“No, I fucking don’t!” I choked out.
He nodded, that irritating amused smile on his face again.
“Just asking, mio amico. Because guys will be coming onto you at this party, drawn like moths to a flame, I can guarantee it. You should be prepared. And,” he leaned forward, still smiling, “I don’t want to shock you but I do both—men and women.”
He raised his eyebrows challengingly.
“Just as long as you don’t come onto me, dude!”
He laughed. “Only if you pay me to!”
A reluctant smile crept across my face. At least the guy was honest.
“Most of us do a bit of bi-work,” he said, his eyes dancing with amusement at my discomfort. “Present company excused. Other agents I’ve worked for have expected it. Your Signora is unusual in that respect—allowing choice, I mean. Men are often scheduled in teams—which may include a woman as well—because clients can be so … relaxed … at a party that they’re unable to rise to the occasion. They’re happy to pay for the viewing, rather than the participation.”
“I just do escort work,” I admitted. “Women. That’s all. One on one.”
“Then this weekend will be very interesting for you,” he said.
He wasn’t wrong.
We met up at a coffee shop and shared a cab to the private home where the party was taking place.
The cars lined up outside the ugly mansion made my mouth water. Beamers, Benzes, Porsches, Ferraris—it was a wet dream of automotive technology. And far beyond anything I’d be able to afford.
Two parking valets were sweating in the warm night air as they tried to keep up with the flow of guests.
“No one comes late,” Marco whispered to me. “It is bad etiquette to miss the foreplay.” He raised an eyebrow as he placed his arm around my shoulders. “You’ll be fine, Hallen. You might even enjoy yourself.”
When we handed our invitations to the doorman, he spoke into his body mike and then another security guard escorted us into an empty room. We were met by a man dressed in a silk bathrobe. I got the impression he’d only just put it on.
“Oh, yes, Mrs. Brienne has done well,” he said, his eyes lingering, his tongue wetting his lips. The way he was looking at me made my skin crawl. “Yes, you’ll do nicely. I’m Roget, the host of tonight’s little soirée. So, here’s the scenario: be pleasant, mingle with the other guests, look after those who seem to be finding it difficult to make friends. Now, I’ve been told that one of you doesn’t do guys.”
His eyes snapped between us.
“He doesn’t,” said Marco, smiling broadly.
“Hmm, pity. You’ll find your choices wider if you do,” he leered in a way that was meant to be encouraging. “Perhaps you can be persuaded?”
I tensed, but when I didn’t reply, Marco answered for me.
“He’s a little … shy. He hasn’t partied before.”
Roget’s eyebrows crawled upward. “A virgin! How exciting!”
I began to protest, but Marco discreetly ground his heel on my foot. I shut up.
Roget told us to enjoy ourselves and that he’d catch up with us later. He gave me a meaningful look when he said that, and rubbed his hand up my sleeve. I made the decision to stay well out of his way, if humanly possible.
We drifted toward the interior of the mansion, snagging a couple of glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. My eyes widened when I saw a second server carrying a tray with a small mirror, blank credit card, and a bowl of white powder.
“Is that…?”
Marco glanced over.
“Coke. You might want some of that for later.” He threw me a look. “It gets the party started, but slows down the climax.” He shrugged. “I find that helps. You can rub it on your dick.”
“Why the fuck would I want to do that?”
He smiled and shook his head. “You have a lot to learn, mio amico. It delays your climax as it prevents the feeling of pleasure. If you have several clients, it can be a useful tool. And, of course, if you take it the usual way, it gives you increased energy.”
He glanced across at me. “Have you indulged before?”
I got offered cocaine on every other date—sometimes I said yes. It was a helluva rush.
Marco smirked as he studied my face.
“Yeah, I’ve had coke,” I admitted, “but not on my dick!”
He nodded, looking amused. I didn’t need to ask why.
More people were arriving, and alcohol was loosening everyone’s inhibitions, not that there were many to begin with. My head began to buzz and I wished I’d eaten something more than a sandwich before drinking so much. I should have paid attention to Eloise’s one-drink rule—there was a reason for it.
I searched around for food, but all I could find was a huge tray of champagne, more snow, and a plate of truffle candy next to a bowl of multi colored condoms.
I cut myself a line of coke, hoping it would clear my head, angry at myself for getting trashed in the first place.
Vast TV screens played graphic porn movies in each room, although I didn’t see anyone watching. There was too much live action to distract them. I wondered briefly if I’d made it onto any of the movies. I was a guy surrounded by naked and semi-naked women, so I should have been in heaven, but it felt like hell. Everything was too loud, too bright, too harsh. Shit, that yayo was a lot purer than I’d ever had before. I’d had it a few times with clients, especially if I was tired or the evening was dragging. But now, I felt my heart race as if it would pound out of my chest, but at the same time my spirit soared, artificially set free.
Someone grabbed my arm and I automatically swung around.
A red-faced Roget was hissing in my ear, his fingers digging into my forearm.
“You’re being paid to fucking work,” he growled, shaking me until my head wobbled dangerously. “There are two lonely ladies over there. Go and entertain them,” and he pushed my shoulder. “Now!”
I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but I thought of the four grand I’d be blowing off. Instead, I focused on the women in front of me, the coke shooting through my body, making everything slide sharply into focus.
“Good evening, ladies,” I said, smiling at them widely.
Their conversation stopped dead as they looked at me, their eyes skittering across my body like ants.
“Well hello, beautiful!”
The older one ran her hand down my chest and around to my butt, squeezing hard. I kept the smile on my face, and my focus on her eyes.
The other one grabbed my wrist and headed out of the movie area and to a bedroom down the hall. From the way the sheets were rumpled I’d say it had already seen some action, but neither of them seemed to care.
We sat on the bed, shared some more blow until we were all flying. I felt like superman and I could have hammered nails with my dick. I could hardly even feel it when one of them used a cock ring on me, and the other poured candle wax onto my chest and balls.
I could give all the gory details but you know what happened—I got high, I got drunk, I fucked them both.
I got a bonus.
Then I passed out in the empty bedroom and woke up to find a strange guy sucking my dick while Roget watched from the corner, beating his meat. I was too wasted to move and the stranger whose face I never saw finished me off. Roget laughed.
I went home five grand richer.
When I was sober, I drew up a list of things I’d never do again:
No guys, no couples, no orgies or sex parties, no hardcore BDSM, no filming and no photographs.
No drugs.
I couldn’t look in the mirror for days after that, and the burns on my chest and sack meant I was no good for dates.
Marco found me in that room and took me home in a cab. I don’t know how much he told Eloise, but she simply canceled the upcoming appointments I had scheduled, despite the insane Christmas rush, and told me to take some time off.
I had nowhere to go, nowhere I wanted to be—so I we
nt home.
It was the first time I’d seen Mum in two years, and the first time I’d had enough spare cash for the air fare. Those are the only reasons I could come up with. I knew it was a mistake from the moment I arrived.
Mum hadn’t made it to my graduation ceremony. She was too busy, the air fare was too expensive, and … oh yeah … it had ‘come around so sudden’.
We stayed in touch, sort of, having the occasional awkward phone conversation two or three times a year—holidays, her birthday. Mine, if she remembered.
I don’t know why the hell I’d thought it would be a good idea to fly home for Christmas, especially since my absence during the holidays meant that I’d been fired from the Harvest Moon.
The truth was, I badly needed some down time after the party, if nothing else to reassess what the fuck I was doing. But I also had to wait for my monthly med tests to come back clear, since I couldn’t remember everything that had gone down.
I changed planes at Vancouver and Montréal before landing at St. John’s, tired and pissed. From there I rented a car and drove the last 200 miles. It was weird being back home—mostly because it didn’t feel like I belonged there anymore. I wasn’t sure where I belonged.
The first surprise was when I knocked on Mum’s front door and it was opened by a greasy looking bastard.
“Yeah?”
If it hadn’t been for the fact that I’d grown up in this house, I’d have wondered if I was at the right address.
“Is Monique Jansen here?”
“She’s not in.”
He started closing the door in my face, but I held it open.
“I’m her son.”
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. Then he yelled up the stairs. “Mon, your kid’s here.”
Then he walked away without saying a word. Asshole.
I pushed the door wide open and walked inside, memories pouring down like rain and sleet.
I glanced up as I heard a flurry of steps and my mum rushed down the stairs and threw herself into my arms.
“Oh my gosh! It’s really you—oh, you look so handsome! I thought you weren’t arriving until tomorrow. I haven’t got anything ready. You’ve taken me by surprise. A fun surprise though!”
She squeezed me tightly then looked up breathlessly, a huge smile lighting up her face. I’d forgotten how good she was at this shit.
“I texted you my arrival time yesterday,” I pointed out, calmly.
She waved her hands helplessly.
“Oh, you know what I’m like. Memory of a goldfish. How was your journey? Gee, it’s so cold today! It must feel colder to you, what with all that California sun you’re used to. You’re so lucky. I always wanted to travel. I would have if I hadn’t been a mother. Oh well, water under the bridge. How’s school?”
“I graduated last summer.”
“Of course you did! Of course you did! My clever boy. You were always the smart one. Come say hi to Uncle Todd.”
Uncle Todd? Really?
“Oh wait, you met him already! Ha ha ha! I know you boys will get on great. He’s a hockey fan, too. Why don’t you take your bags up to your room? You remember where it is? There are sheets and blankets in the closet. I forgot to put the heat on in there, but it’ll soon warm up.”
She disappeared toward the kitchen and I stood there, my overnight bag still in my hand. With a shrug, I headed upstairs to my old room.
The door creaked as it opened, and I wrinkled my nose at the stale, musty smell. I pulled back the curtains and opened the window wide, despite the frigid temperature. I didn’t look as if Mum had been in there since I’d left home.
It was so strange standing in the room where I’d spent my whole childhood. I felt disconnected from that person, even though it was decorated with hockey pennants, posters of Justin Morneau, and my pre-college sketches and paintings. A small, faded photograph was still tacked to my pin board—me, Dad and Mum. I was 11 and had just been chosen to play for the junior high team—youngest two-way forward ever. It had been Dad’s last winter.
I grabbed some sheets out of the closet and spread them over the narrow bed with its hard, lumpy mattress.
I didn’t bother to unpack. I didn’t think I’d be staying long.
With nothing else to do, I went to find Mum.
As I walked down the hall, I paused at her bedroom door, then pushed it open. The bed was unmade, and Todd’s clothes were in a heap on the chair and across the rumpled sheets.
I wondered how long he’d been living here, not that it was any of my business, but he was greasy as fuck, and it was obvious he didn’t like me much either.
I made my way downstairs, finding a stack of porn magazines and DVDs lying over the coffee table in the living room, along with an overflowing ashtray and empty beer bottles. We’d never had much money, but now the place was a real shithole.
I heard their voices in the kitchen; his raised, Mum’s quieter.
“How fucking long is he staying, Mon?”
“I’m not really sure. Just a couple of days. For Christmas, that’s all. Maybe for New Year, too.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Well, he probably won’t stay that long. And he’ll be out all the time with his friends. You’ll hardly see him.”
“This is going to be a fucking great Christmas,” he snarled.
She started to say something but then I heard her gasp, followed by soft moans.
My empty stomach heaved and I turned and walked away, slamming the front door behind me, and heading for the garage.
I’d tried to find some trace of my dad, but there was nothing around the house—not even his old hockey sticks which had been in the garage forever.
I rummaged around in the storage space above Mum’s old Plymouth Voyager and found a box of old photographs, edges curling from the dampness. I found a couple of pictures of me with Dad and folded them into my wallet. I knew I wouldn’t be coming back here again.
When I’d calmed down enough to go back inside, it was obvious that Todd was used to making himself at home. He was watching TV in the living room, dirty boots up on the coffee table, drinking beer. His eyes slid over to mine.
“Mon! Bring me another beer. Make it a cold one.”
He grinned at me as he said it, and I wanted to bust open his smug face.
Mum hurried in with another bottle, her hair all mussed and her lips swollen and red.
“Oh, I thought you’d gone out, honey. You want a beer, too? It would be great for you and Uncle Todd to get to know each other.”
He’d got his shit all over Mum’s house, but the two photographs of me and Dad had vanished from the sideboard. I couldn’t help wondering when that had happened. It felt like I had no connections anymore. Mum was … I didn’t even know how to describe my relationship with her—even if you could call it that.
I remembered that when I was 15 and had been caught smoking weed, she said to me, “I wish I’d never had you. I could have been so much more.”
Thanks, Mum.
“I’m going to head into town. Meet up with some buddies.”
“Oh, that’ll be nice,” said Mum.
She patted my cheek and rushed back to the kitchen.
“Fuckin’ pussy,” taunted Todd, under his breath.
I stared at him until he looked away. Calling him on it or getting in a fight wouldn’t change a damn thing. Mum had picked him, and I was in the way.
I didn’t care, I just wished I hadn’t marooned myself in Buttfuck for the holidays. I decided to hit a couple of bars in town—see if I could catch up with some of the guys from my old hockey team in case they were visiting their families, too.
I woke up the next morning with my head pounding. No, wait, that was the sound of Uncle Todd pounding my mum.
I rolled onto my stomach and pulled a pillow over my head, trying to block out the unwelcome sounds. It reminded me why I’d been glad to leave home in the first place. Not that I’d needed reminding. br />
Last night had been a bust, too. It had been uncomfortable catching up with the guys because when they asked me what I did now, all I could tell them was that I was between jobs. They’d looked at me like I was such a loser, and the conversation moved on.
But it wasn’t just that. My home town seemed so small, and life was slower than LA. The pubs shut at 11PM and only opened later on the weekend. You had to go to St. John’s for any real nightlife. But even the guys who’d been away to school seemed content here.
So I couldn’t talk about my work and hadn’t even admitted to anyone that I’d studied Art. I couldn’t remember the reason for that anymore, except that keeping things private had become an ingrained habit.
I mean, they were guys, and would have been cool about the whole escort thing, I think. But it would have got back to Mum. And Todd. He’d have said something, and then I’d have punched him out. It wouldn’t have helped anyone.
The pounding and moaning continued, so I crawled out of bed and hit the shower. At least that drowned out the noise and by the time I’d finished, so had they.
I made my way down to the wreck of a kitchen, emptied the used filters from the coffee machine and made a pot of coffee. I had to scrub out a mug so I’d have something to drink it from.
Mum joined me a few minutes later.
“Oh, you made me jump! I’d almost forgotten you were here. Merry Christmas, darling.”
She planted a kiss on my cheek and then pursed her lips.
“Aren’t you going to shave? We’re going out for lunch.”
“That’s news to me.”
“Oh, didn’t I mention it? Yes, Andrea our neighbor has invited us for Christmas lunch. Isn’t that nice of her?”
“Very nice,” I said, humorlessly.
For the first time, she looked annoyed.
“I don’t know why you can’t make an effort, Hallen.”
“With what?” I asked, incredulous.
“You could at least get to know Todd. He’s practically your step-father.”
“Are you marrying him?”
Her face reddened. “Don’t sound so shocked. We’ve talked about it.”
I smirked at her. I knew Todd had no intention of marrying her. He’d already gotten everything he wanted.