Taxi to Paris Read Online Free Page B

for it!
    "Everybody wants to know that. I'm sure you're no exception." She looked out the window. "Almost every time I'm with a new client, she asks the same question."
    I stiffened. I didn't actually want to be a "new client." And I didn't feel like one, either.
    She looked at me indifferently. "You really don't want to know?" I shook my head. "Well, I don't suppose it makes any difference. I never answer the question."
    I could tell that she wanted to be rid of me. She began to get restless. Any minute now, the fastest way to get me to leave would occur to her. And here it came already!
    "So, did you get what you expected?" She looked at me very professionally. I almost expected her to add, "Will there be anything else, ma'am?"
    I had to smile to myself. Instinctively - or perhaps completely rehearsed - she had chosen the topic which would, under normal circumstances, scare me off the fastest. But what were "normal circumstances" in a relationship with her? This whole evening and the entire night up to this point could not be compared with anything in my experience.
    And this woman was not going to get rid of me so easily.
    She became impatient. "Were you satisfied?" She gave me a scrutinizing look. "Or did I do something wrong?" My silence made her nervous. "I know it didn't all go like you had imagined it would." She made a remorseful face. She was good at it! I bet most women melted right down when she pulled this one. She grabbed an appointment calendar from the nightstand. "We can make an appointment that's convenient for you, and you can tell me what you didn't like." She unfastened the black leather band and flipped through the pages.
    This was truly unbelievable - she was offering me an improvement!
    "What are you afraid of?" I asked.
    She froze. Her eyes told me, more clearly than her reaction or any words could, that I had hit a sore spot. She retreated back to her own mental terrain in order to steady herself.
    "Should we not make an appointment, then?" she asked, leafing aimlessly through the calendar. She turned to face me once more. Her eyes had this I-have-no-idea-what-you-want look now. They reminded me of the big luxury cars with wiper/washers on the headlights. One moment dirtied - one wipe, and they were clear again.
    Now she smiled knowingly. "If you have a reason to complain, that's bad publicity. And bad publicity is bad for business."
    I was reminded of a conversation I'd had recently with a car salesman. He'd presented himself in much the same way. In that case, though, he'd wanted to sell me a car and not his body.
    "You can call me." She pulled out a card.
    "Oh, no!" I groaned. "Don't give me your business card now, too!"
    She laughed, pleased. It seemed authentic. "I knew you'd hate that," she said. She took a pencil and wrote something on the card, then handed it to me. It was an elegant, white, handmade card, completely empty except for the large, curving letters in the middle. No name, no address, just the numbers. That was really the extreme in discretion.
    I looked at her. Tiny laugh lines crinkled at the corners of her eyes. "Business cards are not typical in my line of work," she explained, even more amused. "Sorry to disappoint you."
    There we sat, two naked women in one bed who had just slept together, as if we were sitting together having coffee at an upscale café.
    "Would you like some more sugar?"
    "Oh, no, I'd rather have another small orgasm. But not too strong; I'm having my hair done this afternoon." The scene occurred to me, surreal.
    I had no more reason to stay, much as I didn't want to admit it. But I wanted to see her again. How could I do that? As her client? Never!  Did I have the slightest chance, then? I kept looking down at the card in my hand. Slowly, I was growing uncomfortable in this bed. And it could have been so comfortable. Fall asleep together, wake up together, a little cuddling, a little sex... I felt the tingling begin again.
    She watched me. I glanced at her