Free Grave Designs by Michael A. Kahn

to two or three nights a week. That’s my limit, believe me.”
    â€œHow much longer will you keep at it?”
    â€œNot much longer. I’ve saved plenty of money. Believe it or not, I’ve even been thinking about law school. Listen, when you screw three lawyers a week, it starts to rub off.”
    â€œReally? Law school?”
    â€œYeah. I did pretty well in college. Graduated with honors.” She shrugged. “If people will pay good money to screw me, they ought to pay me good money to screw someone else.” She paused for a spoonful of yogurt. “If you think about it, Rachel, you and I are just in different lines of the same business. I sell my body and hang on to my brains. You sell your brains and hang on to your body. You tell me who’s got the better deal.” She shrugged. “I might take the law boards this fall.”
    â€œWhere do you want to go?”
    â€œSometimes I think I’d like to stay in Chicago. But then I think, why not try for the best? Who knows, maybe I can get into Harvard. If I get a high enough score on the LSATs, I’ll apply there. If I need extra money up there, it shouldn’t be a problem. If those professors are anything like their former students, I’ll find plenty of work.”
    We both laughed.
    She stopped laughing and frowned. “This Graham Marshall thing. God, it really shook me up.” She looked down at her apple, turning it slowly in her hand. “I didn’t really like him that much at first. He could really be a cold bastard. But you don’t have that sort of relationship with a guy for that long without developing some feelings.”
    â€œIt must have been a terrible experience.”
    â€œIt wasn’t a picnic, Rachel. He looked terrible lying there on the floor. And his eyes. I’ll never forget those eyes. He was so scared.” She shook her head slowly. “Like a little boy.”
    She pulled a handkerchief out of one of the pockets of the robe and blew her nose. I stood up and walked over to the window. Cindi concentrated on her yogurt, spooning it out slowly.
    â€œJesus, Rachel,” she finally said, “can you imagine what they thought at the hospital when Marshall arrived in that rubber suit?”
    I turned toward her. She was smiling. Her eyes were red.
    I smiled too. “I can imagine.” I walked back and sat down across from her. “I’ve been wondering about that. Did he always wear that outfit?”
    â€œA lot of the time. He liked rubber.”
    â€œIsn’t that a little odd?” I asked.
    She smiled. “Actually, it’s not that odd for a Yale graduate.”
    â€œOh, really?”
    â€œFrom my experience, Yalies are into that sort of stuff. They’re a kinky crew. They seem to like rubber.”
    â€œJust Yalies?” I asked.
    â€œWell,” she said, smiling, “each law school has its tendencies. I’ve noticed patterns.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œWhere’d you go to law school?”
    â€œHarvard,” I said.
    â€œPerfect example,” she said. “They like English.”
    â€œEnglish?”
    â€œWhips, chains, S and M. From my experience, Harvard men are into humiliation.”
    â€œMust be the side effects of three years of the Socratic method.”
    â€œYeah. I don’t know what they do to those poor guys in Cambridge. Listen.” She leaned forward, her eyes twinkling. “I have one Harvard man—a senior partner downtown—he comes up here with his own suitcase full of bondage equipment. He likes me to tie him up.”
    â€œHe’s from Harvard?”
    â€œYep. I can’t tell you his name—hooker-client privilege, you know.” She winked.
    â€œHow about Michigan?”
    â€œMichigan, Michigan…let’s see…I’ve had about five clients from there.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œWell, I’d have to say most of them have been