Madam of Maple Court (18 page)

She realized that she didn't know whether he was married, and for the moment she didn't care. That was his business. A thought slashed, unbidden, through her. It hadn't been Liza's business, either. She was just like her, she thought, becoming a hussy, a wanton, and she didn't mind at all. Rather she understood a little more. "I'll look forward to hearing from you on both fronts."

Later she lay in bed in the dark, unable to sleep, wondering whether she'd crossed some barrier and become something she didn't care for, but she couldn't condemn herself and she didn't regret anything she'd done in the past few days. An hour later her phone rang. It was Rob. "Pam? I hope I didn't wake you."

"No. I was just thinking about this evening."

"Me, too. I'm here in bed, naked, remembering this evening, too, and telling myself not to think too much. You shouldn't either. Let's just go with the newness and heat of it all, and enjoy it to the fullest."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Live it all for now and let next month take care of itself."

She hoped she could do just that.

For several weeks Pam continued to see, and make love with, both Gary and Rob. From time to time she felt uneasy with the fact that she was dating and having sex with two men, but when she examined the situation she couldn't find anything wrong with it. She hadn't lied to either man and, although it had never been explicitly stated, she was pretty sure that each knew that he wasn't her one and only.

As spring blended into summer she was delighted that her house was being used more and more often for gatherings. She hosted a lavish engagement party for the daughter of a woman who'd been at Belinda Banner's wedding, an early-summer party for a medium-sized White Plains firm, and she had a few more possibilities for later in the summer. She had also lent her house to the local chapter of a breast cancer charity and the ASPCA for weekday luncheons. She had made financial arrangements with a few caterers, party supply firms, and quite a number of wedding consultants who came to visit and heaped compliments and promises on her and her facility. She'd even hosted a divorce luncheon and pool party for a friend of a friend of Grace Banner's cousin. Word was getting around and hosting was turning into a small, but growing business and was bringing in a small amount of money, enough to put off worrying about the future for another few months at a time.

She'd met with Mark a few times and together they'd worked out a budget of sorts that showed Pam that, with some frugality, she would have a decent length of time to plan the next phase of her financial life. Now the little she was earning with her party business would allow her still more time.

Despite her charity work, she still had a lot of time on her hands. Since her membership in the local country club was paid through December, she continued to make use of the facilities, playing tennis and bridge and keeping up her contacts with the upper echelons of Westchester County, New York, and nearby Greenwich and Fairfield, Connecticut. These were the social planners and, although they looked down slightly at her desire to "rent out" her house for affairs, she was still one of them so it wasn't too much of a smudge on her reputation.

Many of them gave her advice on the remainder of her life. "Find a good man with lots of money and get married again," several of them recommended. "Good sex. That's what it all about. Good, sweaty, kinky sex."

"Find a family man. You've always wanted kids and you could start again. You're not too old yet."

"Find a man with kids. That way you don't have to go through the pregnancy and giving birth shit."

They found nice gentlemen for her, and at first she agreed to meet them at small dinner parties. Most of the men were deadly dull, and when compared with either Gary or Rob they all fell far short. She even had sex on her third date with one man, but he was as dull in bed as he was in person. She gently put a stop to the machinations of the let's-get-Pam-married association.

Rob's party was planned for the middle of July, and about a week before she and Rob were having dinner in the city at a well-known pan-Asian restaurant. "I'm amazed at how well you've got this party organized," Rob said.

"I'm getting pretty facile at it," Pam said. "Your get-together is for only about fifty. The last bridal shower I did was for three times that."

"You're a very talented woman," he said. "I've got one thing I need to get clear with you."

Pam put down her chopsticks and rested her forearms on the pink tablecloth. "Shoot."

"As I told you when we first met, some of the guys will bring wives or girlfriends, but others will want female companionship." He lowered his voice. "As you probably know, we always provide paid ladies to keep our visiting royalty company. Since I got your name originally from Marcy at Club Fantasy, I know you understand what I'm talking about. One of the advantages to your place is that it's large enough that if a few couples decide to disappear for a time," he winked, "everyone will think they're somewhere else in the house or on the grounds. I assume that's okay with you."

She'd dealt with the idea when Marcy had originally given her Rob's name. She thought it would be okay, but with all her other commitments, did she really need money that much? She'd be knowingly bringing hookers into her home. She took a deep breath and decided. "It's fine with me," she said, "as long as I'm not on the menu."

"Of course not. You need to arrange things with Marcy. Find out what the identifier will be this time and don't wear it."

"Identifier?"

"Each of her ladies wears some identifying item, like a charm bracelet or a pendant, to let the guys know who's who. As long as you don't have one, you're not on the menu, as you put it."

"I never thought about how a guy would know who's available." Marcy was a sophisticate and could probably help her deal with the conflicts in her own life as well as helping her arrange Rob's party. "I haven't talked with Marcy in quite a while, so I'll certainly give her a call."

The following day as she sat in her living room, she thought about Marcy. Over the months since Vin's death, Pam had realized that she had no family or real friends with whom she could discuss anything personal. She had lots of acquaintances, several of whom were becoming her customers, but when she went through her mental PDA she found no one in whom she could confide.

If she told any of them that she was having sex with two different men they would have either condemned her or grinned and winked, impressed and a little envious. If she had wanted to discuss sex and expanding her sexual horizons, which she had slowly realized she did want to do, most would have laughed and recommended books or urged her to watch Dr. Phil. Others might wonder about her life with Vin, and she didn't want that kind of speculation. Stuffy? Most of them were, and a few were truly judgmental. When they met and chatted weeks before, Marcy had seemed like someone she could talk to.

Without further thought, she found the other woman's phone number, called, and set up a meeting for lunch later that week.

As she had been before, Marcy was late and looked frazzled. "I've got to hire a full-time nanny," she said without preamble as she arrived at the table. She'd selected a small Italian restaurant with, as she'd put it on the phone, little real ambience but the best meat sauce in the city.

She was certainly right about the first part of her statement. The place was so cliche as to be almost tacky: red and white checked tablecloths, booths upholstered in maroon ersatz leather, candles in Chianti bottles on the tables, and walls covered with murals of supposed farm life in Italy, with Vesuvius smoking in the background. The wait staff spoke with thick, phony accents and as she was seated she expected someone to break into an aria from
La Bohème
. The waiter brought her a basket containing sesame-covered bread and long, thin bread sticks, along with a dish of olive oil and herbs.

"I hope this isn't an inconvenient time for you, Marcy," Pam said as the other woman settled into the far side of the booth. Marcy was dressed in an oversized white shirt and well-washed jeans. Her hair was pulled back into a scrunchy-banded ponytail and strands of escaped hair frizzed around her face and at the nape of her neck. Pam had dressed carefully but casually, in grey twill pants and a yellow and white striped knit top.

"Not at all. You look great, glowing and happy. Me, I'm a slob when I can be, and it's necessary with my brood. You'd be surprised how professional I am with my clients, but with friends like you I'm so happy just to be me."

Friends. What a great word. "I'm glad of that," Pam said, and quickly realized that she meant every word of it. She toed off her sandals and tucked one leg beneath the opposite thigh.

Marcy's smile was genuine. "Me, too. How about a beer? They have Heineken on draft."

"Sure." The made small talk while the waiter fetched two glasses of foaming amber liquid. They ordered salads, preferring to wait and order the pasta course later.

"Rob called me and told me about his plans for the party and his need for my escorts. Let me give you the finances as I see them. I charge Rob about two thousand dollars per lady, and he's asked for five women. The fee holds whether they make a connection or not. I keep ten percent and you'd get twenty."

"Me? I get a cut? In addition to what Rob is paying me?"

"Of course." Pam was having a difficult time dealing with the numbers. Four hundred times five ladies. She'd be making an additional two thousand dollars. She never thought that hookers earned that much money and hadn't considered that she'd make part of it. "They make that much?"

Marcy lowered her voice and leaned forward. "Let me fill you in on my world. I don't rent out cheap hookers. I supply well-educated, well-bred women who are good looking—not necessarily gorgeous but certainly presentable—can make good conversation on almost any topic, stroke egos where desired, and are flexible in their sexual appetites. You met Liza. Would you have taken her for a prostitute?"

Pam clearly remembered the poised, well-dressed, well-spoken woman who'd been Vin's favorite liaison and who had two daughters in school. "Not at all," Pam said honestly, "but they do have sex for money, right?"

"Yes, but there's lots more. They're devoted to mutual pleasure. They do things with men that they enjoy, too." When Pam raised a questioning eyebrow, Marcy added, "Okay, most of the time. I don't necessarily know the proclivities of all the men who use our services, especially when I do something like Rob's party, which is a small part of Club Fantasy's business, but most of the time I match what men want with what my ladies enjoy."

"Okay," Pam said, trying to take it all in, curiosity pounding in her brain. "Like what?"

Marcy tore off a piece of crusty bread and sopped up some of the fragrant, light green oil from the plate in the middle of the table, took a bite, and chewed. Pam realized that Marcy was stalling, gathering her thoughts and deciding what to say. "You're not worried about me and my ability to keep your business between us, are you?"

Marcy looked surprised. "Of course not," she said quickly. "I have to make quick decisions about people, and I've become quite good at it over these last few years. I liked and trusted you after the first time we met. Otherwise I wouldn't have told you as much as I already have."