By Anne Fraser and Barbara Zuchegna
With assistance from Sharon Pickrel and Jean Lamb
Copyright 1999

Chapter Three

From the outside, it looked very much like any other pub or bar. A nondescript, older brick building with the requisite patio and a small line-up waiting to get in. When the doors opened, piano music and laughter swept out onto the sidewalk. It was not until you looked closely that certain things became evident.

Ninety percent of the patrons were male. Of these, the majority were young or barely middle-aged. There was a certain sameness to their appearance, despite very different facial features and ethnic backgrounds; for a large number of them had extremely short haircuts and thin mustaches. There were some in leather outfits, one or two in mesh shirts despite the early fall chill. Couples were sharing tables, holding hands, kissing and cuddling; but these couples were made up of two men.

When Adrian and Richard walked in together, they made heads turn and mouths open. Two handsome men, well-dressed, not obviously gay ... they drew attention. A table was magically found for them in an optimum location, neither too near the door nor the piano. The waiter was very attentive; he remembered Adrian from previous visits.

"Well, if it isn't the Professor," the waiter exclaimed. "Wherever did you find this lovely person?" He ran his eyes over Richard's body.

"Oh, I ran across him in another bar," replied Adrian. It was, after all, no more than the truth.

"I'm Henry, and I'll be your waiter this evening," said their server, blinking his lashes at Richard. "How can I serve you?" He seemed to be hinting that more than beer and wine could be on the menu.

Adrian, amused, waited for Richard's reaction.

"Allow my friend to order first," Richard said. His coldness to Henry's limpid-eyed invitation could not have been more evident.

Henry sighed and turned to Adrian. "White wine, dry, not Italian?" he asked.

"You remember," Adrian smiled lazily.

"Of course, Professor. I remember all my special people." He sniffed at Richard. "And you?"

"I will try the same," Richard said.

Henry flounced off.

"You hurt his feelings," Adrian reproved Richard. "It's not his fault his name's Henry."

"The creature's name does not offend me, my friend. But I have had recent experience of the ... light in his eyes, of which I prefer not to be reminded."

Adrian found this very interesting. What the hell had happened at the Refuge? Alexis had started to hint at something, and now Richard was dropping hints, too. Zounds. He'd missed something big while in Nova Scotia and then suffering the aftermath.

Henry brought their drinks, but made no further effort to flirt with Richard.

The Henrys of the world did not interest Adrian. His eyes flickered around the gathering, wondering if there was anyone more worthwhile here. No, cancel that thought. He had a duty to his guest. Besides, after the fiascoes with both Gabriel and Antosha, Adrian was beginning to think that sex was more trouble than it was worth.

It was obvious that the majority of the patrons were men whose sexual leanings were toward other men, a proclivity for which Richard Plantagenet had developed, recently, a rather hypersensitive awareness. Men of this sort had been less common in his old life, it seemed ... or perhaps only less visible. But he found the phenomenon interesting, so long as it was not directed at him.

He watched a particularly winsome young man at a neighboring table doing something moderately suggestive with the small rod with which he had been stirring his drink ... licking it with pronounced enjoyment, wrapping his tongue around it, all the while smiling into the eyes of the much larger, leather-clad man sitting with him, whose chair seemed to inch closer to the other's by the moment.

Beyond these two, at another table, two young men, very ordinary looking, clean cut young men, held hands atop their table, listening to the music and only occasionally glancing at each other. But when their eyes met, small, loving smiles appeared, hands squeezed affectionately, and then their attention turned once more to the pianist.

Further away, three men sat together ... two clearly effeminate, one domineeringly masculine. The effeminate men sat in postures of submission, looking up at their companion almost adoringly from either side. He, the center of this attention, caressed one or the other idly, his own attention given to scanning the room with predatory eyes. He seemed unsatisfied with his present admirers and was most definitely hunting. Any predator would recognize the look.

To Richard, it passed all understanding. He was as aware of beauty in another man as he was of beauty in a woman ... but male beauty utterly lacked the power to stir him. Adrian, sitting across the table from him, was probably the most beautiful man he had ever seen, but he felt no slightest attraction to the man beyond that of companionship ... and a certain kinship he didn't yet understand.

He felt no particular distaste for the displays of affection between men he saw around him; rather, there was a certain amount of curiosity. What was it in one man that attracted others? More specifically, what was it in him that seemed to do exactly that? The obsession of the priest, Tallant, he might have put down to simple aberration, but the uncomfortable incident with Val Corey was unsettling. He had pretended no memory of the moment on the following morning, but he had not forgotten an instant of it ... and he didn't understand it at all.

He was, in truth, getting damned sick of men who found him sexually appealing.

"Richard?" Adrian's voice drew him away from his thoughts. "If you're not comfortable here..."

"No ... Adrian, please. The place is pleasant. And you must forgive my ignorance ... and my curiosity." The last thing he wanted to do was to seem ungrateful. "This is, of course, very different from any public house I knew in the world I came from. And very interesting."

He thought that Adrian looked regretful, as if having second thoughts about coming here, so he said quickly, "The musician is especially skillful. I've seen the instrument from time to time over the years, but I don't recall ever hearing it played before. It has a much richer sound than instruments with which I'm familiar."

This led into a small talk discussion of music in general and piano music in particular which eased them past an uncomfortable moment. Adrian, it seemed, was a pianist himself, and promised to play for Richard when the opportunity arose. They had moved beyond that, into Richard's experience of watching Adrian play Hamlet earlier in the year, when a sudden presence loomed over them, much too closely. Richard looked up into the purposefully staring eyes of the large, predatory-looking man he had been watching from across the room just moments before. And the man was leaning over him, his hand resting, too heavily, on Richard's shoulder.

Adrian, watching, wasn't entirely certain just what happened next. He had seen the man around before, a sadistic sort of moron, more brawn than brains by far, with an obvious streak of viciousness. They had never had a close encounter. Someone had mentioned once, long ago, that the man was a speed freak ... and Adrian didn't like the taste of methamphetamines.

But the man's attention wasn't given to him, but to Richard. He bent down, shaved head gleaming in the low light from the bar and whispered something in Richard's ear. His hand, on Richard's shoulder, was squeezing tightly. Adrian half-heard something about "... limp dick asshole," which probably referred to him, and about which he should probably feel moved to do something, when the opportunity was taken from him, in spades.

Richard moved. He didn't seem to hurry, and he didn't seem to be exerting any great force. He just moved, with all the urgency of simply rising from his chair. But just that quickly, the big bald man was on the floor beside the table and Richard had dropped to one knee in the middle of his stomach, expelling every ounce of air from the man in a loud and unlovely "Ooofff!"

Richard was leaning forward, looking down into the man's frozen face. Adrian could see Richard's left hand, which was holding a handful of the man's mesh shirt. He could not see the other hand. But he could hear Richard say, in a voice as feral and as soft as a tiger's purr, "I would rather you sought entertainment elsewhere. You could, of course, persist. In which case, I promise you, you will never need such entertainment again."

The man's mouth moved, but no sound came out of it. Adrian saw Richard's right shoulder twitch slightly, and the man's eyes rolled upward for a moment while his whole face twisted in pain. Richard said softly, "Are we agreed, then?"

It took a moment. The man's eyes were squeezed tightly shut now, and his body seemed to be rising up off the floor under Richard. Richard's shoulder twitched slightly, again, and he repeated, "Are we agreed?" and the man nodded frantically, making retching noises now. Richard slid off of him and back up into his chair, and the man rolled and scrabbled away, stumbling to his feet. It seemed to Adrian that he was cradling his privates in one hand as he lunged away from their table. Richard, with some evident distaste, was using the edge of the tablecloth to wipe at something, and then Adrian got a glimpse of the dagger as he sheathed it beneath his jacket.

The whole thing had taken less than thirty seconds. To others, noticing, it seemed no more than a drunk, falling, and another man bending down to see if he was all right. But Adrian saw the bright smears of red on the hanging edge of the tablecloth, and he looked up into Richard's eyes with new speculation.

Richard looked embarrassed. "Forgive me," he said diffidently, reaching for his glass. "You were telling me about the lady who enacted the role of Ophelia. As I remember, she was quite lovely."

Well. That little incident certainly answered one of the questions Adrian had been pondering -- what if someone approached Richard in the bar? Richard's solution to the problem didn't really disturb Adrian that much; he himself was a man of violence and he understood that as a reaction. In today's soft, civilized times, though, such actions were regarded as unacceptable.

"Ah, yes, my Ophelia," Adrian said. "Nice Catholic girl; she had a crush on me." He leaned back and sipped his wine, trying to collect his thoughts. Seeing the blood on the tablecloth had reminded him he needed to feed. He scanned the room, sizing up the possibilities.

This survey on the part of his companion did not go unnoticed by Richard. "Adrian," Richard spoke softly, "if you desire other company than mine for this evening, I'm quite capable of returning to the hotel on my own. I don't desire to hamper you."

Adrian smiled. "No, Richard, you aren't hampering me. I'm not cruising tonight." He shrugged. "I've momentarily lost interest, frankly." His eyes narrowed as Henry swished past with a laden tray, but his focus was on a glass containing a Bloody Mary rather than on the slim waiter. "I could do with a bite, though," he said, more to himself.

"I'm sorry," Richard said, "I should have realized. You haven't ... eaten this evening, while Jake and I did. Must ... this bite be human?"

"Preferably." With an effort, Adrian kept the red glow out of his eyes. "I can subsist on animal blood, but it's nasty stuff."

"Is this a place where you would choose a...”

"Victim?" Adrian's mouth quirked. He looked around at a room full of doomed young men. "Nowhere better. It's a lot easier to pick up a gay guy than a single woman. The only problem is finding the healthy ones."

"Healthy?"

"No diseases. Especially HIV or AIDS. The blood's not as nourishing, and I don't like the taste. Besides, someone who's HIV positive has enough problems. Me, they don't need."

"Indeed." Richard had heard something of this disease. "But there are healthy ones here?"

"Oh, yes. Not every gay guy has AIDS, and quite a few people who aren't gay, have it. You can't really call it the gay plague any more." Adrian studied Dominic, the talented piano player, speculatively. He was cute, clean, healthy ... and off-limits. No, not Dominic.

"You have dismissed the piano player," Richard stated, making Adrian stare at him. "No, my friend, I am not a detective, but I am a good observer. I noticed you looking at him, studying him, and then you shook your head. Why?"

"Never pick anyone high profile or who's the centre of attention," Adrian said. "When they turn up dizzy and missing a pint or two of blood, people notice." Adrian's eyes narrowed a little. Richard was obviously very interested in the whole vampire experience, although he was too polite to directly mention it. "Would you like to come with me when I get my take-out dinner?" the actor asked.

"This ... victim. Does he survive the experience more or less intact?"

"More or less," Adrian acknowledged. "I do not kill when I feed. That's a sure way to bring the hunters down on you. I do have to damage them a little, but the fang marks heal, and I wipe their minds of the memory. They're left a little dizzy, but if they're smart enough to get some liquid and something to eat and a bit of rest, they're fine."

"Then, yes, I would like to come with you, if you don't mind."

"Not at all."

This strange arrangement made, Adrian let the music occupy him on one level while his instincts worked on another. Richard was silent, judging that his companion needed to concentrate.

Adrian was looking for someone who was here alone, possibly cruising, who wouldn't be amiss at being approached. He finally saw the perfect target. This was a man in his mid-thirties, not one of the fey boys but not one of the macho poseurs, either. He was a quiet dresser, no flash or ostentation; yet his eyes had strayed to the table where Adrian and Richard sat once or twice, so he was potentially interested. He was black, too, something still of a novelty on the Toronto gay scene, and good-looking. Adrian preferred desirable victims when possible.

The meal noticed Adrian noticing him and smiled, raising his glass. Adrian nodded and slid out of his chair, murmuring "Excuse me" to Richard. He went over to the other man's table.

"Enjoying the music?" he asked, motioning Henry to come over to take orders for drinks.

"Oh, yes," replied the main item on tonight's menu. "I was told that Dominic was well worth listening to, and that I might meet somebody interesting here. Theo Smith."

"Adrian Talbot." The pressure of their handshake expressed mutual interest.

Theo smiled. "You're the one they call the Professor."

"I am a professor," Adrian replied with his own quirky smile.

"Really? So am I."

"What do you profess, Professor Smith?"

"English history." Professor Smith frowned. "I don't see what's so damned funny about that."

Adrian fought with his amusement and managed to win. "Nothing," he said innocently. "Just it's amusing that we're both professors."

"And your friend over there?" Smith nodded his head in Richard's direction. "He looks rather ... familiar, but I'm sure I haven't met him...”

"Would you like to?" Adrian asked. "Perhaps the three of us could go somewhere a little more ... private?" A shift in his posture left no doubt as to his meaning.

"A threesome?" Smith frowned. "I'm not so sure about that...”

He found himself unable to turn away from Adrian's eyes, those beautiful, aquamarine eyes. "Come now, Professor, have you no curiosity? At any rate, Richard only wants to watch. Surely you don't cavil at a little voyeurism?"

"Well, why not?" Smith found himself asking. He followed Adrian back to the table where Richard sat. When he saw Richard up close, his puzzlement deepened. "I'm sure I've seen you somewhere," he said.

"I have never had the pleasure of your acquaintance until now," Richard replied. "I have been in this country only three days."

"Shall we go find that privacy, gentlemen?" Adrian asked, wanting to get Professor Smith off the topic of Richard. Of all the damned luck, to get a history professor who had obviously seen a portrait of Richard...

They agreed, and found their way to one of the establishments in the gay ghetto of Church and Wellesley that rented out rooms for hourly rates so that people could get better acquainted.

"Pay for the sexually transmitted disease of your choice," Adrian muttered under his breath as the bored clerk handed him a key. A threesome hadn't even warranted a second look.

Once they were in the shabby little room, which boasted only a double bed, a chair, a small night table with a lamp, and a window with a dirty pull-down shade, Richard commandeered the chair and took it over to a corner where he could sit and watch the proceedings.

"So that really is all he's going to do," Professor Smith marveled.

Adrian kissed him hard on the lips, for an answer. The other professor sat down hard on the bed under the force of that kiss and panted when released.

"You don't waste time," he commented.

"We are paying by the hour," Adrian pointed out. "We both know why we're here, why not get on with it? Take your shirt off."

"If you do, too," Smith replied.

Adrian glanced in Richard's direction, knowing the king hadn't wanted to watch sex, just biting. Well, there wouldn't be any actual sex; not that Theo wasn't appealing. In fact, the sight of him half-naked nearly made Adrian forget his vow to never have sex again. Nearly. He took off his own jacket, tie and shirt; his slender torso gleaming silver in the room's dim light.

He and Theo clasped hands around each other's forearms and then around waists, and their lips met for another kiss. Adrian drew back when he felt the kiss deepen.

"Ah, ah," he said, freeing a hand so he could waggle a finger. "No tongues. Not yet." His lips began to explore the exposed chocolate-coloured flesh of his victim. His own tongue licked the sweat and cologne from the pulse point on Theo's neck; but he drew away from that temptation. Drinking from the neck was both too intimate and too awkward.

Adrian knelt, not noticing, because his back was turned, how uncomfortable Richard suddenly looked. He took hold of Smith's right hand, finger tracing the fine bone structure, tongue running over the sensitive underside. He turned the hand upside down, gently, kissing it over the veins.

Then his fangs slid out and he bit in, making two small but deep punctures. The fangs withdrew as the blood began to flow, and Adrian's swift tongue lapped it up. The fangs were not straws; one could not siphon blood through them. He hoped Richard was getting a good view of the proceedings.

When he'd had enough, he licked the fang punctures clean and applied minute pressure with his fingers. The wounds closed. Smith was looking shell-shocked. He had made no sound other than moans through the feeding, but his physical reaction was making his pants bulge at the crotch. Adrian had a little trouble in that area himself, making standing up difficult. But he had a firmer command over his body functions than a mere human. He stared into Theo's glazed black eyes.

"Forget," he commanded, laying a hand on the other man's forehead. "Forget. You had a great evening at the club, you took me to this place for a quick fuck, and then went home, had some orange juice and a donut, and got a good night's sleep. Do not forget to drink orange juice and eat a donut. Forget the blood, the fangs. This was only a dream."

Satisfied, he pulled his clothes back on and then turned to Theo. "So?" he asked.

"Oh, man, you're as good as they say," replied the other professor. He glanced over at Richard. "Get a good look?"

"I have satisfied my curiosity, thank you," Richard replied.

"I've got this craving for orange juice and a donut," said Smith, groggily. "Care to join me?"

"No, thanks," Adrian replied. "Donuts are bad for you."

Richard was silent as they dropped the man Theo off back at the piano bar and went to retrieve the Miata. There was a thoughtful look on his face, but a definite undercurrent of ... something. Confusion? Distress? Adrian wasn't sure. But he thought that Richard was upset on some level.

He had not yet started the car. He didn't want the evening to end on this note. He thought that Richard was regretting that he had come along to watch, and he found himself saddened by the idea. He didn't want this budding friendship to be cut short by what might have been an impulse they both regretted now. "Richard," he said, "I'm sorry if that wasn't what you expected."

Richard turned to look at him. In the small, reflected light from the club that reached this end of the parking lot, his eyes gleamed through the surrounding darkness. "Adrian," he said, "is there somewhere we might go to talk? If this is something you can talk about?"

Adrian hesitated. He was beginning to wonder seriously now why Richard was so interested in the details of a vampire's life ... because that was what this was about. Not about Adrian himself. About vampires. His mind went back to Gabe Tallant and the odd remark about being "not friends." But he said, "You won't misunderstand, I hope, if I suggest that we go back to my house."

Richard smiled that surprisingly soft smile. "No. I won't misunderstand."

Adrian had to return the smile. He was, in all honesty, a bit surprised that he wasn't thinking of making some sort of move on Richard. Since the feeding, the idea of sex was very strong ... for him, and he was reasonably certain, for Richard as well. And God knew Richard was an attractive man. But Adrian could not imagine trying to lay a finger on him ... and not just because of the episode with the asshole in the club. He could, if he had wanted to do it, place enough of a suggestion in Richard's mind to make him amenable to the idea. He didn't want to, and he would not have wanted most of his acquaintances to know that it was probably because this man had offered him friendship and trust ... and he didn't want to betray that. There were thousands of meals, and thousands of friendly fucks. There were damned few friends.

They didn't talk at all until they were back in the house in the Annex and Adrian had rummaged out a decent bottle of wine and filled a couple of glasses. He wasn't particularly thirsty, but it seemed a properly gracious way to ease into a conversation. Richard, sitting in one corner of the couch, accepted a glass almost absently, with nodded thanks. Adrian sat down, in a chair immediately across the coffee table from him, and waited.

After a long moment, Richard sighed heavily. "I'm sorry," he said, "I had no right to intrude on your privacy with my curiosity."

"Richard, I offered. I'm offering now." The hard dark eyes came up to meet his, and Adrian said, "It's fairly obvious that you're pretty much obsessed with vampirism. I don't know why. I don't need to know. If I can help, I want to."

Richard thought about it for another moment, and then he said abruptly, "The man wanted to have sex with you."

"Yes."

"But he wanted it before the ... feeding."

"Yes. That's why he was there at the club. He was looking for someone to have sex with."

Richard nodded. "Adrian, what would have happened if he had not been looking for that? What would happen if you ... fed from a man ... or a woman ... who did not want sex?"

Adrian was beginning to get a glimmer. "It would make no difference," he said. "Richard, I won't lie to you. Now ... these last few years ... the people I feed from have been willing. But that wasn't always so. And I didn't always stop feeding before the victim died. All that was a long time ago and I've learned that life is simpler this way. It takes restraint, and that isn't always easy. But in the long run, it has worked better."

Richard wasn't about to be distracted from his original question. "And an unwilling victim, someone who did not want sex, someone who resisted you ... would become aroused, as the man tonight did?"

"Yes." It had happened to Richard. Adrian was certain of it. And certain it had been Gabe Tallant who had done it. "I've taken many victims who fought me as long as they could. Once the feeding begins, no fighting is possible. And the sexual arousal is automatic ... for a man, or for a woman. And," he said pointedly, "even for a man who is not remotely gay."

Richard had been still for as long as it was possible for him. He got up now and went to the fireplace, studying the abstract painting hanging there as if it had suddenly become of compelling interest. To his rigid back, Adrian said, "Richard, ask me about Gabe Tallant," and as Richard spun around, his face as tense as if he were under attack, Adrian added, in a gentler voice, "That's what this is all about, isn't it?"

But now that they had come to it, Richard seemed about to back off. He passed a hand over his eyes, and Adrian saw that it was shaking. What in God's name had Gabe done to this man who had so quickly and easily discouraged the bully at the club earlier this evening? "Adrian," Richard said, "I'm sorry. I had no right...”

"Gabe isn't like me," Adrian interrupted. "Not all vampires are the same, Richard, and Gabe is very different from me. You were surprised that I can't go out in daylight. Gabe can. And it was Gabe you were thinking of then."

"Yes." There was incredible strain behind that one word.

"He fed from you."

"Yes." So soft it was almost a whisper.

Shit. Adrian could almost see it. This man would have fought like a tiger. And Gabe had a passion for control that would have kicked into high gear right then ... and a leaning toward obsessiveness that had very probably put Richard through hell.

"That's what you meant when you said vampires are hard to kill," Adrian guessed. "You tried to kill him."

"If he had been human," Richard said flatly, "he would be dead."

So much for the priesthood and all that soul-searching brotherly love crap, Adrian thought. "If it helps at all," he said, "whatever you felt when he fed from you, you would have felt if any vampire had done it. It has nothing to do with who you are, or what you want. It's a reflex as automatic as jerking your hand back from a fire."

Richard turned back toward the fireplace. He seemed to be fighting to bring himself under control. He set his wineglass, very carefully, on the mantel, and then, taking a deep breath, he said, "The woman we spoke of the other night ... the woman who was at Hoolihan's with you. Is she a vampire as well?"

"T'beth? Yes."

There was a small silence. Richard turned back to face him now, and his expression had changed. There was an almost predatory gleam in his eyes. "Is she your lady?"

"She's an old friend." An old friend who had been conspicuous by her absence from his life lately, he remembered, with a small jolt of nagging worry.

"You said you might present me to her," Richard reminded him. "If she lives at night, as you do, is it possible that she might still be receiving visitors so late as this?"

There was no mistaking Richard's interest. And Adrian remembered very well T'beth's equally predatory interest as she watched the mock battle at Hoolihan's.

Well ... why not? They weren't kids, either of them. Let them work it out. If T'beth was at home. Or if he could find her. But it was almost three in the morning, and there was no point in getting Richard there just in time to watch her fall asleep ... and be stuck there throughout the day himself.

"She would probably be awake now," he told Richard, "but not for much longer. Could we try tomorrow night?"

Richard nodded. "Certainly," he agreed quickly. "May I use the phone? I'll call for the car and leave you, then." Clearly, he was not going to talk about Gabe Tallant anymore, which was just fine with Adrian. Gabe was a subject about which he, too, preferred not to talk or even to think.

When the hotel limo came, they made plans for Adrian to pick Richard up at the hotel the next evening. That done, Adrian couldn't help noticing, as Richard said his graceful goodbyes, that the predatory gleam had not left Richard's eye. T'beth might have been tabled for the night; someone else, Adrian would have bet, was going to be on the menu.

The limo driver knew exactly what Richard was asking for, and assured him that his needs would be quickly supplied once he had returned to his suite. The woman who appeared at his door within twenty minutes was extravagantly beautiful, as tall as Richard, elegantly dressed and soft-spoken. He had specified that she was not to be a blonde, and this girl had hair that was probably not naturally red but was dazzling as it tumbled from the pins he removed, to spill over her naked shoulders.

If she was surprised to find her client both young and attractive, she gave no sign of it. She had no hard, professional edges, and for what he was paying, she tried very hard to give good service. She did try to avoid kissing him ... and then stopped trying to avoid it, and found herself responding to a skill every bit as practiced as her own. She knew she was satisfying him physically, and for the first time in a long time, she was enjoying herself. Jobs like this one were blue-moon rare, and she meant to relish every minute of it.

But then, somewhere in the last hour before dawn, when she thought she had pleased him most, he pulled away from her suddenly, rolled over and reached for the phone. Incredulous, she heard him giving swift orders to the night manager to arrange for a check for her services, which, he said, she would be picking up at once. He didn't even look at her when he hung up the receiver, but pulled on the robe that had been laid out at the foot of the huge bed and padded, barefoot, out into the living room of the suite.

When she had dressed and followed him out, she found him on the terrace, staring out across the city, where the lights were winking out now, one by one, toward the lake. He was standing right at the edge, leaning against the waist-high balustrade, and she had the uneasy feeling that it was only with great strength of will that he was not climbing over the damned thing. "Are you all right?" she asked, with no idea in the world what she was going to do if he wasn't.

"Yes," he said. "Thank you." He didn't turn to look at her.

She had disappointed him. She didn't know how. She said, "If there's something else you want...”

"There isn't. Please go. Your money will be waiting at the desk."

There was nothing more she could do. A shame. She would be months, years, finding another one like this ... if ever. But she was a pro, and that's why they called it work. So she left, and had no idea that the only fault he had found in her was that she was not the only woman in the world he wanted.