You Get What You Paid For Ch 04

I can't pretend like I feel like everything is okay. I get the sense that something is off, from Adam's strange quietness to his unceremonious disappearance. It didn't sit right with me. So the first thing I do is text him: "Hey, how much do I owe you for last night?" I hesitate before adding his name after the "Hey" to make it seem more personal or lighthearted or... something. Then, I hit send.

As soon as I hit send, though, the hope that my text will initiate some sort of dialogue is quickly dashed. He doesn't have his phone. Unless he happens to find it, I can't expect an answer. Where did he even lose it anyway? Did he leave it at that creep's house along with his keys and wallet? And where did he go anyway? Can he expect to get into his apartment? Is that where he's even going? Fuck, I'm stressed. I hate leaving things unresolved, and the fact that I have no way of contacting him is amplifying my anxiety.

Then I remember: his email. He logged into his email on my computer last night to show me a clip of him and his jazz band and never logged out. I scramble to grab my laptop and am somewhat relieved to find that he's still logged in.

I bite my lip. This is clearly his personal email and not his work email. It's incredibly tempting to invade his privacy, but I resist. I just hit "compose" and draft up something quickly: "Hey Adam, it's Teddy. You left your email logged-in on my laptop, so I'm sending this message with the hope that you'll get back to me. Just want to make sure everything's okay. If you need any money or anything, please let me know." I debate whether or not to sign off with "Love, Ted", but in the end, I forgo an official signature altogether, just tagging my email address at the end of the message. I send the email to himself so that next time he logs in he'll see it. Then, to avoid all temptation, I log out of his email and shut my laptop - not before I rewatch the video of his band he downloaded onto my computer. I let his vibrant music blare through my speakers, and I smile when Adam's solo comes up. If I thought escorting was his element before, clearly I was dead wrong. He was meant to play the sax. He's the type of musician that feels every single note he's playing, every flourish, and he's having a damn fun time doing it.

After watching the video a couple times, I shut the laptop and sigh. Then, Maxi jumps up on the bed and meows at me, probably with a mix of disdain and a need for attention. I smile at her a little, beckoning her closer so I can pet her. She emerged now that Adam is gone. She's incredibly skittish and wary of other people, so I scratch behind her ears in apology. "Now we wait, Maxi," I say as she purrs from my touch. "Now we wait."

~ ~ ~

Six days go by without a response. I even check his escorting profile to see when he was last online, and it turns out he hasn't logged in since a few hours prior to me seeing him. What the hell is he doing if he's not working? Is he okay? It drives me insane. I can't focus at work. I can't sit idly at home. I keep cancelling plans with Jackson because I know all I'll be thinking about is Adam and the fact that there's nothing I can do. I don't know where he is, or where he lives. I can't track him down without going full private investigator on his ass.

Then, as I'm boiling water at work for my Cup of Ramen, I get a text from an unsaved number. I squint, ready to pass it off as a telemarketer or some weird scam until I notice the context, and my heart races as I open the message: "Hey Ted, sorry I didn't get back to you sooner, but I'm okay, no need to worry".

I read the message maybe a dozen times and still don't know what to make of it. Even though he didn't explicitly say it was him, I know it's Adam. Who else would be sending me this message? It warms my heart to finally get a response, but at the same time, the text sounds so distant to me. It's like he sent it not to start dialogue but to get his message across as quickly and concisely as possible. No details. No crazy, upbeat retelling of his adventures in presumably getting a new phone, possibly new keys, maybe even a new set of credit cards. Nothing. And what about his ribs? He says he's okay, probably in a general sense, but what does that actually mean?

So I respond: "Are you sure? Do you need anything?" I want to offer my help in any way I can. But again, I'm left in the dark. Adam doesn't respond.

~ ~ ~

"Don't reach out to him again."

I sigh. I knew Clark was going to say that, but a tiny part of me hoped he would switch it up this time. "But what if he needs me?"

"Teddy," Clark says with a warning tone. Even through the phone, his voice cuts right to my core.

"I know," I say bitterly.

"Every time you mention this guy, I get this sinking feeling in my chest."

"He's not a bad guy," I tell Clark. "I promise. You'd like him if you met him."

"Is that ever going to happen?" he questions.

I bite my lip. "I don't know," I say softly into the receiver.

I hear Clark let out a deep sigh. "Where are you right now? Out of work yet?"

"Just waiting to pick up some food," I say. I've been standing in line for a few minutes now, waiting to pick up my order.

"Don't tell me it's pizza."

I wince slightly, eyeing the slices behind the glass. But I didn't come here for a couple slices. I bought a whole pie. "Um... No?" I say unconvincingly.

"Teddy-"

"All I wanna do right now is eat an entire pizza and not think about anything. Sue me," I tell him, loudly enough for the girl standing nearby to smile.

"You should come visit," he says. "Take off work tomorrow. Take your mind off this boy."

"You know he's my age, right?" I say, smiling at his choice of calling a twenty-seven-year-old a boy.

"You're still a boy too," he says.

I laugh before sighing. "I can't," I say. As much as I'd love to visit Clark and his family on Long Island and just relax for a solid thirty-six hours, I have too much work to do tomorrow. Promotions don't come easy, and my lack of focus is already making things difficult. "I want to, though."

"I know, Cub," Clark says softly, making me smile.

"I miss you."

He laughs. "I miss you too."

"When do you come back again?" He's been in Long Island for a little over a week now, and I think the separation is making dealing with this Adam ordeal much harder. I didn't want to bother him on his family trip with my emotional nonsense, but when he called me up on my walk home, he eventually brought up Jackson. That's when I spilled everything. I told him about Adam being injured and showing up at my apartment, us having spontaneous sex that I still haven't paid for, Adam's disappearance and near-total lack of communication, my worries, my regrets... I laid it all out there without once mentioning Jackson's name.

"The weekend," he says. "Think you can hold up 'til then?"

"I'll try," I say with a slight laugh.

"Good boy," he says, chuckling to himself. "I'll let you go. Don't eat that whole pizza, you hear me?"

"No promises," I mutter before smiling and telling him I love him. Then we hang up.

I only have to wait a minute for my pizza to be ready, and after I pay, I head straight towards my apartment. Weirdly enough, the most excitement I've had all week is over this Sicilian pizza. My mouth is salivating the entire walk to my building, my stomach growling in anticipation. It's been a long, long, long fucking day, and I look forward to collapsing on the couch with a slice in each hand. I plan on stripping down and putting on a stupid horror movie, or some corny rom-com - anything to distract me from my thoughts. Maybe Maxi will cuddle with me, but it seems even she's been a little moody lately.

On my way into my building, I grab my mail from my mailbox and just place the four or five letters on top of the pizza box so that I can carry it all upstairs. However, the top piece of mail catches my attention. It doesn't look official by any means. In fact, it looks personal. It's an envelope with my name and address handwritten on the front of it, with no return address in the upper left corner. I look at it curiously, suspiciously.

I open it right then and there, one hand propping up the pizza. When I finally tear open the envelope, the minimal contents surprise me. All there is inside is a piece of paper. A check, it looks like. And when I pull the check from the envelope, my eyes go wide: $3,200, made out to none other than me. Who the hell is sending me this much money?

I look at the upper left corner to see only one thing I recognize: the name "Adam." I don't know Adam's last name, and the address is not even in New York, so it could be anyone. But I don't know any other Adams. I can only stare in confusion. What the fuck is going on? Why did Adam send me three grand?

As I wait for the elevator to come back down to the first floor, I pull out my phone and dial the unsaved number Adam had texted me from. "Pick up," I mutter, listening to it ring once, then twice, then three times.

I start to get nervous as I enter the elevator and make my way up to my floor, but finally, Adam answers. "Hello?" he asks. It's undeniably his voice, and I feel this weird mix of relief and rage.

"What is this?" I say, staring at the check I placed on top of the rest of my mail.

"Teddy?" he asks. "Is that you?"

"Yes, it's me," I say.

"What are you-?"

"What is this, Adam?"

"I- What is what?"

I roll my eyes at myself. He can't see what I'm looking at. "Someone sent me a check for over three grand."

"Oh."

"It's you, right? 'Adam Sullivan'?"

"So it got to you okay?" he says, sounding strange. "That's good."

"Why are you sending me so much money?"

"It's all the money I owe you for our sessions," he says after a pause.

"Owe-? Huh?"

"I don't think it's exact," he starts to explain, "because I'm pretty bad at keeping an accurate ledger, but I did the best I-"

"I don't understand," I interrupt.

"Understand what?"

"Why you're giving me my money back!" I say. "Is that what's happening?"

"I don't want it," he says.

The elevator opens, but I find myself frozen in place, not wanting to distract myself with movement. He doesn't want my money all of a sudden? "Why not?"

"Because it's yours."

"Are you kidding?" I ask him. "I paid you. It's your money."

"It's not right for me to take it," he says softly.

"How is- Huh? I'm so confu-"

"Just take the money, Teddy," he says firmly.

Now I'm mad. "Just take the money? You disappear for an entire week, leaving me worried as all fuck about you, and you won't even tell me why you're giving me all this fucking money back?" I feel fired up, red and heated. I don't appreciate his distance, or his vague use of words, or this lack of clarity. "What the fuck is going on?"

There's a long pause before he speaks again. "Can I see you tonight?" he asks suddenly, his tone completely switching from awkward to sure of himself.

I blink. Now he wants to see me? "Um. I guess..." I say slowly, totally caught off guard and completely uncertain as to what he wants.

"Can you come over?"

"To your place?" I ask, surprised.

"Yes."

"I... Um..." I'm about to be a stuttering mess. This is just surprise after surprise. "Now?"

"If you're free," he says. "We can talk it over."

I gulp, glancing at the check. "It's not this Connecticut address, is it?"

"No, no," he says. "My apartment. I'll text you the address."

"Uh..." I hadn't expected to see him. I'd hoped for an explanation, sure, but this is more than I had anticipated.

"Can you come?"

I cover the receiver as I let out a long, deep exhale before saying "Yes."

~ ~ ~

I thought Adam would have a snazzier apartment because of his high-end taste in clothing, so I'm surprised by the fact that he lives in a brownstone deep in the heart of Harlem. It doesn't look like much on the outside. In fact, it looks like nothing. But walking up the decrepit steps to the fourth floor and passing by vibrant murals and older, friendly tenants who are lounging on the staircases listening to blues reminds me of words Adam used to describe jazz: unexpected, imperfectly perfect, the embodiment of life. I get that sense just from the building, and the few residents I say hello to.

When I get to Adam's door, it's already partially open. I poke my head in and call out his name. "Adam?"

I peek around briefly, my eye drawn to large posters of what look to be famous jazz musicians hung up on his wall before I hear someone moving around. I half-step into the apartment and crane my neck around the door to see Adam in the kitchen, dressed in plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt - the most casual I've ever seen him. His hair looks less tidy than it usually does, but overall, he looks good. Very good. I hate that my chest swells up at the sight of him, because part of me just wants to be angry.

As he adds what look to be chia seeds to a blender, I clear my throat. He turns his head towards the noise and then smiles. "Ted! You came!"

I can't help but smile as I step inside. "Of course I came," I say, shutting the door. I'm surprised when he walks over and gives me a hug, but it's over before I know it.

"Find it okay?"

"Yeah," I say as I look at him. He looks much better. The bruises are fading, and there's a faint scar on his nose, but the other cuts seem to have healed nicely.

"Cool. Well, get comfortable. You can leave your shoes there," he says, pointing to a mat by the door where his own boots are. "You want a smoothie? I'm about to whip one up."

I shake my head. "I'm okay," I tell him, mostly focused on him. He seems... normal. It's like we're seeing each other for another session. He's his typical self, as if he's forgotten how distant he's been or how I had yelled at him over the phone earlier. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe there was nothing going on. But I can't ignore that irritated, frustrated feeling. Can he really be so offhand about this? Something's missing.

Once I kick my shoes off, Adam starts the blender, so I just decide to take a quick peek around his living space. He's somehow made the mildly-run-down nature of his apartment seem charming and cozy. It's a mid-sized studio space with a rustic vibe, kept clean and orderly. And there's evidence of his love for music everywhere: frames of musicians are hung up on the brick walls, his saxophone lies on its side on the couch, and scores of sheet music are scattered across his coffee table. If I was meeting Adam for the first time, I would have never guessed he was a full-time escort. I would have immediately guessed "aspiring musician."

"So I see you got into your place," I say.

"What's that?" Adam asks, shutting the blender off and starting to pour his drink.

"You got back into your apartment."

"Oh, yeah!" he says. "The landlady here was pretty cool about it, got me a spare key."

"That's good," I say, mad that he didn't tell me. "What about your phone and stuff?"

"Got it all back."

"Really?" I ask, surprised, watching him rinse out the blender in the sink. "I thought... because you texted me from a new number-"

"That's my actual number," he explains. "The old number was my work number. I try not to mix the two, ya know?"

"Right." So why not just text me from the number I recognize him from? But I'm more curious about how he got his phone and wallet and keys back. "So how'd you manage to get your stuff back?"

He turns and smiles at me slightly. "I, uh... went back," he says, grabbing his drink.

"You... went back?"

"Yeah," he says. "Waited a while for him to leave and then broke into his apartment."

"Adam-"

"I know, I know, it was illegal and dangerous and I shouldn't have done that, but I did," he says, coming into the living room.

I was also going to mention the cops, but that's more or less the gist of what I was going to say. "At least you're okay," I tell him, taking a seat on the couch when he moves his saxophone to the floor and sits down. I make sure to keep a fair bit of distance between us, though. "I was worried about you." I want to also ask him if it would have killed him to let me know sooner, but I hold my tongue.

He peers at me from over the top of his glass before sighing. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left like that."

Okay. Now we're getting somewhere. Now I know that he's aware of what he did and how he left. "Why did you?" I ask. "I know you just... went through something, but I was... well, I was pretty fucking pissed. And scared."

He flinches slightly. "It wasn't my intention," he says. "I just didn't know what to say."

"Say? About what?" I ask, confused. "And what's with this?" His "refund" comes to mind suddenly, and I dig into my back pocket and pull out the folded up check he mailed me.

He looks resolved at the sight of that little rectangular piece of paper. "Please keep it, Teddy."

"Why the hell are you even giving it back?" I ask him. "Why'd you invite me over here?"

He opens his mouth but then pauses, clearly rethinking what he's about to say. Then he leans forward, puts his drink down on the coffee table, and gives me his full attention. "I didn't think you'd be so worried."

"You didn't think-?"

"I know, it was stupid of me," he says quickly, "but honestly, it didn't even cross my mind until you mentioned it, what, an hour ago?" I frown slightly, which seems to make him smile. "Don't gimme that look," he says with a slightly playful tone.

"I'm sorry, but I'm still kind of mad at you," I say irritably.

"I know you are," he says gently.

"You only knew 'an hour ago'," I add in a mocking tone, and then I take a breath, not wanting to be mean. "I mean, you were all banged up, and I took care of you, and then you just... disappeared." I stare at him hard so that he can see the stress he put me through. "I just thought we were... I don't know... closer than that." Maybe that's not how I meant to phrase it. All I'm thinking about is how he once told me that I could always reach out to him, or how we've hung out even "after-hours", or how casual these transactions have always been. Maybe I'm just delusional.

But Adam surprises me by responding in a validating way. "We are," he says. "That's why I..." He trails off for a moment, moving his hands around as he searches for the right words. Then he sighs. "I'll start from the beginning."

"Okay."

He takes a breath. "I knew I liked you from the get-go," he says, and I'm unable to discern what he means by that. "I think we hit it off pretty well, don't you?"

When I see him waiting for me to respond, I just say "I guess."

"I mean, you're the kind of guy that makes my job enjoyable. Pretty sure I've told you this," he says, "but it bears repeating. I always looked forward to our time together."

Our time together? Not "sessions"?

"And I know after one of our first, y'know, outings, I said it would have been cool if we could have been friends outside of the whole escorting thing. But I really did start to think of you as a friend, Teddy."

That makes me smile ever so slightly. He did? I guess I believe him. I remember that night. He seemed to make it clear that, under different circumstances, we could have had a solid friendship, and yet, we only seemed to become more "friendly" after that conversation. He opened up to me more about himself - his real life, not the escorting-persona.

"I don't know if I've told you this, but I don't have too many friends."

"Really?" That sentiment surprises me.

"Not around here, anyway," he says. "I have buddies I play music with, but all my real friends are back home in Connecticut. I only moved here for work. And you and I, we vibe so well that it was so easy to, like, get close to you."

He pauses for a moment, running his fingers through his hair. Why do I feel like he's about to say something drastic?