Page 10 of The Deer and the Dragon
My legs twisted beneath the thin sheet. “Teaching English was always temporary. I’ve just shortened it by half a year. Why? Are you showing up as my conscience?”
“Never,” he said. “Whatever makes you happy. I know that struggling to pay the bills does not make you happy. But I’ve said it before: if you’d let me help with that…”
“Yes. You can help by making sure I only book the richest clients and make the most money so that my boat sets sail on an endless sea of cash by this time next year,” I said. I plopped the pillows behind my back and sat up in bed, looking expectantly into the gloom. The ocean crashed in lulling waves on the beach beyond the open villa window. I listened to it breaktime and time again, peering into the darkness while I waited for his reply.
After a long period of silence, I began to worry.
He said nothing.
“Caliban?”
But no answer came.
DECEMBER 29, AGE 22
“How was your first night?”
I spun toward the darkness, doing little to fight the inner glow tugging up the corners of my lips. My heart squeezed, his voice both excitement and balm all at once. It was exactly what I needed to end my out-of-body experience. I wished I could see his face. His question held the edges of a smile. And god, how I missed that smile.
The night had been spectacular, and he was the only one I wanted to share it with.
Taylor had made sure I was compensated for the exhaustion of travel in addition to my time on the clock, helping me set firm boundaries and holding my hand over text as she insisted that time was my only nonrenewable resource. It wasn’t enough for clients to buy my tickets, but to show their gratitude at my willingness to get on a plane and stay in a hotel while away from my home.
The five-star Wagyu steak house in Montevideo, Uruguay, had been a haze of flavors and colors and nerves. The client, to my surprise, had been an attractive, well-dressed, polite, and friendly man, though woefully short for society’s unreasonable norms. He’d greeted me with a kiss on the cheek and a bulging envelope filled with USD, as something Taylor had drilled into me was that I always needed to get paid before the date began. He’d opened my doors, pulled out my chair, and asked me about myself. I’d played my role as upscale girlfriend perfectly, straddling the line between sexy and conservativein a long-sleeve dress with a plunging neckline. The dress belonged to Ivy. Where she’d let me keep the lingerie, she expected this particular piece of clothing back when I was done. My aim was for everyone at the restaurant to think I was a trophy wife, while he remained the only one excited for what might come next. He’d paid for the most expensive multi-course meal, which was delicious and added an extra three hours on the clock for my eventual paycheck.
The best part of the sex was that he’d left the television on. He’d flipped me to my back, and I’d looked over his shoulder to watch a rerun of an old comedy with the subtitles, making encouraging sounds and digging my fingernails into his back with theatrical pleasure at the right moments. I knew this episode. It was the one where the main characters locked themselves out of their apartment on Thanksgiving. I stifled a laugh when a character stumbled out of his apartment with a turkey on his head, which was my favorite brand of poorly written comedy. The man had felt my body clench and assumed I was close to climax.
Good.
The show had made me loosely aware that, though I’d eaten more than six hundred dollars in tiny foods, I was still hungry. Afterward, we lay in bed for another hour, playing the pillow-talking role of lovers. And then it was time to go. I’d been given an additional stipend to book myself a luxury room under my own name—somewhere safe where the client didn’t have access to me.
His hotel had been lovely. His suite was three times larger than the place I’d been renting in Colombia, with towels more expensive than any shirt I owned. Still, all I had to do was enjoy my dinner and watch TV.
Taylor had been right. This was the best.
I checked in with her afterward to let her know I was safe, and she scolded me for not turning on the GPS on my phone during my date. We were a network, she said, and the world wouldn’t understand us, so we had to have each other’s backs. If she was unavailable, then I should share mylocation with Ivy, Quinn, or one of the others in our line of work who she promised to introduce me to once I returned to the States.
This was so much better than disappointing lays with broke one-night stands. My overcorrection from an upbringing in purity culture meant that virtue had never meant much to me. If I wasn’t going to raise my standards, I should at least be getting something out of it.
I had one more comped night in Montevideo before I’d go back to Colombia, collect my meager earthly possessions, and quit my teaching job. They’d asked for thirty days’ notice, but I was ready to make good on what everyone already believed to be true about English teachers and live up to my transience, vanishing in the night. Once I stepped into the high-end life, I was unwilling to go back.
I’d left his hotel with more money in my purse than I’d seen in my entire life. I leaned my head against the window in the taxi and grinned at the night sky, buzzing with a euphoria that felt strangely like a cocktail of alcohol and MDMA, despite being stone-cold sober. I recognized the feeling while watching the buildings and trees bleed into a colorful swirl of paint behind the window. This was how it felt to not worry about money.
I’d propped my pillows up and sat in the dark but left my hair, my makeup, my dress exactly as they’d been. For the first time in my life, I wouldn’t live paycheck to paycheck. I’d never imagined what it might feel like to eliminate credit card debt, cover my rent, and still have money left over for food. Not only that, but I’d made a powerful connection with an elite new contact, had an extravagant meal, and gotten to watch one of my favorite comedies.
Answering his question, I reached to the bedside table and felt around until my fingers wrapped around the paper wad held together with a small rubber band. I procured four thousand dollars in cash.
“You’re welcome,” he said, that same smile playing on hisvoice. “You look beautiful, Love.”
“I’m sure you do, too,” I sighed.
I set the money down and slid backward, beckoning him to me. I closed my eyes and tilted up my chin, waiting for the hands I knew would come as he approached the bed. They started at my shoulders, running gently over my collarbones, up my neck, and into my hair. He planted a slow kiss on my throat, lingering on my jugular long enough that I could have sworn he was feeling the way he made my heart race.
I ran my hands over him, breathed him in, and was utterly overcome by his presence.
This had been why nothing else felt real.
The client, his suite, his money, it was as if it had happened outside of reality—like an unimportant dream quickly shaken from the mind. Because this touch, this kiss, the taste of his tongue on mine, this enveloping scent of gin, mist, and moss…this was real.
