"I will confess that talking with you doesn't suck sweaty monkey balls."
"Sweaty monkey balls? That's… creative. And gross. I'd hoped I'd rate at least as high as clean man balls."
For the next hour we bantered back and forth, not talking about anything, really, but sharing something nonetheless. I felt alone and a little empty when we finally hung up the phone, and I wondered not for the first time what I was doing having this relationship with one man who thought I was two women. Guilt tore at me for what this might do to him, and to me, when the truth came out, because I finally realized that somehow, someday, the truth would come out. It couldn't be avoided at the rate I was going.
When the phone rang again, I didn't want to answer, but I had a shopping trip tomorrow with Bridgette and would need the money to cover rent. My recent check would barely replace all my clothes and schoolbooks.
So I took the call and didn't balk when Donna told me this client wanted something a little different.
"This is Cat, how may I pleasure you tonight?"
"Hi, sweetheart. What are you wearing right now?"
I went through one of my scripts. The black lace and satin with stilettos one, and waited for him to give me an indication of what he wanted, which didn't take long.
"You're a single mom in desperate need of a job," he said. "And I've hired you and given you and your daughter a place to live at my house, where I work from home. You answer my calls, take down information, write letters, that kind of thing. Make sense?"
"Yeah, baby, I can do that for. Whatever you need. How do you want me dressed for work?"
"You're wearing a short skirt with no panties and a button down white blouse with no bra."
I worked with his fantasy, doing everything I thought would turn him on within the world he'd created. But then… things turned strange. He said I'd messed up an important letter and needed to be punished. When he undid his belt, lifted my skirt and bent me over the table, he wanted me to scream. Like, actually scream. I hid in my closet in the guest room, hoping no one would hear as I acted out this torture.
But it didn't stop there. After he forced himself on me in a rape scenario, he asked me to get my daughter. When I brought her in, he started touching her, and told me to torture her, or he would, and worse. Bile rose in my throat, and I couldn't breathe. I was about to hang up when I heard someone in the background. Someone banging on wood and a little girl'svoice saying, "Daddy, please let me out now. Can I come out?" She was crying, and so was I.
I hung up, nearly hyperventilating, and called my handler at The Pleasure Palace and told her what happened. She sounded horrified and vowed to call the police and give them any information they had on the guy.
I ended the call, but couldn't stop shaking. I ran a hot bath and soaked in it until the water was cold and my fingers pruned. I couldn't stop thinking about what that man had wanted me to do. Couldn't stop wondering what kind of monster got aroused by such violence.
That night my nightmares turned darker, and when I woke up I vowed to quit my job once and for all, even if that meant dropping out of law school.
Chapter Fourteen
Ethical Conundrum
BRIDGETTE HAD SPENT the night at her new boyfriend's house (someone I hadn't even met yet), and was going to have him drop her off at the mall later that day so we could shop. So I borrowed her car to run errands in the morning. I hadn't heard back from The Pleasure Palace, so I didn't know if anything had come of the creep last night. I also hadn't told them I was quitting. The thought scared me. The thought of losing it all, of not being at Harvard, not being at law school. What career could I pursue with my current degrees? I couldn't teach at the University level. I could go into law enforcement. I was aptly qualified and would just have to go through the academy. It was something to consider.
First I needed to talk to Professor Cavin and get his advice. Bridgette was the only person I'd told about my new job, and while I was loathe to involve someone I admired so much, I needed someone else to know, someone I trusted to give me guidance.
Cavin sat behind his desk, white bushy hair a mess as he bent over another esoteric and outof—print book on law. "Thanks for meeting me over winter break," I said by way of greeting.
"I had to come in anyway to catch up on some lesson plans. I heard about the break-in at your apartment. Are you okay?" His blue eyes pierced through me, demanding the truth.
"No, not really. My parents' killer is back and I'm scared. The police are as incompetent as ever and I don't know what to do. To top it off, I'm in a sticky ethical dilemma that I need your help with."
He raised a thick eyebrow. "I'll do what I can."
I stood to close his office door, then sat in the seat in front of his desk. "There's a very real possibility I won't be coming back next year. Maybe not even next semester."