“What are you doing?” I asked, hoping to have a normal conversation. I wanted the easygoing, barb-throwing, banter-loving girl to engage once more. The one who had no bones about calling me hateful names I knew were given out of love. It was a weird way to show affection, but it worked for us, and I wanted it back.
Gin sighed, inhaled, and then blew it out. Oh, no. No, no, no. I knew that sound, spent years hearing it over the phone.
“Are you smoking?” I yelled into the phone and sat up on the bed. “I can’t believe you! What the hell, Gin? You go almost eight months without so much as a puff, and now you’re back to it? Seriously?” My heart hurt for her, knowing that she was ruining eight months of effort in the blink of an eye.
“Relax, bitch!” she shot back. “It’s a fake ciggy. The e-cig. This one has nothing but mint crap with vapors in it to simulate the menthol cigarettes I loved smoking.”
I blew out my own frustrated breath. “But why are you even smoking it? Isn’t that like the act of smoking, a habit you’re trying to break? Doesn’t that the defeat the purpose?”
“Look, Mia, I’ve been through a fuck of a lot, okay? I wanted a goddamned cigarette. Instead, I bought this fake shit to help take the edge off. You’re not here. You don’t know what it’s like to be dealing with all this shit alone.”
That’s when the tone of the call took on a different slant. Anger and emotion bled through the phone as Ginelle continued.
“I hate my job. I hate my apartment. I fucking hate being in Vegas. Everything reminds me of him. I turn around and wonder if he’ll be there.” A sob tore from her chest, a sound I rarely heard come from my stoic, hard-as-nails friend. “Just the simple act of walking to my car, I’m worried I’m going to get taken again. I had to ask my manager, the scumbag of all scumbags, to walk me out, because I was convinced that fucker was going to be there. Do you have any idea what that’s like?” Her question was a shrill rhetorical statement.
No, no, I didn’t. And if I could, I’d trade places with her in a hot minute. The only positive was that she was letting it out, at least. Guilt, rage, and sadness ripped through me, tearing every emotion I had into little pieces. I wanted to hold her, tell her it would all be okay, but I had the same fears she did. Her being there in Vegas alone was not conducive to either of us fixing our problem. The good news was, I’d already talked to Wes about my concerns. He couldn’t believe what all had gone down during our time apart. That was when I did what I swore I’d never do. I asked my boyfriend for a favor. A career-type favor. Something I swore I’d never do with any of my clients. I’d already done it with Warren, but that was different. He owed me…huge. And he paid up. His debt to me had been cleaned when he scored the information no one else could get on Wes’s whereabouts.
Maneuvering my thoughts back to the present, I had asked Wes if he knew of any shows in LA that could use a dainty dancer or someone with Ginelle’s unique talents in the dance world. He’d made some calls and pulled a couple strings. In two weeks, if Gin wanted, she could actually take her career to another level.
“Hey, babe, calm down. Listen to me.”
Some fumbling noises, a few blows into what I assumed was a tissue, and then a deep sigh. “Okay, I’m sitting in bed now. Lay it on me.”
“I’ve got a proposition for you.”
She chuckled, and the noise was the most beautiful opera complete with succulent Italian spoken directly in my ears. “You gonna hook me up with Aunt Millie?” She half laughed, half snorted. It was an ongoing joke.
As much as Gin said she wanted to be an escort, she really wasn’t the type of woman who could stand quietly on the arm of a rich businessman and just look pretty. I’d been lucky with the type of people I’d been paired with, but the circumstances were unique. Those opportunities would not be available for another girl. Millie had already made that clear. It would be the standard go out with an old fogie or rich bastard who expected a little slap and tickle at the end of the night. Even though Gin talked a lot of shit, she wasn’t cut out for that life, regardless of the high pay.
“No, I’m not. This has nothing to do with the escort business.” I took a deep breath, gathering my bearings. “What would you say to moving to Malibu? Staying with Wes and me for a bit until you got your footing?” I started, and she cut me off.
“I would in a heartbeat, Mia, but that’s not going to solve the job problem. I’m not going to move there with the plan of someday scoring a job. That could take months, and you guys are just now back together. He’s got his own fucked up head shrinking shit to deal with, as do I. You really want to saddle yourselves up with another head case?”