This is my entry for the
2022 Hallowe'en challenge
, an intertwined tale of a growing Then and a glowing Now. With the exceptions of Le Crazy Horse and the ÃŽle du Levant, which are both real and indeed truly exceptional, the people and groups in this story are of course fictional and any resemblance to those in the real world is entirely coincidental. No, really!
Please enjoy.
+
Overture
"A Hallowe'en party? That sounds like fun! Thank you, Greg. I'd love to go."
I had a thought.
"Is there a theme for the costumes?" It seemed obvious that our costumes should be coordinated.
"I'll be wearing a tux."
"A tuxedo? What sort of costume is that?"
"One which will match your costume perfectly," he grinned.
He rose, went into his study. I could hear him at the wall safe. A minute later, he returned with a shallow box the length of his forearm. He sat down beside me, put it on my lap. It seemed quite old, the red leather covering it a crazed roadmap of fissures and cracks.
I looked at him, at the box, back to him. His hand swept over my hair, closed gently on my shoulder.
"Go ahead," he encouraged.
My hands fiddled with the catches, lifted the lid, then flew to my mouth. My eyes darted to his, down again.
"They were my grandmother's pearls," he said, "I think the Ball might be an appropriate time for them to be worn."
My fingertips slowly traced over hundreds of glistening spheres, trying to touch each one separately. I knew instantly that these were the real thing. Unlike the dull, sterile white beads in the stores I frequented, these almost had a life of their own. They seemed to purr as my fingers ran over them.
.
Sugar
I'd been 'with' Greg for three years now. Yes, ok, it'd started with a website-arranged sugar-baby, sugar-daddy relationship, but it'd grown from there. I thought so, anyway.
It had not been an easy decision for me. My marks had been good, but there'd been too much competition for the few scholarships in my field and it had become bitterly clear that the available McJobs were just not going to get me through to a degree. I wouldn't have starved; there'd been work, but nothing with hours that suited my class schedule and nothing paying enough in any case. And, without a family to help, I'd been on my own.
So, cut to the chase.
Lead-pipe Pragmatism left battered Pride groaning in an alley when I reluctantly opted to capitalize on a girl's last asset. Even after registering online, I still had very mixed feelings about it. For one thing, I knew a number of words for that sort of transaction and shrank from having any of them applied to me. I spent a long time looking at myself in the mirror.
Eventually, after much timid swiping left and right, I settled on one possibility, worked up my courage and thumbed the icon on the screen.
The website set up an initial meeting with him, a public spot, easy to get to and easy to escape from. It was like a blind date arraigned by a maiden aunt.
To my relief, Greg Finn proved polite, gracious and, indeed, charming. He kept his hands to himself and was almost as successful with his eyes.
And he looked even better in person than in his photos. In his 40s and quite tall, he had dark hair with just a bit of grey at his temples. He spoke well, dressed well and was 'in business'. After initial conversation over lunch at an open-air café, we spent an hour walking through the park, talking of this and that, of anything but the elephant in the room. I found his patience with my timidity encouraging; he found it amusing when I stepped off the path to kick my way through piles of fallen leaves.
I became confident enough to find his hand and take it in mine. He looked down at the touch of my hand and squeezed back, very gently. I found it comforting, but was glad he didn't press me for a straight-out answer when our time was up. He kissed my hand, like in a movie, then put me into a cab and handed the cabbie a bill. I could see him watching me as the cab drew away.
What? Well, of course I checked him out when I got home. Wouldn't you?
It turned out that the man even had his own Wikipedia page, not that it said much about him personally. Birthplace, early education, degrees in, worked for, invested in, promoted to, acquired this, merged that, appointed to the Board of, organized charitable, controlling interest in...
Everything I could find on him on the Net related to business; the personal firewall surrounding him lacked only barbed wire, landmines and snarling dogs to make it complete. There was no mention of a criminal record or personal lawsuits and that was comforting. He'd married twelve years before, but I could find no mention of a divorce or, come to think of it, any mention whatever of the woman within the past five years. A tabloid had run a photo of Greg and two supermodels on a yacht in the Adriatic, but that had been four years ago. He'd been seen at some charitable events, had had entered a thoroughbred in some high-stakes races, had been interviewed by a couple of prime-time economic commentators. It all seemed distant, remote and none of it brought me any closer to who Greg Finn really was.
I had to admit that he'd been gracious and personable and he had certainly intrigued me. In any case, my bank balance was never far from my mind; it was evaporating with the same rapidity as my hopes of seeing my commencement ceremony.
We met again a few days later at a small Italian café. The atmosphere was relaxed and so was our conversation. When we went for our walk, I whispered that one word he wanted to hear. He smiled, pulled an envelope out of his jacket and handed it to me. He surprised me by hanging onto it as my hand began to pull it away.
"Think on this, Leah," he said. "Don't rush."
Having said that, his fingers fell away, leaving me staring down at the envelope.
I found his consideration warming, but I wasn't sure what was next (well,
next
next, if you know what I mean) and hesitated before looking up. He surprised me again by kissing my forehead lightly, just once, then turning and blending into the fast-moving crowd on the sidewalk.
Inside the envelope was five hundred dollars cash. I stared at it, more money than I'd had in my hands in much too long. Wrapped around it were two sheets of paper with, well, I guess you'd call it a contract. Maybe a list of expectations? I would spend three nights a week with him and three weeks each year traveling with him to his choice of destination at his expense. At least one concert or major social event a month, selected by mutual agreement. An allowance for personal care, clothing and such, specifically including clothing and accessories suitable for formal and semi-formal events. Tuition, books, computer and phone, student fees, etc, etc. Rent and utilities. Spending money.
My jaw dropped a little. I'm not sure what I had expected, but it was hardly this. A week ago, I was wondering how far I could stretch half a dozen oranges and carton of pasta. Now, it was like I'd suddenly emerged from a dark cave into spring sunshine.
Except...
Except...
I was hardly a virgin and certainly wasn't proud of some of my choices in past, but this situation was on an utterly different plane of reality.
I thought about it. A lot. Then some more.
Inevitably, I invited him to my place for dinner. I cleaned the apartment three times, then used his money to buy one good New York strip, organic veggies to roast, a bottle of reputable red wine and some decent coffee beans. The rest of his money I put back into the envelope, licked its flap and sealed it.
+
His eyes examined me over the rim of his coffee cup. I'd avoided discussing the obvious while eating. He'd been too polite to raise it himself, but he was clearly wondering what I had to say.
"This is very good, Leah," he smiled. "Thank you."
I took a deep breath, fumbled for my courage.
"You bought it, Greg," I said. With that, I pushed the envelope across the table. "Here's your change."
"Change?" he said, then realized what change I must be speaking of and what that implied. His face fell somewhat.
"Ah. Well, I'm sorry that that's your decision, Leah." Hands on the edge of my table, he started to rise.
"Wait. I haven't turned you down, Greg, but I haven't said Yes, either. And in the meantime, I don't take money from a man..."
It was my turn to pause. I wasn't entirely sure how to finish that.
He sank back into his chair. His eyebrows rose.
"'Ah' again," he smiled. "I see. Well, I think I see."
His smile turned into a roguish grin. "I suspect this is where she says, 'We need to talk!'."
My lips dry, I tried to chuckle. "I suppose."
So, we did. It was weird in one sense, as unemotional as discussing a wallpapering contract with a painter, yet I was certainly aware how high the stakes were for me.
So, sex. Well, of course sex, but nothing terribly kink - I asked. I would keep my own apartment; he would get a key and I think that worried me more than the thought of actual sex.
We discussed money, snoring, the requirement to maintain my grades at school, faithfulness, dress, visits, medical tests and contraception, hairstyles, grooming, diets, tastes. I found the discussion almost surreal, but stuck with it.
The conversation didn't end; it just gradually wound down, leaving the two of us staring at each other, all talked out.
Sitting there, thinking, I was still not ready to actually commit myself. His eyes lingered on mine. I found him handsome and was pretty sure he was honest and such, would treat me well, but I wasn't even a little bit turned on.
That wasn't really necessary, of course.
I looked out the window, took another deep breath.
Moment of truth, Leah. Close the deal or tell him you've changed your mind.
"Um, OK then," I whispered.
I stood, reached for the top button of my blouse, unfastened it. My fingers slid down to the second button, opened it, moved to the third. For some reason, my fingers were shaking a little and I couldn't raise my eyes above his knees.
"Stop." His voice was soft, but it wasn't a request.
'Stop'? Maybe he wants to unwrap his new toy himself?
He stepped towards me. His hand eased mine away from my blouse before gently lifting my chin to make me look at him.
"I want you to think about this, Leah." His voice was as caring, as gentle, as respectful as I could have ever dreamed of. I knew then that he viewed me as a person, not just a convenience for his libido.
"You might eventually come to despise me for this, Leah, and while I suppose I could live with that, I won't risk you despising yourself, too."
