Chloe Sparrow

by Lesley Crewe

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “Nighty-night, Amanda.”

  “Don’t do anything foolish! Do you hear me, Chloe—”

  I shut off my phone.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Doing research is my speciality. There are about a hundred thousand dating sites on the internet, and that’s just in North America. All of them promise to find me a soulmate in a matter of weeks. Their confidence is unsettling. So if I can’t find someone then it’s my fault, not theirs. That’s a lot of pressure.

  On day one of my return to health, I enlist the help of my relatives.

  “I have to rest for two weeks, but I’ll be going out for walks and maybe even to the YMCA to swim. Gramps, I’ll pay you to pick up my groceries and I’ll pay you, Aunt Ollie, to make my meals. Take this cookbook and I’ll mark off what I’d like to eat. Please note this is a vegetarian cookbook and the ingredients might not be exactly what you’re used to preparing, but I’ll make it worth your while. I need to gain weight so I can keep my job.”

  “I thought you said your job was stupid,” Aunt Ollie says.

  “It is, but it’s mine.”

  “How often do I have to go to the grocery store?”

  “As often as Aunt Ollie needs something.”

  She opens the book and thumbs through the pages. “What on earth is kale? Or lentils, for that matter?”

  “The people at the grocery store will point it out to Gramps and you just follow the recipe. It might be a good idea if you tried this food regimen. It’s very healthy.”

  “I’m not sure about this,” she frets.

  “Aunt Ollie, it’s just a meal. If something goes wrong I’ll order in, but please try for my sake. I don’t ask for much.”

  She puts her hands on her hips. “Don’t ask for much? Your grandfather and I have been looking after your cats since the day they were born! They wake us up at all hours, running back and forth down the hall.”

  “And you should see the state of the furniture,” Gramps says.

  “I’m surprised they found any furniture to scratch.”

  “Who cleans their litter box? Not you.”

  “I’m sorry, you’re right. I do ask a lot of you. But this is only for two weeks and then I’ll be out of your hair. There’s still a month and a half to go before this production wraps up. After that things will return to normal.”

  They grudgingly agree. I’m not optimistic that this is going to work, but at least it gives them something to do. In case it’s a disaster, I’ve got a few vegetarian restaurants on speed dial.

  I lied about the swimming, but I will walk to the bus to meet men for coffee. That’s if I can find any.

  My strategy is to place my particulars on several online dating sites, since making appointments for individual dating agencies would sap what little strength I have. My laundry list of preferences is long. There doesn’t seem to be enough space to type them all in. I’m free to browse through the picture galleries. This is sort of depressing. Everyone always uses their best photo, which means there’s nowhere to go but down. I am now one of those desperate people who sent applications to our show. I wonder if I would’ve picked me. Somehow I doubt it.

  While I’m waiting to be hit on via modern technology, Amanda calls me from Calgary.

  “How’s tricks?”

  “I’m not turning any, if that’s what you mean.”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  “I am capable of living my life without your guidance.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. Just promise me you won’t do anything foolish.”

  “Can’t, look at my track record. How’s Calgary?”

  “We had a flat tire on the way in from the airport. Then Trey and Jerry got lost when they went for lunch. Lizette and Sandy W. had a huge argument over misplaced makeup and Sydney’s come down with the flu.”

  “How’s Austin?”

  “He’s quiet.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know, he’s probably tired. Listen, do me a favour. Go visit Jason and the boys. I want to make sure they’re doing all right.”

  “Sure. Keep me posted.”

  I get a few texts from the team. Trey tells me Jerry is being a jerk. Brian hopes I’m feeling better and then there’s one from Austin. Everyone misses you.

  Three days later I’m waiting at a coffee shop at noon to meet Ralph. He passed my rigorous standards and all my deal-breakers, which means he doesn’t smoke, drink, do drugs, or belong to a cult. He has a job, an education, loves pets, and wants children.

  He says he’ll wear a blue shirt and red tie. I see him crossing the street as I sit on a stool by the window. As he gets closer I know he’s everything I don’t want, so I run and hide in the bathroom. I’m in there so long someone knocks on the door.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. Has the man with the blue shirt and red tie left yet?”

  “A blue shirt…”

  ”…and red tie. Could you take a peek for me?”

  She walks away and comes back a few minutes later. “He’s not out there.”

  I open the door and rush by her. “Thank you. You’ve been a big help.”

  Two days after that I arrange to meet Sebastian. We shake hands before I run out the back exit. Same thing with Derek, except he ran after me and I had to hop into a taxi to get rid of him.

  When I get home I unsubscribe to all of my dating sites before I go next door for dinner. Aunt Ollie puts a plate of something in front of me. “What’s on the menu tonight?”

  “Damned if I know…quinoa, tofu, spinach, and portobello mushroom goulash. The only thing I recognized was the spinach.”

  My babies sit in the kitchen chair beside me and watch me take my first forkful.

  “This is quite nice, Aunt Ollie. Thank you.”

  Gramps points at my tofu. “I took a bite of that white Styrofoam.”

  “It’s called tofu.”

  “It should be called nofu. It’s not food if it has no taste.”

  Norton jumps up and lies down in front of me. She sniffs at my dinner.

  “Since when is she allowed to be up on the table?”

  “Since you left her with us.”

  That’s when I find the hotdogs Aunt Ollie hid in the goulash. Before I can say anything, she jumps up from the table.

  “You can’t get fat without eating something fattening. I’ve got a big tub of ice cream in the freezer. Eat that.”

  “Listen to your aunt. She’s an expert on fat.”

  “Be quiet, old man.”

  “I’m stating the obvious.”

  This arrangement is not going to work.

  How do you go to bed with someone on short notice? I figured out why meeting men for coffee didn’t work. I’m not looking for a relationship; I’m looking to get laid. Think like a guy, Chloe.

  I call an escort service. “I’m looking for a man.”

  It’s unbelievable that I’m having this conversation. My hands are clammy.

  “Any type in particular?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Blonde, tall, short, fat…”

  “It doesn’t matter, as long as he’s not older than thirty.”

  “Okay, where and when?”

  “First tell me how much.”

  “It depends on what you want.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize I had options.”

  “You name it, they’ll do it, for a price.”

  “Really? That’s fascinating. How does one decide which option is worth more than another option?”

  “Are you a cop?”

  “Am I the only person who’s ever asked a question?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Tell me this,
then; are your escorts disease-free?”

  “No, they all have genital warts. Of course they’re disease-free.”

  “Do you have documentation?”

  “Look, lady, do you want to do this or not? I don’t have all day.”

  “Oh God, I guess so.”

  “I’m not twisting your arm. You called us.”

  “Right. I’ll have the normal option.”

  “There’s no such thing as normal.”

  “Regular then. To put it plainly, I don’t want to be a virgin anymore.”

  “Why didn’t you say so? You want the Cherry-Buster special, and that’s four hundred bucks per hour.”

  “Good grief! It could take more than an hour?”

  “I’m going to hang up.”

  “Is this person nice?”

  “I’ll give you Ramon. I’ve had no complaints about him.”

  My desperation is the only possible explanation for me giving the man my credit card number. Now the people who work in the billing department at Visa will know how low I’ve sunk. On the other hand, the paper trail will help the police find Ramon if he decides to murder me.

  Naturally this rendezvous cannot take place at my house. I’ll have to meet him at a hotel in the afternoon, which is so cheesy it’s frightening. After an hour in the shower shaving every hair on my body, clipping my toenails and plucking my eyebrows, I stop. Why am I primping for this guy? I’m paying him to impress me, not the other way around.

  My plan is to not think. I don’t think at the liquor store, where I buy myself a bottle of wine to settle my nerves, and I don’t think as I register under the name Jezebel Duckworth. By the time I hear the knock, I’ve been so busy not thinking, the wine is gone.

  My mouth is so dry I can’t swallow as I cross the room and open the door. A very nice-looking guy with dark hair gives me a big smile.

  “Hello, beautiful. My name is Ramon.”

  I stare at him.

  “May I come in?”

  “You’re not Ramon. You’re Steve. Amanda’s jerky little brother who said thanks but no thanks.”

  He looks more closely at me. “Shit…Chloe?”

  “Yes, Chloe, the girl who’s not your type.”

  “Can we have this conversation inside and not out here in the hallway?” He pushes his way in and closes the door behind him. “What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing. Is this your job? Is this how art gallery owners snag clients?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “I can’t believe this.” I turn my back on him and sit on the end of the bed, defeated.

  “You can’t tell Amanda.”

  “If you’re ashamed of what you’re doing, why are you doing it?”

  “Look, I’m not exactly proud that it’s come to this, but I lost my job six months ago and my family doesn’t know. I have to pay the rent until I get another job, which isn’t easy in today’s economy.”

  “When that happens to normal people, they work at McDonald’s.”

  “I can’t make four hundred dollars an hour flipping burgers. Please don’t say anything.”

  “Fine, I won’t tell her. Just give me back my money.”

  “Can’t. Company policy.”

  “That’s complete bullshit.” I flop back on the bed. “What do I do now?”

  He sits beside me. “Why don’t we go through with our plans? We never have to see each other again. No one has to know.”

  This suggestion makes me stand up. “I’ll know, you idiot!” I pace around the room. “Why is this so hard?”

  “Why is what so hard?”

  “Having sex. According to the newspapers, magazines, all the internet sites, every movie ever made, and all the news shows ever aired, the entire world is doing it constantly except for me.”

  “Why is that? How did you make it out of high school and university without someone noticing you?”

  “They did notice me, but I’m picky.”

  Now he points his finger at me. “That’s what drives guys crazy. We work up the nerve to ask a girl out and she sticks her nose in the air because we don’t chew our food properly. If you think you have it bad, ask a guy who’s been rejected a few hundred times how it feels to stick his neck out and be laughed at by a girl and her posse in a bar.”

  “Everyone has a sob story.” Now I plunk into the desk chair and twirl around, seeing as how I’m drunk.

  “Technically, I’m yours for an hour. Is there something else you’d like me to do?”

  “What’s worth four hundred bucks? Maybe you could sand my wooden floors or clean out the gutters, but that would require work, something you obviously avoid.”

  “Are you hungry? I can take you to lunch.”

  “You want to have lunch with a girl who isn’t your type?”

  “I apologize for that remark. It was rude.”

  My twirling slows. He seems genuinely sorry and I’m starving. “Do you know where I can get fattening food?”

  He stands up. “Now, that’s refreshing.”

  That’s how we end up at a heavenly German bakery with café tables for patrons to eat in. I’m drinking dark hot chocolate and Steve has coffee. Arrayed in front of us, with not an inch of tablecloth showing, are plates of Apfel Maultaschen, Streuselkuchen, Buttergeback and Erdbeertorte—which translates into apple turnovers, crumb streusel, German butter cookies, and German strawberry tart cake.

  We don’t even talk, just mutter, moan, and groan after every bite, pointing to the dishes we love best. Impossibly, we inhale everything. There’s nothing left on our plates but cookie crumbs and flakes of golden pastry. Our bellies hang out like wasted old men drunk on mouthwash.

  “Now, that was better than sex,” he says.

  “Your sister told me laughing was better than sex.”

  “They run neck and neck.”

  “Why can’t you tell her about losing your job? It’s not a sin.”

  He wipes his mouth on a napkin. “My family are overachievers. I’ve always been the disappointment, flitting from one career to another, not having my own family. My parents despair that I’ll never grow up and become a responsible adult.”

  “They might have a point. You’re a prostitute at the moment. Is this the only option to remedy your financial situation? I can think of a hundred others.”

  His brown eyes flash at me. “You are very direct.”

  “The truth is the truth.”

  “So tell me the truth. What’s the real reason you’ve never been intimate with anyone?”

  “I’m afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  “People leaving me.”

  Steve shoves his hands in his pockets and leans back in his chair. “Dating is a minefield. Everyone’s afraid of people leaving them, but they put themselves out there anyway.”

  “Then everyone is braver than me.”

  He smiles. “It’s pretty brave to call an escort service. Not many people would do that.”

  “You have a problem, you find the solution.”

  “Didn’t work though, did it?”

  “That’s because you showed up.”

  He checks his watch. “We still have three minutes left on the clock.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  Steve smiles again. “You’re never going to forgive me for that, are you?”

  He pays the bill and hails me a cab, handing the driver money before opening my door.

  “Goodbye, Steve.”

  “Bye, Chloe. This has been the best hour I’ve ever spent.”

  “You don’t get out much.”

  When I turn to look out the back window he’s still laughing.

  Aunt Ollie is not happy that I can’t eat my dinner. “Do you know how hard I slaved making
this Veggie and Orecchiette with Arugula-Walnut Pesto?”

  “Looks like moldy cat food,” Gramps says.

  “It looks delicious. I’ll eat it tomorrow and you can have a day off.”

  Aunt Ollie folds plastic wrap over the plate and puts it in the fridge. Then she sits at the table, looking done in. “Now I know why vegetarians are so thin. They wear themselves out chopping and peeling ugly vegetables.”

  Norton jumps up on my lap and rubs her head under my chin while I stroke her smooth fur.

  “Anything new with you guys?”

  “There’s never anything new.” Gramps puffs on his pipe. “We might as well be in prison.”

  “So go out! Take Aunt Ollie to the zoo or go to a Blue Jays game. There’s nothing stopping either of you from enjoying yourselves.”

  “Yes, there is! I’m cooking you meals that require four hours of prep work, and he’s running like a jackrabbit all over town trying to find these blasted ingredients.”

  They do look tired.

  “You’re right. This is not your responsibility. It’s mine.”

  “So what do I do with the three packages of goat cheese your grandfather bought?”

  “I’ll take them with me, and the cookbook.”

  “Thank Christ.” Aunt Ollie turns to Gramps. “Go get a bucket of chicken. At least I know what’s in that.”

  Later that night in bed my cellphone rings. It’s Austin, of all people.

  “Hey, you, I’m glad you’re still alive.”

  “So you heard about the bull incident.”

  I sit up. “What bull incident?”

  “Amanda didn’t tell you? I was nearly trampled by a bull at the rodeo.”

  “Good God, how did you get away?”

  “A rodeo clown, but even he was rattled.”

  “So I leave Amanda in charge and she nearly kills my star. At least I only almost killed myself.”

  “How are you doing?”

  “I had to fire Aunt Ollie from making my meals, turns out she hates vegetables.”

  “Why is everyone else in charge of your food? If it’s not Amanda doling out chocolate bars, it’s Aunt Ollie cooking your supper.”

  “I can’t cook.”

  “So learn.”

  “Do you know how to cook?”

  “No.”