said you wanted to know how your sister got into porn? I think it’s clear we took different roads to get to the same place.”
“Yeah.” He sat on the corner of his desk.
Sabrina cracked open the can of soda and took a long gulp. “One of the regulars at the strip joint liked what he saw. So he told a friend of his to check her out. He asked her if she wanted a part in his movie and she said yes.”
“Did she know it was pornographic?”
“What would you like to believe?” Sabrina asked. “That she went into it with her eyes open or that they duped her?”
“I want the damn truth.”
Sabrina flinched back from him.
“Sorry.” Sean moved around and sat down at his desk. Having it between them seemed to make Sabrina more comfortable. She fiddled with something and a quick sideways glance showed him she had palmed a knife.
Way to go, Ace.
He hid his clenched fists in his lap and pasted on a pleasant expression. “Please, just tell me the truth.”
Sabrina eyed him. “I don’t know what he said to her. I can only tell you how it worked out for me. The first time, he told me that he wanted to film me sucking off some guys. He’d pay me five hundred dollars a dick. I thought he was full of shit, you know?”
Sean nodded.
“But I asked around and it turned out he had a contract for me to sign and everything. He paid right away, too. It was nice not to have to scramble for rent that month.”
Did Mary Katherine need the money that badly? She could have come to me for it, if she didn’t want to face Dad’s “I told you so’s.”
“Then the next time,” Sabrina said, after another hefty swallow, “he wanted me to fuck them. They were nice guys. He paid me a thousand dollars each. It went from there. Does that shock you?”
When Sean stripped, he made about three hundred to five hundred dollars a night—an
d that was after tipping out and paying the stage fee. “It’s good money.”
“Damn good money. Why should I work as a secretary busting my balls for forty hours to earn five hundred dollars a week—if I’m lucky? When I can make four times that amount in one day.”
“Six,” Sean automatically corrected.
“What?”
“Three guys. Three thousand dollars. Five hundred times six . . . never mind.”
Sabrina pointed a finger at him. “Calculator head. Your sister mentioned you had all of Wikipedia up there.”
“What else did she say about me?” Sean didn’t know why he was torturing himself this way. What did it matter?
“She said you were her baby brother.”
“Only by a few years.”
“Said you were the golden child.”
Sean snorted.
“Perfect in every way.”
“She did not,” Sean said. Talking to Sabrina reminded him of Mary Katherine. She had been brassy and “in your face,” too.
“When she was drunk and maudlin, she did.”
Great, I gave my sister an inferiority complex. Was that why she never called me for help?
“How often was that?”
Sabrina played with the hole in her stockings. “Not that often. She was fearless.”
She was. That’s why her death doesn’t make a damn bit of sense.
“I miss her. We used to get dressed up at night and go to the high society bars and have the businessmen buy us dinner and drinks. Then we’d go to the ladies room and sneak out the back door.”
“Nice,” Sean said, shaking his head. “Those poor guys.”
“Those poor guys were thinking they could get free sex for the cost of dinner and drinks. Most of them were married. All of them were rich enough that it never hit their bottom line. We were like Robin Hood.”
“Okay, you lost me.”
“You know, we robbed from the rich and gave to the poor. Of course, the poor was us.”
“Got it.”
“So there you have it.” She sighed, all the humor fled. Her body looked like a deflated balloon. “I can’t believe it. I still think I’m going to see her on the set. Or that she’s going to call.”
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