“I’m sorry we bothered you with this,” I said to Henry. “It’s just that I have no closure. I hate that I don’t have a name.”
“Why do you need a name?”
“I don’t know. We had some pretty intense dates, and then he disappeared with no goodbye and no explanation. I thought…if you had any information…”
“What? You’d go track Mr. Cumming down? For what purpose? To complain? To question him? To tell him off? I think you should drop this right now. It’s not wise to pursue him. You’re better than this.”
I knew Henry’s sharp words were true. “I don’t want to track him down,” I insisted, like a big liar. “I just want to understand—”
“Here’s some advice for you, from someone who’s spent years in the escorting business. Don’t try to understand people.” His gaze softened, and he reached to touch my cheek. “Look at you. You’ve moved on.” He tugged a lock of my dark hair. “You’re real now, and beautiful. Don’t dwell on the past.”
Henry firmly changed the subject. We talked about Norton, and the Manhattan art world, deftly maneuvering around the subject of Simon and his continuing success. We talked about the early snow and the construction in lower Manhattan, and the more we talked, the more I realized how pathetic I must look. It had been two and a half years. You’re better than this.
Maybe I wasn’t better than this. Maybe I still wished W would reappear in my life.
And then what, Chere?
I excused myself to go to the restroom to take some deep breaths, to fix my lipstick and pull myself together. When I returned, Henry and Andrew were on their feet. I clearly saw Henry slip Andrew a card, and just as clearly saw Andrew shove it into his pocket when he saw me.
“Henry’s got to head out,” he said, in too bright a voice.
“Yes, I’m sure he’s got business to attend to. He’s always working.” My caustic comments were answered by Henry’s California-golden smile.
“It was good to see you again, love. And thanks for introducing me to your friend. I wish I could say the restaurant was a pleasure, but the sandwich is sitting in my stomach like a brick.”
“You’re a snob.”
“And you’re a goddess. Take care, and call me if you need anything.” He gave me a hug and then he was out the door in a swish of tailored coat and designer shoes.
I turned to Andrew with a scowl. “Give it to me.”
“What?” he asked innocently.
“The card. Henry’s card. You’re not allowed to work for him.”
“Don’t get all bitchy and angry just because you didn’t get the information you wanted.”
“The information I wanted? You’re the one who wanted information. I told you he wouldn’t be able to help us, but you insisted we meet with him anyway.” I glared at him with narrowed eyes. “Was this all part of some intricate plan? Did you push me to meet with Henry so you could pitch yourself to him as an escort?”
He was silent a second too long. His face betrayed an iota too much outrage. “No, of course not,” he insisted. “I was trying to help you.”
“You were trying to meet my agent so you could get his information.” I looked down at his unusually nice—and matching—jeans and sweater, and his fluffed up, adorable hair. “That’s shitty, Andrew. That’s just shitty.”
He threw up his hands. “So maybe I wanted to do both. I wanted to help you find out about W, though. That was always part of it.”
“Not the main part.”
Andrew was the one person I’d let into my heart in the last two and half years, and he was already using me. I felt betrayed. It took me back to that Gramercy Park hotel room, to the envelope on the bed with my name on the outside. Good luck, starshine. You gullible idiot.
“Don’t be mad at me,” he said. “I just wanted to talk to him. I’m graduating soon, and I don’t have a fucking idea what I’m going to do.”
“You’re going to paint!”
“With what money? Working as an escort will get me some short term funds, and probably provide a lot of inspiration too.”
“Inspiration?” I pushed away my plate. “You don’t get it. You think it’s fun, romantic, sexy to be an escort? It’s not.”
“I know that.”
“Not every client writes poetry on your back. A lot of them are assholes. Total assholes. They’re entitled and demanding and they only care about themselves.”
“Even one good client, one client like W—”
“W wasn’t a good client. He was an asshole.” The couple at the next table scowled at my language. I lowered my voice and glared at Andrew. “Look, W was handsome and kinky and mysterious, but he wasn’t a good person. He did crazy shit to me.”
Andrew crossed his arms over his chest. “You told me how hard you fell in love with him. If he did crazy shit to you, you liked it.”