Intensity (2 page)

She squeezed my hand. “No one would know unless you told them. Experience isn’t required. Believe me, you’d do very well. I’ve seen you working a few events in the city. Men can’t take their eyes off you. Besides, they’d get off knowing you’re a virgin and pay a fortune for the honor.”

Yeah, and I’d be surprised if I didn’t have an ulcer at the end of this conversation. The blackening storm clouds swirling outside mirrored my tumultuous mood. “I don’t think I can do it. Even if the money’s as good as you say.”

“You don’t have to decide right now. Think about it over the weekend. Give me a call on Monday and let me know either way. I’ll need more information if you decide to interview. Linc, the owner, handles that.” She stood up, a twinkling diamond purse strap slung over her shoulder. “You can do this.”

Right, she probably told everyone that.

She strolled out the door carefree like she hadn’t just burst the biggest bubble of hope I had building in me since yesterday. As I watched Mylaynee walk away, “The Voice Within” by Christina Aguilera played in the coffee shop. The lyrics struck me and replayed in my head the entire walk back to my apartment, in the pouring rain.

I didn’t feel one drop.

I set the flowers on the roof of my car. My destination framed by two large oak trees at the top of the hill. Sprigs of budding leaves spread along the branches, alerting to the impending season. A few weeks before spring, the weather could be unpredictable, ranging from sunshine, rain, or an occasional lingering snowflake. Overcast with a slight chill in the air, a sudden gust slapped against my face, causing my eyes to water. A loud screeching bird soared overhead. Its large wings flapped against the lofty winds and circled above me multiple times, as if searching for something.

It wasn’t the only one
.

A glance to the hilltop and another blustery gust sent chills through my bones, numbing my fingertips. I pulled my cardigan closed, knotting the dangling belt around my waist. Flowers in hand and one foot in front of the other, I climbed toward the top, reading each name along the way: Johnson, Finnegan, Langley, Wright, and Smith. At the crest…Thomas.

Kneeling before the headstone, I sat back on my legs. Every Sunday I visited, a time to remember the greatest, most loving person I knew. Her high school portrait, a black-and-white image molded into the marble, reminded me of her constant smile and beautiful features. Our only likeness and my favorite, her sea-green eyes.

“Hi, Gram.” Memories of sitting together on the front porch drinking sweet tea and chit-chatting tugged at my heart. “I’ve been working real hard, but things aren’t goin’ so well. I know what you’d say. ‘No problem is too big. You can do anything you put your mind to.’”

The creaking tree limbs and whistling wind sent another chill through me. I grabbed the collar of my sweater and tucked one flap tighter over the other, dipping my chin to ward off the cold as best I could.

“I’m sorry, Gram. The bank took the house. I tried, but…”

Overwhelmed by my situation, I pressed my temple along the frigid marble surface and sobbed. Tears flowed down my cheeks and chin, pooling in the dirt below.

Help me, Gram. I don’t know what to do.

I leaned back and dropped my hands in the dirt. My fingers scrunched into the cold ground, lifting clumps in each hand. I stared as it sifted through my fingers, remembering her last day.

Weak and frail, bedridden for months, she slept most of the time. On occasion she’d wake and mumble, sometimes decipherable, other times not. While I sat at her side, she opened her eyes and called out, “Come here, child.”

I rose and leaned closer, smoothing my hands over her thinned hair. She set her fragile hand on my cheek. “Serena, my love, my sweet, sweet girl.” Her breath wheezed with each word. “Always remember…good times.” Her hand dropped, and I grabbed it, pressing it to my cheek. Her eyes were distant and unfocused as the whistle in her lungs grew louder, the words choppy as she drew in shallow breaths. “Don’t be…sad, spread the sunshine, child. Be happy…proud a you…no matter what.” She sucked in one quick breath. “Love you.” The wheezing slowed and her eyes drifted closed. Never to open again.

I glanced at her headstone and the smiling photo again. “Would you be proud?”

No answer.

A spunky, modern woman, she talked to me about the birds and bees more than once. Encouraged me to date when I turned sixteen. Being a little awkward and shy, it wasn’t easy to talk to cute boys in school. When you were one of several hundred and boys had other options like cheerleaders, majorettes, and tons of gorgeous girls, the quiet girl didn’t get noticed. My nose constantly buried in schoolbooks or romance novels, I became the wallflower and blended into non-existence. Then Gram got sick, and boys didn’t seem so important.

Our lives a whirlwind for as long as I could remember, we were either volunteering or working. When I turned thirteen, the Millers, who lived in our neighborhood, hired me as their nanny one day a week. At sixteen, Gram taught me how to manage her bookkeeping business. She kept up with it, until she couldn’t anymore. Most of the larger clients left for more experienced providers when I took over. At eighteen, Gram insisted I continue with my college plans, even though we weren’t sure how her illness would progress. I enrolled in an accounting program and took classes until junior year. One day, I’d get that degree.

What should I do, Gram? Give me a sign. Something, anything.

My eyes closed, and I tried to concentrate. To listen.

After some time passed, the quiet became deafening. The sky darkened and millions of stars twinkled overhead. I followed a moonlit path to my car. An imminent decision weighed heavy on my heart, making each step more dismal than the last.

The driver’s door open and one foot inside, I looked up the hill. Streams of moonlight beamed down on her headstone like a spotlight, shielding the others in complete darkness. The unusual occurrence sent shivers through me. My hand clenched my anxious stomach while the other pressed on my rapid heartbeat. I made a wish, hoping it reached the great beyond and brought me a resolution.

On the way home, my thoughts flashed from one childhood memory to another. Thankful for Gram’s positive outlook, because it took over and provided a temporary reprieve from my uncertain future.

I got out of my old Toyota and looked around. Noon in Crestfallen and there wasn’t one person outside. As I crossed the parking lot, I smoothed my hands along my dress and examined the brick structure that resembled any other apartment building. Five or six stories high, the balconies and large windows at each level would let in tons of natural light. Port Chester Bay flowed behind it, making the sight quite picturesque. Separated by a bridge, the neighborhood encompassed a five-block radius with a handful of small stores and older residences. Most young couples preferred the fast-paced city lifestyle, leaving this area isolated and populated by senior citizens desiring a quieter environment.

About forty minutes north of New York City, it had to be the perfect place for a covert business. No one would ever suspect an escort operation in this tiny town. I grew up not far from here, and it certainly surprised me.

At the front of the building, I pressed the up button on the elevator. My distorted reflection on the metal doors as I shifted from one foot to another reminded me of a fun-house mirror, making me look hideous.

Ugh.
Maybe I should’ve worn a different dress?

The white crochet pattern had a skin-tone shell underneath that matched mine and made it look see-through. But who wore crochet anymore? The mid-thigh length wasn’t bad and showcased my bare legs. Under normal circumstances it would be an outfit I’d like very much, but seeing my misshapen image had my stomach twisting into knots.
Okay, don’t stress. Think positive.
A self-conscious attitude would not fare well in this interview.

What did I have that could get me the job?

My green eyes, and favorite feature since they were like Gram’s, might be appealing. Coppery, pin-straight hair that came down to my hips could be a plus. Men liked long hair, right?

At five foot eleven, the six-inch red stilettos made my legs look amazing. But the extra height made me an Amazon, and ranked as my
least
favorite feature. Normally, I wouldn’t choose shoes this high, but I figured women in this profession wore them. At least the erotic books I read claimed so.

If you placed me next to Mylaynee, her exotic beauty with cocoa cream complexion and curvaceous figure would win a man’s attention every time, hands down. Last week at the fundraiser, the hunk that accompanied her with blond, spiked-hair in an Armani suit would be just the type to seek her out. No way I’d end up with a gorgeous man like him. With my luck, I’d get stuck with eighty, paunchy, and bald.

The elevator doors slid open to reveal a mirrored interior. Once again all my physical imperfections were on display, combined with gigantic insecurities, and played on my already twisted mind. Before I could move, a panic attack hit me.
Not now.

Open mouth, breathe in and exhale.

Repeat, deep breath.

The elevator doors started to close, and I flung my hand out, opening them again.

I could do this.

One last deep breath and fingers crossed, I stepped inside. My forehead pressed to the cool mirrored surface, I thumbed the number panel for the top floor, closed my eyes, and gave myself a pep talk.

Pros and cons weighed, the decision to come here marked a time of change. The bank’s foreclosing on Gram’s house had been the last straw. Everything I’d tried so far hadn’t made a bit of difference. Besides, this would be temporary. Mylaynee said I had a choice, so I’d ask for “date-type” as long as I could. Even if I got one a week, I’d still net more than my other paychecks combined. I’d keep the nanny job and continue with bookkeeping, making every little bit count.

I’ll get our house back, Gram, I promise.

The doors opened and so did my determined eyes.

Time to put my big girl pants on.

Standing tall and wiping my sweaty palms on my dress, I forced my head up high and took two steps onto the wood floor.

Across the room, a leather sofa with cushions that looked like clouds, comfy enough to sleep on but black like a midnight storm, stretched beneath a huge painting of a nude woman. Abstract ghostly images peered at her sprawled body lying on a settee. One of her hands dangled to the side, palm up, as if panhandling. The other flowed across her brow, a look of exasperation or pleasure I wasn’t sure. Her head tilted in my direction welcomed the newcomer and all who graced this domain. Intimate parts exposed, the beautiful figure captivated and mesmerized.

I turned toward the frameless picture windows lining the entire exterior wall and was presented with a breathtaking, unobstructed view of the harbor. Smack dab in the middle, behind an antique mahogany desk, stood the tallest, most impressive man I’d ever seen. The black suit he wore matched the surroundings, professional and sleek. The top three buttons on his white shirt undone, dark sprigs of hair peeked through and begged for my attention.

As I got closer, his eyes scanned me from head, to chest, to hips and up and down my long legs at least three times, resting on my ruby-red tiptoes.

Ha! Two could play at that game. Using the exact pace he did, I snapped mental pictures of every God given, Mr. Universe muscle. A wavy black ponytail, pulled tight at the nape, crested his wide shoulders and dipped to mid-chest, bringing my journey to a momentary pause. A taut dress shirt molded to his pecs became an instant favorite and preference I didn’t know I had. As I gravitated lower, the desk impeded my view, coming to rest at his waist and a nondescript silver belt buckle. My eyes drifted back up, wishing I could see more, but his tailored jacket without a hint of lint on it kept him hidden. Still, from what I could take in, the man had sin engraved all over him.

I stopped in front of his desk and realized my earlier assessment of him had been right. My six five in heels, shrunk to five feet the way he towered over me by several inches. “Linc?” The wispiness of my voice made me cringe. Way to go, Serena.