“You mean..?” I paused and swallowed hard. “Are you saying you know what you’re going to do to me from the beginning? That all that stuff you do to me is planned?”
“It wouldn’t be very safe, otherwise. If I just came at you flailing, and deciding things on the fly.”
There was a long moment of silence, then he made a tsk of a sound. “Didn’t you know that? Do you think all the stuff we do together is real?”
“It feels real. When you’re doing it, it feels really real.”
“It’s supposed to feel real when I’m doing it. Then afterward we calm down together and decompress. At least, when you don’t take off. Next time—” His voice cut off, and he made a frustrated noise.
“What?”
“I was going to say that next time, I’d tie you to the bed so you can’t leave. But you don’t want there to be a next time, and making threats about what I’m going to do to you next time probably isn’t the wisest way to proceed.” He sighed. “It’s late. I’m tired and worried. I’m worried that you won’t see me again.”
“I’m not going to see you again,” I said, but that time, it sounded like a lie. Because what he was saying sounded kind of like an apology, and a promise to do things better next time, for my sake.
“Are you safe there?” he asked. I wondered what he’d do if I said no. Would he come rescue me? Take me to his mystery abode and reveal more of himself to me? More than his phone number? No, Chere. No.
“I’m safe,” I said. “He won’t be back for hours. I’m going to go to sleep. There’s a deadbolt on the door.”
“That’s fucked up.”
“I’m going to hang up now. I’ve had a long day.”
“See me again. Please.” He made a rough noise, a laugh or a growl. “No one fights like you, Chere. I need you to fight me. All the other whores are pansies. Excuse me. All the other escorts are pansies. You affect me more than anyone else.”
I knew what he meant. No one else had ever made me feel the way he made me feel, and I feared no one else in my life ever would.
“You scare me,” I said.
“You scare me too.”
“You know what I mean.”
He sighed. “I’ll try not to scare you next time. We’ll talk. We’ll go slower.”
“And then you’ll still be mean to me and make me feel like shit.”
“I told you why I do that. It has nothing to do with you personally.” He paused. “That sounded wrong. It has everything to do with you being perfect at meeting my needs. That’s the personal side of it. And unfortunately, my needs are to be a complete bastard to you. But I don’t mean to hurt you. Really hurt you.” I thought I heard him set a glass on a table. “I was afraid I really hurt you today.”
“You did.”
“But how much of that was because you already felt hurt by someone else?”
He said it gently, because he knew it was a little mean, but he also knew he was right. “You felt hurt too,” I pointed out. “You flew into a rage about the Tony thing.”
“Ah. His name is Tony.”
I clamped my lips shut. I hadn’t meant to give up that information, not that it mattered.
Yes, it mattered. He’d use it to taunt me at some future point.
“And for the record, I wasn’t in a rage about Tony,” he said, drawing out the name with derision. “I was in a rage because of what you let him do to you. You’re sad, Chere.”
He didn’t say I looked sad, or that I’d seemed sad earlier, during our session. He said You’re sad. Which I guess made sense after the way I’d cried, and all the girly, emotional shit I’d poured into his ears. I didn’t understand why he’d called, or why he seemed to care enough to be upset on my behalf. I didn’t understand what I did for him, or why he wanted another date so bad.
I didn’t understand anything about him.
“Listen,” he said. “I’m going to call Henry and set up another date. You can come if you like. But if you’d rather not, I’ll understand. If that’s the case, I won’t call, and I won’t try to contact you again. But if you come…”
“What?” I asked when he didn’t finish.
“If you come, I’ll give you more poetry,” he said in a soft, compelling cadence. “And I’ve never given poetry to any of the other ones, Chere. Only you.”
The Four Seasons Session
He said he’d try not to scare me. He said we’d go slower. I didn’t know what that meant, but I agreed to another date, and even put on a designer dress for the first time since he’d cut off my Lanvin suit almost two months ago. This was trust, if not friendship. For once, I looked forward to our session with more anticipation than dread.