Hooked (12 page)

D
ressed for the evening in a sexy black cocktail suit, her hair in a complicated twist, Tawny traded her usual public transportation for a taxi for the long ride uptown. High-profile men favored her elegant trendsetter-cum-socialite appearance that years of perfecting had achieved. Not too flashy, just the right amount of makeup, heels high enough to walk comfortably without wobbling like a drunken sailor.

Geometric patterns of sun and shade played on the tree-lined street, the breeze temperate for mid-August. Time: a few minutes before five. Punctuality had always been important. People paid good money for her services. They didn’t deserve to wait. Hopefully, she’d find out what she needed in a few visits and wouldn’t have to return at all.

Thinking back to the other night with Walsh set her on edge. The man wouldn’t give up. He’d dig and dig until he found what he was looking for. Like an Etruscan artifact waiting for the delicate touch of the excavating tool and brush, life’s secrets were never buried so deep they couldn’t be unearthed. She wondered why it made a difference if he pulled her history out of files as dead as past civilizations. What it said about her. What it said about him.

Walsh would open her up, lay her bare, and the maggots would eat her insides until there was nothing left. She wished she could get on the next plane to some place
she’d never been and stay until her last breath.

Instead, she stood on the sidewalk facing Upper Eighties, about to enter into something she’d never do unless forced. Walking back into the life she’d decided to leave. Back into the world’s oldest profession.

She inhaled a deep breath, climbed the stairs, and pressed the buzzer. The doorman let her in and introduced himself as Charles. He obviously expected her, and within minutes Benny arrived at the desk.

“Tawny, beautiful as usual. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you.” Benny focused on her chest and did everything but drool down his shirt.

What a jerk
.

He took her arm. “From now on call Charles before you come, and he’ll give you a special code to punch in. I’ll give you a key so you don’t have to wait for someone to open the door.”

“Sounds almost furtive, like some secret organization.” Benny’s leer gave Tawny the creeps.

“We are secret. That’s the beauty. As I mentioned, there are some clients who prefer hotel arrangements, but most think coming here is safer. Never know who you might meet in a hotel. New York is the smallest big city in the world. Word spreads. People run into other people and then, ‘Oh, guess who I saw at the Plaza?’ turns into ‘Saw Jane’s husband at the Plaza,’ to ‘What were you doing at the Plaza?’ Messy. Then there’s all the credit card bills, the IRS, nosy wives.” He snorted. “Very messy.”

Tawny laughed in spite of herself. Benny wasn’t far off. She knew of a couple of times when something exactly like that had happened.

“Come on, meet some of the ladies and Colin.” He directed her to an office where three stylishly dressed young women sat around chatting with a small, ferret-faced man
with a cockney accent. The Monday night ladies.

The girls were younger than Tawny and very pretty. Classy. Models or actresses. She recognized all three from the pictures Walsh had shown her the other night. They acted friendly, showing none of the catty, arched-eyebrow glares normally directed at would-be competitors. Tawny smiled and felt very old.

A girl with
café au lait
-colored skin spoke first. “I’m Angie, this is Tessa, and she’s Darlene, tonight’s hostess. After your tour, why don’t you join us for a drink on the fourth floor?”

“Thanks, I’d like that,” Tawny said.

“And that’s Colin,” Benny said.

The man behind the computer mumbled a hello, tipped his head, and turned back to the computer. Benny took her arm and led her out of the office. “Monday night is usually quiet. Perfect to familiarize you with the setup. Fridays we have a get-to-know-you party in the fourth floor ballroom. It’s the busiest night.”

“This is different for me,” Tawny said. “I’ve always worked alone. And to make things clear, I will not participate in Friday night parties.”

Benny slipped his arm around her waist. “I wouldn’t expect you to. That’s my testing ground for younger, less-experienced ladies. It’s how they build a clientele.”

There was that word again.
Younger.
To think thirty-two was approaching the end of the line. Sure, in competitive sports your body slows down. Movie actresses show tiny creases on the screen. But prostitution? Tawny’s price was higher than ever, even if she’d lost interest in the game. Younger, indeed.

“The lobby, a meeting room, and the office take up the first floor. Plus my private domain where I stay when my family is on the island. I’ll take you to the upper floors and show you the rooms.” He guided her into the elevator and pressed the button for
the second floor.

Benny opened a few apartment doors. “This building was an individual residence at the turn of the twentieth century. Then a subsequent owner transformed it into separate apartments. I bought the building and remodeled the inside. Added some marble, silk wall coverings, Oriental rugs. Luxury, Tawny,
beaucoups
of luxury.” He breathed deeply and puffed out his chest in pride. “Nice, don’t you think?”

“The rooms are elegan
t.” She meant it too. Each one boasted a different theme and color scheme. Erotic art in antique frames hung on the walls. “I’d say they vie with the best hotels in the city, without the restaurant.”

“We have an arrangement with a French restaurant in the next block. Menus are in the rooms. Phone your order to Charles, and it will be delivered to your room within forty minutes. We don’t have much call. Not many of our clients are hungry…for food.” Benny managed a particularly wicked grin. “But occasionally, someone contracts for an entire evening and wants something to eat. Service till midnight. Actually, I’ve thought
about putting the kitchen to use and hiring a full-time chef. That would take Upper Eighties far beyond any other club in the city.”

Tawny smiled. “You’ve thought of everything. How many ladies do you have on call, and how often are they expected to work?”

“Depends. They work as much or as little as they want. Some clients state specifically who they want to spend time with. Others like variety.” Benny winked. She knew he fell into the latter category. “Remember, you’re a special case. You agreed to two hours of pleasure a week, right?”

The word pleasure might be pushing it. Damn you and your department, Walsh.
She kept smiling. “Right,” she said.

“I’m delighted, Tawny. But don’t leave me and take my customers for yourself.”

His tone meant to convey subtle jesting, but Tawny read the implication.
No. I just need time to do my business.
“Shame on you for thinking that,” she said, putting her arm through his as they walked the halls. “Anyway, I’ve already informed my clients I quit the business. I’d be embarrassed to tell them I’d changed my mind, even though I needed the money for my relative. I would have, though,” she pinched Benny’s ear lobe, “but timing was on my side. You made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” She flashed her kilowatt smile―the one that put men in her thrall―and Benny reacted as if he were getting a secret hand job.

“So, it
is
all about money, isn’t it? The magic that makes the world turn.”

“You ought to know. You used to work on Wall Street, didn’t you?”

He wrinkled his nose. “Years ago. And see what happened without me? Collapse, mayhem, disorganization. They’ve rebounded, but it never would have happened while I worked there. Which proves my point: money does make the world turn.”

Though Benny’s comment fell under the guise of jest, Tawny thought he actually believed what he said.
Ah, ego, thy name is Benny.
She left him with the last word as they carried on the tour. That’s what men wanted and what women usually wouldn’t concede.

Playing hostess for an evening was beneath her, but it would also give her the best chance to obtain the required information. Did Charles man the desk all night, and did the sign-in book cover only the present day? If not, where did they keep them? Probably with Colin. Worse, in Benny’s private domain.

Tawny smothered a scoff. Benny’s
private domain
euphemistically described where he tried out the talent on a regular basis. He’d been a regular client of Eileen Cooper’s before they married. Either the timing was right for Benny to marry or Eileen knew how to put her long-nailed hooks into him. If she could put up with his extra-curricular activities, more power to her.

Benny opened another door to another room―a suite. “You’re booked here tonight. Seven o’clock.” He checked his watch. “Which reminds me. I have some business to take care of.”

Tawny walked around the room, tipped the lampshade, opened the armoire. “And Benny, no filming.”

His expression went from ecstatic to crushed. “Do you think I’d do that? I run a respectable business, Tawny.” He grinned. “You know what I mean. Respectable within the parameters. No filming, no recording. What would be the purpose?”

“I’ve heard of it going on in other places. If I so much as see a camera, I’m out of here like a shot. You can keep your money.”

“No need to worry.” He took her by the arm. “The name of the gentleman on your calendar is Mark Seymour. That’s not his real name. No need for you to know what it is.”

“Why?”

“What you don’t know can’t come back and bite him in the ass.”

“Or me?”

He nestled into her ear. “Or you.”

Tawny didn’t like the sound of this. She always used a service to check out men she didn’t know. “I like to know who my clients are, Benny.”

“Mr. Seymour has been thoroughly vetted. We do that before any arrangements are made at Upper Eighties. You have my word he’s kosher. Now don’t worry your pretty head. Scout around. Take your time. Talk to the girls. Get a feel for the place. Ask questions. There’s a bar upstairs on four. Oh, you don’t drink, do you?”

“Of course, just not alcohol.”

Benny didn’t respond to Tawny’s attempt at humor, seeming distracted. “We have whatever you desire. Make yourself at home. I’ll deliver Mr. Seymour personally at seven.” He pecked Tawny on the cheek. “Have a good evening, dear. Make him happy. I have no doubt you know how to do that.” Benny headed for the stairs, then turned. “Oh, I almost forgot. Here’s a key to your box in the office. It has your initials on it. By evening’s end, you’ll find what we agreed upon inside, plus the key to the front door. It works in conjunction with the code on the keypad.” He tipped an imaginary hat and disappeared around the corner.

Nice and neat. Benny Cooper ran a tight, organized ship. She could see why he was so successful. He never physically passed payment. Each girl had her own safe deposit box. She arranged the fee, and Benny took his percentage from the client. The girl was an independent contractor, and the client rented the room from Benny. What the contractor and client did in that room, Benny could claim not to know. He was a landlord. Nothing more. She nodded with a modicum of admiration for the way Benny handled his business. Very neat indeed.

Tawny thought of going down to the desk to see if she could get any information from Charles, but instead took the elevator to the fourth floor. Women were more likely to talk than a man, and Charles behaved like the loyal employee. It was early, six. She had a little less than an hour to look around. Maybe―what were their names? Angie, Tessa, and the hostess, Darlene? Yes, those were the names—maybe they could shed some light. Walsh mentioned two women who hadn’t shown up in over a week. She remembered the one name he knew. Melody. How could she bring it up without actually mentioning it?
Oh, who else works here? Maybe I know them.
If she mentioned Serena, would anyone react? Did they know her? No, better step lightly the first night. She had time.

Okay, Tawny. Time to do some snooping. Man, she hated this. A spy for the cops. She’d sunk as low as she could go.

T
awny exited the elevator and stepped into an open area that occupied the entire fourth floor. A glance around took her breath away. The magnificent twelve-foot-high ceiling resembled a masterpiece painted by the Venetian artist Tiepolo. Instead of a pastel flurry of deities and cherubs, explicit scenes depicted men and women, men and men, and women and women performing erotically sexual acts. The artwork was first class, as was everything she’d seen in the building so far.

A few casual groupings of deep-cushioned velvet sofas and comfortable armchairs offered intimate privacy, while a compact arrangement of stools lined the front of a
giant mahogany bar. The hand-carved behemoth with its mirrored back must have been salvaged from an old English pub. Columned shelves contained dozens of bottles of liquor and liqueurs and sparkling wine glasses hung by their stems from a lattice overhang. It was as nice a setup as any Tawny had seen in the many expensive watering holes, hotels, and restaurants she’d frequented over the years. The three women she met in the office sat at one of the skirted tables dotting the vast area. Each nursed a glass of wine while in deep conversation. Angie noticed her.

“There you are, Tawny. Join us.”

“Thanks,” Tawny said. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No,” Darlene said. “Not at all.”

“Tell me your names again. I don’t want to get them wrong.”

“I have a brain like a sieve, so I understand. I’m Angie, this is Darlene, and—”

“I’m Tessa. Have a glass of wine.” She got up, heading for the bar. “Red or white?”

“Got a Coke?”

“Um, sure,” Tessa said. “Don’t tell me you’re in Twelve Steps.”

Tawny laughed. “No, I don’t drink. Haven’t since college. I never handled it well, so I figured why do something that makes me feel so bad?”

Tessa brought an ice-filled glass and a can of Coke and set them on the table in front of Tawny. She looked to be the youngest, with that just-graduated-from-college innocence. She wouldn’t be innocent long. Not if she worked for Benny. Tessa teemed with enthusiasm, eager to please. Probably a natural sub. Pretty, not beautiful. Clear skin, bright blue eyes, long blonde hair, and a slim, athletic figure.

Angie’s caramel-colored skin and long, silky black hair revealed an exotic mix of ethnicities. More elegant than the others, she wore a stunning plum-colored dress and gold hoop earrings. She’d receive stares wherever she went, and Tawny bet she had a full calendar at Upper Eighties, with men lining up to book her.

Darlene, the oldest, but undoubtedly younger than Tawny, wore a very sexy emerald cocktail dress for her hostess duties. It played beautifully against her red hair and green eyes. Tawny hadn’t noticed the attitude in the office, but now, away from Benny’s presence, she seemed more circumspect, as if she were sizing Tawny up and the size didn’t quite fit.

In spite of their mostly friendly welcome, Tawny had interrupted their conversation. She needed to be careful and not sound like she was prying.

“This is a great setup. How many work on a busy night?” The three women stiffened and exchanged glances. “I’m sorry. Is that something I shouldn’t ask? I mean, are there rules I should know about?”

“It’s not that,” Tessa said. “It’s―”

“We were talking about—oh, my God, I can’t.” Tears filled Angie’s eyes, and she dug into her purse for a handkerchief.

“Did you read about—?”

But Darlene interrupted before Tessa could finish. “No need to bring Tawny into anything on her first night here. She might get the wrong idea.”

“I did interrupt,” Tawny said. “I’m sorry. If you’d like me to leave—”

Darlene took control again. “No, of course not. We were talking about one of the girls who used to work here. No big deal. I hate to admit it, but we were being catty.”

Hell you were.
Whatever she interrupted, she’d bet it was one of the reasons she was playing Mata Hari. She wanted to ask more questions, but Darlene had tacitly warned Angie and Tessa to button up. Nothing more here, at least not tonight. She’d have to get one of the others alone to pry further.

Darlene turned to Tawny. “You’ve had a lucrative career as an independent for a long time. Why sign on with Benny?”

So they knew about her. Word travels fast. Darlene asked about the circumstances that would have made Tawny suspicious if she were sitting on the other side of the table. She’d anticipated it would come up and had an answer ready. Same answer she gave Benny. She didn’t want them comparing notes.

“A close family member had a medical emergency she couldn’t pay. Tens of thousands of dollars. She asked me for a loan. I’d already told my regular clients I’d quit and not to refer anyone to me. I’d have been embarrassed to call and tell them I was back in business. It was kismet I bumped into Benny. So here I am.”

“Lucky,” Tessa said.

Darlene emptied her wine glass. “Yes, you were.” She stood. “I’m hostess, so I’d better hotfoot it downstairs for the seven o’clock appointments and make sure the rooms for eight are set up the way Benny likes. Those of you with clients at seven,” she checked her watch, “should get to your suites. What time is your client, Tawny?”

“Seven. Guess he wants some action before heading home to the little woman.”

All three women laughed. “That’s usually the case.”

“His name is Mark Seymour. Anyone know him?” They all shook their heads.

“We’re not supposed to mention names,” Darlene said. “Not unless we’re doing someone together.”

“Oops. Guess I have a lot to learn. And after all these years.”

“Sounds like a Paul Simon song,” Tessa said. “What was it?
Still Crazy After All These Years
?”

“Yup, that’s me,” Tawny said. “Older but I doubt wiser. Better get going.”

“My appointment’s at eight,” Angie said. “He’s a regular. Unmarried, rich, handsome, and desperate to avoid attachments. I think I’ll have another glass of wine.”

“So where are the others?” Tawny asked. “Don’t they come up here?”

“They go directly to their engagements,” Darlene said. “No schmoozing. Business only. You gals have early dates. Most appointments don’t start till nine or later.”

“Gee,” Angie said. “I hope Cindi’s all right. Anyone know who her client was the other night or who was hostess?”

“I was supposed to hostess that night, but I was sick, remember?” Tessa said. “Benny was here. He must have handled the clients.”

Darlene glared at both women, neither of whom noticed.

Gotcha
! Cindi must be the name of the disappearing act Walsh mentioned. Now all Tawny had to do was find out Cindi’s last name and the name of her appointment. Something else struck her as strange, but she couldn’t remember what. She’d think of it. Right now, she had an appointment with the mysterious Mark Seymour.