Torment Me (Rough Love 1)

The bartender brought my drink and Tony held up his glass as if to make a toast. We clinked and gulped, and he was so perfectly normal I wanted to cry.

“My friend is a bitch,” I blurted, meaning W. “And work is a bitch sometimes, you know?”

“Oh, I know. I could tell you some stories. But I won’t.” He grinned at me. “Because we’re not talking about work. Let’s talk about not working. What do you like to do for fun? What would you do all the time, if you didn’t have any other responsibilities in the world?”

I thought it was really weird, and really crazy, that I couldn’t think of anything. I was so consumed with my work world, and Simon’s world, and Simon’s problems, and my dreams of W. What was my world? What did I like to do?

“I like to watch movies,” I said. “I know that’s boring.”

“It’s not boring. What kinds of movies do you like?”

I named some of my faves, and he came back with some of his faves. He told me he also enjoyed photography, and model airplanes, and making stuff work. He said he got into accounting because he liked everything to be in order. I wondered what he would have made of my life, if I had actually told him the truth about my life. Which I hadn’t.

I was a liar, and I didn’t belong here sharing this lovely conversation with him.

When he offered me another drink, I declined. I didn’t want to get any drunker, because it would only end one way, with an invitation back to his apartment, and I didn’t want our hour of pleasant and friendly conversation to go down that road.

“It’s been wonderful talking to you,” I said, “but I’d better go. Early appointments tomorrow.”

“Is that your exit strategy?” he said, smiling. Oh, that smile.

“No, it’s the truth.” No, it’s a lie. I’ve told you so many lies.

“Well, you know, we live close. Maybe I can take you out to dinner sometime.”

No was on the tip of my tongue. Regrets, and my polite decline, but he was already scrawling his number on the back of a business card. Anthony Pavone, Brooker and Associates, P.C.

I took the card from him and jammed it down in a pocket inside my bag. That’s when I noticed the piece of paper with GANSEVOORT PARK AVENUE at the top, and lines of W’s handwriting.

He’d left me a poem after all.

I shoved W’s paper deeper into the pocket and smiled up at Tony. Maybe I would go to dinner with him sometime, just to do something nice for myself. I was so grateful he’d talked to me, and been kind to me after all of W’s fuckery. He’d never know how much I’d needed it this particular evening.

We said our goodbyes, and I went back down to the room. I needed to dig out W’s poem and read it before I headed home, even if it blew up my fragile happiness. I thought about throwing it away instead, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to do that. I lay back on the bed and braced myself, and accepted the risk of his words.

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes.

For what it’s worth, Chere, he added in a post script, you’re more beautiful than any of that shit you put on.

In Between Again

I knew it was stupid, and I knew it was selfish, but I called Tony a couple days later. We picked a place to meet for dinner, and “not talk about work.”

I never would have done it, except that Simon and I had argued about Rachel again, and he called me a jealous bitch, and knocked me down when I wouldn’t give him enough money, and I thought, if he can have Rachel in his life, then maybe I can have Tony in my life, just for a friend. If you want to know the truth, I was thinking about really crazy stuff, like getting a real job, and leaving Simon for someone steady and kind like Tony. Maybe it could be one of those friends-to-lovers things, and everything in my life would change.

I tried not to think about W and our exclusive thing, or the fact that he’d called me beautiful, or that he wrote me poetry. I didn’t think about anything except that he would be sorry when I quit, because then he’d have to find some other escort to blindfold and torment. If he asked me why I quit, I’d say, because you never told me your name. But really, it was everything. I was tired of selling my body, and tired of doing a job I didn’t like.

So I went to meet Tony with all these ideals and hopes in my heart. I dressed up for him, a cute pink sweater and skirt, but not Miss Kitty pink. Just casual, friendly summer pink. Tony greeted me with a gracious compliment and a kiss on the cheek. He’d suggested a tapas place and I thought, of course, a place for sharing. All of this is fine.