Breaking Into the Business (8 page)

Betsy
already had a cup of coffee waiting for me at the breakfast table when I
reached the kitchen. She patted the spot in front of her, indicating for me to
sit in front of her.

“Thank
you for stopping by here last night,” I told her. “You didn’t have to stay, but
I appreciate it.”

“It’s
no problem,” she said. “I realized that I was really tired and wasn’t sure if I
could make the whole drive back home without falling asleep.”

“You’re
welcome here anytime,” I said.

“Okay
now, cut the crap,” she said. “We don’t have enough coffee for pleasantries.
Get to the juicy stuff.”

“Last
night and this morning was the worst few hours of my entire life,” I announced.

“Was
he bad in bed? Was it small?”

“No!”
I said, shushing her, just in case the kids were awake and might hear. “The sex
was phenomenal, and I’ve never felt anything close to what I felt with him.” I
took a deep breath and then continued, “We went back to his place and within
seconds, we were ripping each other’s clothes off and going down on each other
and then we had sex.”

“Okay?”
Betsy said when I paused.

“Four
times.”

“Wow,”
she smiled. “That’s a lot.”

“Yes.”

“Then
what’s the problem?” she asked.

“Well,
this morning as I was getting up and getting dressed, he woke up and handed me
the bill.”

“The
bill?”

“The
bill for the night before,” I said.

“You
mean the bar tab?” she asked.

“No,
the bill for the sex,” I said.

“Oh,
my god,” Betsy gasped. “You slept with a gigolo.”

Chapter Seven

“Yes, I
slept with a man-whore,” I said. “I can’t believe I was so stupid.”

“Did
he say anything the night before about charges or anything that would lead you
to believe what he was?”

“Nothing,”
I said. “I’ve played it over and over in my head, and I can’t think of a single
clue.”

“Would
you even know the clues?” Betsy asked.

“No,
not really.”

“Then
he probably gave some clues and you just weren’t aware.”

“Would
you have known?” I asked her.

“Probably,”
she said. “But then again, men have a hard time spinning a game on me. I have a
whole process all my own that usually dwarfs any stunts they’re trying to pull
to get me in bed.”

I
chuckled, then reached down and took a sip of my coffee.

“So
did you pay him?” Betsy asked.

“I
tried to,” I said. “But he wouldn’t let me. He refused to even tell me the
amount.”

“So
you got free sex from a gigolo,” Betsy noted. “That’s not a bad night. I don’t
see what you’re so upset about.”

“I
trusted him. I thought he was interested in me, but it turns out that he was
only interested in my money.”

“Are
you being serious?” Betsy asked, tilting her head sideways and scowling at me.
“You meet a guy in a bar, and within an hour you are sleeping with him. And you
are concerned about
trust
of all things?”

“Of
course. I don’t see the problem with that.”

“Because
someone you are trying to have a one night stand with isn’t interested in trust
and neither should you. It takes more than a half hour to really begin to trust
someone.”

“I
get what you’re saying,” I nodded. “But there has to be a certain degree of
trust when something like sex happens.”

“Bullshit,”
Betsy said. “It’s not like you were on a date or anything. You went to bar,
made out with a guy, and went back home and slept with him. The only trust you
should be worried about is the very basic trust that he’s not a serial killer.
Other than that, you’re looking for the wrong thing here, dear.”

“What
do you mean?” I asked.

“I
mean that you need to stop being so emotional if you’re going to have another
fling like this,” Betsy said. “Trust and all of that other emotional stuff is
reserved for a relationship and unless you are ready to get back into another
one of those, you shouldn’t worry about all of that baggage.”

“I
might be ready for another relationship.”

“I
don’t think you are,” Betsy said. “Unless you can have meaningless sex with a
stranger without having to worry about emotional baggage, then you would never
make it in a relationship.”

“I’m
not sure I buy your theory. But you think I should sleep with more people?”

“Of
course, I do,” she said. “But I don’t think that sleeping around is necessarily
going to fix all your problems. You need to get to the source of your emotional
issues and squash them like a bug.”

“What
are my issues?”

“That’s
a conversation that would require another pot of coffee,” she laughed.

“Then
give me the summary.”

“First
of all, you are a control freak,” Betsy said. “Frank leaving you left you so
rattled, and you felt so completely helpless that now you are so scared that
you won’t have any control about other aspects of your life that you try to
force everything else to fit what you think should happen. Dating and sex
doesn’t work that way.”

“So
I’m just a control freak?”

“It
doesn’t stop there,” she said as she set her coffee down. “The fact that you
are a prude probably stems from your fixation on control, but it’s still a
problem. You have to let go of your inability to be naked in front of a man
without folding your arms over your breasts. You need to go to a bar and talk
to men without blushing or stuttering.”

“I’m
just so self-conscious.”

“Being
self-conscious is a state of mind that you can do away with as easily as an old
pair of panties,” Betsy said. “You just have to stand up one day and say enough
is enough.”

“You
make it sound so easy,” I said.

“You
want to hear some more truth, Lana? You are an extremely beautiful woman. So
beautiful, in fact, that when you and I were in the bar, nobody looked at me
once. They all stared at you. That’s one of the reasons I couldn’t wait for you
to go talk to a man, so that maybe I could get a little attention. I’m jealous,
but I’m actually happy for you. I just wish you could see yourself the way that
everyone else sees you.”

“I’m
not all that.”

“Yes,
you are. You have the looks, you’re intelligent, and you have a great job that
pays decent. You have everything.”

I
still hadn’t told Betsy or Pearl about my dire financial situation. The cost of
maintaining my home and my family, even at a reduced lifestyle, were draining
both the savings and the checking faster than my paychecks were coming in.

“So
what should I do?” I asked.

“Forget
about this whole man-whore episode,” she said, throwing her hands back. “But
move on fast to another man. Get back in the saddle, but this time, don’t have
any regrets and certainly don’t question everything you do, or else you are
going to drive yourself crazy and end up alone.”

I
swallowed hard. I knew she was right. The whole thing with Greg wasn’t that
bad, but in my head, it was the worst event of my life.

When
had I become such a lunatic?

After
another half hour of talking, the kids finally woke up and started getting
ready for school. As if that was her cue, Betsy grabbed her keys and her purse
and headed home. I kissed her on the cheek and told her thank you three more
times, and then she left.

I
drove the kids to school, dropped them off at their usual spots and drove back
home. The whole time, I thought about my friend’s words, trying my damnedest to
come up with a strategy to overcome the problems that she had broached.

Greg
had been a great guy, and there was no denying the fact that the sex we had was
insanely good. Even the best time with Frank had been nothing compared to what
I experienced the night before. Did the fact that Greg was paid to do that sort
of thing affect the night in any way? Was I being too hard on him and on
myself?

I
think the hardest part to overcome was the fact that it was prostitution. That
word alone sent shivers up my spine, but the reality was that the profession
had been around for hundreds – no thousands – of years. Sure, all major
religions denounced prostitution, and the majority of society would public
claim that it was vile, and it was an illegal institution.

Honestly,
I asked myself, what was the harm in what had happened the night before? Had I
known what he was, it probably never would have happened, but the fact remained
that I did not. So how did that make me a bad person?

One
thing that Betsy had said stuck with me. I had to overcome this whole prudish
mentality that had dominated my mind set ever since I could remember. Even with
Frank, sex had to happen with the lights off.

I
decided that it was time for a change. I couldn’t look at myself and potential
romantic encounters the same way anymore. Despite what I had always felt, it
was time now for me to feel free when it came to men. How was I going to do
that? That was the challenging part. I could decide and declare all day long,
but when it came time to actually practice what I was saying, that was a
different story altogether.

As
I turned onto my alley, I made a mental decision to do whatever it took, at the
next available opportunity, to rid myself of this prudish overcast that plagued
me.

When
I pulled into my driveway, I saw that Derrick’s truck was parked in its usual
spot. He wasn’t due until tomorrow, so I wasn’t sure why he was there.

After
parking the car in the garage, I walked into the kitchen and stared out the
back glass. There he was, cleaning the pool by swiping the net through the
water to get all of the leaves and other debris that had fallen in. Since he
didn’t have a shirt on, I got a good view of his slim, muscular torso and that
beautiful tanned skin. His swim shorts hung so low on his hips that I could see
the top inch or so of his butt, and the sight was one that was hard for me to
turn away from.

He
turned and saw me, extending one of his well-toned arms up in greeting. He
smiled, and I could see his white teeth from across the patio. His sandy blond
hair had been pulled up into a small ponytail behind his head.

If
I didn’t have to worry about him catching me, I would fan myself right there.
He was so pretty. It was a different attractiveness than Greg. My date from night
before was a rugged man, with dark hair and stubble. Derrick was a younger
beauty, with smooth skin that hadn’t even begun to show any signs of aging. His
face had that ageless quality and zeal that life hadn’t had an opportunity to
squash.

Why
had he chosen to come today? Was it fate or mere coincidence for me to see this
attractive young man just seconds after I made a silent declaration to overcome
my crippling prudishness?

No,
I didn’t think it was coincidence at all. In fact, I knew exactly what I had to
do. This was a test, and one in which I had to ace.

As
I slid the back door open, I reached up and tugged on the clip in my hair,
letting it fall to the sides of my face. I walked across the patio and when I
neared Derrick, he turned around to greet me again.

I
noticed the lines on the side of his abdomen, the really sexy ones that only
show up on men with absolutely no body fat. They tapered inwards as they worked
their way down, as if pointing me along the path.

“What’s
going on, Lana?” he said.

“Hey
there, Derrick,” I said, trying my best to sound natural and not nervous all at
the same time.

“I
came a day early because I’m trying to get off a little early tomorrow,” he
said.

She
almost laughed. Using the words “came” and “get off” in the same sentence when
she was planning on seducing him. This was too rich. In fact, it almost took
her out of the mindset that she had put herself in. Still she pressed on.

“It’s
no trouble, Derrick,” I said. “I’m flexible.”

His
expression changed, and that alarmed me. I really didn’t mean the last line to
come out like that, but it did, and there was no way of taking that back now.

“I’m
almost done,” he said. “I can be out of your way in just a few minutes if you
want to swim.”

“I
was thinking of going for a swim,” I said. “Do you want to join me?”

“I
probably shouldn’t,” he said.

“Nonsense,”
I smiled. “My kids are at school and it gets lonely here all by myself. It
would be nice to have some company for once.”

“If
I swim, then my truck seats will get wet,” he said.

“Then
take them off.”

“What?”
he asked. His face was morphing between mortified and intrigued. I knew that he
was trying to figure me out, as to whether or not I was actually trying to
seduce him.