We Have Till Dawn

The only time Ruby and I saw that other side of him was when I had a gig. My brother and I, along with two of his friends, had a band together on and off, and Chris jumped in as our bass player when Marco was a no-show. And with six kids, that happened frequently.

It was how I’d met Chris. He’d been at one of our shows, and when Marco had to split, I’d jokingly asked the crowd if anyone played bass. A hammered Chris had put his fist into the air and volunteered. Marco hadn’t dared to put up a fight about whether he’d let Chris borrow his instrument.

It was a great memory of mine, even though our gig had sucked. Chris still had plenty of talent.We left the bar right around the same time as the sun was glowing red and slowly dipping between two skyscrapers.

I had a good buzz going on and hoped we’d try that new place near Ruby’s building.

“When do you get your keys?” Chris asked, patting his pockets to make sure he had his wallet. Or phone. Or both.

“Already got them,” I replied and shrugged on my jacket. Fall was here. Chris liked to point out that I should get a “grown man” jacket, presumably one like his countless different coats, blazers, and windbreakers. But there was nothing wrong with my army jacket; I wore it in the winter too, just with a hoodie underneath. “Anthony’s helping me move some shit over to the studio tomorrow night.”

I was only bringing two or three duffels, my keyboard, and a guitar, but I couldn’t lug it all on the subway unless I wanted to go back and forth all day. My brother had a car, so that helped.

When I caught Ruby yawning, I mock-gasped and pointed at her. “What the fuck?”

She groaned and threw an arm around me. “I’m sorry, but I’m so fucking tired. I’ve been up since four.”

I cast a downward glance at her feet. No wonder she was suddenly taller than me. She was wearing six-inch heels. I hadn’t noticed before.

“I’m getting you an Irish coffee at the next place,” I told her.

She winced.

“Ruby.” I couldn’t believe it. She was calling it a night. I could feel it.

“I’m tired too,” Chris admitted. “I gotta be up at six tomorrow for a meeting.”

It was just barely dinnertime!

“I’m disappointed in both’a youse.” I shook my head and stepped closer to the curb.

We went back and forth for a while; Ruby promised to make it up to me when we met up for breakfast on Saturday after my first session with my mystery client, and it made me feel bad. She wanted to make sure I’d be okay, and I was giving her shit, knowing full well that she worked insane hours. So, in the end, Chris and I stayed on the sidewalk after hugging Ruby goodnight, and we waited until she’d disappeared into her building farther up the street.

I wasn’t ready to head home to Brooklyn. I had a key to a new apartment that would be mine for the next two months, and I had someone to share a cab with me over to the Garment District.

“What’s good to eat in your neighborhood?” I asked as we got into a cab.

Chris blew out a breath and patted his flat stomach. “I’ve had too much Arby’s.”

I liked Arby’s.

“There’s plenty along Ninth,” he went on. “Some good sushi and Italian.” He paused. “The bagel vendor on the corner across from the 7-Eleven is probably the best in Manhattan.”

Good to know. There weren’t many good bars in his area, so we didn’t meet up there often.

I peered out the window as the last light left the horizon between the buildings. It was the time of day I liked the most, because it was when my New York City woke up. I loved all of it. The city lights, the noise, the energy, the people minding their own business.

If I could be paid to people watch, it would’ve been the career of my dreams.Twenty minutes later, I had an Arby’s bag in one hand and my new key in the other.

I took the elevator up to the twenty-seventh floor and felt weirdly nervous. When Tina had given me the key earlier, it hadn’t felt real yet. It hadn’t even felt real when I’d gone in for a quick STI screening where Tina had sent me so many times before. But now, shit, I was getting back to it. Temporarily or not, I’d be a sex worker once more.

When I’d first started working for Tina, I’d actually loved it. I’d seen it as a well-paid adventure. Given the clientele that could afford browsing her, uh, menu, I’d dined with shy tech millionaires, fucked politicians, and received lavish gifts from closeted CEOs. I’d seen what New York had to offer from the most expensive hotel suites. Those who met with escorts to live out their secret fantasies and be themselves were usually the nicest. To them, we were escapes. But I’d also been with clients who treated us like objects. It was part of the job. There was no denying that.