At Your Beck & Call

  Maggie looked stunned.

  “Hallen … this is … this is … wow! Thank you! Look, Mom. This is so amazing.”

  “Yes, he is,” I agreed, quietly.

  “Time for a swim now?” he asked, encouragingly.

  He held my hand as I walked down the shallow steps into the pool. The cool water felt silky after the sticky lunchtime heat. I didn’t try to swim, just walked up and down, the slow pull of the water exercising my muscles gently.

  Hallen watched me like a hawk, hovering in a way that ought to be annoying, but wasn’t quite. When I’d reassured him that I wasn’t going to collapse or drown, he left me alone to plow up and down the pool.

  After 20 minutes, he declared I’d done enough and helped me out and wrapped a towel around my shoulders, carefully soaking up each drop of water.

  “Will you be okay if I take a nap now?” I asked, glancing at the watching entourage.

  He smiled. “Sure, I think I can handle it.”

  “I don’t know—they look like they’re waiting to pounce. Careful they don’t take a chunk out of you.”

  His smile fell away, and I realized I’d unwittingly referenced the most disturbing of his exhibition paintings. Hallen was strong—but he was only human, like the rest of us.

  “Sorry,” I murmured.

  God, I was always apologizing to him.

  He shook his head, although his expression was still pained.

  I dragged myself upstairs, and despite my clumsy words, I was fairly certain that Hallen could handle anything five teenage girls threw at him—up to and including their underwear. I realized that his years of escort work had taught him how to maintain a level of calm when surrounded by drooling females. I seemed to be the one who was making things hard for him.

  He was also smart enough to take himself out of the equation by going for another run.

  As I trudged upstairs, I heard the girls talking among themselves before I was barely out of sight.

  “OMG! Your mom’s boyfriend is super hot! I’m practically dripping here!” moaned Cassy.

  “Yeah, except that’s not sweat,” Angel muttered.

  “Guys!” came Maggie’s perturbed voice. “You’re talking about my mom’s boyfriend. It’s gross!”

  “Oh come on! Don’t tell me that’s not a seriously nice piece of ass. I saw you eye-fucking the hell out of him!” Carla laughed.

  “It was like seeing Channing Tatum modeling Calvin Kleins. Swoon!”

  “He’s really sweet to your mom,” sighed Jinny.

  “Yeah, he’s okay,” Maggie agreed, grudgingly. “I don’t know him that well but he’s been pretty good to her since…”

  There was a short silence.

  “Is he really an artist?” asked Angel, the curiosity clear in her voice. “I mean, those drawings he did were amazing, but there’s a big difference between being able to draw and being an artist.”

  “No, he’s the real deal,” Maggie answered, seriously. “He’s got this big exhibition on at a gallery in Beverly Hills.”

  “Oh, we should totally check it out!”

  My blood ran cold as the direction of their conversation struck me.

  “Yeah, maybe,” said Maggie, thoughtfully. “Joe’s seen it—he was really impressed.”

  “I thought he might be here today,” Jinny said, too casually.

  “I don’t believe this!” shrieked Maggie. “You’re crushing on my mom’s boyfriend and my brother? I am so out of here!”

  Laughter followed me up the stairs.

  I wondered if Joe had told Maggie about the nature of Hallen’s paintings. Probably not, by the sound of it. I sighed. I’d have to cross that bridge when I came to it, and sooner rather than later. I dreaded the thought that we’d be back to square one when she found out how he’d earned a living in the past, but I dreaded more a repeat of the last few months. I knew I had to woman-up and tell Maggie the plain truth—before she found out from someone else. Again.

  I lay on the bed, but couldn’t sleep. Having Hallen back in my life was wonderful but confusing. I needed some clarity—badly.

  I dozed uneasily for an hour before I heard soft footfalls across the carpet.

  “Did I wake you?”

  I pulled myself into a sitting position, trying to get comfortable.

  “Not really. Good run?”

  He smiled. “It’s like meditation for me—clears my head, helps me think.”

  I envied him that. My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls.

  He sat next to me on the bed and picked up my hand, playing absentmindedly with my fingers. I took a deep breath.

  “So,” I said casually, adopting a lightness I definitely didn’t feel, “how long do you think you’ll be staying here?”

  His body stilled, then he turned to look at me.

  “As long as you want,” he replied, meeting my gaze briefly before his eyes slid away.

  “Well,” I hedged, uneasily, “at least until Tuesday. Until after…”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  “Right,” I muttered, frustrated that I’d not been able to take the conversation further.

  He was looking away from me when he spoke again.

  “And after that?” he asked. “After Tuesday? Will you still want me then?”

  His voice was soft but determined.

  “I don’t want to stop you from doing what you want,” I said, helplessly. “I know you need to get back to your studio, so…”

  He stood up swiftly, his eyes blazing.

  “Is that it? Just like that. Jesus, Laura! Have I not been clear? I want to be with you every day: today, tomorrow, every moment I breathe. I love you!”

  I blinked rapidly, trying to keep my tears at bay, unable to meet his burning stare. “Even though … even though I can’t give you children?”

  He strode toward me and pulled me into his arms. “Oh God, Laura!” He stroked my hair as I took a deep, shuddering breath. “We knew it was a long shot, love.”

  We sank onto the bed together as he held me.

  “Do you mean it, Hallen? You want to be with me even though I can’t … I can’t…”

  “I love you, Laura. What part of that is confusing you? I’ve never felt so … what we have, what I feel for you … that’s enough for me.”

  “You don’t want children? Ever?”

  “There was nothing I wanted in this world until I met you.”

  I tried to smile. “That’s not really answering the question.”

  Gently, he pulled my chin up and looked into my eyes.

  “No, I never wanted children. With the way my life was, it just wasn’t something that ever seemed possible. When Joe came to see me and told me that you were pregnant … yes, I wanted it. So much. But then … it didn’t happen. What I’m saying, Laura, is that I’d only want children with you. But we can’t—and I’m fine with that. If you want to be with me … knowing everything … then I still get to have the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.”

  I sighed, tears trembling behind my closed lids.

  “You’d make such beautiful babies, Hallen.”

  He held me for a long time, and I let him.

  It was time to tell Maggie the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.

  She was only just beginning to accept Hallen, and I was afraid that what I was about to say would send her spinning off into another crying jag or worse. But I couldn’t delay any longer. Her friends had suggested going to visit Hallen’s exhibition, and I couldn’t let Maggie walk into that unprepared. It would be even crueller than not telling her about him in the first place. Cruel, and unfair to both of them.

  But still, I didn’t want to see the disgust and judgment in her eyes again. Once had been more than enough. I didn’t want to lose her—but I didn’t want to lose Hallen either. Both of them deserved the truth: no more secrets.

  I’d sent Hallen away for the afternoon, insisting that he needed to spend some tim
e at his studio, and reassuring him that Maggie would be keeping me company.

  He was reluctant to leave, but even more reluctant to argue with me. I could sense his internal battle, but in the end he agreed to do as I asked.

  I didn’t tell him that I was going to take Maggie to see his exhibition. That admission would come later. They seemed to be stacking up.

  Maggie was in good spirits, pleased that I’d suggested getting out of the house, and was happy to be the designated driver.

  “So, where do you want to go? The Mall? The beach? Oooh, what about that coffee place you like, the one that does the double-chocolate gateau with dark cherries?”

  “Maybe we could do that after,” I said, carefully.

  “After what?”

  “I thought we could go and see Hallen’s exhibition.”

  Maggie pulled a face but held in her thoughts. “Oh, sure. Okay. Joe said it was quite good.”

  The words were squeezed out painfully, as if each one was worse than a root canal.

  We were silent for a moment: me working out what to say next; Maggie staring straight ahead, her fingers clamped around the steering wheel.

  I took a deep breath.

  “And there’s something I need to tell you.”

  Her eyes flickered across to me quickly, and I could see the concern on her face before she looked back at the road.

  Guilt churned in my stomach.

  “Are you okay, Mom? Does it hurt? Do you need to go home or…”

  “No, darling. It’s nothing like that—I feel fine. Well, getting there…”

  “You’re scaring me a little, Mom,” she laughed, nervously.

  “It’s nothing bad,” I said, reassuringly, then winced at my poor choice of words.

  Telling my daughter that my new boyfriend had been an escort … a prostitute for all intents and purposes … well, no one could have termed that good news.

  “Okay, so what’s the big deal?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about Hallen.”

  She rolled her eyes, although her shoulders relaxed.

  “Yeah, I get the message, Mom. Be nice to Hallen. Yadda yadda yadda. It’s not like Joe hasn’t said it a thousand times. I’m being polite, even if he is…”

  She bit her lip and didn’t finish the sentence, but I let it go.

  “I know you’re trying,” I agreed, quietly, “but I wanted to tell you … to explain to you how we met.”

  She visibly cringed.

  “Ugh, you’re not going to tell me you were going to strip clubs or anything? Because I don’t need to know that!”

  I smiled slightly. “Not quite, no. We met through a mutual friend. But he was my … date. To an event at an art gallery. That was where I met him.”

  She blinked a couple of times. “So … it was like a blind date?”

  “Yes, in some ways.”

  I decided to leave out the tricky fact that Eloise was involved.

  “Okay, I’m confused: either it was a blind date or it wasn’t…”

  “Well, yes. It was a blind date—but one that I’d arranged.”

  “What do you mean ‘arranged’?”

  I sighed and stared out at the passing scenery, choosing my words with care.

  “When your father and I divorced, it was very hard for me. Starting again. The thought of going to social events by myself was terrifying. I know that must seem pretty pathetic to you, but that’s how I felt. I hadn’t been on a date in 27 years, and I just wasn’t used to doing things on my own. God, I really do sound pathetic.”

  She reached over and squeezed my fingers sympathetically.

  I smiled gratefully and took a deep breath before continuing.

  “When Magda invited me to her gallery opening, I really wanted to go, but I couldn’t face the thought of turning up by myself, so…” I took a deep breath. “So I decided to book an escort.”

  Maggie frowned. “An escort?”

  “Yes.”

  “Like, an escort?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that was Hallen?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought you said you met through a mutual friend?”

  “Yes. A friend who … knew about an escort agency. The kind of place where you could book someone to attend events with you. It seemed like the perfect solution.”

  Maggie honed in on the key point like a bloodhound.

  “Hallen is an escort?”

  “Was. He was an escort. He’s not anymore.”

  “Wow.”

  She glanced across but looked away quickly.

  The silence stretched out heavily while I waited for her to speak again.

  “Um, okay,” she said, at last.

  “Okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  I paused. “I think I was expecting you to say something else…”

  “Like what? What do you want me to say, Mom?”

  Good point. What did I expect from her?

  “I just thought you should know how we met.”

  She squinted as if something didn’t quite add up.

  “Why did you think I needed to know how you guys met?”

  Oh, God. I was going to have to spell it out.

  “Well, because your father … and other people might mention it.”

  She snorted and twisted her mouth into a grimace. “Well, you didn’t knock up your 22-year-old secretary. It can’t be any worse than that!”

  “People can be very judgmental,” I said, quietly. “Especially where there’s an age difference.”

  Her cheeks reddened.

  “Oh crap! I didn’t mean … shit! Sorry, Mom.”

  I realized we were nearly at the gallery and I had to let Maggie concentrate on finding somewhere to park.

  As soon as she cut the engine, she turned to me, her expression unnaturally bright.

  “We’re here! I can’t wait to see the paintings.”

  She turned to open the door but I held her arm.

  “Maggie, wait.”

  She looked at me in surprise.

  “Before we go in, there’s something else you need to know.”

  “Okaaaay,” she said, slowly.

  “Hallen was an escort.”

  “Yeah, you said that bit. It’s kind of creepy, but yeah, whatever. I get it.”

  “I don’t think you do,” I said, calmly and clearly. “But I think the paintings will explain it better than I can. Just don’t…”

  “Don’t what?”

  I sighed and looked at my hands before meeting her puzzled gaze.

  “You’re going to be shocked by what you see.”

  “By the paintings?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Oh God, this was painful.

  “He was a professional escort for a number of years. With a lot of women.”

  I saw the exact moment that understanding dawned because her eyes widened in shock.

  “You mean…? Oh! Oh my God!” she half choked.

  I opened the passenger door and pulled myself out of the car carefully.

  Maggie sat frozen, still staring at the spot where I’d been sitting.

  I was halfway to the gallery before she caught up with me. She hooked her arm through mine, as if she was helping an elderly person cross the street. I was certainly walking at the speed of an eighty-year-old.

  The gallery wasn’t as busy as the last time I’d visited, but there were still a number of people strolling around.

  “I’ll meet you back here in 15 minutes,” I said.

  Maggie looked at me nervously but nodded, and I watched while she walked away.

  My eyes followed her around the gallery as she studiously avoided making eye contact. I could tell she was trying to control her reactions, but there was no hiding the stiffening of her body as she stared at the huge self-portrait of Hallen surrounded by the succubi. She spent the longest time looking at the set of paintings Hallen had entitled ‘Beauty Slandered’, as well as the dip
tych.

  When she returned, her expression was confused.

  “Time for coffee,” I said, not willing to have the ensuing conversation in the gallery.

  We made our way to the small coffee shop, took the corner table, and both ordered lattes. It didn’t look like Maggie was going to start speaking, so I did.

  “What did you think of the exhibition?”

  She huffed quietly.

  “I don’t know what to think. Some of those paintings were just … he made it pretty obvious…” She looked up at me, her forehead creased with confusion. “How could you, Mom? With him? I mean, did you know? Well, obviously, you knew, but…?”

  Her words ground to a halt.

  I sighed. At least she wasn’t yelling. And it was a fair question—one I’d asked myself so many times. Yes, his ‘profession’ bothered me. Yes, all those other women bothered me. Yes, the fact that he’d been paid for sex bothered me. But I gave her the most honest answer of all.

  “We fell in love.”

  Maggie blinked back tears and held my hand, but she didn’t speak.

  I was tired when we finally got home. Maggie had made it clear that she didn’t want to discuss the subject further. I’d give her time. That was only fair. After all, it had taken me months to be able to deal with the truth of Hallen’s life and history.

  It was still a work in progress. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to understand the choices he’d made in the past. But that was the point. They were in the past. And now he’d chosen to be with me.

  And I had chosen to be with him.

  I lay on bed, meaning to rest for just a moment, but when I woke up, the shifting light told me that it was hours later. I sat up slowly, feeling every one of my 48 years, and possibly a few more, too.

  I shuffled to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. It didn’t help much. Every wrinkle seemed to be deeper; every gray hair emphasizing the need to schedule an appointment with my colorist as a matter of growing urgency.

  The bedroom door opened, and Hallen walked in carrying a tray with a teapot and two cups.

  “I thought you might be thirsty.”

  “I am. Thank you.”

  He smiled and set the tray on the table then sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard.

  He looked relaxed and I could see a smudge of blue across his wrist that he must have missed when he’d cleaned up. I was glad he was painting again—he needed it the way most people needed air.