Free Ed King by David Guterson Page A

produced her business card, which he studied suspiciously, with pursed lips. It read:
    First Class Service
    CANDACE DARK ESCORT SERVICE
    Portland’s #1 rated agency
    Sophisticated, refined, and high-class escorts,
    strictly for gentlemen
    We Are Happy to Serve You
    Call CA7-4223
    “We run a very professional and aboveboard operation,” said Diane. “On top of that, we offer a ten-percent commission for client referrals.”
    The concierge licked his lips as if consternated. “How old are you?” he asked.
    “The escorts we employ are all between the ages of twenty-one and thirty-five,” Diane answered. “No minors, we don’t employ minors, that goes without saying.”
    “I’m guessing you’re sixteen, tops.”
    “Please do give my proposal some thought, sir. Our ten-percent commission is competitive in the industry. Our agents have been known to make as much as twenty dollars per referral, even more. I’m sure you must have guests who inquire regarding escort services, and when they do, why, perhaps you’ll think of me.” She smiled, and once again curtsied.
    The concierge’s eyes made a sweep of the lobby before he said, “We’ll see what happens,” and put her card in his jacket pocket.
    It was the same at the Benson, with its marble floors and fireplaces, and at the Imperial on Broadway, and at the Heathman. At all of these fine hotels, a concierge took Diane’s card, each with his own we-both-know-what-this-is-about-but-we’re-not-going-to-acknowledge-it mien. It was fine with her for them to handle it that way. She concurred, silently, with their need for discretion, and let them know, without saying it directly, that she intended to be so impeccably discreet, at every turn, that nothing about her would ever threaten their good reputation, advantageous position, or employment.
    She was in business after that, with some success. It was what she’d seen her mum do, after all, on a different scale, at home. Instead of entertainingmen in a parlor, Diane went with them to dinner, the theater, the symphony, and piano bars where richly colored drinks were served. Never did she announce herself as a purveyor of sexual services. The safer thing to do was to accept the offer of a hotel-bar nightcap, and then the invitation to the room. Then, behind the locked door with the security chain latched, and with no mention of money changing hands, to take control of the transaction. Diane did this by giving her client what he needed, even if he was blind, beforehand, about what he needed, and was only seeing it right now through the ministrations of “Candy Dark.” Sometimes, as soon as a client was sufficiently serviced, he’d ask her to leave with a gift for her trouble—the late-night cab, the prearranged “escort fee,” and “a gratuity,” as Diane taught them to call it—and sometimes she had to stay on until morning before, needing to get on with whatever it was that had brought him to Portland, her client, maybe half dressed, or in his underwear, or shoeless, or with a loose tie, would pull out his wallet. If he was cheap, she would prod him. Usually it was productive to prod a man who came up short in the cash department—to make him feel bad about that, but good in bed, was the right combination. There were skinflints, to be sure, and the expense of commissions—Diane paid her concierges with a punctilious discretion, if not always with a completely honest 10 percent—but in the end, she was rewarded handsomely for what she did. Before long, she was able to get a nice apartment and—with the help of a client who sold upscale trade-ins—a more respectable car.
    One night, she escorted an attorney who specialized in immigration law, and made sure it came to pass that he requested her services for the following evening. This man, whom she found attractive, which was rare, insisted that it was important to him, erotically speaking, to know who he was sleeping with, it couldn’t really be “Candy