“So you’re Guinevere Fitzgerald.” It’s a statement, her tone showing her knowledge of me isn’t tied to the article I’m writing about August Laurent, but because of my connection to the world in which she normally resides during the summer months.
“Sonia…,” I breathe, momentarily dumbstruck. Her dark hair falls to her mid-back, barely a strand out of place. She wears a fitted, thigh-length black shift dress, her skin olive-toned and tanned. From what I know of her, she’s around my age, but has a sophistication that makes her seem older, even if she doesn’t look it. “I mean, Ms. Moreno.” I reach my hand toward her and she takes it, her hold delicate. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”
“You, as well.” A hint of her Spanish accent comes through. “Please…” She gestures to the chair across from her, indicating for me to sit down.
“Is there anything else you need, Ms. Moreno?” Margaret asks.
“We’re okay for now.”
“Very well. Call if anything comes up.”
“Certainly.” Sonia offers the woman a smile as she turns from us, then focuses her attention back on me. “Tea?” She raises the teapot.
“That would be lovely.”
Lovely? I don’t even sound like myself. I’ve never called something lovely, apart from a brief period during high school when I became obsessed with all things related to British literature. I refused to speak in anything but a British accent, which I’m sure sounded horrendous when coupled with my subtle Midwestern tone.
Sonia pours a bit of tea into a small cup, then places it on a china saucer with a floral design, handing it to me.
“I have to say,” she begins as she leans back in her chair, bringing her tea to her lips, “I was quite surprised to learn August had agreed to an interview, considering how private he is.”
“I’ve assured him I’ll protect his anonymity, along with everyone else I speak with. This isn’t a sensational story meant to reveal who the mysterious August Laurent is. It’s simply a piece about the man, what makes him tick, why he does what he does…” I hesitate before adding, “Why women feel compelled to use his services.”
“Well, now that I see you and realize who you are, it makes sense.”
Her statement catches me off-guard. “Who I am?”
“Of course.”
I shake my head, placing my cup back onto the table in front of me. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“You are dating Julian Gage, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” Normally, I probably would have thought it odd that a complete stranger…a celebrity, no less…would be familiar with my personal life. But there’s been nothing private about that this summer, not with all the photos of Julian and me that have graced the pages of the gossip websites.
She squints, studying me, as if attempting to put a puzzle together. Then her expression brightens. “Well, that must be why August agreed. He probably saw you with him and figured if anyone would understand, it would be someone who’s been thrust into the lifestyle.”
“And why is that important?” I lower my voice. “Are many of his clients from this…lifestyle?”
“You mean famous?”
“Yes.”
“Some are. Some are ordinary housewives.”
“And they can afford his fee?”
“What fee?”
“His fee…” My words lack the conviction I wish they had. I want to kick myself for never asking him about this. I assumed he charged. It never even crossed my mind he didn’t. My curiosity only grows. Why would he do this if he wasn’t getting paid?
“He doesn’t ask for a single dime in return for his services.”
My jaw becomes slack as I swallow hard. “He doesn’t?”
“Not anymore. Yes, August Laurent was, at one time, a bona fide escort, but several years ago, it turned into something more. It’s no longer about the money. It’s about something bigger.”
That’s all it takes for me to become enthralled with this story, my mind spinning from this small piece of information, something I could have learned if I’d known to ask.
“Do you mind if I record this?” I swiftly remove my phone from my purse. “Your identity will never be revealed and the recordings never published. I just don’t want to miss anything or get something wrong.”
“August mentioned I’d get approval before publication?”
“Absolutely.” I retrieve a document the legal team gave me and push it across the table toward her. “Everything’s stated in there. Essentially, I’ll never disclose anything to anyone without your approval. Anything published in the article will be done in a way to ensure no one can connect you to this story. And you’ll get approval rights. If we publish anything you disagree with, you can sue the magazine for everything it’s worth.”
She scans the papers, her eyes glossing over the legalese before she returns her attention to me. “Okay. You can record this.”
“Thank you.” I open the voice recorder app on my phone and place it on the table. I pull out my notepad to take notes of our conversation, as well. I scratch the date on the top of a fresh piece of paper, then look up at Sonia. “How did you meet August Laurent?”
She smiles, contemplating. “I think a better question might be how I met my husband.”
“Your husband?”
“Yes. Had I never met Ethan Price…or, as the world knows him, Ethan Ludlow…I never would have needed August Laurent.”
“Okay.” A chill trickles down my spine. “How did you meet your husband?”
“It’s your typical Hollywood romance. I was an actress trying to catch my big break. And Ethan was a big shot producer who could make those dreams happen. We met at a cliché party in the Hollywood Hills. The guest list included a mixture of nobodies dying to be somebodies, and somebodies who wanted to take advantage of those nobodies. I just didn’t realize that then.”
“Is that what happened? Did Ethan take advantage of you?”
“Not at first, no.” She looks into the distance, as if recalling happier times. “He was sweet, exactly as I thought he’d be from the characters he played on the sitcom when he was a young boy. Back then, he had a reputation in Hollywood as being down-to-earth and compassionate, someone who would bend over backwards to help those he cared about. And he cared about me, a girl who left a small town in Texas to chase her dreams in Hollywood. He made those dreams come true.
“Those first few years, I was so wrapped up in everything that I missed the little signs. I made excuses, saying he was just under stress, or I shouldn’t have been so friendly to one of his associates, or I should’ve worn a less revealing dress. I was only twenty-one when we met. He was forty-five. I figured the tension could have just been due to the age difference. Regardless, with his name attached to mine, I started getting calls for auditions. And not just crap, two-bit parts like before. These were real roles, ones that eventually made me a household name.”
Instead of smiling, as one would think when telling the story of how she finally achieved everything she could have imagined, her expression falls, her lips forming a tight line as her chin trembles.
“What happened?”
“About five years ago, I was in romantic comedy where I played opposite Matthew McConaughey. It was one of the biggest hits of the year. Made millions. Before then, I was known as Ethan Ludlow’s girlfriend. After that, I was simply Sonia Moreno. Worse…” Her voice becomes strained through the obvious lump in her throat. “He became known as Sonia Moreno’s boyfriend.”
“I take it he didn’t like the blow to his ego.”