“So not one of the actors?” she asked casually, like she wasn’t inquiring if his sex tapes were on the internet.
“No. I—uh, I work at a hotel downtown.”
“Oh, what do you do there?”
Daniel was laughably bad with money and life decisions, but he wasn’t a complete idiot. He was more than aware of society’s view on sex work, especially gay sex work. Though, he was fairly insulated from the negativity, since he only interacted with his coworkers and roommates who were all in the trade in some capacity.
There were a few times Daniel had been subjected to gay bashing or snide comments at the Lillian by the other hustlers,but they didn’t tend to last too long. Still, the stigma of his job was always lurking behind the corner and kept his guard from ever truly lowering. He never let anyone outside the thick walls of the hotel know what he actually did. It was just too dangerous, socially and physically. He didn’t even have the whole Casanova deal of bedding older, influential women to use as a shield.
While the adult video industry was demonized in its own right, prostitution was seen as much worse by people in general. And gay prostitutes—not just straight men that were taking advantage of the degenerate and lustful homosexual—were judged much worse than the women that did the job. Hell, there were legal brothels in states that were only allowed to hire employees that were assigned female at birth due to how the laws were structured.
All things considered, it would be a bad idea to out himself to this stranger, even if she was comfortable around queer adult performers.
“Guest relations and experience,” he said, then took a large swallow of his drink, eyes trained on the crowd in front of them.
“Interesting. Does that include parties?”
Did three- and foursomes count? Daniel had heard someone say three made a crowd and four made a party. “I have been involved with the occasional intimate gathering.”
She hummed lightly. “How long have you done that?”
“Since college, so about eight years.”
“Eight years. Nearly a hardened veteran, then,” she said with a conspiratorial smile. “And you said you worked at a hotel downtown, not this one?”
He shook his head and ignored the heat grasping at his neck. “No, it’s smaller and older. Been in operation for over a hundred years now.”
“You ever consider moving to somewhere bigger and newer?”
“Sometimes,” he said, acutely aware of her stare on the side of his face. He couldn’t turn his head to meet her eyes—he might burst into flames of embarrassment if he did. This obviously important and accomplished woman who oversaw flashy events at expensive hotels was talking to him like he was her peer, which was ridiculous.
God, if she only knew what guest relations at the Lillian actually entailed. Daniel doubted Janelle Butler got on her knees as part of her regular job. The thought of it was offensive. No, her job was respectable and completely different from his.
He looked out at the party happening in front of them with new, inquiring eyes. What did her day-to-day look like as an event coordinator? It probably included clipboards and lists and telling people where to set various things. Janelle and her team must have gotten the DJ and vendors for the food and alcohol. They also probably ordered the decor, as he doubted the hotel had so many phallus-shaped objects in their storage room. She’d obviously had to work with Casey’s boss to determine and execute the vision for the whole event.
Which didn’t sound too bad, if Daniel was honest. It almost sounded enjoyable. Well, besides the decorating part—Daniel had no talent for that. But he could probably throw around a few floral arrangements and balloon arches if he was asked to. It was probably a bit copy and paste for most events. He’d certainly been to enough parties thrown by his DC friends to remember how things should look and flow at expensive events.
And while he wasn’t much of a partier anymore, he did enjoy the atmosphere still. He didn’t much want to participate in the drinking, dancing, and socializing, but he liked being immersed in it. He liked when people around him had a good time. That was essentially his job, wasn’t it? Putting on a show for his client, making their fantasies and expectations a reality. Janelle Butlerdid the same thing, just in the form of corporate events, not sexual experiences.
Except what Daniel did was illegal. It was eating away at his soul. It was simultaneously killing him and keeping him alive. He wasn’t some respected professional with career progression and a retirement account. He was a jaded prostitute with dwindling hope about his future.
He took another sip of his drink. “You put on a good party.”
“Thank you.” Her drink glass clinked on the marble next to Daniel. “I’ll let you enjoy the rest of the event. I have to make sure the microphone is working for the awards.”
He met her polite smile with a nod. When she was a few steps away, her heels eating up the patterned carpet, he let out a loud breath.
Daniel hated to admit it, but it was easier when people were rude or demanding. Janelle was too nice, too kind. She’d come over just for some small talk and treated him like a person with a legitimate job.
Like he mattered and had value.
Like he was worth her time.
It made him want to be all those things. He wanted to talk to a stranger and give his actual job title. He wanted all the normal things other people got like bitching about coworkers and deadlines and corporate goals.
He wished he had fun at work, or at least got other people to have fun for more than just an hour.
Everyone around him was laughing and letting loose. For years, people might talk about this party with fondness. They’d want to invite their friends, like Casey had. Nothing Daniel did behind the closed doors of the Lillian amounted to the good times that were being experienced by all the attendees of Miss Butler’s event.
