Demarco gave Jack a good glare, but it was more for levity.
"You could start by listing any enemies you might have," Jack said.
"Those bitches? All queens, no guns."
"I'm being serious here, D."
"Me too, Jack. I'm a hooker—high class, high dollar. It's a legitimate business. They're not thugs."
"We know all about Chandelier."
"Then why are you asking me?"
"Because you might have crossed the path of someone with a nefarious background... or maybe someone with a jealous lover or spouse. Anything you can remember might help, no matter how silly it may seem to you."
"Sounds like you're trying to get all up in my business."
"It'smybusiness, D. We were shot at. A dignitary's son—"
"You're right. I know," Demarco said, cutting him off. "You're only trying to help. I promise I will try and control my inner-smart ass."
"Thank you."
"But I'm good at my job too, Jack. Not just the part you're obsessed with—"
"I'm not—"
"Yes, you are," Demarco said. "But we'll address that later. As far as any undesirables, there are plenty... but none that I can think of as being... dangerous. And when I say undesirable, I mean old... or obnoxious... or, God forbid—boring. But that's why they seek escorts from places like Chandelier in the first place, Jack—so that they can feel normal, be themselves. I'm just the entertainment. It's not my job to interpret or judge them."
Jack was quiet, thinking.
Demarco wanted to believe that he was dissecting the events and looking for an answer... but deep down he could sense the familiar bewilderment and jealousy that inevitably surfaced whenever he was getting close to someone.
He continued: "Sure, there could be spiteful or vindictive spouses, but I wouldn't know if there were. And considering that my clientele is mostly high-profile, not many people would. These guys either pay for one-on-ones or attend events like the other night... all to avoid whatever there is—or is not—at home. And really, it's none of my business, Jack. I don't want to know. That's extra."
"Has any—" Jack considered before he spoke. "Has anyrole-playever gotten out-of-hand? Did you ever feel... threatened?"
Demarco noted Jack's careful choice of words. "No," he answered. "Demarco don't do those games. Most of my liaisons, if you will, are either sexual or conversational. I know a lot of closeted politicians, Jack. They're a dime a dozen."
"I'm sure."
"Any more questions?" Demarco was sincere but lightened his tone to show Jack that he wasn't upset with being interrogated. He'd known the topic would come up, and knew it would be broached again. His history with potential boyfriends was short and all too familiar, like watching a rerun ofThe Golden Girlswith the sound turned off.
"No. I think that's it." He smiled, squeezing Demarco's foot. "For now."
"Well, I have one: How the hell did I get shot in the middle of Dupont Circle... at lunchtime? There were people everywhere. It couldn't be more conspicuous."
"We've contemplated that as well. Whoever is responsible was likely seeking the attention."
"Great. I'm sure Reed will be thrilled."
"Reed?"
"My boss. Chandelier may be well-known through political channels—and the Secret Service—but Reed likes to keep a low-profile when it comes to the press."
Jack had a hard time suppressing a smile.
"Don't be so smug," said Demarco. "It makes your suit look cheap and ill-fitted."
