Swim Butterfly Ch 11

Pieces of Hundreds

I walk with my arm laced around Jimmy's, along the residential street, still quiet pre-rush hour. Who will recognize me? I ponder the pavement as I walk over it--who ever noticed me, anyway?

I look up. God paints the sky blue. A pigeon flutters out of our way. A scrap of paper sails in an eddy of wind. I look at faces--not uptight, critical people, but swashes of beige, brown, pale tan, dark brown; smiles, frowns, millions of miles away.

Seems one moment I'm in his apartment, the next in the park, although my feet tell me otherwise. Jimmy, my tour guide, squeezes my hand as he ushers me to the hill. I sway my hand toward a bench nearby,

"Your bench, good sir."

"And your tree, m'lady," he replies in his deep, velvety voice. He steers me over the hill to the scrappy pine. "Poor tree's been waiting five months for us," he chuckles, laying the blanket on the ground by the tree.

"I don't think the tree cares. You're projecting yourself on it," I laugh, helping Jimmy straighten out the blanket.

"I remember that goofy towel you had," Jimmy says, picking a lump out from underneath the blanket.

I stop and look at him.

He remembers that towel?

"It was the best I could do at the time," I mumble.

"And now you're doing much better."

He sits down and leans against the tree, then motions for me to sit between his legs. I sit down and carefully lean back, nestling into his warm chest. I take a moment to gaze out upon the whole of Central Park, then roll my head to one side against his shoulder.

"So, Mr. Jimmy, what would you like to talk about?"

"

Mr.

Jimmy? What's that all about?"

"Well, using your last name sounds so formal, so I have to use your first name. By the way, is Jimmy your real name?"

"Mm...maybe."

I fidget with my wedding ring. "Do you have a, uh, business name?"

"Mm...maybe."

I sit up and turn so I can look him straight in the eyes. "Okay, so let's talk about your work. Remember the letter?"

He nods.

I take a deep breath. "You're a prostitute, right?"

His arms tense around me. "Escort. I prefer escort."

I look at him for a moment longer. He remains silent, but raises his brow.

"Jimmy, I don't care what you do for work. I like you, regardless. I mean, we can keep talking about this if you want, but your profession doesn't bother me. Only that you stay safe and don't give me anything I don't want. It doesn't change how I feel about you."

"Good," he murmurs in my ear, and tightens his arms around me again. "People react in funny ways to what I do, and the ones who don't react are usually funny people, and I don't mean humorous. I mean weird. It's hard to find someone, except my clients, of course, with their head screwed on who doesn't act like I'm totally deviant, or plague-ridden." He releases me and sits back, then playfully pokes my shoulder. "Why

doesn't

it bother you?"

I rub the spot on my shoulder. "Because you were doing it before I met you, so who am I to say anything about what you do for work? Part of it's appreciation. I mean, you've done things for me no other dolt I screwed could do. I don't think you get that good without lots of practice and exposure to different women. No pun intended. But, uh, so how long have you been doing this, anyways?"

"About fifteen years."

"Really? That's longer than Pete and I have been married." I sigh. A breeze plays with the tall purple asters at the foot of a sycamore tree.

"How long can you keep doing this?" I ask.

"I don't know. I feel like not much longer. Some guys can go into their forties, but your client pool dwindles, and there are other considerations. Some women want the really young stuff, and a few prefer an older man, but usually you want to consider a change around the mid-thirties, unless you can develop a niche market, something different."

"Oh." I remember how hanging out in a park years ago led to my 'career' change. I can't imagine having to start over. I shift downwards, so I can lie with my head under his chin, my fingers playing with the folds in his shirt. "So, how'd you get started?"

"Uh...," he giggles, resting his chin on my head.

"Hey, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to talk about it anymore, like I said."

I feel his chest rise, "I

do

want to talk about it. I want you to know. It's just that my start was a little embarrassing, maybe a little wrong."

"Oh, just spit it out!"

"You sure?" he asks.

"Yes!"

He laughs, "Okay, okay. My start was also my first time. With my best friend's mom."

I sit up and twist to look Jimmy in the eye, "What?"

"You wanted to know." Jimmy smiles, then presses me to lie against him again. "I was nineteen, and sort of a geek, so no girl wanted to get with me. It was horrible. Anyways, one day I was at my friend's house waiting for him to come home from work. So, I'm hangin' out in the kitchen with his mother. She was widowed, so anyways, while I'm there, my buddy calls and says he made a mistake with his work schedules and

hey, Mami,

tell Jimbo I'm not going to be home for a few more hours. So, all right, I told Mrs. Otero I better be going, and she says, 'Oh no, you're here now, why don't you stay a while and keep me company?', so I said okay and expect her to break out the milk and cookies. Nope. She says, 'How about a little wine?', so I said sure. I mean, hey, a woman offers me alcohol and attention, and I didn't wanna' be rude, and I figured she must be lonely, so I'm not going to say no. So, we had a glass of wine, maybe two, I don't really remember. So, she's chatting on about this and that, smiling a lot, and she kept touching on my arm, and finally she says, 'Come upstairs,' so I did. I didn't know what to say. I mean I wanted to, but I was still a virgin and I was afraid we'd get caught, but she didn't seem to care, so she hauled me upstairs, and it just went from there."

"Did this friend of yours ever find out?"

"I don't know. I lost touch with him years ago. I'd be afraid if he knew. He'd probably punch me, at best."

"Or maybe it was a set-up." I suggest.

Jimmy laughs, "I don't know, but I don't think so."

"What was this friend's name?"

"Juan. Juan Otero."

"Oh." I shut up, watching a blonde woman jog by, led by the shiny, fluid copper coat of an Irish Setter on a leash jogging ahead of her.

"So, how did your experience with Mrs. Robinson lead to what you do now?" I continue.

"Mrs....? Oh, very funny, I get it. Anyways, yeah, she was pretty pleased with me. I fooled around with her some more, and when I started college, and she said to me, 'You're going to need money,' so she recommended me to a few acquaintances that wanted sex without strings, and it just went from there."

"What did you study in college?" I ask.

Jimmy takes a deep breath. "I wanted to study literature, either English or Russian, but my family said to choose something practical and play in my free time, so I went for hotel management. I dropped out after a couple of years. Ironically, I have a relative from Russia teaching somewhere in New England, a visiting professor or something. He teaches Russian and Russian lit."

"Hm, maybe you can hit him up for a couple courses. Anyway, so you never had a girlfriend in high school?"

"No, not really. I mean, I had a couple of sorta-friendships and crushes that never went anywhere. I was sort of weird-looking, I guess." I feel him shudder, then laugh, "I still am! But I was just plain skinny then, too. I spent my time reading, watching people, dreaming about women. I never felt compelled to really hang out with a crowd or anything--not intimate enough."

"Nothing wrong with that. You spent your young years developing your personality, not a following."

"Nope, followings fall away, and replacing friends is lonelier than just being alone." Jimmy says.

"You must be getting tired of being alone, though?"

"Yes," he mumbles, like he's tired.

My heart skips a beat. I feel like a frost grows over me while watching pieces of hundreds of lives lay out before us in the park--children playing chase, teens smoking weed among the rocks, a horse-drawn carriage clopping away. I feel like quitting this conversation now, but I still have so many questions.

"So, are most of your clients older women?"

"Yes."

"Do you actually like older women?" I ask.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"They're forgiving. They have more to say. They're not looking for relationship bullshit and they know what they want. They have money. I guess my first experience having been with an older woman paved the way."

I feel a twinge in my temple. I lean deeper into Jimmy, "So, if you were to look for a relationship, would you still want an older woman?"

He brushes my ear with his fingertips. "Maybe..."

***

Our conversation turns from Jimmy's life to details of mine--the kids, school, the suburbs. The shadows from the trees before us grow longer, and when the shadows touch my toes, it's time to go.

Jimmy speaks close to my ear, "I guess we'll let serendipity arrange our next meeting."

"Yeah, shit. I guess." I sigh, slumping against him, "I wish it were as easy as penciling in a girlfriend for lunch."

"Well, call me Jane and pencil me in. In fact, let me ride back to Philly with you. We can play it cool."

My heart beats a little faster, "Really? Uh, ok." Seen at the station with Jimmy.

Why can't I just have two men?

It would be so much easier than sneaking around.

We sit for a few more minutes, the rest of the world working its hurried self by. The cooling air mingles with the toasted scent of late summer leaves and Jimmy's sweet, spicy cologne. Eventually, after a deep sigh, we disengage and help each other up. I stand aside, holding my pocketbook. Jimmy shakes out the blanket and picks off the grass. He folds and drapes it over his right arm, smiles, and offers me his left arm like a gentleman.

"I guess you're not busy tonight?" I ask as we stroll across the crest of the hill towards 7th Avenue.

"No. I kept it clear."

"Were you planning on riding the train with me?"

"I left it in the air." Looking hard at me, tightening his arm, he says, "I was hoping you could stay the night."

I feel a stab in the heart. Looking at the ground, I reply, "I'm not ready to pull that stunt yet. You know I would if I could, but I'm playing with fire already. And I'm not a very good liar."

Jimmy stops, turning me to face him, "Do you want to see me again?"

"Yes! Why do you even ask?"

Jimmy laughs and squeezes my arm with his right hand. "Just checking. I wanted to see where I stand with you. Am I pressing your buttons?"

"Yes, but the right ones, anyways. And that's okay, as long as I can undo yours."

Smarmy.

"Nice one," he gives me a quick kiss on the side of the head, and we stroll towards the neon lights of Times Square, electric against the fading sky.