At Your Beck & Call

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I just wondered.”

  “Laura…?”

  “Sorry. I don’t know why I asked you that.”

  I sighed, disappointed to have that conversation right now. I’d been expecting it, just not yet.

  “I can’t change what I am.”

  She glanced up. “You already have. I mean, you said you’ve given up the escort work.”

  Her voice sounded doubtful, knocking me further off balance.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “No, I do. Of course I do.”

  “But?” I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hear what she was going to say next.

  “I was just wondering … out of all the women you’ve met, why me?”

  I was confused.

  “What are you asking me?” I sat up, trying to make her look at me. “Laura!” I barked, and her eyes shot to mine. “I told you how I felt. You think this is a fucking line?”

  Hurt made my voice harsh.

  “No!” Then she hesitated. “Is it?”

  “Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, swinging my legs from the bed to sit on the edge of the mattress, scrubbing at my stinging eyes.

  I felt the tips of her fingers stroking the back of my neck, and I turned to stare at her, my eyes snapping with anger. She gazed up at me, puzzled.

  I shrugged her hands away and stood up suddenly.

  “Is it just this?” I glared at her, waving my hand in front of my body. “Getting for free what everyone else has to pay for? Maybe you’d rather leave some money on the bed. Isn’t that what you expect of me?”

  Burning with a deep rage that I didn’t understand, my instinct was to storm from the room. Instead, I took a deep breath.

  “Maybe I should ask you the same thing, Laura, why me? Why would someone like you be interested in someone like me … when you don’t believe a word I say?”

  Her face was stricken.

  “Hallen, I’m sorry! I do believe you.”

  “Answer the fucking question, Laura. Why me?”

  “Because … because you make me smile. Because you’ve made me look forward to waking up in the morning—given me something to look forward to. After Jack … left, I felt very low. Unattractive, undesirable. You … you noticed me. But … it doesn’t make sense, so I just wondered if you were doing your job—to make me feel like that.”

  I closed my eyes and turned away from her.

  On one level, she was right: my job as an escort was to make women feel noticed, attractive, desirable. What a fucking irony.

  “You treat me so well, Hallen.”

  “You say that like it’s a problem.”

  My voice was weary, and she hesitated before she replied.

  “Not a problem, exactly, but I don’t know if it’s just work—just your job.”

  I’d told her over and over again how I felt. Apparently, none of that mattered.

  “We keep coming back to this. If you really think that then we’ve got a big fucking problem, and I don’t know what I can do about it.”

  I sat down on the bed with my back to her again.

  “Laura, I want to ask you something important. And I really need you to think about your answer.”

  “Okay,” she said, nervously.

  “Are you going to be able to cope with the fact that I’ve fucked women for money?”

  “Oh,” she said, softly. She paused long enough for my world to end. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

  I felt sick and icy calm, all at the same time.

  “But I’d like to try.”

  “Try?”

  “Just see where this goes.” She laughed without much humor. “You’ve already met my ex-husband and my son.”

  I processed this, my brain still numb.

  She knelt behind me, leaning her head against my back, her arms circling my neck.

  “Dating, it’s … new for me.”

  “Me, too,” I said, quietly.

  “Lie down with me. Please?”

  Moving stiffly, still feeling raw and exposed, I lay on my back, staring up at the ceiling.

  Laura curled into my side.

  “How’s the painting going?”

  I let out a deep breath. “Good. Really good. Some of my best work, I think.”

  “Can I see it?”

  I tested how a smile felt on my face.

  “Sure.”

  She didn’t speak again, and after a few minutes, I realized that she’d fallen asleep.

  The late rays of sun filtered through the window, accentuating the wrinkles around her eyes and the deep lines at the side of her mouth. I could see where she’d colored her grays, the strands at her temple a lighter, auburn shade. The skin over her shoulders was smooth and soft, lightly tanned to gold. I traced a finger over a thin strip of paler flesh that marked the edge of her swimsuit. Her breasts were high and still rounded. On her hips and stomach, the faintest of silvery lines that I recognized as stretch marks—proof of her motherhood.

  Why me? I asked myself.

  And then a tentative voice, spoke up inside: faint at first, but growing louder.

  Why not me?

  She was beautiful and kind and smart and she said that she’d try. I couldn’t imagine the leap of faith she was taking. If she’d been the one who’d slept with a thousand men, would I be able to believe that she’d settle for just me? Would those faces haunt me in a crowded room, always wondering, maybe him—maybe he’s one of them.

  I knew that there was a very real chance that she’d run into a client one day. Hell, she was friends with Sian, a thought that sickened me.

  Maybe we were both taking a leap of faith.

  And with that thought—that hopeful thought dominant in my mind, I fell asleep beside her.

  ***

  For the second morning running, I woke with the scent of Laura surrounding me.

  I could get used to this.

  The unruly thought popped into my brain before I was fully conscious.

  My hands reached out for her and she sighed softly.

  I stroked her stomach, dipping town to tug gently on the short curls covering her mound.

  “Hallen?” she breathed.

  “Yeah?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Waking you up.”

  She laughed quietly and wriggled away from me.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I have to pee!”

  “Later,” I said, gripping onto her hand.

  “No, now!” she laughed, yanking her arm free and slapping my wrist away.

  I lay back on the bed, watching her scrabble on the floor as she pulled on my hockey shirt and her panties that had been tossed under the bed.

  I couldn’t see why she needed to get dressed to go to the bathroom. On the other hand, quite a few of my older clients did that. I frowned. I didn’t like thinking of Laura that way.

  Frustrated now on two levels, I threw my arms over my face and tried not to piss myself off with the thought.

  I was still waiting for Laura to reappear when I heard the shower running and a strange sound from the bathroom.

  Appalled, I realized it sounded like she was crying.

  I shot out of bed and threw the door open.

  Laura was gripping the sink, her shoulders shaking.

  “Christ, Laura!” I yelled, pulling her into my arms.

  She jumped, then gave me a huge smile.

  I stared at her, utterly confused.

  “You’re … you’re not crying,” I said.

  She chuckled softly and stroked my cheek.

  “No! Not at all. I was laughing!”

  “Oh, okay.” I paused, bemused. “Why were you laughing?”

  She shrugged her shoulders and wrinkled her nose.

  “I’m not entirely sure. Um, just happy, I guess.”

  “You scared the shit out of me!” I admitted.

  Her
smile softened. “I like that you worry about me.”

  I was kind of annoyed, more because my heart was hammering as if I’d just run a marathon, so I slapped her ass, making her jump.

  “Don’t fucking scare me like that again!”

  I kissed her hard and she responded so suddenly, that we both fell under the shower stream.

  Her breasts were pressed against my chest and the water made her shirt transparent. My dick wasn’t late in joining the party either. Laura grabbed a hold.

  “Damn, woman!” I growled at her. “It’s attached—for now.”

  She laughed breathlessly. “Sorry! I can’t help myself. Let me stroke it better. Poor baby!”

  She pushed me back against the tiles, kissing me forcefully.

  Then she sank to her knees, glancing upward once. Her bravery nearly abandoned her, and I could feel her touch become more tentative.

  “Laura, you don’t have to…”

  “I want to,” she said, huskily. “It’s your turn. You’re always the one giving pleasure, so just let me do this for you.”

  She wrapped her hands around the back of my thighs, then lowered her mouth to my dick. God, seeing her like that nearly finished me.

  My legs started shaking as she pulled an intense climax from me. It was quite possible I was going to drown in that shower because I didn’t have the strength to move.

  In the end, Laura turned off the water and held my hand, leading me out and wrapping a towel around my waist.

  “Feeling less tense?” she chuckled.

  “Hell, if I were any more relaxed, I’d pass out,” I admitted, rubbing a hand over my unshaven jaw.

  She shooed me out of the bathroom so she could shower in private. I was disappointed but willing to give her time—time to get used to having me around.

  She emerged 20 minutes later, wearing yet another of my t-shirts that I’d left out for her.

  “Can I take you to breakfast?” I asked, hopefully.

  She smiled ruefully. “I really have to get going. Maggie’s arriving tomorrow and I still have boxes piled up in the guestroom.”

  “I could help,” I offered.

  “That’s sweet of you, Hallen, but I know you’re in the middle of a painting.”

  I shrugged. “I’d rather spend time with you.”

  She shook her head. “I know how spending time with you will end up—and I really have things to do.”

  “Okay,” I gave in, at last. “What about Friday night? Can I take you out to dinner?”

  She smiled hugely.

  “That would be great! Maggie will be out with her father on Friday so I’ll be free.”

  I knew that her words weren’t designed to hurt, and I smiled through them, but I wished she hadn’t made it sound like I was a distraction when she had nothing better to do. Then I gave myself a mental kicking for being such a whiny, damn pussy.

  “It’s a date,” I said. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  Before I let her leave the house, we kissed for a long time. I was ready to drag her back into my bedroom, but she slipped out of my grasp and waved goodbye.

  Still smiling, I headed to my studio and worked solidly for five hours until my stomach reminded me I hadn’t eaten all day.

  I pulled on a pair of workout shorts and my runners, then headed out to the beach. I ran for half an hour, covering about four miles. By the time I arrived at my coffee shop, I was starving and sweaty. I sat outside, loaded up on a spicy seafood stew and some freshly baked rolls, and then jogged home slowly to paint some more.

  A text from Laura was waiting for me.

  ** Looking forward to Friday. Lx **

  I was pathetically grateful, ridiculously happy to read that short message.

  Our Friday night date had started out great.

  Laura had opened her front door and given me what I’d call a very warm welcome. She admitted that she hadn’t put on any lipstick for that reason.

  After she’d regained her breath, and I’d rearranged an uncomfortable boner, we climbed into my MG, both smiling like idiots, while she pulled a compact out of her purse, and quickly applied some fruity smelling gloss.

  I’d decided to take her to One Pico in Santa Monica. The food was great—modern and not too heavy—but the views of the Pacific were sensational. We’d been there about an hour when a jazz quartet started playing inside, bringing diners to sit by the open fire. We stayed on the veranda, listening to the music and sipping our coffees, when two texts dropped into my phone within a couple of minutes.

  “You’re popular tonight,” she said, a little sharply.

  I frowned at her tone, but didn’t reply.

  “Aren’t you going to answer them?”

  “No, I’m having dinner with you.”

  “They could be important.”

  “They’re not.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me and huffed impatiently.

  “How could you possibly know if you haven’t look at them?”

  A little irritated, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked to see who they were from.

  “Nope, not important,” I said.

  I was about to put my phone away again when I realized what this was about: she didn’t trust me.

  I had to remind myself that it wasn’t entirely about me—her husband of 26 years had cheated on her.

  Shit—she probably thought the texts were from clients.

  “Would you like to look?” I asked quietly, holding out my phone toward her.

  Too quickly she replied, “No, of course not.”

  I held her gaze and she flushed, dropping her eyes to the tablecloth.

  “Sorry. It’s none of my business.”

  “One is from Eloise, and the other is from my mum.”

  “Your mom? I thought … never mind.”

  “You thought what?”

  “It’s just you’ve never mentioned your parents before—I’d assumed they’d passed on—or you weren’t in touch.”

  “Well, you’re right on both counts,” I said. “My dad died when I was 11, and I’m not close to my mum. She texts me a couple of times a year.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Is she okay? I mean, if you’re not close … something might have happened. Shouldn’t you check the message?”

  “Fine,” I muttered, swiping the text open with my thumb. Mum’s message was exactly what I’d imagined.

  ** Happy birthday! Can’t believe my baby boy is 30! **

  Eloise’s was considerably warmer.

  ** Happy birthday, my dearest darling! A little bird tells me you’re out with the lovely Laura. Say hello from me and have a wonderful evening. Love you lots. Gros bises x **

  Her message made me smile. Mum’s didn’t.

  “Eloise says hi. Apparently, someone told her we were seeing each other tonight?”

  “Yes, I might have let something slip,” she smiled. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  I shook my head, returning her grin. “No, Eloise is family.”

  Laura frowned slightly. “And your mom?”

  “Not family. Well, obviously she is, but like I said, we’re not close.”

  “What did she want?”

  I tried to bury the annoyance that surely was written all over my face as I tossed my phone across the table to her.

  She read the message and looked up, shocked.

  “It’s your birthday? But you didn’t say anything.”

  “I never celebrate it.”

  “Why not?”

  “I guess I got out of the habit. Mum never made much of it when I was growing up.” I shrugged my shoulders. “It’s just another day to me.”

  “But … but you’re 30! That’s a date to celebrate!”

  I laughed sourly. “I’m not. I’m 29. Mum never could get it right. I didn’t know it was possible to forget the date you gave birth to your son—apparently it is.”

  Laura looked appalled.

  “And that expression on your face is the reason I
didn’t mention it,” I added.

  “Eloise knows it’s your birthday though.”

  I sighed. “Yes.”

  “But you didn’t tell me?”

  “Honestly? I hadn’t thought about it until just now.”

  She looked skeptical.

  “Laura,” I said, quietly, “I’ve spent the last eight years compartmentalizing my life, trying to keep some of myself separate. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you it was my birthday—I wasn’t trying to hurt you or … hide … or anything. It’s just not something I ever think about.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” she said. “Eloise has known you a long time. Of course she knows these things about you.”

  She paused.

  “You and she … you’ve never … never had a physical relationship?”

  My eyebrows shot upwards. “Hell, no! Where is that question coming from, Laura?”

  She shifted uncomfortably on her chair.

  “Well, you obviously have a … a thing for older women. And she’s very attractive.”

  I gaped at her, incredulous.

  “A thing? You think I have a thing for older women?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “No, I mean … no! Why would you even think that? I like you.”

  She shrugged. “All your clients were older.”

  Back to that. Again.

  “Not all. And that wasn’t my choice. You really want to talk about my work?”

  She looked apprehensive, but nodded slowly.

  “Well, yes. I suppose because it’s this huge part of your life and … all those women. You were with Sian for years! For years I listened to her talking about this amazing lover that she had. It was only when I moved back to LA that I realized you weren’t her boyfriend, just her…”

  She bit her lip.

  “Why don’t you finish that sentence, Laura?” I growled out. “Just her what?”

  “It’s hard for me,” she finished, quietly.

  “Is this about Sian? Because I never even liked her.”

  “Then how could you? With her! I don’t understand.”

  “It was just sex. That’s all.”