A 21st Century Courtesan by Eden Bradley Read Free Book Online Page B

sip of my drink. “In the Valley.”
    He smiles at me. “A real California girl.”
    “I suppose. Although my childhood wasn't beach parties and surfing. In the Valley we rode bikes, skateboards, roller-skated. But there were a few kids in the neighborhood who had pools. My girlfriends and I used to slather ourselves in suntan lotion, close our eyes and breathe in that coconut scent, and pretend we were at the beach … Isn't that funny, how kids think?”
    In my mind I can see the sparkling blue of the water in the neighbor's pool, smell that scent of chlorine and wet cement, along with the suntan lotion.
    “That doesn't sound like a bad life, even if you weren't at the beach.”
    “No. It doesn't sound like a bad life.”
    Suddenly I remember being about twelve, coming home from one of those pool parties to find my mother passed out on the sofa, her dropped cigarette burning a hole in the cushion. I remember standing there and staring, watching the hole smolder, grow. The sharp odor of burning fabric, smoke filling the room. I remember how utterly sick I felt. Even worse that when I poured a whole pitcher of water on the fire to put it out, she never woke up. And she never said anything about it, as though that hole wasn't there. She just flipped the cushion over.
    I look away, tightening my fingers around the stem of my glass.
    “Are you okay?” he asks.
    I turn back to him. “You're a very nice man, Joshua. You really are, you know.”
    He reaches out and takes my hand, and the heat is there, enveloping me, my hand, my entire body. And I can't seem to sort it all out—the heat of him, my response, the strange thoughts going through my mind. Thoughts about how lovelyit would be to do this, to date this wonderful man. To have a normal life.
    There is nothing normal about your life.
    No, there's not.
    I want to pull my hand back. I start to, but he hangs on to it.
    “Am I doing something wrong, Valentine?” he asks me, his voice low.
    “What? No. Of course not. I'm just… out of practice.”
    “I find that hard to believe.”
    “I haven't dated in quite a while.”
    “I haven't, either.”
    “It sounds as though you work an awful lot,” I say, trying to change the subject. My hand is burning in his.
    “I do, but that's not it. To be honest, I broke up with a woman a while ago, and I've been hiding away ever since.”
    “Ah. You were in love with her.”
    “That's the sad part. I'm not sure I ever was.”
    I look up at him. His eyes are shadowed, unreadable. He pours another glass of sake and drinks. “Anyway, it was what it was. I needed to be on my own for a while. Needed to figure a few things out.”
    “And have you?”
    “I like to think so. I'm more clear on what I want.” He's smiling at me again. Such a dazzling smile, those strong, white teeth.
    I know what I want. I want to kiss him.
Need
to kiss him.
    I haven't kissed a man on the mouth in years. We don't do that, we working girls.
    I don't want to think about that now. All I want to think about is
him.
I want to continue with this little charade, pretending to myself that I can have him.
    “And what about you?” he asks. “You said you haven't been dating. Is there a reason why?”
    I pause, bite my lip. What can I possibly say? And why do I want to tell him the truth, all of it? It's not about being self-destructive. I just want to. But of course that's impossible.
    “Not that it's any of my business,” he continues. “I know that. But I'm curious. You're welcome to tell me to go to hell, if you like.”
    One corner of his mouth is cocked in a small, crooked grin, and it is irresistible. He is irresistible.
    “I just… Dating is not a successful venture for me. It never has been.” I shrug my shoulders, feel them loosen up. “I can't seem to get it. All the rules, the posturing. I wish the whole dating thing was more honest. I don't understand why people feel they have to lie to each other.”
    Isn't that what you're doing