CHAPTER THIRTY
Daisy
“Hi, I’m here to see Mr. Echo,” I said to the doorman. He frowned at me, pompous and silly with a twirly moustache and pill box hat.
“Name?” he barked.
“Daisy Smith,” I said quietly, looking down. I didn’t have any fight in me anymore, my capitulation to Tristan had been so complete, so overwhelming, that I was a limp rag now. I’d let Mr. Marks use me like a fuck doll and loved every moment of it.
But today, I was in the foyer of Harvey Echo’s building. Our acquaintance had been random, our paths crossing during an open party he’d thrown in his penthouse.
“Come on!” some girls from school had giggled. “It’ll be fun, there’ll be so many hot people.”
And my curiosity was piqued because Harvey Echo is notorious as the founder of PrettyGirl magazine, a skin mag famed for its no-holds-barred poses. In the pages, women are giving it up every which way, the camera revealing glistening flesh, creamy spills, and sultry smiles all around. So yeah, we were expecting strippers, hos prancing around in platform heels, shaking their booties.
But the party was curiously tame. Not that there weren’t plenty of hot women, just that no one was in a hooker get-up. Instead, we all cuddled together in a screening room to watch a movie and munch on popcorn, dozens of women in tiny cocktail dresses with old Harvey in a robe.
And the geezer took a shine to me. After the movie ended, he came over to meet our little gaggle of girls, shaking our hands like an old-fashioned gentleman.
“And you are?” he asked courteously.
“Daisy Smith,” I responded, shooting him a wide smile, tossing a lock of hair over my shoulder. And believe it or not, we started talking about public interest law of all things. Turns out Mr. Echo got a law degree decades ago although he never used it, instead choosing to found the PrettyGirl empire. But he kept up with the bar, did some professional reading on occasion and was totally familiar with Legal Aid.
“Which division do you volunteer with?” he asked, taking a whiff from an old-fashioned pipe.
“Consumer debt,” I replied, biting my lip. It was already amazing that I was in Mr. Echo’s penthouse, much less having a conversation with the seventy year-old porn legend himself. “I mostly help old folks manage their finances. Sometimes they’re in big trouble.”
And Mr. Echo threw his head back, laughing heartily then.
“Maybe you could help me one of these days,” he said drolly, pulling at his greying beard. “I’m a member of the AARP, just turned seventy-two last May. You got any tips for me?”
And I blushed.
“Mr. Echo, you’re the head of an empire, you don’t need my help. The folks I work with, they’re in really bad financial shape, like really, really bad.”
And in front of the other girls, he took my hand and kissed it with a flourish, wizened lips dry against my skin.
“You let me know if I can assist in any way,” he said expansively. “The world has been good to me and I can afford to give back,” he added with a wink.
And I’d be a dunce if I didn’t follow up with Mr. Echo, he was a magnate with deep pockets and powerful connections. The man would be able to contribute to Legal Aid in some way, if only through a donation.
So we kept in touch, chatting once in a while, and over the course of a year he’s become a mentor of sorts. I know, it’s crazy right? Daisy Smith, college freshman, and Harvey Echo, legendary porn producer, best buddies. Except that it wasn’t so weird because we have a similar outlook on life that’s made for a real connection. And old dude’s never been a lech, he’s always been courteous, more like a father than anything. So yeah, I came to find Harvey when I was in the depths of despair.
“Come in,” gestured Mr. Echo. “Come in, come in.”
I tiptoed into the drawing room. Harvey lives in the penthouse apartment at the Time Warner Center and the room overlooked Central Park, its gracious lawns bordered by towering oaks, silvery statues gleaming in the afternoon light.
“Wow,” I whispered. I’d never get used to this view, it was so magnificent. But my heart was heavy and serious matters were in the air.
“Come my girl,” welcomed Harvey. “What brings you here today?”
“Well, I have something on my mind that I thought only you would understand,” I began slowly.
“Only me?” echoed Harvey, eyebrows raised. “My, my, sounds juicy, I can’t wait,” he said, rubbing his hands together.
And I launched into the story, slow at first but then picking up speed.
“And Tristan and I … we slept together,” I concluded, choking a little. “Are still sleeping together,” I amended.
Harvey said nothing at first, merely looking at me with appraising eyes, pale blue and cloudy with cataracts.
“Let me get this straight,” he paused for a moment. “You’re fucking Tristan Marks, head of Marks Holdings, who also happens to be your guardian?”
And I nodded miserably.
“Not exactly my guardian anymore,” I hesitated. “I aged out once I turned eighteen, but it’s wrong still because my mom asked him to take care of me. Don’t you think it’s wrong?” I asked plaintively.
A loaded silence.
“I dunno,” Harvey shrugged noncommittally. “Sounds like you’re having a good time, doesn’t sound so wrong to me.”
I was outraged, cheeks flushing pink, mouth hanging open.
“But, but …” I stammered.
“Hey, I’m the Czar of Porn,” the old man stated drolly, stroking his grey beard. “If two people are having fun and both are legal, I’m all for it.”
“But, but …,” I sputtered. This would never do. I needed to present myself like a real attorney, to advocate for my point of view. “I realize there’s nothing illegal. But still, don’t you think this is fucked up? I mean, he only wants me back now because it’s gonna help his business,” I spat the words. “Because it’ll make him money.”
Harvey leaned back in his chaise lounge.
“You think money’s bad?” he asked neutrally.
“No, I don’t!” I protested. “But I hate the fact that Tristan’s only decided to come back because he sold off some assets, so he doesn’t need to act the family man anymore. It’s fucking fucked up!” I raged. “It’s not fair! Our relationship shouldn’t depend on business!”
And Harvey nodded his head, thinking for a moment.
“Baby what do you think I do for a living?” he said, leaning back once more, relaxed in those striped pajamas.
“You’re the publisher of PrettyGirl,” I huffed impatiently. “Everyone knows that. This is your company, you’ve been in charge for fifty years.”
“That’s right,” nodded the old man sagely. “And you came to one of my pajama parties, you’ve met my girlfriends, plural. You think business doesn’t mix with pleasure?”
“Well, of course it does,” I protested. “But you’re you! I mean, you’re Harvey Echo, everyone knows what you do. You’re a porn legend, you’ve been doing this for years! Tristan should know better.”
Harvey just shook his head, taking another puff of his pipe.
“You young’uns are all the same,” he said drolly. “All the same, believing everything you see.”
“What,” I fumed. “Is this penthouse just a lie? Your girlfriends are just a lie? The pajama parties filled with cute girls a mirage?”
Surprisingly, Harvey nodded.
“It’s an image,” he said smoothly. “I keep up an image, just like Tristan Marks, to help my business. You think a seventy-two year old geezer can keep up with three young blondes? You think I’m really doing girl after girl, night after night? Hell no, I’ve got arthritis, and frankly Mr. Happy just isn’t that interested anymore. So yeah, I mix business with pleasure.”
I stopped for a moment. So there was a mirage out there. Harvey had a public image that was totally different from his private.
“But you don’t let it impact your private life, do you?” I asked slowly. “Tell me you don’t, Harvey.”
The old man took a deep breath, eyes faraway before turning back to me.
“The fact is honey, it has,” he said brusquely. “This shit gets to you and I can’t maintain a normal relationship. Haven’t had one since I was thirty-five, so yeah, what you’re asking is a complicated question. You don’t want Tristan to be motivated by his business, but when you’ve grown a company for years, it becomes a part of you. You can no more separate the man from his baby than you could ask him to tear his own heart out.”
That frazzled me.
“But what do I do?” I asked in an urgent voice. “What do I do? He only wants me because it’s good for his business now.”
And there, Harvey interrupted.
“I dunno if it’s only good for his business,” he said wryly. “Sounds like there’s a lot more to this than business, a helluva lot more. So why don’t you ask him? Why don’t you get him to tell you what this is all about.”
And I flushed, remembering how Tristan had called me to his office. The big man had been trying to have a real conversation with me, to tell me what was in his heart, but I’d brushed it off with a light laugh, a wave of my hand, seducing him with my body instead. So I hung my head.
“Maybe I will,” I said in a low voice. “Maybe I will.”
And suddenly, my heart cracked open just a little, and I knew what I wanted. Despite my reservations, despite my mixed feelings, I did want to be with Tristan. The big man meant the world to me, he was my universe, my Daddy, and I had to have this conversation, however painful.
“Thanks Harvey,” I said with a kiss to the old man’s wizened cheek. “Thanks so much, you’ve opened my eyes.” And as I rushed to the door, stumbling on the way to the elevator, all I heard were the old man’s chuckles ringing in my ears.