Felicianna frowned, her green eyes darkening. "Not in the mood for ice cream?"

  Elena held Felicianna's gaze. "I mean the other thing."

  Felicianna ran a hand through her short, spiky dark hair. She snorted. Felicianna was a great woman, smart, athletic and attractive, but Elena felt no romantic sparks with her. However, after Isaiah's death, after the suicide attempt--okay, maybe it was a suicide attempt, maybe not--Elena had gotten into the bad habit of sleeping with Felicianna. These nights almost always started with junk food and a movie.

  "I wasn't even thinking about that," Felicianna said defensively.

  "Okay. Good."

  "Good?"

  "You know what I mean." They had talked about this. Several times. They had decided they were better off as friends. However, their actions did not always reflect their words.

  They settled on opposite ends of the couch, and Elena popped in the DVD: Serial Mom.

  Felicianna held up Frances's book. "You reading this or is your mom?"

  "I am."

  "Why?"

  Elena shrugged. "Why not?" I would rather be with Frances tonight, actually.

  What a horrible thing to think about your own best friend.

  "Didn't you read it when it came out?"

  "Yes. I was bored, so…"

  "Uh-huh." Dubiousness filled Felicianna's voice, but she replaced the book. Elena filled Felicianna in on Kevin stealing the urn, and Felicianna made the appropriate responses.

  Halfway through the movie, Felicianna paused the DVD. "Would it be so bad if we did--if we did--if we were more than friends?"

  Elena hated the pain, the apprehension in Felicianna's gaze. Few things were worse than unrequited love. Felicianna had helped her through so many things, most of all Isaiah's death. Many times, she had tried to will herself to fall for Felicianna, for her own eyes to get that spark Felicianna's did when they saw each other. "I love you," Elena said. "I do, but if we were together, it wouldn't be fair to you because I love you as a friend. Only as a friend. I wish it were otherwise. You have no idea."

  "But you won't try and see."

  Elena did not know how to reply. Her heart was what it was; she was not in love with Felicianna and never would be. "Trying" a relationship would only end up hurting Felicianna.

  "Felicianna," Elena said. "Maybe you shouldn't come by anymore. Don't make it harder on yourself than it has to be."

  "Yeah."

  They watched the rest of the movie in silence. After the ending scene, Felicianna stood, collected the DVD and left without saying anything.

  *****

  "Don't you think it's a shame," Darren remarked Thursday during his fourth visit (he had come to see Elena four days in a row) "that people are scared to try new things sexually?"

  They were naked, and Elena had just fucked him in the ass with a small dildo. Tomorrow, he wanted to graduate to a bigger dildo.

  "It's a shame," Elena agreed. She fought a yawn.

  "Bet a lot of your guys bitch about what their girlfriends or wives won't do."

  "A good amount, yes."

  "How many regular clients do you have?"

  "A million." Right now, only you and Frances. She did not like to have more than three regulars at a time. Once in a while, once or twice a week or so, Amanda summoned her to service someone, but these were one-offs. People who had not seen her picture, who did not want anything lengthy, just a one-hour wham bam, thank you ma'am type of thing.

  "Do you do women?"

  "Of course."

  Darren's eyes gleamed. "Wow."

  Women made up a tiny fraction of Elena's clients, but the great majority of these women were generous tippers. Elena would bet that even the heterosexual female hookers preferred the female clients to the male clients. Sex was sex, and women clients meant money, money, money. Usually, the women were staffers or politicians--Republicans--who would die an agonizing political death if word got out they were gay, bisexual or into kinky stuff.

  "Are you straight? Gay? Bisexual?" Darren asked.

  "I don't like labels." If Elena told him she was a lesbian, he would never be able to let it go. He would continually be asking about her personal sexual proclivities.

  When he got up to leave, he tipped well--two hundred dollars for the one hour. All she needed to do to keep the money flowing was smile, laugh, listen and fuck. Easy enough. Boring, though.

  Darren stopped at the door. "Do you do threesomes?"

  "Of course. Threesomes and more. Anything you like."

  "Wow." Everything she said awed him. "You're cool, Solan Patricia May. I’d be in heaven if I got paid to fuck all day!"

  She was not in heaven.

  "Ever had a client fall in love with you?"

  "No." Don't tell me you're falling for me.

  "I was wondering, that's all," Darren said in a rush. "Don't worry. I love Jan. My fiancee."

  He had not said the name--had not mentioned her--since their first meeting, on Monday. "Right. Jan."

  "Have you ever fallen in love with a client?" he asked.

  "No. Goodbye, Darren."

  Elena stayed in bed a minute longer. Darren did not love Jan--not as he should anyway. Elena was not judging him; she was simply saying that making a good relationship took two people. She did not fault many of her clients for seeking out a prostitute. Better that than start affairs with their secretaries or co-workers and devastate their marriages and children. However, if Darren genuinely loved his Jan, he would tell her his needs. Tell her how to give him a blow job he liked. He would not be spending more and more and more time with Elena. He had been with her yesterday from ten a.m. to four p.m. He would not be buying her candy and little gifts. He'd be getting them for Jan. He would not be telling Elena about his day or about funny moments. He'd be telling Jan.

  Elena could not wait to get out of the whole dirty--but necessary--business. Let other people do it. After I help Frances come out, I'm quitting. She would go back to being a legitimate party planner. She meant it this time.

  *****

  When Felicianna arrived, Kevin was in a booth, downing a beer. Three empty bottles surrounded him. For a second--only a second--she felt sorry for him. Felicianna ordered a Coke, regretting coming early, no matter if only by five minutes. She felt like she was sleeping with the enemy.

  She hoped her suspicions were wrong.

  She hoped that Elena would never find out what she had done. What she was doing. It was wrong, on so many levels. Unhealthy. Not the actions of a true best friend. She should be taking Elena's own advice and be trying to forget about her.

  Who knew what Kevin's motivations were. Felicianna suspected he was projecting his own guilt onto Elena, trying to find fault in her.

  "We're doing what we gotta," Kevin mumbled, as if he were reading her mind. "If she won't be straight with us, we owe it to her and to ourselves to find out. We can't help her if we don't get the whole picture, right?"

  "Right." Felicianna shoved her guilty conscience aside for the time being. "He's late."

  Their guy sauntered in twenty minutes later, and she knew from his lope, from his twitchy grin that was trying not to be a grin, that he'd just had sex with her. The bastard. He didn't have to go that far. He only had to stay long enough to ascertain--

  Darren greeted Kevin with a handshake and a: "Hey, man. How's it hanging?" Felicianna got a nod.

  Kevin's gaze darted around, his furtiveness reminding Felicianna of a rat's. "Well?" he asked.

  Darren sighed, but he did not do a good job of feigning heaviness. "It's not drugs. She's a call girl."

  "You're sure?"

  "Let's step out back."

  The alley was quiet, isolated from the hustle and bustle of Georgetown. Darren pressed play on his iTouch.

  Don't you think it's a shame that people are scared to try new things sexually?

  It's a shame.

  Bet a lot of your guys bitch about what their girlfriends or wives won't do.

  A good amount, yes.

  How many clients do you have?

  Darren sounded convincing, Felicianna would give him that. Elena sounded like she was trying to cover up being bored.

  A million.

  Do you do women?

  Of course.

  Wow.

  Kevin was turning pale. Felicianna kept her composure, although her insides twisted.

  Are you straight? Gay? Bisexual?

  I don't like labels.

  Do you do threesomes?

  Of course. Threesomes and more. Anything you like.

  "Stop," Kevin hissed. He slumped against an alley wall.

  "That's all, anyway. I'm sorry, man."

  "Yeah. Well."

  "What are you going to do?" Darren asked.

  "She's the mother of my child. What the hell do you think I should do?"

  Felicianna kept her thoughts to herself. She's the mother of your dead child. Big difference. Felicianna had been more of a parent to Isaiah than Kevin had been. The jerk.

  "She's doing it to help pay Isaiah's hospital bills," Kevin said glumly. "That has to be it. Because of her mom, she has a thing about debt."

  "Maybe she's doing it because she likes it," Darren suggested.

  Kevin snorted. "Not Elena."

  "She's good at what she does."

  Kevin's eyes narrowed, and Felicianna spoke for the first time since Darren arrived. "Don't, Darren. Don't fucking go there."

  Darren pretended innocence, his eyes wide.

  "How many times have you seen her?" Felicianna asked.

  "What?"

  "You heard the question."

  Darren shrugged. "Few times."

  "You were supposed to see her one time."

  "Yeah, well, I couldn't be sure until--"

  "Spare me! You got us the information we wanted. We have no more business to conduct with you, nor you with her."

  "Yeah, yeah."

  He's going to see her again. Oh, Christ.

  Three weeks ago, Kevin had corralled Felicianna at Antiques by Anna, the antiques shop she owned.

  He was worried about Elena, he confessed.

  So was Felicianna, but she said nothing.

  "I think she might be into drugs," Kevin whispered. "Dealing."

  Felicianna kept her mouth shut. Kevin's guess was good, but wrong. Probably. The possibility of Elena being into drugs had crossed Felicianna's mind more than once. Little things here and there about Elena's party planning did not add up. Her hours were too odd. The phone calls at noon, or at midnight, at all hours, that had her grinning apologetically and saying goodbye.

  Felicianna asked Elena what was going on, that Elena could tell her anything, but the response was the same: a vacant smile, a: "Everything's fine."

  Plus why was Elena on birth control? Felicianna had found the pills by accident--okay, maybe not so accidentally. She was sick of worrying that Elena was into drugs, so one night about six months ago, Felicianna grabbed her chance when Elena was in the shower. Felicianna inputted Isaiah's birth date into the combination lock on Elena's briefcase.

  Right on the first try.

  Not only were there birth control pills, but there was cash. Lots of cash, hundred-dollar bills. Handcuffs. Lube. Leather whips. Condoms.

  She had not told Elena. There was a rational explanation, and Elena would talk about it when she was ready.

  "She hasn't told you anything?" Kevin pressed when he came to see her at Antiques by Anna.

  "If she had, I sure as hell wouldn't tell you."

  "I talked to her mom."

  Great. Just great. Bring that poor innocent woman into it.

  "Brenda told me to leave it alone, that Elena's coping with stuff in her own way, but I can't."

  "Brenda said that?" Sounded like an admission, all right.

  Kevin continued: "I called up an old buddy of mine. He works at a hotshot law firm but used to be a PI. Owes me a favor. Problem is, the favor's not that big. I can't do this without money. I have some saved, a couple hundred or so, but we probably need more."

  "Let me think about it," Felicianna found herself saying.

  That night, she broached the topic with Elena in a roundabout way. "You know you can tell me anything," Felicianna said. "About your life. Or your job." She was too afraid to mention the cash and the handcuffs--violating Elena's privacy.

  "Of course I know that." A blank smile.

  Roundabout was not working. Felicianna asked straight out: "Are you into drugs? Or, uh, prostitution?"

  Elena gave Felicianna a long, probing look. "What did you say?"

  "You have to admit, the calls are--"

  "I am going to pretend I did not hear your question. Thank you."

  "You can tell me. I won't judge you. Please tell me." Elena probably thought Felicianna would break their friendship. Felicianna had never been shy about speaking out against the ills of pornography, of prostitution, of sexualizing and objectifying women.

  "There is nothing to tell," Elena said through clenched teeth, her face white with anger. "My job is my job. Understand?"

  So, Elena was not confessing anything. She was keeping on lying. Felicianna considered for two days, then called Kevin. "All right. I'm in. How much do you need?"

  Now, though, the gleam in Darren's eyes unnerved her. Elena was a complicated woman, not the usual prostitute fare--not that Felicianna had frequented prostitutes and knew what an average one was like, no way, never--and Darren had better not take advantage of her.

  Chapter 9

  The car from the service dropped Elena off at four fifty-five. Frances's building was a gleaming black high rise just across the Potomac River from D.C. Elena smiled at the doorman and followed the instructions Frances had left with the service. "I’m Ms. Dourne’s party planner." You knew you were in the big leagues when your clients had doormen: popular in New York City but rare in the D.C. area.

  "She’s expecting you. Go on up."

  Elena pressed the button for the twentieth floor, the top floor. The elevator moved slowly, rhythmically. The trip would be a bear if the elevator broke down. Good exercise for sure. Not that Frances needed it. She was well-toned. Probably had a home gym.

  Elena hoped they would not play cards again. She could take only so much rummy, and Frances had requested her until midnight--five hours. Elena stepped into a short hallway with a door at the end. Frances answered the knock, and Elena’s heart thumped uncomfortably. No fair Frances looked so good. She wore the hourglass necklace. And she was sharp in a yellow T-shirt that complemented her hair. No glasses.

  "Hi," Frances said with a shy grin. "Come in."

  Frances's penthouse had sky-high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows, but it fit the public image Frances projected: reserved, contained. The space was minimalist. Sleek, black lines. Nothing homey. More like a modernist art museum than a home.

  A Bechstein Baby Grand Piano added to the museum effect. "Wow," Elena said. "You play?" Frances's memoir had not said anything about her playing the piano.

  "It was Daniel's. Still is, I suppose. When Marissa cried, his playing calmed her. He taught me a few lessons. I didn't get into it. He was wonderful. Is. This is hard. I can't keep my verb tenses straight. Even if he's alive, who's to say he still plays?" An uneasy laugh. "He'd play for me. I'd lay on the couch, relax, close my eyes and lose myself in the music and in his voice. At these times, I thought our marriage was going to work."

  "That wasn't in the memoir."

  "A lot didn't get in."

  "It's a beautiful piano." Shame it doesn't get any use. "You've kept it up well."

  "The keys are the original ivory. Do you play?"

  "No."

  "A few years after Daniel and Marissa left--five years to be exact--I called a piano teacher."

  "You took lessons?"

  "Yep. Still do, half an hour each week. I'm pretty good. Nowhere near as good as Daniel. I don't sing like he did. Does. Anyway, long answer to your question."

  "I'd love to hear you play."

  "Anyway," Frances said, "I thought we could have dinner soon. Out back, on the deck. The views--the lights at night--are gorgeous."

  Elena let the piano matter drop. "Sounds great. You cook?"

  Frances laughed. "Heavens, no. Why cook for myself? I have someone who cooks on Sundays and brings the food here. I freeze the meals and eat them throughout the week. Tonight we're having crab-stuffed chicken. If you don't like that, I have a few other things."

  "I could cook for us sometime," Elena said.

  "That sounds good. You cook a lot?"

  "Nah."

  "Why?"

  Because I'm single. Because my mother lives with me, and she likes to cook.

  Elena avoided Frances's gaze. "I could cook for us sometime if you wanted."

  "All right. I'm not a picky eater, so surprise me. Tomorrow night, same time?"

  "Perfect. I'm free."

  Frances grinned. "Free, you're not. Here's your money."

  After Elena put the envelope on her briefcase, Frances led her to a closed door. "So, why I collect hourglasses. This is Marissa's bedroom. She would be fourteen now. Is, I mean. She is fourteen. Not would be."

  "How did that Mexico City stuff turn out?"

  Frances shook her head. "Nothing. Yet. Of course not. That man was not Daniel. Impossible."

  "Hmm."

  "Do you have children?"

  Elena crossed her arms. A client had never asked that question. Did she have children? Maybe yes, maybe no.

  Frances's mouth went tight, and Elena registered that the question had been rhetorical. Frances had not considered the possibility that she, Elena, a prostitute, a woman Frances was paying, some sort of cardboard figure, might have a life. A child.

  "No," Elena said.

  "Oh." Disbelieving. "Boy or girl? Boys or girls? Both?"

  "I told you I don't have children."

  Frances cleared her throat. "All right. Anyway, I could come out a hundred times and promise Daniel a hundred times I'll do my best to share joint custody and make sure he isn't prosecuted. He won’t bring her back. The risk is too great. Maybe one day, when she’s older, she’ll see a picture of me or see me on TV and start to remember: ‘Hey, that woman’s my mother.’ And she’ll find me. That’s what I tell myself, anyway. But I don’t have memories from when I was three. Do you?"