up to you, but Isabel’s expecting your call.”
Exiting Liane’s building, I felt my hair wilting in the damp air. As I walked toward Madison, I checked my phone and discovered two impatient voicemails from Trish: “That guy from Philly? He just called from the St. Regis. Call, okay? He wants to see you!”
It’s unprofessional to keep hoping he’ll cancel again, but I don’t trust new customers under forty. Trish has only seen him once or twice. How does she know he lives in Philadelphia? What if he’s some married Wall Streeter? Maybe I’ve met his wife at one of Matt’s corporate barbeques. So many of these guys fudge their whereabouts, to protect their own house of cards, never realizing they might be endangering ours!
“Can you make it tomorrow at noon? I don’t have anyone else who’s your type, and he’s totally fixated on Asian!”
Yikes. If a customer’s counting on a girl to supply my type, it seems inconsiderate—downright rude—to ignore her pleas. Especially when I’m her only Exotic.
Wednesday morning, June 26, 2002
At six A.M., Matt got out of bed to meet one of his clients. My head started buzzing with the logistics of a kinky nooner in midtown involving three changes of costume. I couldn’t even pretend to sleep, so while he showered, I started the coffee.
I was standing in the kitchen, in PJs and bare feet, chopping an apple, when my husband appeared in the doorway wearing a towel around his waist. “Honey,” he protested. “I’m having breakfast with this guy at his hotel.”
He looks disarmingly heroic like that, but I forced myself to overlook his dewy biceps—and his slightly damp chest hair.
“When you’re meeting a client at this hour, you want to keep an eye on your glycemic index.” I handed him a vitamin pill and a small glass of pear juice. “Where’s he staying?”
“Peninsula.” He swallowed his juice. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” The Peninsula’s practically next door to the St. Regis. Should I be doing hotel calls at this point in my marriage? Trish has her own worries, but running into her husband at a Manhattan hotel isn’t one of them. Thank God it’s a breakfast meeting! I spooned some sheep’s milk yogurt into a bowl. “This’ll prevent your blood sugar from crashing.”
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