and all alone.
But he was used to dealing with depression.
By now, after years of experience, he had learned that his depression could be cured by taking action. And having a plan on a Friday night was his preemptive remedy against an otherwise long and lonely weekend. As such, his Friday night made or broke his entire weekend. If his plans went well, he could wake up Saturday morning feeling great, which carried over to Sunday. But if he did nothing on Friday night, he felt more and more pathetic, and his depression deepened, lasting until Monday morning’s first bell.
Summer vacation was an entirely different problem.
“Let me get some cash,” Stuart Renly said. “Assuming we get along, I’d like you to spend the night. I can drive you home in the morning.”
“Two thousand,” the woman said.
“Ten hours at a hundred is one thousand,” he told her.
“Double for all night,” the woman said.
“It should be discounted, I would think,” he said.
“Not if I’m role playing all night,” the woman said. “That makes it extra work.”
“Will you do whatever I ask?” he said.
“Anything you ask, honey,” the woman said, trying to fake sweetness. “As long as you wear a condom.”
Stuart disliked this woman already, he knew.
But he would have to keep an open mind, and try to make it work.
She was sitting on the couch when he reemerged from his bedroom with two thousand dollars in hand. He kept his weekend cash in a Folgers can under a hat in his closet. Because his grandmother had willed him the house, he’d never had mortgage. Thanks to that, saving money was easy. He had about ten thousand dollars in the Folgers can, and nearly a hundred grand in the bank.
He handed the prostitute the cash.
Instantly, she donned a coy expression, and said, “How do you want me, Jon?”
“Not like that,” Stuart said.
She scowled, but quickly checked her attitude.
She smiled and said, “Okay, tell me your fantasy, Jon. I love a man in charge.”
She was missing a tooth, Stuart noticed now.
Which wasn’t part of his fantasy.
“Don’t smile,” he said. “Call me Mr. Renly.”
She dropped the smile. “What else should I do, Mr. Renly?”
Stuart grabbed the plastic Walmart sack in the rocking chair beside the couch. He opened the sack and began handing her the contents, which included a white tank top, a lacy white bra, and a bottle of lilac-scented perfume.
“Put that on,” he said, meaning everything.
She held up the bra. “This bra won’t fit me.”
“It might,” he told her.
“How? It’s enormous.”
“You can try it on, at least.”
“What’s the point?”
“Didn’t you agree to be sweet?”
She stood up and removed her shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra of her own, and when Stuart observed how pitifully small her chest was, he turned away in frustration. Worse, the nipples were way too dark, an auburn color, rather than rosy pink.
That wasn’t what he had in mind.
Keeping his back to her, he said, “You’re chest was larger in the picture you sent me.”
“Are we starting that conversation again?” the woman asked, her tone challenging. But then she sweetened it, saying, “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Renly. I promise I’ll try harder. May I have a second chance?”
That brought Stuart around.
Okay, he decided, at least she was trying. He could give her an “E” for effort.
The bra sagged loosely, though, and didn’t look sexy at all. In fact, it looked nothing like his vision of Bailey Howard.
“Take that off,” he said, gesturing dismissively with his hand. “Put on the tank top. I’ll have to use my imagination.”
“Don’t treat me like I’m disgusting,” she said, “because I’m not.”
“You’re just nothing like my fantasy, that’s all.”
“And you’re my fantasy?” she asked, making a disgusted face while looking him up and down.
“That’s irrelevant,” Stuart told her. “I’m the payer. Two thousand dollars, which
But he was used to dealing with depression.
By now, after years of experience, he had learned that his depression could be cured by taking action. And having a plan on a Friday night was his preemptive remedy against an otherwise long and lonely weekend. As such, his Friday night made or broke his entire weekend. If his plans went well, he could wake up Saturday morning feeling great, which carried over to Sunday. But if he did nothing on Friday night, he felt more and more pathetic, and his depression deepened, lasting until Monday morning’s first bell.
Summer vacation was an entirely different problem.
“Let me get some cash,” Stuart Renly said. “Assuming we get along, I’d like you to spend the night. I can drive you home in the morning.”
“Two thousand,” the woman said.
“Ten hours at a hundred is one thousand,” he told her.
“Double for all night,” the woman said.
“It should be discounted, I would think,” he said.
“Not if I’m role playing all night,” the woman said. “That makes it extra work.”
“Will you do whatever I ask?” he said.
“Anything you ask, honey,” the woman said, trying to fake sweetness. “As long as you wear a condom.”
Stuart disliked this woman already, he knew.
But he would have to keep an open mind, and try to make it work.
She was sitting on the couch when he reemerged from his bedroom with two thousand dollars in hand. He kept his weekend cash in a Folgers can under a hat in his closet. Because his grandmother had willed him the house, he’d never had mortgage. Thanks to that, saving money was easy. He had about ten thousand dollars in the Folgers can, and nearly a hundred grand in the bank.
He handed the prostitute the cash.
Instantly, she donned a coy expression, and said, “How do you want me, Jon?”
“Not like that,” Stuart said.
She scowled, but quickly checked her attitude.
She smiled and said, “Okay, tell me your fantasy, Jon. I love a man in charge.”
She was missing a tooth, Stuart noticed now.
Which wasn’t part of his fantasy.
“Don’t smile,” he said. “Call me Mr. Renly.”
She dropped the smile. “What else should I do, Mr. Renly?”
Stuart grabbed the plastic Walmart sack in the rocking chair beside the couch. He opened the sack and began handing her the contents, which included a white tank top, a lacy white bra, and a bottle of lilac-scented perfume.
“Put that on,” he said, meaning everything.
She held up the bra. “This bra won’t fit me.”
“It might,” he told her.
“How? It’s enormous.”
“You can try it on, at least.”
“What’s the point?”
“Didn’t you agree to be sweet?”
She stood up and removed her shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra of her own, and when Stuart observed how pitifully small her chest was, he turned away in frustration. Worse, the nipples were way too dark, an auburn color, rather than rosy pink.
That wasn’t what he had in mind.
Keeping his back to her, he said, “You’re chest was larger in the picture you sent me.”
“Are we starting that conversation again?” the woman asked, her tone challenging. But then she sweetened it, saying, “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Renly. I promise I’ll try harder. May I have a second chance?”
That brought Stuart around.
Okay, he decided, at least she was trying. He could give her an “E” for effort.
The bra sagged loosely, though, and didn’t look sexy at all. In fact, it looked nothing like his vision of Bailey Howard.
“Take that off,” he said, gesturing dismissively with his hand. “Put on the tank top. I’ll have to use my imagination.”
“Don’t treat me like I’m disgusting,” she said, “because I’m not.”
“You’re just nothing like my fantasy, that’s all.”
“And you’re my fantasy?” she asked, making a disgusted face while looking him up and down.
“That’s irrelevant,” Stuart told her. “I’m the payer. Two thousand dollars, which
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