Dating Games(107)

My stomach tenses as I pull out the magazine and flip it over. When I stare into a pair of familiar blue eyes, my throat tightens. I haven’t seen Julian since Sonia’s funeral, and even then, I kept my distance, disappearing before the end of the service so he couldn’t approach me. At one point, whenever I peered into these eyes, I saw a man willing to take a risk and love me. Now all I see are his lies.

As Jimmy Stewart begs Clarence to take him back to the life he’d wanted to end, I thumb to the page Viv marked with a sticky note, landing on the featured article — August Laurent: Unrobed. The initial two-page spread is a combination of photos of him along with the text of the article I’d poured everything into the past several months.

I peel the note off and read it.

E,

I made a few adjustments to the final draft you submitted. Mr. Laurent requested additional information be included to give the reader greater insight into why he does what he does. This piece will still run, regardless of what decision you make, but I hope I won’t have to change the byline. The ball’s in your court.

- Viv





I shift my eyes to the caption beneath the title, running my fingers over the glossy page.

By: Guinevere Fitzgerald, Assistant Editor

Contributor: Chloe Davenport, Columnist





It’s strange to see my full name in print. I’ve always gone by Evie Fitzgerald. In a way, it’s satisfying, like I’m turning over a new leaf, starting a new life. No longer writing about the best condoms for maximum pleasure, but about subjects of value.

Encouraged by George Bailey shouting about wanting to live again, I turn my attention to the opening paragraph of the story I pitched on a whim, thinking nothing would come of it. I can’t help but smile at how wrong I was. In more ways than I care to admit.

When I first pitched the idea of getting the inside scoop on the man who, over the past decade, has become one of the country’s most sought-after escorts, I selfishly did so because a story about a male escort would appeal to a large percentage of female readers. I envisioned the cover in my mind... A man dressed in a suit, tie draped around his neck, white shirt unbuttoned revealing chiseled abs, head cut off to keep the mystery alive.

I suppose that’s how I assumed this man’s story would be. All eye candy. No substance.

Well, dear reader, you’re in for quite the ride, just as I was.

August Laurent’s tale is one you can’t truly appreciate until you have the full picture. I confess, I didn’t have that until now. I assumed he was a womanizer, a heartbreaker, a philanderer… Someone who had no qualms about taking advantage of women for monetary gain.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.





My heart squeezes as I zero in on that one line. When I first wrote it, I believed it with every fiber of my being. Has any of that changed because I know who August Laurent is? Maybe I’m wrong about him again.

Bringing my eyes back to the article, I lose myself in the world I spent my summer living. But it’s better now, the pieces Chloe contributed adding another dimension. Now, instead of being a story that seemed to focus on the women August helped, I’m left with a tale of a boy forced to become a man when most kids his age only cared about the latest video game. A boy who had to say goodbye to the only family he had when the rest of us were at an age we wished our parents would disappear. A boy who refused to get close to anyone because he didn’t think he deserved to be loved.

But that didn’t stop him from giving love when it was needed, despite his insistence that he didn’t know how to love. He did. In giving that love, he helped so many women realize their true worth. Some of them just wanted to feel secure in their decision to focus on their career instead of getting married and having kids. Others needed to feel as if they were worthy of love after being with someone who took them for granted. And others needed him to save them, just as he was saved. Regardless of the fact that it was strictly a business arrangement, he still made them feel beautiful, made them feel worthy, made them feel loved.

He did the same thing for me, too, but as Julian.

Can I learn to look past his faults because of the way I felt when I was with him? The way I still feel when I hear his name, look into his eyes, recall the heat of his hands on my skin? I want to. God, I wish I could run into his arms and start over again, like he’s begged me to do over the weeks that have passed. But this is a man who’s made a living out of giving the women who’ve hired him the fantasy they need, learning how to read them and tell them what they need to hear. How do I know anything he’s told me is real?

I’m so consumed with indecision, I barely register the sound of the buzzer, thinking it’s the apartment next door. When I hear it again, I shoot my gaze toward the door, holding my breath as I stare. I’ve ignored that buzzer for weeks now, regardless of Julian’s pleas from the front stoop to talk to him. A few hours ago, I was happy to continue to ignore him. Now, I wonder if I can give him the second chance my heart urges he deserves.

Placing the magazine on the coffee table, I stand, taking measured steps toward the entryway, my pulse increasing the closer I get. I place my hand on the knob, able to feel the electricity. When I open the door, I expect to stare into pleading blue eyes. Instead, the eyes looking back are hazel.

“Trevor…” I wrap my arms around my stomach, warming myself as I walk out onto the front step, remaining out of the rain. “What are you doing here?” I hug myself, Julian’s SUNY sweatshirt providing me with warmth.