Kill Jill (9 page)

Jack stares at her blankly.

Jill says, “You’ll meet me for dinner and dancing. You’ll see me all dressed up and say all the right things. All evening you’ll search my eyes to see if you’ve put hope in them. That’s what gets you off, I think. You’ll give me this dream date, make me princess for a day, bang the shit out of me, then move along and find the next urchin.”

“Urchin?”

“You come in here and drop two thousand bucks in my lap? Tell me to buy myself a dress for the big occasion? Well, fuck
you
!”

Jack says nothing, content to listen with utter fascination.

Jill says, “You’re an asshole. A complete and utter asshole.”

Though she’s indignant, her eyes smoldering with anger, Jack notices she hasn’t returned the envelopes.

He says, “What’s the real issue here?”

It takes a minute, but eventually Jill’s features soften a bit. “The envelopes you gave me were pre-packaged. If I hadn’t shown up you’d have given the same spiel and money to whoever happened along.”

“You’d feel more special if I sat here in front of all these people and counted out two thousand dollars and handed it to you? Does that make sense from a safety standpoint?”

She says, “Smoothness aside, you walked in here with the intention of making some girl your princess for a day.”

“It seems you’ve made up your mind about that, so there’s not much point in arguing.”

“That’s a fancy way of admitting I’m right.”

“But you’re not.”

“Prove it.”

Jack sighs. “You’re upset because I came here with a plan to find a woman and pay her to go on a romantic date with me.”

“And?”

“And although I chose you, it’s your opinion I consider you available, instead of special.”

“Bingo!”

“On the other hand,
I’m
supposed to feel special even though you came here planning to sell your body to the first guy who made you a proper offer.”

She slaps his face.

The surrounding customers jump back with nervous looks. But Jill seems more surprised than anyone.

“
Omigod
!” she says. “I’m so
sorry
!”

The bartender hurries over, all puffed up. “Say the word, Jill, and he’s out of here.”

“It’s okay, Clarise. Please don’t tell Mr. Ray.”

Clarise says, “You’re tellin’ me this was
your
fault?”

“Yes,” she says. “I don’t know what got into me. I’m so sorry!”

Clarise looks at Jack. “You gonna complain?”

“Of course not!”

“What happened here, exactly?”

“I asked her what she’d do if a guy tried to grab her onstage, and she said she’d slap his face. I asked how hard, and she showed me.”

Clarise chuckles. “Next time you’ll think twice, huh?”

“Next time I will.”

After Clarise moves away, Jill says, “Thanks.”

Jack smiles. “You’re a handful.”

“I am. Don’t forget it.”

He says, “Can we move past all this?”

“Yes. Soon as you admit I’m right.”

Jack sighs. “Suppose you
are
right about me, that I go from club to club and try to make women feel special. How does that make me worse than a guy who buys an hour of your time tonight and moves along to the next woman tomorrow?”

“Because that guy’s being honest. He’s not trying to put hope in my heart.”

“What’s wrong with hope?”

“Hope is like kindling. It makes you vulnerable. The smallest spark can burn your dreams to the ground.”

He stares at her blankly.

Jill says, “You’re trying to think of something clever to say, aren’t you?”

“Possibly.”

“Don’t. And don’t try to be charming, either.”

“Why not?”

“I want you to be yourself.”

“What if I’m naturally charming?”

“Then stop.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not finished being mad at you.”

“Okay.”

“Why would you even
offer
me such a ridiculous date?”

“Honestly? I thought you were extremely…um…
adorable
…and thought you’d appreciate being treated like a lady.”

“Okay, so I know I said adorable a while ago, but that’s too big a stretch. Next time you play Henry Higgins, call the older ones gorgeous. They’ll eat it up like candy. As for wanting me to feel like a lady?”

“Yeah?”

“I guess it makes you feel like a big man, doesn’t it? Turning a hooker into a lady? Well you know how it makes
me
feel?”

“How?”

“Like I’m a homeless, skid row gutter snipe, and you’ve tossed me a pastry. And if I show up at the same street corner on Monday, I might get another one.”

“What’s wrong with pastry?”

“I’ll have no use for the fancy dress after Monday. Buying the damn thing sets a bad example for my daughters, who, by the way, will get their hopes up for nothing.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’ll be so excited watching me get all fixed up for the big date. They won’t understand the whole thing’s a sham. They’ll send me off with high hopes, and I’ll have to come home and tell them things didn’t work out. Otherwise, they’ll spend the next three days waiting for the phone and doorbell to ring.”

“Why?”

“To see if my rich boyfriend, who took me to fucking Pirouette Restaurant, is going to call or send me flowers.”

“And of course I won’t do either.”

“Of course you won’t. At least you’re admitting it.”

“There’s a perfectly good reason. And it’s not because I don’t
want
to call you or send you flowers.”

“It’s just that you’re married.”

“
What
?”

“You’re married.”

“I’m not married!”

“Then what?”

Jack smiles. “I don’t have your phone number or address, remember?”

A few seconds pass, then Jill smiles.

“What?”

She makes a clucking sound.

Again, Jack says, “What?”

“I’ve been pretty rough on you.”

“Ya think?”

She shakes her head. “I can’t believe you’re still here.”

“Could it be I think you’re special?”

“No,” she says. Then laughs.

“Let’s start over,” Jack says. “Forget Le Pirouette. Where would
you
like to have dinner?”

“Seriously?”

He nods.

Jill says, “You know the Pancake House on Eighth and James?”

He laughs. “The Pancake House? Seriously?”

“You asked.”

“I can find it. How’s seven-thirty Monday evening?”

“I’ll be there.”

“See you then,” Jack says, and leaves money for the drink that never came.

Jill watches Jack carefully as he weaves his way through the crowd, toward the exit. She specifically wants to see if he makes eye contact with any of the girls, or if his eyes linger on their asses.

To her surprise, he pays no attention to the other girls.

It suddenly dawns on Jill he didn’t even stay long enough to watch
her
routine.

What type of man comes into a place like this, meets a thirty-year-old hooker, shows her nothing but respect, offers to take her out on a real date, and gives her not one, but
two
thousand dollars in advance?

She knows the answer.

A complete sucker.

Jill’s business thrives on suckers. It’s a business completely dependent upon a woman’s ability to separate men from their senses, knowing their wallets will follow.

Jill has no intention of meeting Jack at the Pancake House on Monday. From the moment he gave her the first envelope she knew he was ripe for the plucking.
Feign anger
, she thought.
Put him on the defensive
.

Works every time on nice guys.

There’s the rub, of course.

Jack has the potential to be a genuinely nice guy.

There was a moment where she nearly caved. Contrary to what she told him, there’s something about Jack that stirs her up inside and inspires hope. She could actually see herself falling for this guy. Then she realized he already had the envelopes in his pocket, which proves she wasn’t special to him at all.

They say the nice guys are all married, but the truth is
all
guys are nice when they want something. The sad truth is, there
are
no nice guys. No Prince Charmings. Not here, not anywhere, and the only thing dumber than falling for a bullshit artist’s spiel is falling for the bullshit artist himself.

She stares at the envelopes in her lap.

Two thousand dollars.

For doing absolutely nothing!

She briefly wonders if she’s doing the right thing, dumping Jack before the first date. Could she play him for twice as much?

Probably not.

His move is to swoop in, make the grand gesture, convince himself he’s on a date with a pretty lady instead of a hooker. He wines her, dines her, beds her, moves on to the next “conquest.”

Why go to so much time and trouble to get laid by a hooker?

Lack of confidence. Fear of rejection. Fear of intimacy. Fear of commitment.

Jill tries to see it through Jack’s eyes. He wants to feel like he’s got a girlfriend. Wants to go out on a “real” date, but wants to be certain of the outcome. Wants to know his date will find him funny, charming, and witty. Wants the night to end with passionate sex.

For a guy like Jack, hookers are the ultimate “sure thing.”

Doesn’t mean he’s a
bad
guy, just means he’s not the right guy for her.

Still, she can’t believe she’s going to jilt him at such a ludicrous place.

The Pancake House!

What a sap!

She smiles, picturing the handsome, well-dressed Jack arriving early, waiting for her outside the restaurant. After a while he’ll wonder if he got the time wrong. He’ll go inside, search the tables. Then he’ll go back outside to wait. Then he’ll wonder if she entered while he was searching for her in the restaurant. Did she go in the ladies’ room to check her makeup? If so, she might have gotten a table
after
he went back outside. So he’ll go back in and check all the same tables a second time.

Who gets stood up by a hooker at a pancake restaurant?

It’s funny, right?

At one point in her life she’d feel bad doing this to a guy. But tonight she tells herself it’s the best thing that could happen to both of them. She needs the money and he needs a lesson. Two thousand bucks represents a new start. She can leave this shit job behind her, move to a big city like Louisville, reinvent herself. She’s already got a fake ID. She’s been using it with her day job for weeks. It’ll be easy to slip into the Emma Wilson character when she gets to Louisville. Then maybe she can find a nice, wealthy guy who’ll fall in love with her and treat her with the respect she deserves. Someone decent, and kind. Someone like…

Well, like Jack.

Except that it can’t be Jack.

It can’t be Jack because he knows her as a hooker. And no matter how well he treats her during the courtship, no matter how deeply he might fall in love with her, he’ll never marry her. And even if by some miracle he did, he’d insist on a dreadful pre-nup, and the first time they fight, what’ll come out of his mouth is, “When I met you, you were nothing but a fucking whore!”

And he’ll be right.

Once a whore, always a whore.

So Jack’s out.

But Jill can’t help but wish someone else had given her the money tonight, and that when she moves to Louisville tomorrow, the first guy she meets could have been Jack.

She palms the envelopes, heads to her dressing room. Goes into the bathroom, enters a stall, locks the door. Takes a deep breath, opens the first envelope.

Her eyes grow huge. Her pulse pounds in her ears.

She gasps.

With trembling fingers, she tears open the second envelope.

And screams.