Chapter 2
2
R AIN
New York
Christmas is around the corner, and here I am, sitting in my apartment, surrounded by deafening silence.
It’s unusual for this time of year to be so quiet.
It’s been a long couple of days since I returned from the island, and I still bump into things, trying to adjust to my old life.
Everything he bought for me while we were on a shopping spree last week has been delivered.
When I got home, the boxes were all stacked up in the foyer, waiting for me.
The day before my arrival, the 19th Century French painting he’d purchased for me had been delivered as well.
I argued with the delivery people, disputing the accuracy of their information with the shipping company, convinced it was a mistake.
The man in charge of the transportation called the auction house and discussed the issue with someone over the phone for a few good minutes.
The person at the other end of the line insisted it was Mr. Sexton’s wish to deliver the painting here.
They had the paperwork to prove it, so I gave up and let them do their job.
It’s a magnificent piece of art.
I absently stir my tea, staring at the beautiful painting. It portrays a young woman holding a bouquet of roses.
She steals the spotlight with her delicate features and expressive face.
Her gaze is tipped to the side, her eyes gleaming with nostalgia while she reflects on something no longer in her grasp.
Soft, brown hair frames her oval face, highlighting her alabaster skin and clear blue eyes.
Her rueful expression had struck me when I had laid my eyes on her, prompting me to suggest to him to put a bid on it.
I never thought he’d buy it for me or I’d be staring at it in my home with my heart crushed.
Sighing, I pick up my phone from the table, swipe the screen, and scroll down through my contacts.
I call Mom, Dad, and Daria, and none of them answer their phones.
I dial Eve’s number but change my mind and tap the screen to end the call before she has the chance to answer.
My gaze shifts to the window, and my mind drifts away.
Glittery white snow drapes over the trees and sidewalks, covering the alleys and the benches. Everything is still and silent.
Conflicting thoughts swirl in my head as my eyes hover over the scenery.
How did I get here?
What went wrong?
Two years ago, I visited Italy, celebrating Christmas with a group of friends.
One year ago, I was here, in New York, and lived in a rathole several blocks from here. I was broke and had no friends and almost no family members to keep in touch with.
I couldn’t realize how bad it was until I left that place and gained some perspective.
A week ago, I squirmed with pleasure under James’ body.
He had me for a hefty price, and in the end, it cost him less than what I had to pay to be with him.
Four days ago, three men made love to me like no one else had done it before.
James had my heart, and all of them claimed my body.
He let them do it… And I let them do it too.
Why?
My elbows slide onto the table as I bury my face in my hands, my eyes blurry with tears.
What life lesson do I need to learn from all of this? What kernel of wisdom am I supposed to absorb?
Is this what those women must’ve felt after spending some time with them at the now-infamous Dark House?
Is this why they couldn’t go back to their old lives? To their boyfriends? And their husbands?
Raising my eyes, I slowly shake my head, a sad chuckle falling from my lips.
How fucked up is this?
They took away my power and left me empty. How come I didn’t know it would feel like this?
A muted sound pulls me out of my head, prompting me to tip my gaze to my phone.
I watch it vibrate against the table before I pick it up and read the message.
It’s a bank notification.
I slide my finger over the screen, pull up the app, enter my passcode, and read the text message.
A quarter of a million dollars––my fee––has been transferred to my account.
He paid me.
Grappling with disbelief, I do a double-take, trying to make sense of all this.
A bitter chuckle rolls off my lips, and I suddenly feel cold and hollow, angered to the core.
The nerve he has.
I toss the phone on the table and push out of my chair, growling with frustration, unable to keep my fury under control.
Pacing back and forth, I’m trying to calm down without success. I should go out and keep myself busy instead of thinking about him and his friends.
I pivot to the table, scoop up my phone, and call Eve.
She answers right away.
“Rain?” she murmurs, surprised.
“Hey.”
“Oh, my God. I can’t believe you called me,” she says, her voice beaming with disbelief.
Fangs of guilt sink into my chest.
I am such a lousy friend.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier. I’ve been busy these past few days. Are you in Colorado?”
“No, no. I’m still in New York. I booked a flight for tomorrow morning.”
She breathes a chuckle.
“At least I think I did… I’m sorry, but I’ve been a little distracted lately. All I know is that I’m packing right now,” she says, amused, and laughs at the other end of the phone line.
She sounds excited and seems in good spirits, different than how she was a few months back when we were talking on the phone.
“You?”
“I’m here as well,” I say in a softer voice, no smile lining my lips. “Listen... Are you busy tonight?”
I barely finish asking her that when her voice explodes in my ear, and her joy brings a grin to my lips.
“Yay... I thought you’d never ask. I sure am, but it’s not what you think. I’m packing my shit up before heading home and cleaning the place. I haven’t been ‘busy’ in a while, if you know what I mean. Not since my ex-boyfriend broke up with me.”
“What if I pick you up, and we come back to my place and order some food. We can watch TV or something… You can bring your stuff here, spend the night over, and leave in the morning. A car will take you to the airport.”
Silence comes from the other end of the phone line.
“Seriously?” she asks incredulously.
“Yes. Unless you have different plans.”
“No, no. There are no different plans. I’d love to. Sure. Oh, my God. We haven’t done this in a while...” she says, enthused.
“Okay, then. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll take a cab.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m coming to you.”
“The weather sucks.”
“I don’t care. I want to get out of this place if only for an hour. I’ll get a car. Don’t worry about me.”
“Okay,” she says.
An hour later, the limo stops in front of a two-story apartment building in the Bronx.
I step out, climb the stairs leading to the entrance, and press the intercom button.
She buzzes me in.
“I’m here,” she says, waving at me from the second-floor window.
Smiling, I walk in.
The stairs and the corridor are narrow and dimly lit, while the walls are painted in a dark hue of beige that has seen better days.
I reach a small door at the end of the hallway.
It’s cracked open, so I push through.
“Hi,” she greets me, her eyes glinting with excitement. “Take a seat,” she says, pointing to the chair sitting in the middle of the room.
“What were you doing?” I say, glancing at the ceiling.
“Changing a light bulb. Give me a minute,” she says and darts into a different room.
She stops abruptly and spins around in the doorway.
“Shit. Is the car waiting for us outside?”
I flick my hand up.
“Don’t worry. He’s paid to wait.”
Her lips form an O, an amused smile beaming on her face. Gingerly, she presses her fingers against her lips.
“Oh. I forgot.”
Her comical expression makes me chuckle. It’s impossible not to share her sunny disposition.
She gives me a quick once over as I pull the zipper down and open my red puffer jacket.
“You look very, um... sporty,” she murmurs, taking in my shaggy, red boots and white jeans.
A playful smile sits on her lips.
Grinning, I sink into a chair.
“What?” I ask.
“You look very, um… I don’t know. Princessy?”
Biting her lip, she gauges my reaction.
I laugh softly.
“Good thing the braided buns are no longer in,” she continues, lifting her hands and twirling her fingers on either side of her head.
We laugh hard and keep giggling until tears start trickling down our cheeks.
“Anyway,” she says, wiping away her tears. “You look damn good.”
She does a double-take, flashing a cheerful smile.
“I’m dying to know what your secret is. On the other hand, it wouldn’t do me any good,” she jokes, and we snicker again.
“Are we back to the same problem?” I ask, leaning back in my chair.
She shoves the last piece of clothing into her travel bag and pulls the zipper up.
“Yeah, baby. We’re back where it all started,” she says, rising to her feet.
Taking a long breath, she looks around, checking for more things she needs to pack in her suitcase.
“A few more months like these past two–– make that twelve––and I may need to lose my V-card again,” she says, shifting her gaze back to me.
More laughter rocks our chests.
“But this time…” she says, pressing her knee on the second bag while pulling the zipper up. “This time, I’ll hire someone.”
We lock eyes as she pulls up and straightens.
“Hire?”
She snatches a bottle of water from the table, unscrews the cap, and gulps half of it.
“What do you mean by ‘hire’?” I ask.
She puts the cap back on and runs her hand over her mouth.
“Like an escort... A male escort,” she says, enthralled with the idea.
Rolling my lip under my teeth, I study her, suppressing a smile.
“Why would you do that?”
She slides into a chair.
“Because I had enough of this shit,” she says only half-jokingly this time. “I’m sick of games and guessing and texting and waiting for calls. And all that crap. You know, the shit you need to go through so you can fuck someone... once,” she says, flicking her finger up to emphasize her point. “And then if you want to do it again, you have to go through the same shit... again.”
She pauses, pondering for a moment.
“Although, if it sucks the first time around, he’s usually pursuing you for another round, or maybe that’s my luck.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
“It may not be for others, but this has been my experience so far. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.”
She searches my eyes for a moment.
I stay silent.
“Or maybe you don’t. You’ve always had access to a different dating pool,” she murmurs.
I keep my mouth shut.
“Seriously now. I don’t think I’m asking for much. And I’m a fairly reasonable person when it comes to men. At least, that’s what I like to think,” she says, a bit disappointed. “But it’s such a tedious and complicated process. And the waiting part is killing me. I always need to have patience and play the fucking game. It’s a matter of fate or luck or whatever other crap. Who knows what it is? I don’t think anyone does. And then, even if I find someone remotely interesting, I have to go down my list. Is he crazy? Weird? A creep? Does he live in a cardboard box under a bridge? Does he know what he’s doing when he lays his hands on me?”
She pauses.
I look at her.
“In bed, I mean...”
I jerk my hand up.
“Yeah... Yeah. I got that.”
She tosses her head back and rakes her hand through her long dark hair before pulling it all back into a ponytail.
“Who knows? Maybe I’m hanging with the wrong crowd.”
“Maybe,” I say seriously.
She glances at me, smiling.
“I’m not joking.”
“I’m not joking either… So how would you like your escort to be?”
“Handsome. Passionate. Hot.”
She looks at me, waiting for my reaction.
“You want more?” she asks.
I don’t say anything, so she continues.
“I want him to be sexy. I mean seriously sexy. You know, the kind of man who sweeps you off your feet. I want to melt when he touches me. And I want him to give me a gazillion orgasms. I want to float on a cloud…”
I smile.
“You need a sex god.”
“Yes, please. May I have one?” she tosses at me facetiously.
“I’m not so sure they exist.”
“You had one,” she says promptly. “And there were two more where that one came from,” she adds, smiling from ear to ear.
A rush of blood comes to my cheeks.
“Yeah… Them. I forgot about them,” I murmur, sunk in thought.
“No seriously,” she says as the silence thickens. “I just want him to be good in bed.”
“It goes without saying.”
Our eyes lock, and her expression changes.
She looks around, disheartened.
“I don’t know,” she tosses at me, no longer smiling.
Her gaze is tilted down as she stares blankly at the floor, musing over something.
“I think the most important thing for me would be–– and that’s why I’m willing to pay him handsomely––to have him when I need him. I don’t want to waste my time chasing a man online, waiting for his messages, getting sick over his pictures with other women, and analyzing him to death, trying to understand why he’s doing what he’s doing. You know, the usual crap. And then, I don’t want to be pursued by some desperate man in real life who can’t figure out shit when it comes to women.”
She glances at me.
“Does that make sense?”
“It does. I know exactly what you mean.”
I pause for a moment.
“How’s Andy?” I ask.
She throws her arms up with frustration, her face crimson.
“He’s in love. And she has him wrapped around her finger.”
She looks down again, shaking her head in disbelief.
“I thought I knew everything about him. What he liked and didn’t like. His pet peeves, dreams, and little secrets. Everything he said to me was a lie. Things he didn’t ‘like’ when we were together, he loves now because of her. Everything she says is gospel to him. And I couldn’t even convince him to paint his studio in a different color.”
“What was wrong with the color?”
“It was eggplant,” she says, aggravated. “Anyway. Enough about my love life,” she adds, and I fully understand her pain.
It reminds me of mine.
She rises to her feet and looks around before picking up her coat from a chair and shrugging it on.
“I’m ready,” she says.
I pull out of my seat as well, slip my jacket on, and wait for her to unplug the appliances and check all the rooms one more time before we grab the travel bags and head to the door.
“I have a roommate, but she’s away right now. She’ll not be back until next year,” she says, giving the room one last look.
A moment later, we walk out of her apartment.
* * *
RAIN
Rain’s Apartment
“Oh... This is nice,” she says, sinking into the couch.
“Do you need a blanket?” I ask, pulling one over my legs.
“No, I’m good.”
Her gaze swings to the coffee table.
“I’ll eat those fries if you don’t want them.”
“Yeah, sure. There’s more,” I say, handing her a plate and pulling another food container from the paper bag.
I slide it onto the table and lift the lid. The smell of French fries, herbs, and garlic fills the air.
“They smell delicious,” she says, chewing slowly.
I turn my eyes to her and offer her more.
“No. It’s enough,” she says.
I set a few more on my plate, pick one up, and take a bite before sliding her cup of tea closer to her.
Still munching on my food, I lift my cup of tea from the table and sink back into my seat.
“Your place looks amazing,” she says, taking in the shiny dark wooden floors, red drapes, and matching upholstery.
She pauses, the next question getting swiftly pulled away from her lips.
We lock eyes briefly before focusing on our meal, and the silence grows.
We’ve been avoiding this topic for some time, and this moment may be as good as any to come clean.
“I’m an escort,” I say, breaking the silence when she least expects it.
Her eyes shift to me, and there’s not a shred of surprise on her face.
She places her plate on the coffee table and leans back in her seat while my eyes follow her as I wait for her reaction.
She folds her legs under her and looks at me, her eyes narrowed with a faint smile.
She doesn’t say a word.
“It all started a year ago, about this time,” I say anxiously, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
“I kinda knew...” she murmurs. “It has crossed my mind more than once.”
I sigh.
“I didn’t plan to be an escort, and I didn’t do it for the lavish lifestyle, although I’ll be the first one to admit I enjoy the perks that come with it.”
I smile, saddened.
“I didn’t know how to pull myself out of misery, and I sort of, um… stumbled into this.”
“Is it safe?” she asks.
I look down for a moment, my chin quivering.
“As safe as it can be if you’re careful about it...” I say, swinging my gaze up. “It’s safer than the random hookup with a man or a cheating boyfriend. I only have a few clients––wealthy men. I’m tested. They’re screened too. And we always use protection. Being safe is part of the pleasure. There’s too much at stake for them and me not to prioritize safety. That’s also part of the appeal. The fact that we can be comfortable with each other without worrying about the practical aspects of it.”
A soft smile glints in her eyes.
“I wasn’t thinking about sex.”
“Oh... Did you mean creeps?”
She laughs softly.
“Yeah. Something like that...”
“No, they’re not. They just want a few hours away from their normal lives. It’s escapism for them while I’m their secret.”
“No whips, shackles, or ropes?” she asks, grinning.
I smile.
“No. Not with the men I’m seeing.”
“No throwing you against the wall with a knife between their teeth,” she comments, amused.
I gesture, entertained.
“No, no... It’s nothing like that. These men have power and a lot of responsibilities in their lives. They want to unwind and be with someone who fits their taste and doesn’t care how impressive they are. Some of them like to relinquish control, kick back, and enjoy. It’s nothing out of the ordinary.”
“So, no unusual requests?”
“No, but I cherry-pick them, so it may have to do with that.”
“Are they older guys? Like sugar daddies?” she asks, curiosity lining her gaze.
“Nope. Not really,” I say, bringing my tea to my lips and taking a sip. “They’re young. Most of them are in their thirties, or forties, maybe.”
Her eyes twinkle with excitement, reminding me of the good old times.
“Good looking?”
“Yeah... They often are.”
“Damn,” she says.
Her eyes gleam with exhilaration, her imagination running wild.
“Nobody wants me, but I’d do it in a second, if only for a day. Just to see how it is.”
I swallow a mouthful of tea this time.
“Don’t say that.”
“What? It will only be for a day.”
“No, no... That’s not what I was talking about. Men do want you, Eve.”
A shadow slides across her face, darkening her eyes.
“No, they don’t.”
“Perhaps college boys can’t see you for who you are, but real men are attracted to you.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“What scares them away is not your looks. You’re a beautiful woman. It’s your mind that turns them off. You see through them and know immediately who they are. They don’t like it, especially if they're flaky. That’s why they pull away from you. Men, especially inexperienced ones, are insecure creatures. For the most part, college boys have no idea what they’re doing. They’re usually swinging back and forth between being jerks and being doormats––like your ex. They get shuffled around by girls who can’t make up their minds about whether they want to be sexually adventurous or hook up with the father of their babies. Not much knowledge is exchanged if you get my drift.”
“Do you think they improve later in life?”
I shrug.
“I don’t know. Maybe not, but at least they learn a thing or two.”
“And then someone snatches them up,” she says, smiling yet disappointed at the same time.
“Yeah… That can happen too. Anyway, my point is there’s nothing wrong with you. It’s just that you need to find the right man.”
She chuckles.
“Hence the idea of hiring one.”
“The good ones don’t come cheap,” I say.
Her smile broadens.
“That’s true whether you pay for their company or not,” she argues.
She’s right.
A few moments pass.
“You should come home with me,” she says.
I shift my gaze to her.
“I no longer have a home in Colorado. You know that. My mom moved to California.”
“How is she?”
“She’s good. She lives only a few blocks away from her best friend.”
“Is she on speaking terms with your father?”
“They chat on the phone from time to time. She doesn’t share much with me about their conversations, though.”
“Well... You can still come and stay at my parents’ place. We have plenty of rooms in the house.”
I ponder for a second.
“Nah… It’s fine. I don’t want to impose on them. I’ll book a hotel room.”
Her face lights up.
“Are you, um... maybe, just maybe, considering it?”
Hope shines through her eyes.
“I don’t know.”
“Please...”
I study her.
“I might...”
“Really?”
“Yeah... Why not?” I say before drinking tea, trying to conceal my nervousness.
“Oh, my God.”
She claps her hands. Like she used to do back home when the slightest thing made her happy.
I watch her amused when a thought pops up in my head, erasing my smile from my lips.
I look at her in silence.
“What?” she asks, her glee vanishing.
“I’m not so sure it’s such a good idea, though,” I murmur as James comes to mind.
“Why not? You haven’t been home in a while. On top of that, the big New Year’s Eve party is coming up.”
She glances at me, smiling again before her expression shifts, and concern beams on her face.
“Oh... Wait a minute. You need to stay here because of your clients?”
I shake my head.
“No. It’s not that.”
“What is it then?”
She studies me for a few seconds, the corners of her eyes moving down as more worry grows across her face.
“Is it because of James?”
“Maybe,” I say softly.
She thinks about it for a moment.
“I don’t understand… Why would you change your plans because of him?”
“I’m not changing my plans because of him,” I say tensely, quickly reconsidering my options. “What time is your flight?”
“Eleven thirty.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Maybe I can get on that plane somehow. If not, I’ll book a different flight.
“Yay…Thank you,” she says, clapping her hands before pushing out of her seat and wrapping her arms around me. “I’m so happy. Shit. I’ve missed you so much,” she adds, and her words bring tears to my eyes.
“It’ll be just like the good old times,” she says, breaking away from me.
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“Okay. It would be better, then,” she tosses at me, and I grin.
It’s hard not to love her.
“So, are we watching a movie or what?” I ask.
“Yes. Bring that plate of cookies over here,” she says as I grab the remote.