She made a little sound of resignation. “Okay, we won’t talk about it.”
“Thank you.”
“I don’t know why you pretend you don’t care.”
So much for not talking. “You should know by now that no one cares about whores.”
“Then why do you do it?” she challenged.
I flashed her my wicked smile. “Getting rid of the competition.”
“Okay, Shelly.” She blew out her breath. “You’re right. I broke the rules.”
I handed her the envelope. Marguerite accepted it with a grim face. Ah, something Ms. Faust and I had in common: taking money from someone we didn’t like. I wondered if it ever got easier for her. Every month I brought a wayward girl to this place. Each time, Marguerite pried another secret from my lips. I wasn’t worried. It would take far too many months, years even, to get them all, and I would never last that long.
“How’s your cop?” Marguerite asked, as if we were two girlfriends shooting the shit.
My heart beat faster, but I donned a mask of polite curiosity. I had mentioned Luke once, offered his services in getting a restraining order for one of the boyfriend pimps. Marguerite had refused, housing the girl until she could move her to another city through her network of shelters. The operation was costly and dangerous but still preferable to dealing with cops. Another thing we shared.
“Haven’t spoken to him in a while.” Unfortunately, the truth. “Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering what he thought about you getting out.”
She was fishing. No way she could know I had quit or had tried to.
“It’s not really his business,” I said blandly. Not really your business.
She shrugged. “Seemed like you really liked him.”
Except he didn’t want a prostitute for a girlfriend; he’d basically said as much. More than that, he didn’t deserve one. I had quit, fled, had wanted to never go back to hooking, but clearly that wasn’t in the cards. My lip curled. “Come on, sweetheart. Do you really think someone like him can have a real relationship with someone like me?”
It was a joke, but I held my breath.
“No,” she said finally. “But you deserve to have some fun, even if it’s only for a little while.”
Yeah. That was what I thought. Maybe it was for the best anyway, that I would go back to the one thing I could do so well. I never could have afforded to fund this place on what I made as a cashier or any other normal job. I swept out the door with a “Bye, honey” and a swing of my hips. Girl’s got a reputation to rebuild.
I drove home on fumes and climbed directly into a scalding-hot shower. I scrubbed away the rejection from earlier, the fear and the stench of the streets. After using up half the bottle, I poured the rest of the soap out and watched as the peach-colored gel swirled down the drain. I couldn’t have used it again anyway, not after using it today. Maybe it was strange, but the rituals kept me sane, and what did they hurt? Who did they hurt? I lay down on the cold, hard floor of the tub and curled into a ball on my side, letting the water rain down on me.
Distantly, I heard the phone ringing, but I couldn’t have moved. Not until the water turned cold and I began to shake. I pulled myself up and turned off the shower. After throwing on a large shirt to sleep in, I grabbed the answering machine and climbed into my plush bed with six-hundred-thread-count sheets. I curled my body around the little black box and pressed Play.
“Hey, it’s me.” He sounded tired. “I guess you’re busy.”
There was a pause, which I scribbled in with well-deserved recriminations. I might not have been with a client today, but I would be tomorrow. This was my life. I could apologize for it, but I couldn’t change it any more than a ship could change the tides.
“I worked a double shift today,” he said on the recording. “One of the other guys, his wife went into labor, so I took over for him. Wasn’t too bad, though. Just tiring. For her, I mean. It took her ten hours to push him out, so what the hell do I have to complain about? Nine pounds, a boy. I didn’t see him yet, came straight home.” There was silence. “Straight home and called you. Funny.”
The answering machine broke the awkwardness with a click.
There were no more messages. I pressed the button again.
“Hey, it’s me. I guess you’re busy. I worked a double shift today. One of the other guys, his wife went into labor…”
Chapter Five
The party turned out to be a corporate affair in the penthouse of a swanky modern hotel. A bunch of high-profile CEOs getting high and horny amid miles of glass surfaces—what a brilliant idea.