The Same Mistake Twice (4 page)

“Diana Andrews told you to expect me. I assume she explained.”

“You’re looking for a man who knew her ten years ago and hasn’t been seen since.”

“That makes her sound like my suspect.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that. Just giving a summary of your problem as it appears to me.”

“Anyone come to mind?”

“Not offhand.”

“About when did she stop working for you?”

“She never worked for me per se. She was more of an independent contractor. But it was certainly seven years ago that she stopped. Perhaps eight.”

“Did she ever complain about anyone you referred to her? You know what I mean—‘Never send him to me again.’ Anything like that?”

“Why do you ask?”

“That kind of man might have offended someone else. Someone who didn’t shrug it off as well as Diana.”

“The Senator comes to mind. But as you see, he is still with us.”

“I’m glad he doesn’t represent me.”

“In that case, don’t tell me where you live. I’m sure I could disillusion you about your own legislators.”

Rennert reached into the breast pocket of his dark gray suit and took out a letter-sized sheet of paper folded in thirds as if for a business envelope.

“Eight names. In each case I remember needing to find some way to keep them entertained for an evening. I haven’t had reason to keep in touch with any of them.”

Tillotson took the sheet and tried not to sneer. He was a little old for homework and too busy for make-work, but it wouldn’t be smart to show his disgust to Gary Rennert.

Diana, now, she was different.

Chapter Seven

As Diana left the home of the younger Grogans, she tasted something bitter that wasn’t coffee. She had lied from beginning to end. Clients paid her to lie to them, but Tracy didn’t owe her anything.

Back in her own living room she went straight to her bookcase. Her four high school yearbooks sat on the top shelf with her dictionary. She took down the volume for her senior year. Its top edge wore an impressive layer of dust. She carried the book to the kitchen and blew a cloud toward her garbage can.

The kitchen table was where she did her serious thinking. She sat and opened the yearbook. The first thing she felt was relief. Her former boyfriend Kurt Krol wouldn’t be in this book, because he had graduated the year before. She wouldn’t have to think about the mess he had made of his life.

She had thought she would start with Dexter Grogan, but instead she went to the faculty section. There was Richard Leavitt, her English teacher, dead for ten years now.

Her English teacher and also her first client. This wasn’t going to be much better than thinking about Kurt. She remembered knocking on Leavitt’s door just weeks after her graduation and offering him what he had obviously wanted for years.

Her. If he paid for it, he could have it.

This was one of the early mistakes she tried to avoid thinking about, but she knew she wouldn’t succeed today.

Chapter Eight

I guess I should call you Dick,” said Diana. “Mr. Leavitt.”

“Go ahead. It might help me believe this is really happening.”

“You’ll know when you pay me.” She smiled to take the sting of the words away. “Just a reminder.”

“I didn’t forget.” He smiled back, maybe for the same reason. “Which reminds me. If you plan to make a career of this, you might want to get your money up front. And have them put it in an envelope and then just leave it where you can pick it up without asking for it. It’s a little less…it shows more class.”

She turned on her left side, facing him.

“I thought you hadn’t done this before.”

“It’s true,” he said. “But I read books. It’s amazing, what you can get from books.”

“You never had us read anything like that. Maybe I would have paid more attention.”

She smiled again. He didn’t.

“Right. I’m going to give books about prostitutes to high school girls. That would be a great career move.”

“Relax,” she said. “I’m not a high school girl. I graduated, remember? A whole week ago. Nobody can touch us.”

“Careful. Once we agree on the money and what it’s for, that’s a crime. The cops can definitely make an issue of it.”

“They’d have to have proof. I’m not going to tell, and why would you?”

He looked up at the ceiling and brooded as if she hadn’t spoken. Diana stretched her right leg across his thighs and levered herself upright. She sat straddling him.

“What else should I know?”

When he said nothing, she leaned forward and moved her head from side to side, letting her dark blond hair brush his chest. Her boyfriend Kurt, make that ex-boyfriend now, had always responded, and so did Dick. She felt him stiffen under her, and she shifted her posture to let him enter her. He started to thrust and lasted several minutes this time, before he bucked and groaned and closed his eyes and filled her with wet heat.

His breathing slowed, and he opened his eyes. She let him slip out of her and stretched out on her side again.

“That’s another thing. You should use condoms. Always.”

“I’ve been on the pill for two years.”

“That’s not the only reason. You’ve heard of AIDS?”

“I know you. You don’t have it. Neither do I.”

“That’s my point. You don’t know me, not that well. There probably won’t be three people in your life you know that well.”

“Message received.”

“Sorry to preach.”

She smiled. It took a little more effort this time. “What else don’t I know? Tell me something about you.”

“I’m not very interesting.”

“Okay.”

He touched her shoulder.

“Sorry. I’m not being very good company.”

“No, you’re right. Guys might not feel talkative. I should leave it up to them.”

She made an effort to smooth her resentment. Knowing how to do that would be as important as her sexual expertise.

“Okay, last thing. You might want to set a time limit, like an hour. More time, more money. Guys who do this will prefer it that way. They’ll like a woman who knows when to go.”

She looked at him without the smile. “Do you want me to go?”

He hesitated an instant before saying, “No, of course not.”

She rolled to the edge of the bed, sat up, and let her feet find the floor. Her clothes were piled on the wooden chair next to his bed. As she hooked her bra and stepped into her panties, her T-shirt and jeans started looking inadequate. Some men might expect more of an effort from her in the wardrobe department.

“You want to take a shower?” he said.

She pictured herself in his bathroom and realized that she would be vulnerable with soap in her eyes. He didn’t scare her, but she was also practicing for the future. She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.

“No, thanks. I’m a one-bathroom girl. After gym class I always waited until I got home to shower.”

As she watched, his penis stood straight up again.

“That’s me remembering,” he said. “One time you walked past me after gym class. I smelled you—nothing bad, just a healthy odor of a healthy young woman. And I got a case of this in about a tenth of a second.”

He nodded toward his erection.

Talk about mixed messages, she thought. Does he want me to go or not?

“Hold that thought until next time,” she said.

His smile vanished, and she understood. There wouldn’t be a next time with this man. She wondered why, but it was his business.

He stood and went to his dresser, where his wallet lay. He thumbed out five twenties and handed them to her.

“I was wrong,” he said. “There is one more thing. Try to find out the going rate. I have a feeling you could get more than this.”

Diana had parked her aging Cutlass in front of Dick’s house. She sat behind the wheel and looked at her money. She must have carried it in her hand for anyone to see. She would have to get smarter than that.

And she would have to start over on her client list. She had hoped to finish her first day with one regular, who might even give her more leads. Other than Dick, she didn’t know a man who would be open to a knock on the door and a straightforward business proposition.

She sat for a moment more, trying to feel like a whore. Nothing came. Either she was one already, or it wasn’t that big a deal. Was it even important to know which?

The next morning Diana boarded the ten-o’clock New York bus. In the Port Authority terminal she found a newsstand and selected a half dozen skin magazines and sex tabloids. She flipped to the back of each publication and verified that it ran classifieds.

The same magazines were available on her home territory, but all the store clerks would know her.

The young man behind the counter leered. She glared back, until he decided to concentrate on the kids shoplifting in the back.

But he retaliated by slapping her magazines down on the counter and turning away. On the way to the bus, she plucked a plastic shopping bag from a trash can. It looked clean enough to handle, and it held her purchases.

The return trip became boring. She should have bought something to read.

Back home she found Grandmom and Bea Wynn, her friend of forty years, in the kitchen. Diana looked at her grandmother and knew immediately. Mrs. Wynn shook her head.

“Not a good day. Not the worst, but not good.”

Diana nodded and kissed her grandmother, who seemed to wonder what had just happened. Diana started up the stairs to her bedroom.

“Who was that?” Grandmom said.

“Tell you later,” said Mrs. Wynn. “When you feel better.”

“I feel fine now.”

“Later.”

It was the only thing that could make Diana want to cry. Her grandmother was going away. She came back now and then, but it happened less and less.

Diana opened a magazine and studied the ads. When she had the idea, she wrote on a legal pad:

“Single white female, 18, dark blond hair, cheerleader figure, elegant cheekbones and a touch of the Orient around the eyes, seeks generous gentlemen who love to be pampered. 201 area code only.”

Her grandmother had told her that the Asian cast of her eyes came from their Hungarian ancestry. Diana hadn’t mentioned her strong nose in her ad. It was part of the package, and men would have to get used to it. Dick Leavitt certainly had.

From each publication she clipped the form for submitting a classified ad. In neat capital letters she printed the text she had composed and added the address of the mailbox she had rented.

On the way to work at Denny’s she stopped at the post office and bought money orders to cover the fees for her ads. She dropped a handful of envelopes into the letter slot.

She worked and waited. She talked with Grandmom when the opportunities came. There wouldn’t be many more. When Grandmom’s mind went away, Diana fed her and bathed her and took her to the toilet.

Her first ad appeared five weeks later, and the first reply landed in her post office box only days after that. She opened the envelope and read that her correspondent wanted to choke her repeatedly and then use her dead body.

Points for honesty, she thought.

Other men with similar tastes might be less easy to spot.

The next letter came from a man who said that she sounded lovely. Would she like to meet? He gave a name and phone number. She called him from a pay phone in the only luncheonette left in downtown Driscoll. The phone was near the entrance to the kitchen. As a male voice sounded in her ear, the busboy emptied a plastic tray of dishes into the sink.

“I’m sorry,” said Diana. “I didn’t catch that.”

“I said, ‘Hello.’” The voice sounded amused.

“Oh. Hi. This is Diana. You wrote?”

Everything she had planned to ask him fled her mind.

“I’m Don Prendergast. I’m forty-eight and I have my own business, called Prendergast Associates. If you’d like to check me out, you can ask Tiffany, Lulu, or Jennifer. They’re all local.”

“You mean, like references?”

The thought had never occurred to her.

“You really are new at this, aren’t you.”

“Pretty much.”

“Don’t worry. It’s charming.”

At least she knew where to suggest meeting him. Everyone in Sussex County knew what the Savoy Motel was for. He would get the room, but when he asked how he could tell her where to go, she was stuck.

“You should get a pager,” he said.

“That’s a good idea.”

“It’s how most of the girls do it.”

He sounded amused again. He told her to look for his Volvo and said he would try to park in front of the right room. In any case, he would watch for someone who seemed to be looking for something.

The parking scheme worked, and her envelope lay on the counter just inside the room. She probably could have grabbed it and run, but that was no way to build a business.

And it wasn’t her style.

The sex went. The new man was a good fifteen years older than Dick Leavitt, who was fifteen years older than Diana, but she found that his age didn’t bother her. Don had a paunch that threatened to squash her, but he didn’t last long enough for her to get really worried.

I can do this, she thought.

She stayed the full hour, because that was what he had bought. Still naked, he handed her a business card. She took it while wondering what he meant by it.

“I’m a tax accountant. You need someone like me.”

“I do?”

“Definitely. Suppose you get busted for prostitution. It’s just a misdemeanor. But tax evasion, that’s years of federal time. I can find you deductions until you hardly owe anything, but you’ll be covered.”

His seriousness impressed her.

“I’ll think about it,” she said, but she knew she would call.

A few weeks later she sat at the kitchen table counting twenty-dollar bills.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Diana closed her eyes until her heartbeat returned to normal.

“I didn’t know you were here,” she said.

“You haven’t been around much,” said Mrs. Wynn. “Somebody needs to be here for her.”

“And somebody needs to bring the money in.”