Page 13 of A Mistake of Identity
When his train arrived, Ellis staggered on, dropping into the first available seat with relief that quickly turned to regret. He jerked upright with a barely suppressed gasp, Gabriel’s thorough possession making itself known in ways that sent heat flooding his cheeks. Shifting uncomfortably, he tried to find a position that didn’t make him wince, eventually settling forperching on the edge of the seat. His body ached in ways that would make the next few days interesting, to say the least.
“Long night?” The sympathetic voice carried from down the train car. A petite brunette lounged against one of the poles, an expensive vape sending sweet-scented clouds around her perfectly styled hair. Her outfit walked the line between high-class escort and wealthy patron, every curve strategically displayed. The cat hours timing and her practiced stance marked her as the former, likely heading home or back to one of the Fourth Cat’s upscale establishments.
A classically handsome blonde man beside her, his designer clothes artfully disheveled in a way that spoke of expensive tastes, smacked her playfully on the hip. “Leave the kid alone, Lottie.” His green eyes sparkled with knowing amusement as they darted between Ellis’ careful posture and the visible marks on his throat.
“It’s a 25-minute ride back to the Fourth Cat, and he got on at Lafayette Park. I’m dying to know his story.” Lottie sashayed over, settling next to Ellis. “You got bruises, honey.” She pointed at her neck. “Here, use this. It’s the FDA-approved stuff, not that homeopathic arnica nonsense they sell to all the hippies. This stuff will actually make your bruises vanish. I swear it’s magic.” She pressed a half-empty bottle of ‘Smooth’ into his hands. The expensive cream was well-known in their circles—capable of clearing light bruises and cuts within hours, the darker ones within a day or two instead of the usual week.
Ellis thanked her softly, trying not to wince as he accepted the bottle.
“You should carry one around if you’re going to take on clients who mark you up like that.” Lottie took another drag from her vape, watching with professional assessment as he dabbed the cream around his throat. Her tone carried nojudgment, just the matter-of-fact concern of someone who’d been there.
“I don’t think I could afford to keep something like this in stock,” Ellis admitted, carefully recapping the bottle. Even a small container like this would eat up most of a night’s earnings. And with his clients, he’d probably go through them quickly.
“Keep it, honey. I have more. And...” her eyes flickered knowingly over his careful posture, “Looks like you might need it somewhere more delicate later. Our brothel keeps them supplied for us.”
“You work non-union?” The blonde man asked, gracefully sliding into the seat across from them. Even with his disheveled appearance, his clothes screamed money—the kind of quality Ellis could spot from years of undressing clients.
“Yeah,” Ellis confirmed. “Rough night.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Lottie asked, her voice carrying a gentleness sex workers often reserved for each other.
“Oh, come off it, Lottie. Not everyone wants to share their life story with you.” The man’s eyes rolled, but his tone held fondness.
“I’ll start.” She extended her hand with practiced elegance. “Charlotte Garten. Nashville transplant and failed country-music star.”
Ellis couldn’t help but smile as he shook her hand, noting the perfect French manicure that probably cost more than his weekly earnings.
“And I guess I’m Aric Duval.” The blonde offered his own hand. “Former high-school teacher turned prostitute.”
Ellis raised an eyebrow. “Former?”
“Well, I did both for a while.” Aric’s green eyes tracked the passing lights outside. “God knows the sex work paid more than teaching in the Third Cat. Had to get a Master’s degree to teach for the public schools in PDC. Worked at a non-union joint whilein college, but wouldn’t you know it? Turned out sex work paid nearly twice as much as teaching.” He settled back, his casual posture at odds with his designer clothes. “In my second year on the job, I was caught servicing the vice principal’s wife. Been doing this ever since.”
“I’m sorry,” Ellis said, not knowing what else to say.
“I’m not. Teaching paid pennies. I make six figures a year with sex work, and I don’t even have to pay for my housing.”
Lottie shifted closer, her expensive perfume a contrast to the vape’s sweetness. “As I said, washed-up country singer. Made the mistake every wannabe with a dream does and slept with a man who promised to make me a star. Turns out, he didn’t think I could be one. Left a decent bartending gig behind in Nashville and came to PDC looking for a new start. Not surprisingly, singing gigs, and even bartending jobs are a hard market to get into. Started doing the singing escort thing a few months into my stay here. That was eight years ago.”
“She got pretty popular,” Aric said, smiling at her fondly.
“Damn straight, I did.” Lottie returned his smile before turning her attention back to Ellis. “What about you, kid?”
Ellis took a deep breath, steeling himself. “Pretty typical PDC story, really. Mom and Dad died in the chemical plant fire fifteen years ago—”
“I heard about that, nasty stuff. The area is still condemned, isn’t it?” Aric asked, leaning forward in his seat.
Ellis nodded, the familiar ache of that loss dulled by time. “Yeah, most of the kids in my neighborhood ended up in foster care. Foster parents weren’t exactly clean—what with it being the Third Cat and all. The guy was a small-time member of some gang. Had me running drugs a few months after I got there. Ran away at twelve when I overheard him telling his buddies he was going to sell me to the gang. Been on the street ever since. Got the non-union gig a few years ago. Just trying to keep it.”
Aric’s expression darkened. “Did you finish high school?”
Ellis shook his head, fighting the familiar shame. “Never went. Self-taught. Easy enough to do with the libraries. The librarians always took pity on me. Bought me lunch more often than not. One taught me basic math when he realized I wasn’t in school.”
Lottie rested her delicate hand on his. “I’m sorry. That’s rough.”
Ellis shrugged, uncomfortable with the sympathy. “It’s not so bad. I survived. Made it this far.”
“So then, what has you looking so upset?” Lottie leaned in, her perfectly highlighted hair catching the fluorescent train lighting.
