by Harper Bliss
“How do you mean?” I ask.
“I think you know what I mean, Hera.” Typical Jill. I’ve been coming here for more than two years now. She probably knows me better than I know myself.
“Because she represents something I’m no longer interested in?” I almost scoff when I say it.
“For instance,” Jill says.
I shake my head vehemently.
“You said it yourself.” Jill doesn’t shy away from painting the occasional smug smile on her face. I’ve always liked that she lets her personality shine through in our sessions, but right now, it bugs me as much as having to see Katherine nearly every day.
“Okay, I must have brought her up for a reason.” I look at Jill with a hopeful glint in my eye. “What’s your take on prostitution?”
“My take on it doesn’t matter one bit.” Jill told me this from the very beginning. This is not a friendship, even though, inevitably, sometimes it will feel like one, but it’s important that you’re aware of the difference. She tilts her head. “I can tell there’s something going on with you, Hera. How about we try and figure out what that is instead of you asking me questions like that?”
“Fine.” I know nothing about Jill’s personal life, yet she knows all about my inner workings. It’s a strange but comforting situation to walk into once a week, although it wasn’t always that way. “I just can’t be myself around her. She’s a beautiful woman. I can see the appeal, but I just can’t get over the fact that she… did those things in exchange for money.”
“Would you like to name those ‘things’?” Jill asks.
“Goodness, no.” I jerk my head to the side.
“Okay. Then tell me what it’s like to be back at work.” I’ve been seeing Jill long enough to know she’s not going to let me off the hook about Katherine this easily despite the change of subject matter.
“It’s good, though exhausting. I feel I’ve grown ten years older since Sam died instead of the one since she’s been gone. Everything I lift seems heavier. It’s hardly a desk job, is it? But it is a satisfactory one. There’s nothing like transforming a building, seeing it come to life again in front of my very eyes. I’ve missed that.”
“If you haven’t lifted anything heavy for that long, even the lightest load will feel like a ton. But you’ll get used to it again, Hera. You keep on building.” She cocks her head. “I can see the change in you so clearly.”
“I have Rocco to thank for that. In fact, when I do the gratitude meditations you’ve advised me to do, it’s mostly him I feel thankful toward.”
“There’s no one else?”
“Well, sure, there’s Hilda. But it’s different with her. Rocco just has this easy way about him. Even when I was at my most depressed, when I looked at him, with all his energy and bottomless zest for life, I had to acknowledge there would always be something else other than the despair I was feeling. He’s just so… bubbly, even though I hate that word to describe a person.” I shrug. “What does it mean to have a bubbly personality? I always thought it was the opposite of my own.”
“And that would be?” Jill’s lips quirk into a small smile.
“Cranky, and getting more so the older I get.”
“You’re not that cranky. Not all the time, anyway,” Jill says. “You were grieving. There’s a big difference.”
“I guess.” Something comes to me. “Maybe that’s what I see in Katherine as well. That effortless bubbliness, or whatever you want to call it. That’s probably why they get along so well, because they recognize that in each other, that same drive to always get the most out of life.”
“Yet in Rocco you admire it and in Katherine it bugs you?”
“Well, yes, because Rocco’s my nephew and she’s… an escort.”
“You didn’t have to take that job if you knew it was going to annoy you so much to be around her.”
“But I didn’t know. It was only when I met her that I felt she was getting under my skin—in a bad way.”
“You hadn’t expected to react to her the way you did?”
“No. She’s actually really nice. If I didn’t know, I certainly wouldn’t be able to tell just by looking at her. She’s very… classy. Upmarket, I guess.”
Jill nods. “And that offends you?”
“No.” I shake my head for emphasis. “I don’t know.”
“Could it be that you actually like her, Hera? But you’re annoyed with yourself because you can’t allow yourself to do so because she’s an escort.”
“Actually she’s no longer an escort,” I blurt out. Why does it feel like I’m coming to Katherine’s defense in the privacy of my therapist’s office? Nothing of this makes any sense.
“Okay, my bad,” Jill says, then goes silent again.
“At least it’s good to feel something, even if only annoyance.” I do look Jill in the eye now. “Remember when I first came here? I was such a mess. And then, with your help, I was starting to pull myself together, and then Sam died on me. Just when everything was looking up.” I’m not saying this to garner Jill’s pity—she made it very clear from the start that her pity would never be up for grabs—only to summarize. To make things clear, once again, in my head.
“As I said before, Hera, I can see the difference in you.” Before I let my glance skitter away from Jill I consider that it might not be friendship we have between us, but it’s something very meaningful nonetheless.
Chapter Seven
Kat
“Jess is running late,” Liz says. On Kristin’s suggestion, I’m spending some time at the other Pink Bean location in Newtown. Rocco’s busy with Hera so I’ve asked Jess and Liz to meet me here. With getting the coffee shop up and running, I haven’t seen enough of them—especially Jessica. I also want to get their take on the atmosphere. “She had an appointment with her surgeon and he’s always late.”
“Is she considering reconstructive surgery?” I ask.
Liz just shakes her head. Maybe she doesn’t want to talk about it. She looks around. “What a cozy place.” She narrows her eyes and peers into the book shop part of Pink Bean Two, as Kristin refers to it. “Look at that Caitlin James display over there.” She paints a grin on her lips.
“Must be good for business.” I let my glance wander around to look for any changes that have happened since my last visit. “We won’t have a bookshop attached to our branch, but this is definitely the vibe I’m going for.”
Liz quirks up her eyebrows. “Does Rocco agree with that?”
“Oh, we’ll just dot some golden accessories around the place—pineapples and bananas are all the rage these days—and he’ll be happy.” I smile at the memory of Rocco showing me a picture of a golden, half-peeled banana of which the fruit was also a lamp.
“How’s it going with his aunt, the builder?”
I roll my eyes. “Let’s just say I’ve been made aware that my presence at the site isn’t required every single day.”
“Ah, it’s like that.”
“Hera doesn’t appear to be the most sex-positive of people.”
“Rocco told her about you?” Liz asks.
I nod. “It’s no big deal. And I know she’s had a really rough time lately.”
“That’s no excuse for bad manners, Kat.”
I wave her off. “It’s fine. I mean, we might both have said goodbye to our old jobs, but it will always be a part of us. And there will always be people who can’t deal with it. We’ve always known that.” Liz and I quit the agency around the same time a few months ago.
“Hm.” Liz sends me a conspiratorial smile. “How about I get us some coffees?”
“That would be lovely. I’m going to have a little browse in the book shop.”
Liz heads to the counter. I venture into the book shop area of the Pink Bean. The woman behind the counter, who has her nose in a book, briefly looks up to give me a nod. She’s wearing the same type of glasses that Hera does—the kind that seems much more suited to a bookshop than a buildin
g site.
I don’t introduce myself just yet, although I guess that the woman must be Annie. Kristin has told me about her and her wife Jane Quinn, the lesbian romance writer. They were away when I first visited the Newtown Pink Bean, so I’m quite keen on meeting them today. But before I engage Annie in conversation, I want to walk around in silence for a bit, get a better feel for the place, and revel in what my own future will look like.
There’s a display of Jane Quinn books and I’m drawn to them because of the connection they have to the very shop I’m in. I pick up one of the books and run my gaze over the back cover. I’m more of a non-fiction girl myself, but the premise sounds interesting.
Annie clears her throat. “Do let me know if I can help you with anything,” she says. She has the calm and easy demeanor of someone who has been manning this book shop for decades.
I send her a smile. “Actually, I should introduce myself. I’m Katherine Jones.”
“I thought you might be,” Annie says. “Kristin said you would be stopping by today. It’s lovely to meet you.”
“Likewise.” I walk toward the counter and offer her my hand. “Sorry for not introducing myself earlier. I just wanted to soak up the vibe before we started chatting.”
Annie nods as if she completely understands. Then she fixes her gaze on the Jane Quinn book I’m still holding. “How about I call Jane to come down so we can all have a chat?” She looks at her watch. “She’s still writing right now, so a little bit of patience might be required.” Annie suddenly looks right past me.
“Is this Katherine?” a voice comes from behind me.
I turn and stare into the face of a very pleasant-looking woman, who also, unmistakably, makes my gaydar ping. I seem to have ended up in lesbian coffee slash book shop heaven.
“Mia Miller,” the younger woman says. “I work with Kristin.”
“Ah yes, of course.” I’ve heard all about Mia. Kristin never told me she was such a fox, however—Kristin isn’t really one to indulge in frivolities like that.
Fifteen minutes later Jess has arrived and, instead of having a quiet conversation with my two friends, we’re joined by Mia and Annie, with Annie promising that Jane will be there soon as well.
“Don’t be alarmed,” Mia says, “this time of day is always a little quiet, but it’s the welcome kind of quiet between the morning and lunchtime rush.” She paints on a wide smile and brushes her hair from her forehead with a gesture so assured, it makes something flutter in my stomach. Maybe I should invite Mia for a one-on-one conversation, as Kristin has suggested a few times already. I’m sure she can impart more than a few nuggets of wisdom pertaining to running a successful coffee shop.
“This gives us the time to chat,” Annie says, as she adjusts her glasses on the bridge of her nose. She bears an uncanny resemblance to one of my favorite clients who went by the name of Mrs. Robinson. And I think that maybe I’m the one who has trouble flicking the switch, who finds it a hard transition from the life I used to live—the life that only a very few truly understood—to this atmosphere of utter normalcy I currently find myself standing in. Maybe that’s what Hera has been picking up on—and reacting to with overt hostility.
Mia plays with a ring on her finger, a gesture I know well. I’ve seen dozens of women touch their wedding rings like that, as a means to ground themselves after they’ve been with me, to ready themselves to step back into the real world. It would be a small miracle if a woman like Mia wasn’t involved with someone.
“When’s the opening planned?” Mia asks.
“In a few weeks. The building’s being renovated as we speak and the builder doesn’t appear to be a flake.” I throw in a smile. “We should be up and running soon.”
“Kristin’s building herself quite the empire,” Jessica says.
“And yet she’s always wanting to scale back her hours.” Mia rolls her eyes. “Which she always does, only to start a new venture not long after.”
“She’s only a silent partner,” I say. “But her advice has been invaluable.” It was Kristin who got the ball rolling for Rocco and me and if it hadn’t been for meeting her at the opening of Liz and Jess’s gallery, we wouldn’t be where we are now—a few weeks away from opening.
“Are you hiring staff from the get-go or planning to do everything yourself?” Mia asks. “It’s you and another person, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I nod. “My best friend Rocco and me. It’ll just be us for starters.”
Mia nods. “My advice—don’t wait too long to hire people to help. I understand the urge to save on wages, but service and self-care are key.” She tilts her head. “What industry were you in before?”
Jess instantly shuffles in her seat.
I find Liz’s eyes and revel in the complicity in her gaze. We have a line for this—a different one for different occasions. Annie and Mia are people we’ll run into again so I give them the version best-suited for that category.
“I was a travel agent,” I say. “Taking care of people’s every need.”
Mia nods again. She seems to be taking this very seriously. “That’s good. You’re used to dealing with people.”
“Oh yes.” She has no idea.
When I started at the escort agency, Alana’s first words of advice to me were to never openly tell strangers what I do, to always resist the urge because it’s not about my sense of self or how empowered I might feel—it’s about the others and how society has forced upon them the notion that paying for sex is always, unequivocally, wrong. “It’s not how you want to start off a relationship, darling,” Alana would say. “Any kind of relationship.”
A group of women arrives in the shop and Annie gets up to help the ones drifting to the book shop, while Mia keeps an eye on the coffee shop counter. When the line grows too long, she excuses herself to help the person making and serving the drinks. I observe them for a few minutes, working in tandem, in quiet understanding, and wonder if Rocco and I can ever become a well-oiled machine like that. For starters, we will never be able to work together in silence, because Rocco can’t keep his mouth shut for two consecutive seconds.
“They’re lovely,” Jess says gesturing towards Mia and her colleague, pulling me from my daydreams in which I picture my near future.
I look my friend in the eye. “How was your appointment?”
“Pointless,” she says with a smirk. “You know surgeons. Always trying to sell you some more surgery.”
“Reconstruction?” I ask.
She nods. “Liz says she doesn’t mind bestowing all her attention on just my left breast.”
Liz smiles at Jess and I’m so happy they’ve found each other. I resigned myself a long time ago to a life of singlehood, so much so that I’ve pretty much closed myself off to the possibility of the kind of love they share. But, now that I’m an ex-call girl, that primal urge to bond has been rearing its head once more.
Chapter Eight
Hera
It’s the last day of the Pink Bean renovations and I had forgotten all about final-day melancholy. This was a pretty quick, not very invasive job. Nevertheless, now that the work is almost done, and I have the satisfaction of casting my glance over the results of my hard graft, I’m overcome with a sense of sadness.
It was pleasant to work alongside Rocco. Although the boy doesn’t have any natural aptitude for this kind of work, his enthusiasm for his and Katherine’s coffee shop made him execute the tasks I set for him with unseen zeal. His partner Chris often dropped by and helped out as well and I’ve grown fond of the companionship that has developed between the three of us. It feels good to live my life among real people again, instead of rehashing old memories of people who are no longer here.
I’ve barely seen Katherine the past few days, which has helped with my mood. She might be a sight for sore eyes but, as long as I didn’t see her, I didn’t have to confront my ambivalence toward her. I do prefer it that way, in this transitional part of my life where I’m trying to be le
ss of a hermit and more of everything I used to be.
But, today, probably because it’s the last day, Katherine’s here. She isn’t dressed for a building site. To me—and really, what do I know?—she looks more like she’s ready for an appointment with a client.
I’ve been going over the conversation I had with Jill about Katherine in my head for days now. When plastering walls, the mind tends to wander.
I’ve concluded that my gut reaction was the right one—it usually is. She may look all dolled up today, red lipstick and matching nails, and smell like a million bucks, there’s still something unseemly about her. Something I can’t get over.
Rocco can have a go at me about it for as long as he likes, and Jill can question my motives all she wants, but, at the end of the day, I believe I’m entitled to how I feel about Katherine. And I’d rather keep my distance than have another conversation with that woman.
“You’ve done a wonderful job, Hera,” Katherine says. She has walked up to me and stands so close her perfume wafts up into my nose.
“Thanks. It’s what I do, so.” I run a hand through my hair. It’s getting too long. I make a mental note to get out my clippers tonight after I’ve showered. After this job is totally done. And I have to start thinking about the next one.
“I was serious about you having a look at my kitchen.” Katherine looks me straight in the eye and smiles at me a little too broadly. “Can I call you some time?”
“Sure. Rocco has my number.” I’m pretty sure I won’t be picking up the phone.
She tilts her head and sends me a funny look. Is it a flirty one? I’ve no idea. I haven’t flirted with a woman in years. Any desire for that died along with Sam. And I certainly have no desire to be buttered up by some professional flirting from the likes of Katherine.
