Chapter 20
TWO MONTHS LATER
Sylvia
Sylvia stared at the note her roommate left tacked to the refrigerator one early Monday morning. Posey had already gone to her classes, but Sylvia had arrived home from yet another riveting shift at Decades. With her wallet stuffed full of dollar bills and her hips sore from an untimely fall on her stage, Sylvia attempted to parse the words in front of her.
“Your rent is going up a hundred bucks in three months.”
An extra hundred bucks a month? Fucking joy.
Sylvia didn’t want to even think about it right now. She dragged her ass upstairs to her room and collapsed, morning sunlight already in her window. She had gone to the 24-hour grocery store near Decades to get some food for the next couple of weeks – the last paycheck, plus tips, had been good to her. What wasn’t good was getting off work at five in the morning, getting groceries, and then standing around waiting for the bus that would take her to her other bus connection. By the time she got home, it was already seven-thirty in the morning.
“A girl needs her beauty sleep,” she mumbled. Sylvia could have also done with some sex. Well, maybe not right this instance. I’m too tired for sex.
But would it be too much to ask for a good man to cuddle up with?
Halfway up the stairs, Sylvia thought of Joseph, the man she had no chance to ever spend the night with. And now he had straight up disappeared.
Last she saw him was the night of the botched investigation. Sylvia had handed over her bugged ring and received an escort to a hotel, which was her home for almost a week while a security detail ensured nobody on Sheen’s payroll tried to get to her. It soon became apparent that, even though he was willing to cause her harm in the damned moment, Sheen was not going to waste his resources or thoughts on her. Why would he? She was nothing to him. A woman he was going to have sex with and then forget. Someone he could conveniently use to find out that there was an undercover operation against him. Why would Alexander Sheen want anything to actually do with Sylvia Rogers once they parted ways?
Still, it was kind of Genevieve Stone to anticipate the potential need of protecting Sylvia. She was only surprised that Joseph wasn’t attached to her as part of his “punishment.” Because being assigned to protect your lover for a week is really a punishment.
Apparently, however, they were no longer lovers. Or at least Sylvia never heard from him again. No calls. No notes. No showing up at her place of work. No explanation.
Sylvia attempted to shrug it off. Oh, look. Another man who was starting to make her feel things and then ripped them away! Whatever. She would get over it, like she managed to walk away from Maxwell Carlisle after he was exposed for being the philandering ass-crack he was.
But it hurt. God, did it hurt.
Sylvia fell asleep that early morning thinking of Joseph, which turned into dreams of the man entering her bed and making her feel things she didn’t think she was capable of feeling any longer. Not just passion and desire.
Love.
No, no, I don’t love that man. It was a fling. A three-day fling that began with him kicking her out of his bed and ended with him not bothering to follow up with her.
The crazy thing? Sylvia had more than a few opportunities to go back to (real) escorting. Two conventions came through Portland that provided real chances to hook up with a guy bleeding money and courting itches. Sylvia had done it plenty of times before. Go down to the convention hall. Sneak my way in. Mingle and dazzle them. Or wait for them in the hotel bar when they’re toasted and looking for love for the night. She had seen some of the attendees in the papers. CEOs. Patriarchs. Heirs. Politicians. Someone would have paid for her meals for a month, and she wouldn’t have needed to do much to secure that.
But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. At first she thought it was fear that she would see Sheen – or worse, Maxwell – there. Then, as the days turned into weeks, Sylvia realized that her real problem was hating sex.
Okay, so she didn’t hate sex. But she hated the idea of sex with any man but Joseph. They had just gotten started! He was opening up to her, and she was coming around to the idea of making love to him – not just have sex! I want to know what it feels like to spend the night with him. I want to sleep in his arms. Would he make her breakfast, or would that fall to her? Fuck it. They’d go get brunch because neither could be assed to cook. I want an omelet. I want to see how many pancakes he can eat in one sitting.
Sylvia curled up in her bed, pulling the covers over her face to block out the sunlight. No, she was alone. She couldn’t have any of those things. Whatever. She would get over it.
She had to.
That was how the world worked. Men fancied her. They pursued her. They demanded her services, became addicted to her, led her on to bigger and better relationships, and then dumped her when they realized they no longer had a use for her. That’s what Maxwell did. The bastard even offered to marry her above his other women – as long he got to keep his harem! That sounded like a life of hell.
Sebastian hired her because he needed someone to fill the role of his girlfriend in Xavier Crow’s circle. They had sex. Frequently. He treated her to things, frequently. But it was always with the tenuous understanding that this was temporary. There was no love. It was all about Sebastian elevating his status in the hopes of making so much money he could really get any woman he wanted. Not that Sylvia wanted him after a while. Her wounds from Maxwell were still too strong to allow her to love anyone, but Sebastian was a cold-hearted frump in bed. Sex was mere motions with that man. What he wanted. When he wanted. No love for her.
Joseph was the first man to start making her believe in decency again.
He had seemed like such an empathetic, caring man beneath the walls he built to protect himself. He’s like me. Angelica and Stella… they broke his heart. Angelica the most, with Stella as the rebound in Crow’s circle. Sounded so familiar to Sylvia that she wanted to throw up.
She didn’t sleep for long. Monday was one of her only days off, so it was a prime day to get as much sleep as possible. It’s not happening today. Her head was too full of bullshit. She would get up, shower, get dressed, and walk around the neighborhood in the hopes that her head would finally clear.
September was an odd month anywhere in the country, but particularly in Portland. One day it was fifty degrees, overcast, and rainy. Felt like a damned winter day, and Sylvia hadn’t dressed accordingly. The next day? Ninety and humid. Today was a strange mix in between. It was foggy and frosty in the morning, but by noon, most of the locals had stripped down to T-shirts and searched for shade wherever possible. The outdoor tables at pubs and restaurants were crowded with diners. Dogs on leashes flopped over, tails wagging and tongues lapping at water bowls set out for them. Buskers lined the street corners, singing Bob Dylan covers on their acoustic guitars. Bagpipes sounded from the front end of 21st Street. Kids still obsessed with the Pokémon Go craze huddled in groups. Sylvia had half a mind to join them, even though she didn’t know the difference between a Pikachu and a Pidgey.
“Whatever happened to that lady who used to sing on the corner over there?” Sylvia overhead that as she stuffed her face with gelato. “She used to be there every day, right?”
“Maybe she moved. Or maybe she finally went back to school.”
“I heard something about her going to Thailand?”
Sylvia had to get up and start walking home after that. Maybe take a nap… and hope she didn’t dream of Alexander Sheen.
People are still being kidnapped, huh? Sylvia knew the girl everyone was talking about. Some nineteen-year-old with light blond hair who often sang church classics with a bright, airy voice. Her guitar case was always full of more dollar bills than Sylvia’s G-string after a night at Decades. For her to suddenly disappear? That seemed strange. I really hope she was not rerouted through Mexico on her way to Thailand.
She checked to make sure Sam Jean was still in her spot behind the bushes. Sure enough, there she was, eating beans out of a can and talking to no one in particular. Benson the cat lay on the sidewalk nearby, swishing his tail and waiting for Sylvia to pay some attention to him.
She couldn’t. There was something else distracting her.
Someone else.
No, it wasn’t Joseph. It wasn’t anyone related to Alexander Sheen. It wasn’t even the jogger who had somehow ended up in a scuffle with Agent Cindy Kline, who, Sylvia last checked at the hospital, was still in a coma.
Nope. It was a blast from her past. From another life.
***
Grace was one of Sylvia’s old coworkers at the Château. She was my best friend in that place. They were closest in age, had similar backgrounds, and Grace was the only one who didn’t treat Sylvia like a child because she was into Gatsby Parties and had maybe learned the Charleston a little too quickly. While Grace wasn’t into any of that, she did listen to Sylvia’s problems, and she was the first one to offer a shoulder to cry on after Maxwell.
Now here she was in Portland. On Sylvia’s doorstep, no less.
“There you are!” Grace, dressed in jeans and a baggy white blouse, leaped down the front steps and tackled Sylvia with a hug. “I’ve been looking for you all day! Do you know how hard it was to find you?”
Sylvia was too stunned to speak for a few moments. What the fuck was Grace doing here? Had she stopped working at the Château as well? She had an even better client list than Sylvia did there, and Grace never harbored dreams of marrying one of her richest patrons. Not when most of them were married anyway.
“What are you doing here? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to Portland?”
“Because I wanted to surprise you!” That big smile was almost relieving. Felt so damn weird having a friend in her midst. “Well? Are you surprised?”
“I’m still not sure this is even happening. Again, why are you in Portland?”
“I’m taking some vacation time to see my parents in Vancouver. I decided to drop by here and see if I could find you. Was almost afraid you didn’t live in Portland anymore.”
“Don’t you know? Once you can no longer afford to live here, you’re stuck here.”
Grace’s smile faltered. “Come again?”
“Do you have some time? I’ll tell you all about it.”
Even though Sylvia had consumed enough gelato to give her diabetes, she and Grace walked back to 23rd Street and sat down at one of the only outdoor restaurants with any seating left. It helped that it was now the off-lunch hour. My naptime. Sylvia fought back a yawn as she ordered a salad and some white wine to go with it. Grace was delighted to see strangely named foods that held all the comforts of home.
Sylvia let Grace do most of the talking for the first half hour. First of all, did Sylvia know that her old madam had married and given birth? “She’s actually bringing the baby to work! Can you believe it? Who does that except her?”
“I can imagine it. How is everyone else? Anyone else quit since I did?”
“No, although we finally hired your replacement. Nobody likes her.”
“Of course they don’t. I’m irreplaceable.”
Grace took Sylvia’s hand on the table. “Damn straight. The only other thing to mention is that Judith – you remember Judith, right?”
“How could I forget? She’s the biggest ho of hos.” Sylvia was far from the biggest moneymaker there. That title went to a blonde named Judith. “What did she do? Knocked up?”
“No. She’s in a serious relationship. Stopped taking on new clients.”
“Wow. Really?” Her getting knocked up would make more sense. The thought of someone like the Queen of Courtesans falling in love was about as likely as Sylvia being happy as Princess of Courtesans for the rest of her life. Something had to give at some point. “That makes noooo sense.”
“If I told you she’s in love with two guys? And they’re in a ménage?”
“All right. That makes a lot more sense.”
“What about you?” Grace finally asked. “How’s life out here? Got a man? Or are you … um, working? Do you even still do that work?”
Sylvia rolled pieces of chicken breast around her salad. Soon she was stabbing cherry tomatoes and seeing if she could cut them in half in one motion. (She couldn’t.) “Yeah. I still work when I can get it. Otherwise I strip and do some really boring civilian work.”
“Whatever you gotta do, right?”
“I hear that Madam Clementine is opening a new branch of her escort agency in LA. Was thinking about going down and applying for that.”
Grace did her best to not frown. Her best, however, was not enough. “Madam Clementine isn’t bad. Chelsea used to work for her.” Chelsea was another girl from Sylvia’s former life.
“Yeah. Lots of people have. It would be guaranteed work and good money. But, you know, her client base isn’t always the best.”
“No, she cares more about money than the quality of clients. That’s the nice thing about the Château. I don’t have to worry as much about assholes.”
“If you say no, you will die.” Alexander Sheen wouldn’t have lasted three minutes in the Château. Sylvia’s former madam had a sixth sense for sociopaths who only wanted to hurt women. They were not welcomed there. Too bad she couldn’t anticipate what Maxwell was like. That fell entirely on Sylvia.
“You meet any good guys here?”
Sylvia was really into her wine. She was licking drops from an empty glass now.
“Come on, girl. Spill. I want to hear the drama.”
“There’s really only been one guy of note since I moved here. But it’s not working.”
“Oh?”
Here they went.
Sylvia hadn’t wanted to bring up Joseph, but she realized something – she really, really needed to talk about him to someone. Grace was the closest thing she had to a best friend, and at most they talked on the phone about once a month. Otherwise, Sylvia was a lone wolf who eschewed companionship so she wouldn’t get hurt. Her need to have friends went by the wayside after good ol’ Maxwell. Plus, people in Portland were weird. And not the good kind of weird. Sylvia hadn’t been able to make any friends, whether at work or in her neighborhood. Unless people like Sam Jean or Chess Master Carl counted. They probably didn’t. Not on the level Sylvia needed the most.
Slowly, she opened up about Joseph. None of the details about the investigation, of course, but enough to give Grace an idea that there was a down-to-earth man of means who cared more about justice than how much money was in his bank account. Oh, and he was Latin. And good in bed. Because that was important.
“Got a picture?”
Sylvia was loathe to do it, but she ran a search for Joseph Montoya on Google and came up with public record photos – and a few of him in a suit at balls and galas. Most of those were either with the Montoya clan or with his mother.
“Holy shit, that man is fine!” Grace wasn’t easily impressed when it came to a man’s looks. She was good at making men feel like the hottest in the world, but her real opinions came out as soon as they left her room. So for her to call Joseph fine? That was a great compliment. “I want a Latin boyfriend. The last one I had loved it when I called him Papi.”
“I’m sure he did.” Sylvia took her phone back and returned it to the search page. One quick thumb-scroll down revealed another set of gala photos.
These were not with his family. They were with another woman. A beautiful woman who glowed around Sylvia’s ex-lover.
That has to be Angelica. Long, jet black hair parted down the middle framed the woman’s smiling face. She wore an evening gown of deep sapphire blue, her hand clutching Joseph’s as they posed for a press photograph. They both looked resigned to it, even though they forced smiles. The most telling thing was how Joseph’s hand rested on her hip. More tender than it was outright possessive.
Yeah. That was Angelica. Sylvia didn’t need to read the caption to know that. This photo is only a year old. It must have been right before Angelica broke up with Joseph so she could go marry some other man. Had she met him yet? Had she known what she was going to do to his heart? Was having a baby really more important than being with a man like Joseph Montoya?
And why the fuck was Sylvia dwelling on it?
“You fell for him, huh?”
“I wouldn’t say that. We fooled around for a hot minute.”
“Apparently it was really hot.”
“Yeah. It was.”
Grace’s shoulders sagged. “Sorry to hear that. Why did you two break it off?”
“He stopped contacting me one day.”
“You two have a falling out?”
“Not really. I guess. I dunno.” How the hell would Sylvia explain what happened? Could she do that? Put it into words?
Definitely not succinct words.
“You never followed up with him? He piss you off that badly?”
“He didn’t actually piss me off. Though I kinda am now.”
“Well, if you ever run into that guy again, you better get it. Men like that don’t pop up very often. As you, um, know.”
“Thanks for the reminder.”
Grace didn’t have long to stay in Portland. As soon as their meal was over, she said her goodbyes and headed to the transit center to pick up the commuter bus back to Vancouver.
Sylvia went back home, where Posey was in the middle of a study group with some of her classmates. Sylvia, unfortunately, interrupted them, garnering a “Would you leave us alone?” from Posey. No use in even acknowledging her. Sylvia kept her head down and went straight upstairs, where she collapsed on her bed and didn’t feel any better than she had earlier that day.