Part 11 (1/2)

”What does he read?”

”Uhm, let's see. h.e.l.lraiser, Sandman, Walking Dead, Watch-men, and Landor the Demon.”

Brett grinned. ”We should exchange numbers, then, in case he ever wants the last one signed.”

”You know the author?”

”As much as anyone can know themselves.”

”No way! Landor the Demon?”

”Yes.”

”It's his favorite. He'll have a fit if I tell him I met the creator.

I'd love to get an autographed copy.”

Brett fished her cell out of her pocket. ”Why don't you give me your number? I'll call you when the next issue is released. We can get a cup of coffee and I'll personalize it however you want.” Heather thought about this. She rarely gave her number to anyone, never to strangers. The cell was exclusively for her brother, work, and friends.

Brett must have noticed her hesitation. ”That's okay. You don't know me so-”

”No, it's not a problem.” She gave her number before she changed her mind. ”Make it out to Adam, if you would.” Her brother would be thrilled, and he had so little reason to smile these days she just had to take the risk.

”And what's your last name, Heather?” Brett asked, still in the process of entering Heather's name into her phone.

Heather laughed. ”This is getting personal.”

”Would you like it to get personal?” Brett asked as she put the phone away.

”I don't have time for personal, I'm afraid.”

”Married, career before pleasure, or both?” Brett asked.

”Career.”

”What do you do?”

* 91 *

”I work for a small fas.h.i.+on house,” Heather said. ”Mostly running errands, but I hope to join the big boys one day.”

”What do you do when you're not on the clock?”

”I take care of my brother. He has chronic kidney disease. What time I have left, I spend on my own designs.”

”And all of the above prevent you from seeing anyone.”

”Let's just say I'm not willing to burden another with certain aspects of my life. Nor am I prepared to change the status quo to please them.”

”I don't consider taking care of a sick sibling something that should be negotiated or judged. Unless, of course, that's not the whole story.” Brett raised one brow, insinuating she knew Heather wasn't being entirely straight with her.

Heather, taken aback by Brett's insight, had to look away.

”You'd be surprised.”

”At what people can run from, or at what the whole story is?” Where was Brett going with these questions? Heather wasn't sure, but she felt increasingly uncomfortable. ”The first,” she replied nonchalantly.

”Of course. The first,” Brett said with an edge of sarcasm.

”Uhm, you know what? I should really get back to my friends- round the party animals up and get going. I have to be up early and I'm done with the loud music.” Heather knew she was babbling, but she didn't want to leave an opening for further conversation.

Every time anyone pushed her for personal information, her paranoia made it seem as though her escort job was somehow suddenly public knowledge. She knew she risked running into a client, but most of her johns, if not all, were married and wouldn't even acknowledge her outside the brownstone. But what if someone did, or pointed her out to a friend? Heather didn't want to think about that right now, didn't even want to entertain the thought that Brett knew what she did. As always, Heather figured if she made a quick exit, she'd be safe.

”I hope we meet again.” Brett sounded sincere.

”Call me when you have the next issue,” Heather said, and turned to walk away.

* 92 *

”I will.” Chase watched Heather disappear into the crowd, surprised at her inexplicable feeling of frustration. Their interaction had yielded some useful information, but it had spurred more questions than answers. Heather was definitely more complicated than the call girls she knew, with perhaps more valid reasons for doing what she did. And her s.e.xuality intrigued Chase. Heather was undoubtedly lesbian. Yet Priscilla had said she never did girls on the job. She knew it wasn't unusual for lesbian call girls to reserve same-s.e.x coupling for their private lives. But if that was the case, why had Heather bolted when they were obviously attracted and were in one of the city's most notorious pick-up clubs?

No, she wasn't at all the kind of call girl Chase was used to.

For a moment, she regretted she'd never gotten the chance to find Heather for an evening during the countless times she'd called agencies in New York.

Jack materialized by her side, jerking her from a vivid daydream about what an encounter with Heather might be like.

”It's about time. I thought we might be here all night,” Jack said.”I couldn't very well tell her I knew she was a call girl and ask about her client.”

”So what do you have?”

”I'll tell you back at the hotel. Let's get out of here.”

”Tell me now.”

”It's too d.a.m.n loud in here, okay?” Chase said, irritated.

”What crawled up your a.s.s and died?”

”Nothing. I just need some fresh air.” Chase wanted a moment of peace to reflect on her interaction with Heather. She couldn't put her finger on it, but the woman unsettled her. Maybe because Heather was so opposite what she expected. She was cla.s.sy, graceful, well spoken. A dedicated sister and a woman with dreams. A woman whom Chase, under normal circ.u.mstances and in another life, before she swore off feelings and relations.h.i.+ps, would have... Would have what? ”I'll be outside. Move it or take a cab back.” She pushed past Jack and headed for the door without looking back.

* 93 *

Jack caught up just as she reached the car, halfway down the block. ”What the h.e.l.l's wrong with you?” Chase got in and started the engine. ”Nothing.” She pulled away from the curb and headed toward the hotel.

”And those were my thirty seconds of caring,” Jack said. ”Now, what happened with the prost.i.tute?”