The Escort Next Door (6 page)

What Friends Are For

U
nable to think clearly, I dashed back into the
bedroom and flung open my closet. Yanking out a suitcase that was laid on the
bottom, I flipped it open and began throwing clothes into it. I couldn't say
what I chose to take and what I chose to leave, there was no logical sense to
what I was doing, no thought for practicalities. The only thing I was aware of
was a desperate need to get out of that house. A claustrophobia had gripped me
and was frantic to break free.

Enclosing the hurriedly bundled clothes within the case, I
grabbed a pair of sweatpants with my free hand. Rushing to the bed, I sat down
and slipped the sweats over my legs. Keeping the robe fastened and draped over
the top, I pulled the pants up to my waist and jumped up from the mattress. It
was only as I returned to my closet and grasped an oversized sweater that I  
silently asked, what was I doing? Where would I go? I didn't have any money, no
family nearby and, after I'd left Paul, he was sure to do everything he could
to take the children away from me. He could afford a team of the best family
law attorneys. I could afford...nothing.

As all the furious energy drained from me, I slumped to the
floor of my closet and leaned back against the firm wall. I was trapped.

Staring blankly ahead, I wrestled with that concept;
questioning how I'd found myself in such a situation. It had never entered my
head, not even for a second, that by agreeing to Paul's parents’ demands over
the prenuptial agreement, I'd been backed into an inescapable corner. The
balance of power in our marriage was hideously weighted in his favor. And I was
out of options.

In a state of utter despondency and still reeling from what
I'd just discovered, I did what I have always done when I didn't know what to
do. I picked up the phone, after plugging it back in, and called Grace. She was
my best friend, had been since we were in second grade. Although life had sent
us in different directions, quite literally placing us on opposite sides of the
country, and things often got so busy that it would be months between
conversations, we remained close. Every time we talked, even when it was almost
a year since the last time, it was as though we'd just seen each other
yesterday. We both understood that life got frantic, so there was no sense that
the other wasn't making 'enough effort’ to stay in touch.

Waiting anxiously for her to answer, I clutched the phone
tightly to my ear as if it were a lifeline.

“Hello,” she eventually said, a slight question in the word
which made it obvious she hadn't looked at the caller ID before picking up.

“Hey,” I replied, my voice sounding hoarse and scratchy.
“It's me.”

“Julia?” she responded quickly. “What's up? You sound
terrible.”

Despite the intense misery I felt, I couldn't help but
smile. Grace always had a way of cutting right to the heart of the matter. She
didn't worry about a veneer of politeness, she never said anything she didn't
mean and expected everybody to treat her with the same level of brutal honesty.

“Jesus,” she added. “It must be three in the morning there.
What the hell's happened?”

“Is it?” I mumbled absently glancing at the digital clock.
“I lost track of time.”

“Jules,” she sighed soothingly. “What's going on?”

“I umm,” I began, not knowing exactly what to say. After a
brief pause, I decided perhaps Grace's approach was the best, if not the only,
way to deal with things. “Paul's been cheating on me.”

“What?” she shouted, her shock sounding no less than my own
had been.

I was past the point of crying, all of my tears had dried
out long before. So, it was with a sort of detached, emotionless voice that I
recounted what I'd discovered over the previous few hours.

“You've got to be kidding me?” she muttered quietly. I could
tell she was talking to herself and didn't actually think it was my idea of a
practical joke. “Who does that bastard think he is?”

“Rico Suave, apparently,” I murmured bitterly.

“Jesus Christ,” she sighed, clearly having a hard time taking
the news in. “What an ass!” she suddenly shouted. “Where the fuck does he get
off? You're stuck at home raising his children and he goes around sticking his
dick into everything with a pair of breast.”

I was grateful that she was so angry on my behalf, but her
rant brought back images that caused my throat to tighten.

“I'd chop his cock off!” she added vehemently.

That brought a reluctant laugh to my lips, but it tapered
off far too quickly to provide any real relief.

“Oh, Jules,” she breathed. “Honey, what are you going to
do?”

“I really don't know,” I admitted with a whisper. “I
just...” I sighed wearily. “I don't know.”

“But you are going to leave him, right?” she asked, leaving
no doubt that she felt the answer should be a resounding 'yes'.

“I want to,” I replied weakly. “I mean, our marriage is
over. If it had just been once, I might have been able to forgive him, but
after this, I'll never be able to trust him again.”

“But?” Grace coaxed, noting that there was one coming.

“But what can I do?” I said, shaking my head dispiritedly.
“I haven't got a penny to my name. I can't even afford to rent a tiny one
bedroom apartment, let alone a place big enough for three kids.”

“Okay,” she conceded, her practical tone coming to the fore.
“So, you get a job and save some money.”

It was a viable suggestion, but there were problems. “I
won't be able to work without Paul finding out,” I sighed. “He'd want to know
why, and I can't come up with a convincing reason other than the truth.”

“Tell him you're bored at home and need some adult company
once in a while,” Grace offered helpfully.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “But if he knows I'm working, he'll wonder
why the money isn't going into our joint bills account,” I countered, hating
the fact that every solution simply posed another problem. “Not to mention the
fact that it would take me forever to save enough, I'm not qualified for
anything that would pay well.”

“Then don't worry about money,” she dismissed quickly. “You
and the children can come and live with me, until you've got yourself settled
financially. You could stay as long as it takes you know that.”

I'd been wrong. My tears had apparently an endless supply,
because Grace's generous offer brought a fresh wave. “You're too good to me,” I
replied shakily.

“Hey,” she cooed. “That's what friends are for, right? So
what do you say?”

“I'd love to,” I told her earnestly. “But I can't. No matter
what, when I leave him, Paul's going to fight me for principal custody of the
kids. If I take them out of the state without his permission, his lawyers will
make sure I never see them again.”

Grace was silent for several seconds. “Surely, he wouldn't
do that,” she mumbled. “The children love you, you're a good mom. Why would he
want to do that to them or to you?”

Sighing, my eyes wandered to the ceiling. “He can be very
vindictive,” I explained. “And he's ruthless in getting what he wants. He's,
umm...” I hesitated. “He’s joked about what would happen if we ever split up.
At least, he framed them as jokes, but I knew that he wasn't just messing
around. If I give him any reason to, he'll take them from me.”

Exhaling heavily, the whir of Grace's brain almost came
through the phone. “All right,” she began. “So, the situation is you need to
make some money, preferably a lot of it in a fairly short space of time. And
you need to keep it on the down low,” she stated, summing up my impossible
situation.

“That's about it,” I agreed, leaning forward and dropping my
head into my open left palm. “No big deal, right?” I joked darkly.

“Well,” she said, drawing the word out. “I'm thinking there
is something you could do?”

“What?” I asked, not holding out much hope for a completely
full proof solution.

“Don't dismiss it right off the bat, okay?” she prefaced.
“How about working as an exotic dancer?”

“Stripping?” I blurted. “I don't think so.”

“I said, don't dismiss it,” she insisted. “Think about it.
You could work a couple of nights a week during the time Paul's away. You'd
hire a sitter to watch the kids, or have them stay overnight with friends.”

“All that sounds fine,” I conceded. “But what about the part
where I take off my clothes?”

“You've got an amazing body,” she instantly replied, seeming
to misunderstand my main objection. “It may have been a long time since you
danced in high school, but I bet you've still got the moves.”

“Grace,” I muttered. “I can't.”

“Why not?” she countered.

“I just...” I weakly protested. “I can't go around all the
clubs in town, gyrating in nothing more than a thong.”

“You could,” she retorted. “Do you know how quickly you could
make enough money for a deposit on an apartment?”

“That's not the point,” I replied quietly.

“Well, sweetie,” she sighed. “I don't know that you have
many other options. I'm not suggesting that it's perfect, and I'm not
suggesting you take it up as a career. But I do think it's worth considering.
Otherwise, what choice do you have?” We both knew it was a rhetorical question,
but Grace left it hanging there, no doubt wanting to ensure that I really
thought about my predicament and lack of ways out. “Do you really think that
you could just bury all of this and go on with Paul as though nothing's
happened?” she eventually added.

That was another question that didn't require an answer. She
knew me well enough to know that I couldn't bear to play 'happy families' with
a man who not only had been unfaithful, but also a man who would doubtless
continue to cheat on me.

“Are you still there?” she said after my silence had become
uncomfortably long.

“Yeah,” I assured her quietly. “Yeah, I'm still here. I'm
just wondering how I got myself into this mess.”

“None of this is your fault,” she replied softly. “You could
never have known that this is what was going to happen. I mean,” she added,
“it's not as though Paul was a player when he was younger. He's changed, and you
couldn't have foreseen that.”

“Maybe,” I reluctantly mumbled. “But he still changed right
in front of me, and I was either too busy or too blind to notice.”

“Jules,” she said in her no nonsense manner. It was the kind
of tone that all parents use with their children from time to time. “You have
to stop beating yourself up. Paul is the one who did something wrong. You're
not to blame for any of it, understand?”

“I guess,” I replied halfheartedly.

“Listen, I'm really sorry, but I've got to go,” she added apologetically.
I could hear Mason, her baby boy, in the background. He was crying softly; the
sound of a hungry, growing child. “Think about what I said, and call me again
if you need to talk. Any time, day or night.”

“Thank you,” I said with a grateful half smile that she
would never see, but I hope she heard. “I really appreciate that.”

“No problem,” she responded. “You take care, honey.”

“Bye,” I sadly whispered, before slipping the phone back
into its base. My gaze stayed fixed there for some time, not because I was
drawn to the phone in particular. No, my focus remained there, because I was
trying to resist the call of something else. If I ignored it, perhaps the
feeling would pass.

However, it didn't. Eventually, I peered over my shoulder at
the computer. After all that time, the screen had gone blank and a small amber
light blinking slowly in the right hand corner. It was insane, I told myself.
There was no way I would dance for ten dollar bills to be tucked into my
panties. So, it was pointless even looking. And yet, my curiosity remained. In
fact, it began to grow.

Muttering, “This is ridiculous,” I picked myself off the bed
and settled back in the chair by the desk. Quickly grabbing the mouse, I swept
it across the pad, enlivening the screen once more. Not wishing to be reminded
of the content of Paul's emails, I quickly signed out and closed that window.
Then, I opened a fresh page and began a search.

After just a few minutes, I'd discovered that the pay of
strippers varied dramatically depending on the clubs and how many private
dances they were willing to offer. Nevertheless, it was apparently very
possible for women to make between $2,000 and $3,000 per week. When I compared
that with all of the entry level positions I would be qualified for, which paid
minimum wage or just above, the choice seemed like a no-brainer. Grace was
right, within just a few weeks, I could make enough money to put down a deposit
and have a nice nest egg saved up.

Suddenly becoming aware of what I was doing, I pushed away
from the desk and leaned back in the chair. “Am I actually considering this?” I
whispered. I had shocked myself by how quickly I'd warmed to the idea and how
attractive it was suddenly seeming.

Yes, it still seemed seedy. But I was beginning to realize I
could live with that. After all, it would be for a finite, very short period of
time. The alternative would mean staying with Paul, essentially prostituting
myself (when he felt like having sex with me and not someone else), and
trawling through a loveless, miserable existence. Being leered at by a few
lonely men was a small price to pay to be free.

A silly smile began to spread across my face. There was
another bonus to this plan, it would feel really good to get my own pay back on
Paul. Although he'd never find out what I was doing, I could guess what his
reaction would be if he did know. And that was enough; at least some vengeance
would be had.

However, with that thought came an abrupt dampener to my
heightening spirits. Paul could never know what I was doing. If he learned I
was dancing in those places, despite the expression on his face being
priceless, he would use it to argue that I was an unfit mother. If I danced in
public, especially in the classier clubs that would be my preference, there was
a possibility I'd be seen by someone Paul knows. That was a risk I could simply
not afford to take.