Torment Me (Rough Love Part One) (27 page)

“These situations last a couple months, and then the girls are back begging for another chance. I’ve been doing this a while, Chere. Once men can have you for free, they don’t want you anymore. The chase is over. The thrill is gone.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I said, holding up a hand. “I’m not leaving the business to be with W.”

“Who’s W?”

“That’s what I call him,” I said. “Because I don’t know his name. And I’ve been doing this a while too, so give me some fucking credit. I’m not leaving the business to move in with my client or anyone else.”

I started out trying to convince Henry, but halfway through my tirade I realized it was true. I wasn’t leaving for W, although I really hoped to keep seeing him. I was leaving because I wanted a different life.

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I’m tired of making a living with sex?” I asked. “Before I escorted, I was a stripper. I’ve only ever done sex jobs. I’m tired of being valued for what’s between my legs.”

Henry rolled his eyes. “You make a lot of money with what’s between your legs. You have a good life.”

“How do you know?”

We glared at each other. I loved Henry. I didn’t want to end things on an acrimonious note, but he was being more of an asshole than I’d expected.

“You have a good life too,” I reminded him. “Because of me and the rest of your escorts. What if you had to make that money with your own body?”

“I did make money with my body,” he said, leaning forward. “I understand. I know it gets old, but you’re at the height of your career. You make people happy, even if you’re feeling some weird, unfounded guilt about making money from your sexuality.”

“It’s not that. It’s not guilt. I’m just over escorting. This isn’t what I’m meant to do with my life. I
know
that, Henry. I’ve felt it for a long time. I always knew there was going to be an ending to it, and that’s happening now.”

“What else are you going to do?”

“I told you, I’m going to go to school.”

“To do what?”

“I’m not sure yet. Design, maybe. Some creative type of career that entails being more than someone’s pretty holes.”

I was quoting W, yes. Henry wasn’t stupid. He suspected W was part of this, but he couldn’t stop me if I wanted to get out. He ate a few more bites of his sandwich, and I ate some of mine too.

“I’m not leaving you high and dry, am I?” I said as the silence lengthened. “You have other girls.”

“I have plenty of girls, but I hate to lose a good one.” He put his sandwich down and brushed his fingers together. “I know I’ve been losing you for a while, and I understand why, but I don’t have to like it.” He held out his hand, and I took it. “I’m sorry I freaked on you, love. You have every right to do what you want with your life. So, a couple of months, you think?”

I nodded. “I’d like to work right up until I start school. Build up a little extra money.”

“Want me to raise the price on E.E. Moneybucks? I’m pretty sure he’d pay it.”

“No.” I didn’t want him to charge W at all, but I worried he was only interested in sex he paid for. Maybe I could change his mind over the next few weeks, change him the way he’d changed me. Maybe we could find our way to some mutually satisfying place.

You’re a dreamer, Chere. An idiotic dreamer.
The last thing I needed was another relationship. I’d settle for a friendship. I ran fingers up the underside of my forearm, tracing the memory of his words.

Henry sighed and picked up his coffee. “I think you have a crush on Mr. Cumming. You get jittery whenever his name comes up.”

I glanced at him, wondering how much I should reveal. Nothing. Definitely nothing. He’d pitch into more lectures, and I didn’t want that. “There’s a reason I get jittery,” I finally said. “He gives magical orgasms. And by magical I mean what-the-fuck, ruined-forever magical.”

He looked pleased. “I’m glad when I hear my girls are enjoying themselves. So you’re definitely on for next week?”

“I’m definitely on for next week.”

Henry was so trusting, and I’d kept so many secrets, about the oral without condoms, the apartment, and W’s involvement in getting me away from Simon. I hadn’t mentioned anything about seeing W once I left Henry’s employment. I decided to leave that conversation for another day.

“You’ve been a great boss,” I said. “A great agent. I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for me.”

“The feeling is mutual. If you ever need anything down the line... If you want to come back...” His voice trailed off. “No, don’t come back. Go to school and study for a career that makes you happy. Don’t you dare come back.”

“I’ll try not to.” I let out a long, relieved breath. “Thanks, Henry.”

“You’re sure you want to keep seeing Mr. Cumming? I can tell him you’re done, if you feel done.”

“No, I’ll see him.”

He gave me a teasing look. “The magical orgasms. I remember.” He signaled the waitress for the check, then turned back to me. “You know, I have men at the agency too, in case you get lonely and horny during one of those late night study sessions. My guys are very good at what they do.” He emphasized the word
very
, drawing it out into a suggestive growl.

“I’m going to be on a student budget,” I reminded him. “I won’t be able to afford your guys, for a while anyway. Whatever job I get out of college won’t pay as much as I made with you.”

“So why are you leaving again?” He held up a hand before I could answer. “I know, I know. It’s clear you’ve thought this through.”

We pushed back our chairs, stood up and hugged. He always smelled amazing, rich and classy like his escort business. He held me tight for long moments and patted my hair.

“You’re going to make me cry,” I murmured into his chest.

“I’m the one who should be crying,” he said. “I’m losing the legendary Miss Kitty. Too bad I’m not one of those evil pimps. I could just rough you up until I convinced you to reconsider your decision.”

I gave him an accusing look. “I think deep in your heart you wish you were an evil pimp, instead of a big-hearted pushover.”

“I’m not a big-hearted pushover,” he said, giving me a little shake. “I’m badass.”

I buried my face in his chest again. “You’re super badass.”

I heard his sigh, and felt it in the rise of his ribcage. “I’ll miss you when you go, Kitty darling,” he said, “but I wish you the best.”

The Gramercy Park Hotel was gorgeous, full of art and glittering things. I got there early just to sit in the lobby for a while, with the grand chandelier and rich scarlet carpeting flanked by black and white tile. I’d been there a few times to see clients, but the old Chere hadn’t really appreciated how amazing it was. The new Chere noticed artistry and design.

I watched the door. I’d come early enough that I hoped to see W arrive. I sat out of the way, but in view of the entrance, for the secret thrill of watching him walk across the lobby on his way to our date. Of course he’d look amazing, as always, in his dark, stylish business clothes. I wore a form-fitting, deep green dress. It was demure but not too demure. It was classically tailored and fit all my curves to perfection. I hoped he wouldn’t cut it off.

I thought back to our first session, to my horror, my naiveté. My blindness. How angsty and stupid I’d been back then. Maybe that was why he’d blindfolded me during our last session, so I could realize how far I’d come. He still scared me a little, but he thrilled me a lot more. He made me feel alive and strong, like I could do anything.

I knew I had to tell him these things one day. Maybe not today, but someday I wanted to explain the ways he’d changed me and improved my life.

His roughness, his violence had cracked me open somehow, made me all new and better, and his kisses had made me realize I was more than a whore. The first day, the very first day, he’d rejected Miss Kitty in favor of the real me. He’d preferred the real me, and was, in fact, the only client who’d ever wanted the real me. Somehow, he’d made me want the real me too.

More than that, he’d helped me find the strength to leave Simon. My ex’s gallery show was about to close. I wondered if he’d thought any more about rehab, or if he was going to continue along his self-destructive path. If he was, I wasn’t going with him. I was on a new path now.

After twenty minutes, I looked at my watch, and the room number Henry texted me. I would have liked to see W arrive, but he must already be waiting upstairs. Was he getting ready for me, thinking about me? Feeling hot for me?

I tucked my bag under my arm and sashayed across the elegant space, smiling like a minx. The hotness came first. I had to let W run roughshod over my body and exorcise all his demons before I said anything about how much he’d come to mean in my life. That was the type of conversation to save for afterward, when he held me and gazed into my eyes, and made sure, with his gruff and awkward questions, that I was okay.

I’m very okay, thanks to you.

I took the elevator to the tenth floor and took a deep breath as I walked down the hall. He gave me the best butterflies. When I got to the door I raised my hand to knock, then I realized it was cracked open, propped on the bar lock.

I double-checked Henry’s text. This was definitely the right room. I pushed it open a little, bracing for W to pounce on me and do something scary.

“Hello?”

The room was moody and lush, done in dark velvet and mahogany wood. I tiptoed inside, looking around. “Hello?”

When I was finally convinced he wasn’t going to jump on me, I noticed the dress on the bed, and an envelope with my name on it. I let the door close and walked across the room. I stood beside the bed and drew my fingers along the dress’s neckline. It was a replacement for the one he’d cut up last week, new with tags.

I was grateful for the dress, but I didn’t want to touch the envelope. I felt afraid.

“Hello?” I called again. “Are you here?”

I strained to hear him speak back to me, to breathe, to growl, to make that low, derisive laugh. I went into the bathroom. Nothing. He wasn’t here. No one had been here in a while now. There wasn’t the faintest whiff of his cologne.

He’s going to knock in a minute, I told myself. He’s fucking with me. No, he wouldn’t knock, he’d just sneak in and scare the shit out of me. I spun around, the hair prickling at my nape, but he wasn’t there.

“W,” I said softly, knowing there’d be no reply.

I went back out into the main room and pulled the drapes open. The room looked down on the treetops of Gramercy Park. A park view, of course. Always the best. I looked back at the bed. The dress.

The envelope with
Chere
written on it in W’s blocky script.

I went and picked it up, and walked back to the window, unfolding the white paper and angling it toward the light. There was no greeting, no date or name, just one line in the middle of the page.

Good luck, starshine.

I stared at the words a long time, rereading them, trying to understand them past the roaring panic in my brain. He couldn’t mean...goodbye? He wouldn’t just leave me like this, without saying goodbye. He wouldn’t just end us.

I sat in a chair in the still, lush room, and looked at the paper, and the dress, and I knew with a sick, sinking dread that I wasn’t going to see him again. He had chosen, for some reason, to terminate our relationship: our working relationship, our emotional relationship, our connection, all the experiences that had helped us bond.

“Why?” I asked, but there was no answer. I covered my face with my hands and leaned over, devastated by emotion. “Why, why, why are you doing this?”

I thought back over our last few sessions. What had I done? Was it because I’d talked about leaving the business? I thought I’d made it clear that I’d be happy to keep seeing him.

I wasn’t listening for a knock anymore, or the sound of his footsteps behind me. I knew he was gone, and that this beautiful velvet room was the last room he’d ever reserve for us. I held the paper to my nose and thought I smelled the faintest note of him. In a day, perhaps as little as an hour, it would be gone. Why hadn’t I asked what kind of cologne he wore? He might have told me that, if he wouldn’t tell me his name.

It killed me that I didn’t even have a name to hold onto. I had nothing but a small collection of poems, and fuzzy, adrenalized memories that would also start to fade. Maybe I could find him, with enough money and ingenuity, and persistence, but why even try, when he obviously didn’t want to be found?

He’d left me.

He’d deserted me.

He hadn’t even given me the chance to say goodbye.

Coward
, I thought.
You’re a fucking coward. You’re chickenshit. I loved you.

I looked down at the dress, the perfect, new, intact dress lying across the bed as I’d lain across the bed so many times. I didn’t understand. I thought he’d come to care about me.

Good luck, starshine?
What the fuck?

I left the hotel, and I left the dress, because I knew I’d never wear it again. I went home and arranged all his poetry around me on the bed, trying to figure out what had happened, what had gone wrong between The Carlyle session and Gramercy Park. As I looked at the verses together, themes emerged. Dreams, longing, darkness. Mystery and lust. I read them again, and again, and as much as I didn’t want to, I began to comprehend what had happened.

I’d rather have the dream of you

With faint stars glowing

I’d rather have the want of you

The rich, elusive taunt of you

It was a pretty, poetic way of saying he didn’t want me, the
real
me, the way I thought he did. It was all right there in the poems. What he wanted was the dream, the fantasy. He wanted Miss Kitty, as much as he insisted on calling me Chere.

And when Chere got too real, too human and complicated, he didn’t want me anymore. When I talked to him about continuing to date him as a person, a real, available person and not an escort, he must have been shaking in his thousand dollar shoes. He must have been doing everything in his power not to run away. Well, now he’d run away.