Diary of a Jetsetting Call Girl

by Tracy Quan

  Do I have time to change my outfit? Make that poolside fantasy—well, part of it—come true before Duncan returns from Plan d’Aups? For some reason, giving al fresco oral to another man feels like a fitting retort to Duncan’s chaste kiss. My lips were so ready for him.

  Now they’re ready for business. And there’s something I need … from the gardening shed.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  France: Rite from Wrong

  Sunday, later

  While Milt was showering, I took a quick yet thorough “hooker bath” before changing into a short knit skirt and a bikini top. I scampered downstairs with my supplies wrapped in a towel, and organized a comfortable spot for my customer next to the pool. Then I fixed him a drink.

  It took a few minutes for Milt to notice how empty the house was. Eventually, he came outside in polo shirt and khakis—and found me lying on one of the loungers barely clothed. I beckoned and pointed to his drink, waiting on a small table next to his favorite chair.

  “Remember what you said the other night at dinner? When you were sitting right there?”

  “I do,” he growled. “Where’s Duncan?”

  “I asked him to take Allie to the museum in Plan d’Aups.” Now I was standing in front of Milt and his palms were sliding up my thighs. His fingertips caressed my loins, discovering my lack of panties. “So I could have you all to myself.”

  “Nice.” Milt was lifting my skirt higher. “You’ve always had a gorgeous pussy.”

  The breeze made me tingle. He wanted to lick me but the position was awkward and it was easier to watch me fingering myself. Then I turned around and sat on his lap. I reached around and rubbed his hard-on through his pants.

  “If we had more time,” I said, “I would unzip you and ride you backwards.”

  Milt made a protesting sound. “How much time do we have, baby?”

  I pulled the gardener’s stool from its hiding spot. Milt was too absorbed to notice. His hands were exploring my bikini top and my ass was wriggling against his fly. I pushed the stool toward the front of Milt’s chair. “Enough time for this,” I said, getting up.

  “Suzy, you’re a genius. Where did you get that?”

  “Never you mind.” I was kneeling in front of him, unzipping his pants, still wearing my skirt and bikini top. But the top had slipped quite a bit and he was trying to reach my nipples. No such luck. It gives me some mischievous pleasure to know that parts of me elude him, while I have full access to all HIS relevant bits. I pulled my skirt to my waist and stared up at him, massaging his erection with my hands. “I can feel the breeze on my pussy lips. They’re so wet.” He moaned. I hadn’t even started sucking him but he was extremely hard. Arching my ass for emphasis, I said, “Do you think we can hear the car from here? I think we’ll hear him arriving, don’t you?”

  “What an amazing view that would be.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know what I’m talking about. Can you open your legs a little wider? Stick your ass in the air. That’s right.”

  Milt was staring behind me. Imagining … I was reluctant to ask what, though. I let his mind wander while I unpacked a condom. As my lips drove the condom downward onto his shaft, I remembered Duncan’s well-behaved kiss, and felt so deliciously profane that I didn’t want to stop.

  I came up for air and said, “You bring out the slut in me.” I heard a car engine. “We don’t have much time,” I murmured. “I feel like such a dirty little slut showing off my pussy like this.” Then I sucked harder and Milt, unaccustomed to such language from Suzy, started coming.

  As the sound of Duncan’s SUV grew louder, I removed the condom, gathered up my supplies and skipped upstairs with the gardener’s kneeling stool, leaving Milt to zip up and finish his drink.

  A bit later

  Finally tracked my mother down in her hotel room. “I was wondering. What kind of shoes do you think I’ll need if I want to come with you to the mountain?” Mother is THE authority on sensible shoes, and this is one job that calls for them. “I thought it might be fun to meet you at the hotel and go with you.”

  “There’s been a change of plans,” Mother told me. “Ruth decided the logistics of her ceremony work best in town. So they’re joining the procession in St-Maximin. Dodie and I agree. Not that we were asked!”

  Ruth must be planning to grab the relics during the parade in town! The long march to the mountaintop is impractical. Easier to disappear if you’re on a flat surface in the vieille ville—it’s filled with hiding places.

  “Why don’t you meet us for breakfast in the dining room?” Mother said. “Bring Allison and her uncle.”

  “Okay,” I said warily. “I’ll find out what they’re up to.”

  Gosh. Ruth has both moms totally fooled. What nerve!

  Trading in my Juicy Couture micromini for a striped jellaba, I returned to the pool where Milt was reading his IHT. “Where’s Allison?” I asked him.

  “Upstairs.” He turned to the business section. “Kiddo, your timing was brilliant.”

  “They say it’s everything.”

  “I haven’t done it in the open air since I was a teenager.”

  “Me too,” I assured him. Installing my covered body in a nearby chair, I tried not to be overly conscious of Duncan when he came outside to straighten the table umbrellas. I threw him a shy grateful smile, which he returned. If he knows Milt was being serviced during his impromptu absence, he’s not letting on.

  When Duncan disappeared into the house, I said, “Tomorrow’s the local procession, isn’t it?”

  “Sure is,” Milt replied, without looking up from his paper.

  “I would love to be there,” I said. “The Sainte-Baume mountain is really beautiful! And it’s quite an important tradition. What do you think? I know Allie would too and I think it would be a shame to miss it. Unless …”

  “I’d rather be golfing. But you girls should definitely partake, if that’s what floats your boat. Ask Duncan! I’d drive you there myself, but I have another meeting.”

  “It won’t interfere with your day?”

  Milt laughed softly. “I’m putty in your hands and you know it. What else would you like from your Uncle Milt?”

  “Actually,” I said. “I’d like you to return to New York in the fall.”

  “Oh really?” He put his paper down and turned to face me. “I guess I should tell you.” I sat up straighter. “Can you keep this between us?” he said. “I’ve been thinking about moving here permanently. I might become a French citizen.”

  “You can’t,” I blurted out. “That’s crazy!”

  “Suzy.” His voice was gentle. “I know you have a life and we both know this is your business. But I’m flattered—well, more than flattered.”

  How can Milt become a French citizen? He doesn’t even speak the language.

  Later

  After dinner, I cornered Duncan in the library. He was sitting at the small desk taking care of some household bills.

  “This is going to sound completely bizarre,” I told him. “I desperately need your advice.”

  He looked up from his paperwork with a startled expression. Then he looked like a man who can’t quite believe his luck. For about a second.

  “It’s about my mother,” I began. “Yes, I know. First my brother-in-law, now my mother. I’ve been afraid to tell you. I was trying to get away from everybody. Now my worlds are colliding. And tomorrow they’re going to collide right in front of the basilica. My mom is being set up by irresponsible zealots! Have you seen the two conferences taking place around town? The dueling T-shirts? Did Father Philippe tell you? My brother-in-law will be hanging around the church taking notes. I don’t know how I’ll keep him away from my mother. And Allie’s up to her EYEBALLS in this—I have no idea what she’s told you and I—I won’t ask.”

  “Let’s have a small drink,” Duncan said. He tugged on one of the bookshelves, revealing a small collection of bottles and glasses embedded i
n the wall. “Allison told me very little when I picked her up at the museum. She seems quite worried.” Handing me a snifter, he asked, “Is it possible you’re both worrying about the same thing?”

  “Yes,” I said. “For once we’re on the same page.” I explained the situation, adding, “I can’t tell my mother any of this! It’s too farfetched. And don’t tell me to try talking Ruth out of this—I don’t think she’s open to persuasion.”

  “You can’t negotiate with zealots,” Duncan agreed. “By the way, Father Philippe says Bad Girls Without Borders won’t talk to the police.”

  I sipped some Armagnac. “Can you blame them? One of the Bad Girls Without Borders is Tini! Remember the day you met Serge?”

  “Officially, I remember nothing, but yes. Between us, who can forget Tini? She’s striking. Of course she’ll want to avoid the police. But even if that weren’t an issue, Father Philippe sees the Church as a sanctuary from the authorities. Everybody’s committed to an extra-legal solution.”

  “What should I do?” I sighed. “I can’t let Mother walk into this situation, but I can’t tell her what I know. She has no idea about my two lives.”

  Duncan was very calm for a moment. Then, looking inspired, he quietly tapped my snifter with his own. “Are you ready for ‘Plan Dope’? Sorry. It hasn’t got much to do with Plan d’Aups, so it’s not even a good pun. Finish this and go upstairs. You need to be fully rested when you meet your mother for breakfast.”

  Monday, July 22, 2002 8:00 A.M.

  Can we really get away with this?

  I’m holding my breath. And Duncan’s waiting for us downstairs.

  Monday, later

  In the car, Allie suggested I sit next to Duncan. “No thanks,” I said. “I have my reasons.”

  Well, one reason—folded neatly in my tote bag. I unbuttoned my plaid blouse while the car was moving, and popped the black T-shirt Ruth gave me over my head. An important part of my look at the breakfast table.

  At the doorway of the hotel dining room, I reminded Duncan, “Don’t forget to call me Nancy!”

  Mother and Dodie were mildly surprised when I introduced Duncan, Allie’s “bilingual cousin” from New Zealand who lives here most of the year. “Allie will be along in a few moments,” I lied.

  Allie’s expat “cousin” knows all the locals, of course. “L’Imprévu? The owners are from a little fishing village in Italy,” Duncan said. Mother and Dodie were impressed. When he mentioned “some curious rumors about Mary Magdalen’s relics,” they pumped him for more.

  “I’ve heard through the grapevine that the reliquary will be empty this year. When they march through the Place de l’Hôtel de Ville, they carry her relics in a large copper head. The plan was to convey the reliquary all the way to the Sainte-Baume mountaintop for the re-opening of her cave. It’s quite an important event.”

  “We’re taking pictures for my daughter’s website,” Dodie chimed in. “But why is the reliquary empty this year?”

  “A local priest was informed—he won’t reveal how—that the relics are endangered,” Duncan said, reaching for a piece of toast. “In the middle of the night, someone took the relics out of the tomb for safekeeping.”

  Mother was listening intently. “When did all this happen?”

  “At two A.M. last night,” he told her. “The relics were taken to a monastery in Burgundy. The locals haven’t been told. Nobody has to know they’re marching around with an empty reliquary goes the reasoning.”

  I turned to my mother. “Shouldn’t we tell Ruthie? I think she’ll want to know about this.”

  “I’m not so sure.” Mother poured some tea. “Religion is symbolic, after all. What difference will it make? I don’t feel like trekking off to Burgundy, do you?” She ignored Dodie’s frowning response. “I was looking forward to a nice meal at L’Imprévu tonight! And I don’t mind taking pictures of an empty reliquary. What Ruth doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

  I shot Duncan a panicky look.

  “We don’t have to go to Burgundy,” Dodie said. “But I won’t be part of a plan to deceive my daughter. Ruth has a right to know.”

  “Oh for goodness sake.” Mother was muttering into her brioche.

  Ruth was heading toward us holding a small bowl of fruit. I spotted two of her companions at the buffet table.

  While Ruth, in a bright yellow TAKE BACK THE MAGDALEN T-shirt, listened to her mother, Duncan and I appeared not to notice her agitated reaction.

  “So where did they take her relics?” Ruth demanded. “To the mountain?”

  “No,” Duncan said. “They’re in Vézelay now.”

  “Vézelay?” Ruth was trying, without success, to stay calm. “But that’s where the relics were in the first place, before the Church hierarchy brought them to St-Maximin.”

  “That’s right,” Duncan said. “St-Maximin took over in 1270. I wonder how they’ll get her relics out of Vézelay this time. When something comes back after nearly a thousand years, you might want to hold onto it.”

  “How do you know for sure that her relics are in Vézelay?” Ruth gave Duncan a flinty look.

  “This is very hush-hush,” he said. “My friend Pasquale was in on the plan. He breeds free-range rabbits in Draguignan. They used his delivery truck to transport the relics.”

  “It figures!” Ruth grumbled. “A male rabbit butcher absconding with a female saint’s relics!”

  Duncan raised an eyebrow. “Absconding?” he repeated. “Pasquale’s family has been here for three hundred years. His uncle’s the retired caretaker of the Magdalen’s cave. When Pasquale heard about a plot to steal the Magdalen’s relics, he took it rather personally.” Ruth’s face was twitching. “But now they’re safely installed at Vézelay,” Duncan continued. “Secretly, of course. Thanks to Pasquale.”

  Ruth stood up. “I’m calling an emergency meeting!” she announced. And before we knew it, she was gone.

  “You’re right,” Duncan said to Mother. “A ritual is no less compelling when it involves an empty reliquary.”

  “Exactly. If Ruth wants to be such a fundamentalist, I’m afraid she’ll have to take her own pictures,” Mother said. “I think we should stay here and enjoy the parade.”

  “Maybe we’ll get a chance to meet Pasquale,” Dodie said. “He’s part of the parade?”

  “He called from the N7,” Duncan told her. “He’s on his way back from Vézelay, so he’ll have to miss the procession.”

  After the two moms had gone upstairs, to fetch cameras and prepare for the annual procession, I asked, “Was ANY of that true?”

  “Ten percent of what I told them was a hundred percent true.”

  “But the relics? Are they—?”

  “Where they’ve been for the last millennium,” Duncan said.

  “I was getting convinced,” I admitted. “And so was Ruth. I wonder where she is.”

  “I’m going to look for Father Philippe. Turn on your phone, in case I need to call you.”

  When I got to Ruth’s floor, I knocked loudly on her door, but there was no response. Three of Ruth’s followers, in bright yellow T-shirts, were hurrying toward the staircase with duffel bags and knapsacks.

  “Excuse me?” I called out, thankful for my camouflage. They gave my TAKE BACK THE MAGDALEN T-shirt a puzzled appraisal. Wrong color, right message. “I’m looking for Ruthie.”

  “She took the first bus. There’s another minibus coming.”

  “Oh!” I did my best imitation of a happy believer embarking on the next leg of a perpetual pilgrimage. “Are we going toVézelay? When are we leaving?”

  “Thirty minutes!”

  “Don’t wait up for me,” I said, as they disappeared into the stairwell. “I think I’ll take the train.”

  I took the elevator downstairs and dashed across the cloister to the side door of the church. In one of the abandoned confession booths, I pulled off my T-shirt. Half-naked, I was sitting in the wrong part of the confessional—the priest’s side. I dre
ssed as quickly as I could.

  When I emerged, the altar girl was standing before me in her long alb, staring at my unbuttoned cleavage. “Madame,” she said earnestly. I adjusted my buttons.

  Hurrying toward the exit, I looked back and saw her small head peeking into the booth, doing a quick inspection.

  “Nancy?” I looked up. Jason was standing next to the baptismal font holding a notebook. “What are you doing here?”

  “We need to talk!” I told him. “I should be asking YOU that.”

  “Matt said something about a holiday with your mother, but I had no idea …”

  “Do you realize how much trouble you’ve created?” Jason’s confused smile made me want to slap him. “I’m serious! Does your wife know you’re here? Have you spoken to Elspeth?”

  A cloud of self-doubt replaced the smile. “We’d better talk,” he said.

  In the Maison de Thé, Jason told me about his secret novel, but he was skirting the issue. Only when I pushed a bit did he mention a Mary Magdalen theme.

  “I’m staying in Plan d’Aups at a small folk museum. It’s run by Father Philippe Devoucoux. He’s got a large collection of Magdalen-related postcards from all over Europe going back to the invention of photography.”

  To my relief, he said nothing about Allie or the other modern Magdalens milling around St-Max. As long as Jason feels he has to hide those details, I’m safe. If he stops lying to me, life as I know it will be over.

  “Mary Magdalen?” I said blithely. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. Does Elspeth know you’re writing a novel? She’s never mentioned it.”

  “Well, no.” He looked embarrassed. “She wouldn’t understand.”

  “I think you should return to New York.”

  “I’m returning later this week. Flying back from Nice.”

  “Change your flight,” I said. “It’s a bad idea to linger here.”