Made For Sex (22 page)

“I've got a similar problem,” Ronnie said. “Jack's home.”

“Great. For how long this time?”

“He's back for good. He got in late Saturday night, so excited and he wanted to surprise me. He's gotten an offer from a computer software house to develop a program about geological formations, three-dimensional modeling. He got a small advance and will get a nice royalty deal when it sells. His old boss, TJ Sorenson, has wanted him to come back here for a long time but there wasn't enough work to offer him a full-time position. Now Jack's sure that he can arrange a three-day-a-week slot with TJ, and spend the rest of his time at the computer.”

“Ronnie, that's great!”

“I guess.”

“What does that mean?”

“I've made a life for myself here, with our business and all. I don't know if Jack will want me to stay at home all the time and I don't know whether I want to give this up. And I sometimes wonder if Jack and I have enough for a full-time life. It was always easy to believe that we still had something between us when he was gone most of the time.”

“You've told me often enough that your sex life wasn't very adventurous.”

“Yeah. Hot and hormonal, but predictable. We fucked like bunnies all day yesterday, but I've come to enjoy the creative side of our work.”

“Does he know the details of what you do? The fantasies and all? Have you ever showed him Black Satin?”

Ronnie shook her head.

“Maybe he'd be interested in meeting one of your characters.”

“You think? It's silly but it's easier to share that side of me with a stranger than with my own husband.”

“From all you've told me about Jack, he may be no different from some of our clients. He may have fantasies in his mind that he can't share with you. Maybe you should give him the chance.”

“And maybe you should do some thinking about Bryce. I've known him for years and he's a very special person.”

“You're changing the subject.”

“I know but the comment's still relevant.”

“I've got a date with a new guy tomorrow night. I somehow think that it will help me clarify things. And you need to have a good heart-to-heart with Jack.”

Since Carla enjoyed making a bit of an entrance, she usually arrived slightly late for dinner with a client. So it surprised her when she was seated at a table in Vinnie's Waterfront Cafe, a well-reviewed yet inconspicuous seafood restaurant overlooking the Hudson River and her client wasn't there waiting for her. She placed the leather case that contained her album on the floor beside her feet and ordered a glass of club soda with a piece of lime. As she sipped, she gazed out through the wide expanse of glass at the river with the lights of the boats making patterns on the rippled surface.

Almost fifteen minutes later, Carla glanced up and saw a man weaving his way toward her. Gil, he'd said his name was. Just Gil. He had refused to tell her his last name and that was all right with her. He had been recommended by a client she'd been with many times.

As he approached, she realized that he was unusually tall and incredibly thin. He really does look like a bean pole, she thought. He's maybe six-six and he couldn't weigh more than one fifty. Carla extended her hand. “Gil,” she said as she took his tentatively offered hand, “I'm Carla.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said. He sat down quickly and took a long swallow of the glass of water already waiting at his place. “Sorry I was late. Unavoidable.”

Carla watched her newest client intently. His hands were never still. He put his glass down and fiddled with his napkin. When it was neatly in his lap, he picked up his fork and twirled it in his long slender fingers. “You sounded nice on the phone,” he said, his words quick and clipped, “but I'd like to make this perfectly clear. I don't want to talk about my wife or my marriage. I won't talk about my job and I've given you a phony name so you won't be able to trace me.”

Carla tried to keep her smile warm yet impersonal. If she had any desire to find out who he was, her friend Ed, who had vouched for him, would tell her anything she needed to know. But why should she? A man's personal life was his concern. “I have no intention of trying to find out who you are, Gil. I'm here because you called me.”

“Yes, yes I did,” he said, putting his fork down and picking up his water glass. His nails were bitten down to the quick and his cuticles were chewed and scabbed over in a few spots. He wore a casual shirt and tan slacks, an outfit that unfortunately made his almost emaciated body look even thinner. “As I told you on the phone, I have these needs that no one would understand so I decided to hire a hooker.” He looked at Carla, stylishly dressed in a pair of black wool slacks and a long-sleeved, kelly green silk blouse, and his mouth tightened. “I'm sorry. You're not really a hooker.”

“I am a hooker and I enjoy it. Do you know where the word hooker comes from?” When he was silent she continued. “During the Civil War a general named Hooker brought women along with his army to keep the troops happy between battles. Hooker's Women, they were called. That's what I do, after all. Keep the troops happy. And what's wrong with that? Sex is fun.”

The corners of Gil's mouth turned up for a moment, then his lips returned to their original thin line. “I don't want to talk about sex either. That is, not yet.”

“That's fine. Tell me what you like to do in your spare time. Do you like sports?”

“You mean do I like basketball,” he snapped. “A tall guy like me has to like basketball, right?”

“Ouch,” she said softly and Gil had the good grace to look chagrined. “I thought no such thing. I'm just trying to make small talk. Wow, you've got quite a chip on your shoulder.”

Gil's shoulders slumped. “I guess you're right. I'm sorry.”

The waiter interrupted. “May I get you a drink?”

“Sure. What have you got on tap?”

The waiter listed several brands and Gil and Carla each ordered a Sam Adams.

“I'm sorry,” Gil said as the waiter disappeared, “about my remark before. You hit a sore point and I'm very strung out.”

“I wouldn't have noticed,” Carla said, taking his dinner knife from Gil's hands and placing it back on the table. “Want to talk about it?” Carla had realized long before that part of her job was being a counselor, friend, and confidante. So many of her clients had problems and no one to talk to about them.

“They used to call me Zip in school.”

“Zip?”

“I was already over six feet tall in junior high and I weighed under a hundred pounds. The kids used to tease, ‘Stick your tongue out and you'll look like a zipper.' Thus the nickname Zip. I lifted weights but it didn't help.”

“You are what you are.”

The waiter arrived with their beers and they each took a long drink. “I understand you're a college graduate,” Gil said.

“Unusual for a hooker. Right?” Carla winked and Gil smiled ruefully. “Touché,” he said.

“I went to Michigan State and majored in English Literature. You?”

They spent the meal talking and quickly discovered that they had similar taste in movies and books. They had both vacationed in St. Martin and both lamented the commercialism of what had once been a quiet island with great French and native island food. They also shared the same taste in restaurants and each had a quiet little out-of-the-way spot to recommend. They had completely different opinions of the currrent administration and argued hotly over a recent cabinet appointment.

Over coffee, Carla decided it was time to get to the reason for the dinner. “Not that I'm not enjoying our dinner,” Carla said, “but maybe it's time to get slightly more serious. What led you to call me?”

Gil picked up a sugar packet and turned it over and over in his long fingers. “I have needs. You understand. I have things that pound on my brain, fantasies that I have when I'm with my wife. You know, in bed. It's gotten so I never really make love to her but always pretend she's someone else or that I'm someone else.”

“She wouldn't be interested in playing out these fantasies with you?”

“Of course not. We've been married for twenty-four years. She's not that kind of woman.”

Carla let that remark pass. “What kind of fantasies?”

He jumped up as the packet in his fingers burst open and sugar poured into Gil's lap. When he was seated again, he said, “I was talking to Ed, you know, like guys talk, and he told me about you. That you fulfill fantasies. That's what I need. Someone like you.”

“I'm happy to oblige,” she said, “but you'd be surprised what your wife might enjoy if you gave her the chance.”

“Don't talk to me about my wife,” Gil snapped. “I know her better than you do.”

So many men came to her with the same story. And so many of them were wrong. Carla's sigh was inaudible. It wasn't her job to educate her clients, just to please them. “I won't say another word about your wife,” Carla said.

His gaze was fixed on the corner of her leather case. “You have a book. Ed told me about it.”

Carla pulled her album from its case and handed it to Gil. “Ed probably told you how this works. There's an envelope inside.” When he nodded, she rose and picked up her pocketbook. “I'll freshen up and be back in a few minutes.”

Gil opened the cover.

When Carla returned from the ladies' room Gil was staring at one of the pictures. She glanced over his shoulder as she took her seat. “Gil?” He was a million miles away. “Gil?” she said again. His eyes cleared and she caught his eye. “That's Sally. She's twelve and she really likes candy.” She could see Gil's Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

Suddenly, Carla knew exactly what he wanted and although she'd never been Sally before, she could think of several ways to enhance the experience. She could see his fantasy playing, like a movie, behind her eyes. “I know where she lives.”

Gil held the book with one hand and his fingers fiddled with the tassel of the now-filled black satin bookmark. He suddenly pulled out a credit card and dropped it onto the dinner check. The waiter whisked it away and returned with the receipt which Gil signed, his finger still in the album marking Sally's photograph.

It took the cab almost fifteen minutes to arrive at the brownstone. Carla showed Gil into the living room, then disappeared upstairs.

Ten long minutes later Gil stood in the center of the room. “Gil,” Carla said as she walked down the stairs.

He turned and stared at the little girl in the pink party dress who walked toward him. Her face was freshly washed and she wore no makeup or jewelry. “Hi,” the girl said, hugging a large doll under one arm. “My name's Sally. My mommy says that I should always call my elders by their last name. May I call you Mr. Smith?”

Gil could only nod, his hands still for the moment.

“Can I have that?” Sally said, taking the book from Gil's tight fingers. “Thanks,” she said, her voice slightly higher pitched than usual. She placed the book on the desk at the side of the room. “Do you like my new shoes?” She stuck out one foot then polished the shiny tip by rubbing it up and down Gil's trouser leg. “My mommy lets me wear them on special occasions.”

Gil cleared his throat. “They're very nice,” he said, dropping onto the sofa.

“Wanna play a game, Mr. Smith?” she asked. “We could play with my doll.” She bent over and put the doll on the sofa beside Gil. As she bent, her short skirt allowed a clear view of her white cotton underpants.

This is a grown woman, a prostitute, Gil told himself. But oh Lord she even smells of baby soap. He rubbed his sweating palms on his trouser legs. “I'd love to play a game.” He saw the candy dish on the end table next to him. “There's some candy here,” he said, trying to say the right thing to make this fantasy go on and on. “Would you like some?”

“My mommy only lets me have candy on special occasions. Is this a special occasion?”

“It certainly is,” Gil said, slowly slipping into the fantasy. She was a hooker, but she was a little girl and he wanted her as he'd wanted nothing else in his life. “If I give you a piece of candy will you do something that will make me happy too?”

“Okay, Mr. Smith,” Sally said. Gil handed her the dish and she selected a Hershey's Kiss. Slowly she removed the silver paper while Gil watched her every move. Reflexively he wet his lips as Sally stuck out her pink tongue and licked the surface of the chocolate.

As she watched his eyes on her hands and tongue Carla was happy that she'd taken an extra minute to remove her nail polish. He wouldn't realize how much thought had gone into creating Sally but he would get tremendous pleasure out of playing with her. “Thanks for the chocolate,” she said, popping the morsel into her mouth, but deliberately leaving a chocolate stain at the corner. She slowly licked her lips, missing the stain.

“You've got some chocolate on your mouth,” Gil said. “Come here.” He took her arm and used his handkerchief to wipe the brown goo from her mouth. He pulled her close and placed a feather-light kiss on her lips.