Read Online Been There, Done That by Carol Snow - Free Book Online

halfway down her back. She could almost pass for a college student. Almost. Her neck looked old—well, too old for college, anyway—and her red high-heeled pumps looked like they had come from Payless, and none too recently. I tried to picture her with a backpack slung over her shoulder, but the image didn’t fit.
    “Do you go to Mercer?” I asked, wondering if she’d lie.
    She looked at me for a moment, then flicked her eyes back to Tim. “You didn’t tell me there would be two of you,” she said.
    Okay, I couldn’t pull up the backpack image, but without warning I pictured Tim and me and Chantal . . . “Eew!” I said. “I’m not, we’re not—”
    Tim stuck out his hand. “I’m Tim McAllister. And this is Kathy Hopkins. We spoke on the phone.”
    She eyed his hand. Ignored it. He let it drop. She hadn’t moved from the doorway, so we were stuck outside her ground-floor apartment. The balcony from the unit above provided some shade, but heat radiated from the parking lot behind us.
    “We’re not here for, um, the usual,” Tim said, with forced laughter. “We just wanted to talk. We’ll pay you for your time, of course.”
    She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Who said anything about money?”
    “Can we come in?” Tim asked.
    She hesitated, then stepped out of the way.
    It was a small studio, dark and narrow, simply furnished with a double bed, love seat and coffee table. At the far end was a kitchenette and a small stocked bar. No kitchen table, but I doubt she threw a lot of dinner parties. It looked like a room in a residential motel.
    “Do you live here?” I asked.
    “No,” she said. “It’s just a place for . . . meeting friends.”
    I nodded and held in everything I wanted to say about the restorative power of paint, matted art, candlesticks and some oversized throw pillows.
    “May we sit?” Tim asked. She shrugged with something that approached a nod, and he settled himself on the chocolate brown love seat. Dark colors were a practical choice, given how well they hide stains.
    “I’ll stand,” I said.
    “You want anything to drink?”
    “Diet Coke,” Tim said. Sure, he’d already had a beer. I could feel my nerves sizzling under my skin.
    “Do you have a chard—um, a glass of white wine would be nice, thanks.”
    She strolled over to the minifridge in her kitchenette. “There’s chardonnay and pinot grigio chilled,” she said. “I’ve got some sauvignon blanc, but you’d have to drink it warm or stick ice cubes in it.”
    “You know, I think I’ll try the pinot grigio,” I said, perking up. “It always tastes so good on a hot day.”
    “It does.” She smiled at me, holding my gaze for a moment, clearly perplexed by my presence.
    “So.” Tim cleared his throat. “How long have you been, uh, doing this?”
    “Doing what?” Her brown eyes were wide. She handed us our drinks (she’d poured herself a glass of wine, too) and settled onto the brown love seat, though none too close to Tim.
    “We saw your ad,” I said. “In the newspaper.” When she didn’t respond, I added, “We got the impression you went to Mercer. Do you?”
    She paused. “Does it matter?”
    “It does, actually,” Tim said.
    She sipped her wine. “I don’t go to Mercer,” she said, crossing her legs. Her face looked calm, but the red shoe on her upper foot jiggled relentlessly.
    Tim let out a disappointed sigh. “Well, do you know anyone who does go to Mercer? Prostitutes, I mean.”
    She uncrossed her legs and put both feet on the ground for balance. “What makes you think I know any prostitutes?” she asked evenly.
    Tim chuckled nervously. “Professional trade organization?”
    Chantal stood up. “I think you should go.”
    “Look,” Tim said. “I didn’t mean to offend you. Like I said, we’ll pay you for your time.”
    “I want you to go.” She was by the door now, opening it, and before we knew it, we were on the other side.
    I was ready to leave after that: