Page 48 of The Sun and Her Star

“So, what’s the business you mentioned?” I get straight to the point.

She puts her glass down and dabs her lips and smiles slyly. I pick my glass up, my throat suddenly dry as I wait for her to speak.

“Very simply, Graham, it’s sex.”

My water sprays out of my mouth at her words. I grab a napkin off the table and stand up. I wipe the water from my shirt.

She picks hers up and dabs her brow, but when I look down at her, she’s smiling.

I had to have heard her wrong. I smile back and sit down.

“I’m sorry about that, the water went down the wrong way. For a minute, I thought you said sex.” I laugh, but it dies when she doesn’t join me.

She tilts her head to look at me. Her stare is pointed, and she doesn’t speak.

I stare at her, my relief and humor giving way to surprise and a tingle of panic.

“Ididn’tmisunderstand?” I ask, hopeful that she’ll contradict me.

She doesn’t. “Our clients, the ones who come every day and stay all day. How do you think they can afford to pay memberships when they don’t have jobs?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it. I figured they maybe had money from their family, like … I don’t know…” I trail off when she starts to shake her head slowly.

“No, no, no.” She shakes her head in disapproval. “You need to start paying attention to the way the rich and famous are structured in this town, Graham.” She tilts her head and gives me a stern look. “Not all money is equal. Old money wouldn’t be caught working out. Sweating anywhere but a golf course, tennis court or racquetball club is gauche.” She says this as if it makes perfect sense.

She sweeps one of her hands in a circle over her head. “Here, we cater to the spouses, mistresses, boy toys, and lovers of men and women who have more money than time. So, while our clients are cash rich, they’re otherwisedeprived.”She says the word like it has significance. Realization dawns like a dark cloud on a clear horizon. She can’t mean … Surely not …

“Deprived of … sex?” I ask, reluctant to have my worst fear confirmed. “Exactly,” she says cheerfully.

I’ve step into the twilight zone because this can’t be real.

“We offer a service. Discreet, safe sex with the best-looking men and women in Los Angeles. Your annual salary will double, and if you and your client choose to see each other outside of the club, any gifts you receive during those encounters is yours to keep. And you get a company car, just like my 5 series, membership to the California Polo Club. Everything you could ever want, and as your agent, I get fifty percent of what they pay you.”

“Fifteen percent?” I ask, sure that I’d misheard her.

She lifts an eyebrow. “No, I said,fif-ty.”She enunciates so there’s no mistaking.

“That’s a lot … isn’t it?” I don’t much about stuff like that, but all three of my best friends have agents, and I know they only get a fraction of that.

“Maybe, but you’d still make twenty-five hundred dollars a session. You don’t make that in a week now, do you? Five thousand dollars a session,” she repeats.

I consider it because I would only need a few of those a week to earn enough money to go back to school. And at that rate, it wouldn’t take me long to have the first month’s payment for the treatment.

The carrot she’s dangling is tempting.

Very.

My car is a piece of shit. It gets the job done. But, it would be nice to have a car that I wasn’t embarrassed to park next to my friends.

And the polo club. The guys are all members there. It would be nice to walk in there as a member and not just when my friends can swing a visitor’s pass for me.

But all of that is nothing compared to the name that’s ringing in my head like an alarm.

Apollo.

Apollo.

Apollo.

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