A 21st Century Courtesan (30 page)

He is climbing in with me now, pushing back the covers, slipping my panties off, and laying his body over mine. I love this, the sweet weight of him on me. So sentimental, but I can't help myself.

His cock is a hard length resting at the apex of my thighs, and I open for him, arch up against him. Reaching down between our bodies, he strokes me with his hand, and I sigh into his mouth. I am trembling already, suffused with pleasure. And my chest is tight with emotion. But it is all sweetness and tenderness: his caressing fingers on my cleft, his lovely mouth on mine.

“Joshua, come on,” I whisper against his lips. “I don't want to wait.”

He reaches into the nightstand and finds a condom,
sheaths his beautiful cock. And in moments he is poised at the entrance to my body, while I lay trembling with need, sharp and bright, beneath him.

“Ah, Valentine.” His voice is a low murmur in my ear, his cheek resting against mine.

And when he slides inside, it is like silk against velvet: that smooth, that fine. My body clenches around him, my legs wrapping around his waist. Reaching up, I take his face in my hands, holding it above me, needing to feel his gaze on me. I need to see that small glimmer of his eyes in the dark, with only the fog-veiled stars and moon to show him to me.

He begins to move, a lovely, stroking rhythm, and pleasure builds inside my body. I pull him closer, until my breasts are crushed against his chest.

“More, Joshua.”

He thrusts deeper, but slowly, his body grinding against mine. And with each thrust he burrows farther inside me, pleasure swarming me in a warm current.

My arms tighten around his neck. “Come on, Joshua. Deeper. Please …”

He pushes into me, and still, I can't seem to get enough. He cannot go deep enough.

I am shivering, with desire, with yearning. I have never yearned this way for anything, anyone. He reaches down between us once more, his fingers stroking my clitoris. I don't want it to be over so soon, but I am lost in pleasure, my body filling, bursting in a flood of blinding heat. My mind goes blank, and I am only these sensations, his big body against mine, inside me, his scent in my head.

He calls my name, thrusting, thrusting. And then he tenses, his lips coming down to crush mine, his sweet tongue
in my mouth as he comes into me. And it is almost as if we are, for those brief moments, one being.

Except that we are too separate, he and I. I can't quite believe that we are meant to be.

Even in this moment, that fear is in my heart, which shatters into a thousand jagged pieces.

I
MUST HAVE SLEPT.
Through the window I can see the pale orange glow of sunrise. I hate this time of day. I always have. It is the most lonely time, too dark, too empty.

Joshua sleeps beside me, his breathing regular and shallow. He is lying on his stomach, as he often does, and I can see the outline of his body, so damn beautiful. Fucking glorious in the cool, silent dawn.

Why do I feel lonelier than I ever have in my life?

No matter how much I sleep, no matter how many times he makes love to me, I cannot get the truth out of my head. The truth that Deirdre spoke to me, that Regan tried to. That slammed into me like a brick wall running into Greg Stockton yesterday.

I should never have let this happen.

I have to stop before … before what? It's too late already, far too late. It's not fair to Joshua. How can I do this—condemn him to a life with a woman like me—to someone I claim to love? Do I even know what that means?

I shake my head, sit up in bed. He is so peaceful. He has no idea what I am about to do to him. What I have already done to myself.

My throat is closing up on me, but I cannot cry. Not here. Not now.

I slip out from under the covers, the warmth of his body leaving my skin immediately. It's painful.

Finding my clothes from yesterday, I get dressed quickly, silently. In the living room, I find my purse, and slip out the door and into the still-dark morning.

My mind is absolutely numb as I drive north, then east, heading away from the rising sun. If I drive fast enough, maybe I can escape the new day.

I head into Beverly Hills, drive the familiar streets until I am in front of Louis's place. It's beautiful, imposing behind the tall iron gates. I stop, letting the motor run, just watching the house for a while.

How many times have I been with him over the years? How many more times would I have been if I hadn't ever met Joshua? And how would it have ended, as it inevitably would have?

I'm done with hookers, thank you very much, here's a thousand dollars for your trouble.

I know I soothed Louis, made him feel good. But I was never anything else to him. I couldn't be.

I rev the engine, shift and pull onto the palm tree-lined street. A sharp pang as I drive by the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, where I always see Enzo. But I can't face this place, not today. I have no idea what I'll say to him. I know The Broker has called him, told him I'm no longer available. But Enzo brought me to her. Our connection predates her, has nothing to do with her. I need to talk to him myself, eventually.

He hasn't called me. I know he's respecting my need for silence. But suddenly I
need
to talk with him. Maybe more than anyone right now. Enzo is where this all started for me. He is so much a part of what I am. He saved me from that sad,
terrible life I'd found myself in at twenty years old, helped me find something better. Maybe I need him to help me make this new transition? It sounds all wrong, but still… maybe …

I let the hotel pass with one glance into my rearview mirror as it disappears, lost in the pink and red glow of the rising sun behind me.

Yes, go home and call him. Maybe go see him. Go to Rome.

I keep driving, though. I'm not certain of where I'm going until I'm in Hollywood already, pulling onto Sunset, then following some of the side streets until I find it: that faded hotel where I met Colin a few weeks ago.

On the corner in front of the building are a pair of working girls in their short, candy-colored skirts, their long legs and platform shoes. They look cold, tired. Miserable. It must have been a long night, and it's too cold now to be out there in their skimpy clothes.

That could have been you. It could have been worse. So much worse. Be glad for what you have.

But I am still grieving for what I can't have. Fuck it. I haven't even begun to grieve yet, have I? Things are going to get much harder.

I'm starting to cry as I head home. But it doesn't feel like home. I know even before I get there that it is no longer the safe haven it used to be. It may never be again.

When I walk into my house it feels like a mausoleum: that cold, that empty. As though no one has lived there for years, rather than weeks. My footsteps echo on the hardwood floor as I drop my purse on the console table in the entryway, walk into the kitchen. I don't know what to do, where to settle.

I pull a glass from the cupboard and pour a shot of gin, not even bothering with ice or tonic water, take it, and stare
out the window. The sun is up now, but the day is gray still. The light is fighting its way through, touching the tips of the leaves on the big eucalyptus trees. The rest is still in shadow.

I am in shadow.

I take a slug of the gin and it burns going down.

I do not want to think. But I know my usual escapes will be denied me now. I have gone too far for such easy relief.

Lifting my glass, I swallow again. The gin warms me a bit, but it is a shallow warmth and dissolves quickly. And it only makes me hate myself, this stupid drinking. I set the glass down and don't touch it again. This is not what I need. It never has been.

I walk into the living room. My orchids are there, lovely and graceful on their spindly stems. They have been doing fine without me. Pacing the living room, I feel as though my body is filled with adrenaline, but I have no place to go. I feel fucking trapped. Here, in my house. In my head, which will not stop spinning. No matter how I try to shut my brain down, those ugly voices fill it, practically shouting at me:

You will never change. You will never be good enough.

And Deirdre's voice, that spiteful bitch. But I can't fight the truth, no matter how much I don't want to hear it. That's why I had to leave him. That's why I have to get the hell out of here now.

I pick up the phone and dial the airline, make my plans. Then I call Lydia. It's early, but she picks up the phone. I tell her I'm leaving for a while. She's kind to me, calm, tells me to do what I need to do and to call her when I get back. When I'm done, I sit down, and wait.

It's only an hour later when he arrives at my house, pounding on the front door.

“Valentine! God damn it, open up!”

Oh, he's furious. I knew he'd be hurt, but his anger surprises me.

Moving like a zombie, I open the door. Even with him standing there before me, his face full of pain and fury, I am half numb. I step back and he brushes past me.

“What the hell is going on?” he demands.

“I had to go, Joshua. I had to.” I shake my head. I am hanging on to my sanity by such a narrow thread, I'm not able to explain any further.

“That's not good enough. Try again.”

“I'm sorry.”

He grabs my arms, and it hurts. I won't fight him. I couldn't even if I tried. I am too full of my own pain.

“Valentine, you explain to me right now what the hell is going on in your head. Tell me why you left in the middle of the night. Just because we ran into one of your clients … Shit, it was bound to happen. We have to deal with this.”

I can't look at him. My gaze lands on a spot just beyond his shoulder, my vision blurred by a thin sheen of tears. “Joshua … I've just realized that I have to do this on my own.”

“No you don't. That's what I'm here for. That's what love is for!”

“No. Not for people like me. I'm too … damaged.”

“You can choose not to believe that, Valentine.”

“That's what I've been trying to do, but it's all a sham.” I look at him then, into his green-and-gold eyes. His pupils are huge. “Don't you see? You were the catalyst that led me to all of this self-exploration, but I can't get everything I need from you. In the end, I have to do this myself. And I have no idea where I'll end up when it's over, or how long it'll take. I can't drag you along with me. It's not fair. And let's be honest, Joshua. Okay? Let's be perfectly honest, all of this love stuff
aside. All of these lovely fairy-tale scenarios. I am a hooker. A hooker!”

“Don't make it any more harsh than it has to be,” he says through clenched teeth, his fingers digging into my flesh.

“The situation
is
harsh. It's real. Wishing it away isn't going to work. You can't tell me that it will. And you can't tell me you've ever dealt with something like this before.”

“No. But neither have you.”

“I've been a call girl for almost ten years, Joshua.”

God, I hate saying it to him. Rubbing his face in it. But we both have to face it. It's time.

“That's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about love. Don't you think that has any value? Any power?”

“You are not going to convince me that love will get us through this.”

“Actually, that's exactly what I'm trying to tell you. Christ, Valentine.” His grip on my arms tightens even more. His eyes are absolutely blazing. “It's a God damn good place to start. Can you think of anything else that would even come close?”

I can't stand to see him this way, to feel the tension in his hands, to feel them on my skin.

“Maybe not. But any relationship between us is … a house of cards, Joshua. It's too fragile, because I'm just learning how to do this. The obstacles are fucking enormous. You can't tell me they're not. It's too much for me to go through on blind faith alone. Faith I'm not even sure I have. I've said it before. It's still true, more true than ever, maybe.”

He drops his hands, takes a step away from me. His voice still holds some anger, but mostly what I hear is defeat. “You have to believe in something, Valentine. Why can't you believe this? That I love you. That you love me. That it's enough.”

I just shake my head, trying not to stumble while my whole
world crashes down around me. I am too overwhelmed with fear and pain and longing to really let any of it surface. If I do, it will swallow me up. The pain sits in my chest like a cold, hard stone, weighing me down. I don't know how long I'll be able to stay on my feet.

“Joshua, please understand. It's not that I don't love you …” My breath hitches hard in my chest. “But I have to do this on my own. I have to figure this out, why I can't even trust how I feel about you. It's not something anyone can help me with. It's up to me. Can't you see that?”

“No, I can't.” He pauses, his voice lowering. “But I can't make you stay with me. I can't force you to let me help you.”

I'm quiet, staring at the floor. I don't know what else to say. I only know what I have to do.

“What happens now, Valentine? We just go our separate ways?”

I nod. “I'm going away.”