I wished I could say the same. It felt like every second since I dropped out of college had passed with agonizing slowness, like I'd been trudging through waist-deep mud. Our town felt like the little place time forgot, and not in a charming way.
"What keeps you so busy? Are you still in school?"
"I'm taking my masters now," she announced proudly. "Business Administrations."
"That's amazing!" I exclaimed. I didn't understand how she could afford to take her masters on her dad's meager income, though. She was certainly a smart girl, but I couldn't see her getting accepted for a fancy scholarship either.
She must've read the question in my eyes, as she leaned conspiratorially over the bar and held my gaze.
"I have been having the most fabulous time in New York. I met this guy in my first year, this older guy who just wanted to spend money on me. I was so small town back then that I didn't even realize he was my sugar daddy until I heard someone talking about what a sugar daddy was one day."
My eyes widened. Amy had always been a little wild. We'd both had our times actually. Still, I wouldn’t have expected her to run off to New York and get a sugar daddy. That kind of news would blow the lid off our small town.
But she didn't stop there.
"Well, after doing that for a while, I met a girl who referred me to a madame she knew. From then on I started escorting, and I haven't looked back since." She took another draw of her beer and winked at me. "I go by Tatiana Ivanov when I'm on the job. I look Russian enough to convince all the guys that my family fled the Soviet Union during the Stalinist Purges."
I let out a bark of laughter. Even though I never imagined Amy as an escort, it was exactly the kind of thing she would do.
"That's brilliant," I said.
She laughed. "I wish I could say it was an original idea. Stole it from the great Mata Hari."
"Mata Hari?" I drank some more of my beer, and it settled warmly in my stomach. This drink was doing wonders for my soul. Or maybe it was the company.
"She's my icon," Amy explained. "She was a Dutch escort in the early twentieth century. Told everyone she was Hindu to add an extra element of the exotic to her performances. She was also a spy and a hella rad lady. I really recommend looking her up."
"I'm gonna have to. Does your dad know about this?"
I tried to make it sound as nonjudgmental as possible. I was a pretty liberal minded person and didn't have any qualms with sex work if it was the woman's choice and practiced safely, but I knew that I was among the minority in our town.
Amy snorted. "Like hell he knows. He thinks I've got some cushy concierge job at a high-class hotel in Manhattan. I figured I spend enough time at fancy Manhattan hotels to make it work. He'd have a conniption if he found out."
I believed it.
Amy grinned, displaying a set of pearly whites that was almost blinding in their perfection. She must've had some dental work done since I saw her last. I remembered her as having a little snaggle tooth in the front somewhere.
"Tell me about you," she pushed, already grabbing another couple of beers from the fridge.
Had we already finished our first ones? I looked down at my bottle, which had only a tiny bit left in it. Go figure.
How was I supposed to tell Amy how things had been going in my life when they were going so shit? She was so worldly and cosmopolitan now. What would she think of my pathetic small town life? My own opinion of myself was already low.
"Aurora," she said. "Tell me."
I hesitated too long and now she knew I didn't want to tell her. Oh well. Time to dive in with both feet.
"I just lost my job and I suspect that Nolan, who I now live with, by the way, is cheating on me. He's also kind of an asshole and I've been thinking about ending things more and more recently but I'm scared to be on my own."
It felt good to get it all out, like I was ten pounds lighter. It helped that Amy's expression didn't contain an ounce of judgement. She pushed the new beer toward me and frowned.
"That sucks. Is there something I can do to help?"
I shook my head. "The only one who can help me right now is me. I just need to figure out what to do."
"Well shit, girl. If I wasn't about to go off with a client for the summer I'd say you could come to New York and stay with me for a while. Unfortunately, I already sub-letted my flat."
She took a long drink, and I could see the gears turning in her head. It warmed me to see how much she still cared about me, even though we'd been apart a long time. I bore the brunt of the blame for our estrangement, too, since I'd been so jealous of her New York life that I stopped speaking to her the moment I moved back to Bridgefield. It hurt too much to see other people getting to live the life I'd always wanted, while I was moving backward.
"I still think you need to get out of here," she continued. "It's the perfect time, don't you think? Look at your unfortunate circumstances as a blessing in disguise. You've got nothing holding you back now."
It would have been easy to let myself fall into the dreamy comfort of her words. But reality's a bitch.
"I have basically nothing saved," I said. "And the moment I start making any plans to go, you know my mom and Nolan will do everything in their power to sabotage me."
She nodded. She knew my mom and Nolan almost as well as I did. We'd spent most of our time in high school hanging out at her house for a reason.
"You know what, I think I might have the solution to your problem." She pointed a finger dramatically in the air, her smile lighting the dim bar. "There's this hotel in Queens called the Fox Regent. It's a very interesting place. Most of the suites are designated for guests, but a select few rooms are set aside for the use of Madame Calypso's girls."
"You mean it's a brothel?" I interrupted.
"Yes and no," she replied. "The brothel technically runs inside of the hotel. They have a sort of symbiotic relationship going on. Because the place isn't a known brothel, it allows the clients more discretion. And because brothels make a lot more money than hotels, the hotel owners can line their pockets without even having to lift a finger."
"And what does that have to do with me?" I asked, fearing that she was going to suggest I go down the escort path too. I didn't have any problem with her doing it, but I did not have it in my own constitution. Sex had always been very emotional for me, and I couldn't see myself being able to find the enthusiasm to sleep with someone who not only was I probably not attracted to, but I also didn't know.
"Oh, relax," Amy snickered, reading my expression again. "They're always looking for more girls, yes, but Calypso also needs cleaners and that sort of thing. The hotel staff don't service the rooms Calypso uses. Since it's all under the table, you could go work for her for even just a few days while you get on your feet there. I can put in a good word for you and Calypso will have no problem giving you a room."
It was a generous offer, but it was all a little much to take in at the moment. I'd barely resigned myself to the fact that I was going to break up with my boyfriend, and now I was considering shacking up in a brothel in the big city?
It was the craziest thing I'd ever heard.
It was the craziest thing I'd ever considered.
It would be the craziest thing I'd ever done.
"I'll do it."
The words seemed to come from a deep part of myself that had never come to the surface. Until now, anyway. I clapped a hand over my mouth, feeling my lips turn up against my fingers.
Amy clapped and laughed. "Yes! This is going to be so much fun. I'm gone all summer, of course, but I'll be back to the city in a flash and then we can do all sorts of fun things together! Oh my god, Aurora, you're going to love it there. It's miles better than this shit hole."
I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I wasn't sure what from. My heart was beating a million times a minute, and just as many thoughts were going through my head.
My excitement overpowered everything else, and I found myself leaping
over the bar to tackle my old best friend in one of our legendary flying hugs. We both cackled all the way to the ground.
For the first time in years, I felt like I was back. And I was on the right track.
Chapter 3
Brendon
"Beep beep, get out the way!" I said in a high-pitched, comical voice as I ran the plastic dump truck over Julian's little hand.
"Hey!" he protested. "You ran me over."
"You didn't get out of the way," I retorted.
And just like that, I was having an argument with a four-year-old.
He glared. "Mommy says it's not polite to run people over."
"Well Uncle Brendon says people who don't get out of the way get tire marks." I laughed.
Julian scowled, then reached over and yanked on my hair. The sharp pain caused me to howl dramatically.
"Hey! You're not supposed to pull hair."
He sat back on the carpet, legs splayed out, and crossed his arms defiantly. "If you didn't want me to pull your hair, you should've worn a hat."
"Touché, kid."
Goddamn I adored this kid.
I could barely hear the muffled sounds of conversation drifting down the hall from the living room. We were set up in the den, which Mom and Dad had converted into a little playroom for their one and only grandson. You would've thought the kid would end up spoiled to high heaven with all the attention we gave him, but he was one of the most down to earth little brats I knew.
Jude had already forgotten our little squabble and was now happily driving cars in a half circle in front of him, and making little motoring noises.
"When I grow up, I wanna own a big truck like this one," he said, sliding the semi back and forth against the carpet.
He had a thing for trucks. He also had a thing for fairies, which no doubt confused my brother to no end. This Christmas he'd asked for a dump truck and a fairy princess wand. He spent all day after opening his presents waving his wand and making things "disappear" and "reappear" in obscure places. From what I understand, his parents were still finding odd objects in even odder places.
"How are things going in here?" I looked up to see my brother Avery leaning in the archway.
He looked awfully smug, which I suspect was a remnant of self-satisfaction from earlier, when I'd offered to go hang out with Jude for a bit while everyone had a drink after dinner. He joked that we got along so well because I was childish and like got along with like. I'd let it slide because I didn't see the point in arguing with my brother. He was a lawyer to the bone, and took each argument to its zenith to prove his point. It was infuriating at the best of times, but he was a good guy.
"Uncle Brendon ran over my hand with my dump truck."
"Jude pulled my hair."
The kid and I looked at each other and laughed. Another reason I didn't argue with my brother about my relationship with his son was because I knew it bothered him how close we were. It had never been as easy for him to connect with kids as it was for me.
"Mommy and I are getting ready to head out," Avery said. "Maybe Uncle Brendon will help you clean up your toys before we go."
"I don't wanna go yet," Jude complained. "We were just about to race trucks."
Avery's jaw ticked but he smiled. "It's late, buddy. It's already past your bedtime."
Jude let out a world-weary sigh, like the weight of the universe rested on his tiny shoulders. I exchanged a humorous look with my brother, who winked before turning to leave me to deal with his sad kid.
"We're going to have lots of time to race trucks at our next family dinner," I said in consolation. "We're here every couple of weeks."
"I guess so," he moped, absently gliding the truck up and down the stretch of floor in front of him.
"Come on." I started piling his toys back into the wicker basket beside the couch that my parents kept for that exact reason. "Let's get these put away and show your dad how good we are at listening to directions."
Julian piled up the toys in his arms and waddled over to the basket, letting them tumble inside. I helped arrange them in the basket and tidied up the rest of the space, then grabbed Julian's hand and led him out into the dining room.
Avery and his wife Morgana were just finishing their glasses of wine when we walked in. My mom spotted us and shoved herself away from the table, pulling Julian into a big hug. She acted like she hadn't seen him for months, even though it had only been an hour or so. Based on the reddish hue of her cheeks, the old Irishwoman was drunk as a skunk. I loved her like this.
"I wish I could keep you forever," she said, squishing Julian's cheek against her own. "Keilan, when are you going to have a baby for me to hold? This one's growing up so fast."
My other brother sent my mom a flat look. "I wouldn't hold your breath."
"Maybe Brendon will surprise us all and be the next to add to the family tree," Avery said with a glint in his eye.
Everyone laughed. Everyone except me, that is.
Constant teasing was the norm in my family, so I didn't sweat it. I still wasn't going to indulge my brother's irritatingly off-the-mark jokes.
"I hear we're all heading out," I said.
Mother released Julian, who went running over to his mother's side, and walked up to embrace me in a hug instead.
"It was lovely to see you, darling," she said. "Next time I'm going to cook those scalloped potatoes you like."
I laughed. "You could cook cement and I'd still show up," I said, kissing her on the top of the head.
"Don't tell her that," Dad complained. "If it's easier, you know she'll do it."
"Now, now, Patrick," Mom scolded, turning around to make sure her husband got the full brunt of her glare. "The only one I'd actually serve cement to in this house is you."
Avery and Morgana rose from the table, and my other brother followed suit.
"We've got to get this one to bed," said Avery, patting his son's head demonstratively. "Thanks for dinner, ma."
"You're very welcome, dear. Thank you for coming by."
They saw us all out to the door, and Mother made sure she gave everyone a hug and a kiss on the cheek before waving us off into the night. We walked to our respective sports cars, parked in the cobblestoned circular driveway.
"Still happy with the Benz?" Keilan asked, nodding toward my ride.
I grinned. "It’s got one of the most powerful engines on the market. No complaints here."
Avery chuckled. "But does it have that Italian oomph?" He gazed reverently at his own car, an Alfa Romeo with more pizazz than sense.
I rolled my eyes, and so did his wife.
"Enjoy it while you can, buddy." I opened my door and grinned mischievously at him. "Morgana's gonna have you in a minivan before you know it."
While the married couple started squabbling over the ever-present issue of transportation—she, rightly, wanted something more suitable for family life—I punched the starter and roared out of the driveway.
My parents didn't live too far away from the city. They'd managed to snap up a property in Long Island's prestigious Oyster Bay Cove suburb before property prices skyrocketed, so they had a decent bit of land too. I was always jealous of their place, but there was no point in me having anything more than the two-bedroom penthouse I currently occupied. No wife, no kids, no nothing. On this particular night, I was feeling rather lonely, so I called up my best friend Peter Vasiliev on the way home to see about getting into some trouble.
"Brendon," Peter answered jovially. "What a pleasant surprise. How are you?"
"Bored," I replied. "What are you doing tonight?"
It was only nine-thirty, which meant Peter probably hadn't even left his apartment for the bar yet. Friday nights were the charismatic Russian's time to shine, and for the most part I loved seeing what he'd get up to.
"Uh, well... I've got some family business to take care of tonight. Much as I'd love to, I won't be making it out."
I'd never probed to find out more about Peter's fam
ily business because I was fairly certain he had connections to the mob. The less I knew about it, the better.
I groaned dramatically. "Come on, man. It's Friday night. Can't it wait?"
Peter whispered a curse and shouted something to someone in rapid fire Russian.
"Not today, my friend," he said a moment later. "If you're up for an adventure though, I know exactly the place for you."
Probably not a good idea, I wagered. Peter's version of adventure and mine sometimes overlapped, but more often differed wildly. But hell, I was bored, I was lonely, and hanging out with Julian tonight had reignited a deep ache in me that I was working overtime to shelve and forget about.
"What kind of adventure?"
Peter laughed. "The kind I know for sure you're going to like," he said. "I tried out this new place a few weeks ago that's a great mood helper. It's a hotel in Queens called the Fox Regent. Heard of it?"
"No," I replied. "Do they have a nice bar or something?"
Why else would he be sending me to a hotel? Peter was a hard guy to figure out sometimes.
"I don't know," he said. "I've never tried it. The real fun is going to the desk, handing over an envelope with five grand in it, and seeing what happens."
"What do you mean seeing what happens?" I asked, irritation creeping into my tone. "Are you saying this place is a brothel or something?"
"No, no," he reassured. "It's a regular hotel with regular guests and all that. It just so happens that a local Madame has an arrangement with the owner. It's probably the most discreet place I've been to. Excellent service, too."
I could practically hear the lecherous grin in his voice. I should've known better than to ask Peter for tips on how to kill boredom—not that I'd really asked.
"I'm going to pass on the brothel this time," I replied. "Although it sure sounds...fun."
I'd never paid for sex before and had no intention to. I could go out to any club right now and go home with the most beautiful woman there. Between my good looks, stacked wallet, and charisma, I had my pick of women. So did Peter, which made it strange that he frequented brothels.
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