“Why don’t I wait with you?” I ask.
“I don’t think so,” she says. “He shouldn’t be long, and I’d really rather not have him walking in here to find my oncologist. Although,” she continues, “you are quite the looker, and a doctor, no less. Maybe you waiting here with me is just the kind of thing I could use to make my guy jealous. Yeah,” she decides finally, “have a seat.”
I chuckle and sit down. The laugh isn’t so much because I’m confused as it is that I’m trying to hide the fact that I’m a little scared of what’s going to happen here.
The longer I stay, the more likely it’s going to be that she figures out what’s going on. At the same time, though, I’m not doing anything illegal, and I really don’t have any other way to explain my presence here.
“What time is he supposed to pick you up?” I ask, buying myself a little more time to think.
“Any minute now,” she answers. “So, why are you here?”
I guess I didn’t really buy myself that much time at all.
“I was just in the neighborhood,” I tell her. “I thought I’d stop by and see how you’re doing.”
“I’m fine,” she says, but stops. “How do you know where I live? I get that you’ve got that information at the hospital or whatever, but it’s kind of weird that you’d remember it.”
“I didn’t,” I tell her. “I wrote it down.”
With that, I hand her the appointment card Jenny gave me when I went in for my paycheck this afternoon.
“Your name is Jace,” she says. “I didn’t know that.”
“Notice anything else?” I ask, hoping it’ll click for her that the name of the escort the service set her up with is on the front of the card, but she just shrugs and hands the card back.
“Nope,” she says. “You’re not just here to check up on me, though.”
“No,” I tell her, “I’m not.”
“Why, then? I didn’t think doctors here made house calls.”
“I don’t. I mean, I have, but it’s usually a special situation.”
“Seriously,” she says, “why are you here? You’re starting to freak me out.”
I hand the card back to her and ask her again if she notices anything unusual about it.
“That’s my name and address on the back,” she says. “Your name is on the front. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be looking at.”
I’m getting cold feet about telling her, but I’ve stayed too long to simply duck out.
“I’m your date,” I tell her.
She looks up at me and then back at the card.
“Marquis Escorts,” she reads. “You’re a hooker?”
I have to laugh. “No,” I answer. “I’m an escort. Sex isn’t part of the business.”
“That’s not what I heard,” Grace says, looking down at the card. “Well, do you want a drink or something?”
She actually seems genuinely unaffected by me, her doctor—her oncologist, no less—revealing that I’m her hire-a-date for the evening.
“I should probably go,” I tell her.
“Why?” she asks. “It’s not like there’s going to be any slap-and-tickle going on, and I don’t know if you know this, but they had me pay in advance.”
“I’m sure we could find someone else to stand in for me,” I tell her. “Being your doctor, I don’t really think it’s appropriate to-”