little store asking me to hook up with your distributor.”
Smart, I thought. I didn’t see the need to lie too much. I just wouldn’t volunteer my direct purpose for coming into his life. I spun out my tales about doing a little of everything—art assessment, courier, receptionist temping when I had to. To see how he’d react, I told him I had come back only weeks ago from Asia.
“Asia? What were you doing in Asia?”
“You’ll laugh.”
“No, I won’t. Okay, maybe I will, but it’ll be with you, all right?”
“I was doing a friend a favor,” I explained. “He wanted a black model for this photo shoot, and it’s not like they have many girls of my complexion out there. Plus I had to pose in some kinky stuff.”
He chuckled, and I punched him in the arm playfully.
“Laughing with you! Honest, laughing with you! You at least get well paid?”
“Mmm-hmmm. You don’t seem put off by the details.”
“But you didn’t tell me any details,” he said coyly. “If you describe what you were wearing, then maybe…”
“Uh-huh!” I laughed. “Forget it!”
I called him the next morning and suggested I swing out to the bookshop, but he told me no, could we make it the day after? He said something about year-end tax statements he had to do, which I didn’t understand because I was pretty sure we were past the month when Americans handle that sort of thing, but maybe it was different for businesses.
Okay, Teresa, now what? I debated the pros and cons of checking out the black BDSM scene in New York, but something told me that, as with vampires and those oh-so-sad white suburban Goths, nothing would happen until nightfall. I could at least do a recon by hitting a few of the fetish shops and seeing what were the hot places. I got ten business cards and met seven guys on the prowl. No, thanks.
The next day I didn’t wait for Oliver to phone but went straight out to Bindings. From the moment I walked in, I could feel the plunge in temperature. No smile of greeting, more like an apprehensive grimace. It was mid-afternoon, and there were a few customers browsing in Caribbean literature and two over in self-help.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Can you come out for lunch?” I asked. I saw he had somebody to help him today: skinny guy who looked about twenty, with round spectacles and long dreads.
“No, I’m going to be busy.”
“Dinner?”
“Can’t,” he snapped. “It’s a big city. I’m sure you can find someone else to play with.”
Oh, boy.
“You care to tell me what’s going on?”
“I’ve got customers.”
“I thought,” I said, lowering my voice, “that we hit it off and—”
“Whatever you’re looking for, I hope you found it,” he said as he moved a box of paperbacks from the counter to a table. “Because I am
not
going to let you sucker me anymore. Now please get the hell out of here before I call the cops and have you taken in on a trespassing charge!”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I demanded. “Where’s all this hostility coming from?”
“
Don’t
make a scene in my store.”
“Not trying to. Just tell me what this is all about, would you please?”
Exasperated, he hunted for his assistant among the shelves and called him over to mind the till. “I’ll be in the back,” he told him.
And he stalked off to what I could only assume was his office—expecting me to follow.
It was a small, tight room with more stacked boxes and what looked like a thoroughly out-of-date computer. The desk needed a cloth to remove the patina of dust.
“You must think I’m really stupid,” he complained as he shut the door.
“At the moment, I think you’re being a callous bastard. If you don’t like me or you’ve changed your mind, all it takes is a phone call. You don’t have to duck me or come up with this fanciful—”
“Drop the bullshit!” he snapped. “You’re not here because you’re interested in me, and you’re not here to sell me your
Smart, I thought. I didn’t see the need to lie too much. I just wouldn’t volunteer my direct purpose for coming into his life. I spun out my tales about doing a little of everything—art assessment, courier, receptionist temping when I had to. To see how he’d react, I told him I had come back only weeks ago from Asia.
“Asia? What were you doing in Asia?”
“You’ll laugh.”
“No, I won’t. Okay, maybe I will, but it’ll be with you, all right?”
“I was doing a friend a favor,” I explained. “He wanted a black model for this photo shoot, and it’s not like they have many girls of my complexion out there. Plus I had to pose in some kinky stuff.”
He chuckled, and I punched him in the arm playfully.
“Laughing with you! Honest, laughing with you! You at least get well paid?”
“Mmm-hmmm. You don’t seem put off by the details.”
“But you didn’t tell me any details,” he said coyly. “If you describe what you were wearing, then maybe…”
“Uh-huh!” I laughed. “Forget it!”
I called him the next morning and suggested I swing out to the bookshop, but he told me no, could we make it the day after? He said something about year-end tax statements he had to do, which I didn’t understand because I was pretty sure we were past the month when Americans handle that sort of thing, but maybe it was different for businesses.
Okay, Teresa, now what? I debated the pros and cons of checking out the black BDSM scene in New York, but something told me that, as with vampires and those oh-so-sad white suburban Goths, nothing would happen until nightfall. I could at least do a recon by hitting a few of the fetish shops and seeing what were the hot places. I got ten business cards and met seven guys on the prowl. No, thanks.
The next day I didn’t wait for Oliver to phone but went straight out to Bindings. From the moment I walked in, I could feel the plunge in temperature. No smile of greeting, more like an apprehensive grimace. It was mid-afternoon, and there were a few customers browsing in Caribbean literature and two over in self-help.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Can you come out for lunch?” I asked. I saw he had somebody to help him today: skinny guy who looked about twenty, with round spectacles and long dreads.
“No, I’m going to be busy.”
“Dinner?”
“Can’t,” he snapped. “It’s a big city. I’m sure you can find someone else to play with.”
Oh, boy.
“You care to tell me what’s going on?”
“I’ve got customers.”
“I thought,” I said, lowering my voice, “that we hit it off and—”
“Whatever you’re looking for, I hope you found it,” he said as he moved a box of paperbacks from the counter to a table. “Because I am
not
going to let you sucker me anymore. Now please get the hell out of here before I call the cops and have you taken in on a trespassing charge!”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I demanded. “Where’s all this hostility coming from?”
“
Don’t
make a scene in my store.”
“Not trying to. Just tell me what this is all about, would you please?”
Exasperated, he hunted for his assistant among the shelves and called him over to mind the till. “I’ll be in the back,” he told him.
And he stalked off to what I could only assume was his office—expecting me to follow.
It was a small, tight room with more stacked boxes and what looked like a thoroughly out-of-date computer. The desk needed a cloth to remove the patina of dust.
“You must think I’m really stupid,” he complained as he shut the door.
“At the moment, I think you’re being a callous bastard. If you don’t like me or you’ve changed your mind, all it takes is a phone call. You don’t have to duck me or come up with this fanciful—”
“Drop the bullshit!” he snapped. “You’re not here because you’re interested in me, and you’re not here to sell me your
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