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He came into the living room, and I could see by the look on his face that my face concerned him.
“Still swollen,” he stated. “Would you consent to see the trauma guy here?”
“Honey, I’m fine.” The word honey reverberated in the room. “No, I’m not going back to the hospital.”
“I guess she’s spoken. Pam, thanks so much for coming by.”
“Call me later and let me know how you’re doing. I’ll come back in the morning.”
We said goodbye, and she left through the door facing the beach, a blast of freezing air wiping out the heat the fireplace gave off.
And then, remembering something, I jumped up off the couch, wincing with the pain. “Jake Stevens! Oh, great! I completely forgot about my appointment.”
“I hope you won’t get ticked off, but I called him and canceled for you. He said what you’d expect, how awful, etcetera, and he’d reschedule as soon as you were able.”
Sighing, I sat down again. “Thank you. Of course I’m not ticked off.”
He leaned over to kiss me and then hesitated and picked up my hand instead. “I don’t want to hurt your face.”
“Oh, God, don’t make me laugh,” I said, snickering. “You know, Will, I really appreciate you taking charge. I thought I’d hate it, but it’s so nice. Everything isn’t on my shoulders, even though I’m alone.”
“You’re not alone as long as I’m here,” he said. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, I’m good. Pam just made me tea.”
“Yuck. I guess wine is out of the question.”
“Pretty much, as long as I’m taking painkillers.”
“I’m going to get out of this suit and into sweatpants. Are you okay with that?”
“Of course. Go.”
I could hear him talking to the workmen in the kitchen as they finished for the day. I wondered what was different about Will, and then it came to me. I trusted him. He was a mature man. He didn’t just want me for sex.
Memories of one of my early clients who I might have depended on a little too much came to me. Now I wondered if I hadn’t just been looking for a father. The first time we were together, he took me to the Waldorf Astoria, spent a small fortune on room service, and bought me a robe from the hotel gift shop. He promised me things I didn’t ask for; trips to his island getaway, my own apartment in Chicago. He was probably Will’s age, late forties or early fifties, and wealthy. He showered me with gifts that I later sold after his wife showed up at the Field House Museum where I worked as a tour guide my freshman year.
“Don’t flatter yourself that my husband is going to leave me,” she said. “You’re one of his many whores, did you know that? He buys them all gifts and takes them to our house in the Keys. But there it ends. Do yourself a favor. If you’re going to turn tricks for spending money, keep it simple. If you don’t, you’ll either wind up in jail for prostitution, or dead when his real mistress finds out about you.”
She walked away, and I didn’t say a word to her after listening to her venomous diatribe. Afterward, I broke my date with her husband, and when he asked me why I refused to see him, I said I’d gotten herpes. I never heard from him again.
Will walked into the living room with a plate of food for me.
“Yum. What’s this?” I asked.
“Shrimp scampi. Lim Fong’s.”
“Yum! I love their food. Italian Asian fusion.”
“I think it’s more Dominic Marconi bought out the Chinese restaurant.”
“Are you eating?”
“I am in a bit. You go ahead. I have to run out again for half an hour or so. Will you be okay, or should I get Pam to come back?”
“I’ll be okay. What’s wrong?”
“Another body found on the beach up north.”
