Maybe you're not as happy with the job as you think.
The thought was a little too profound for his liking, and the fresh air a welcome slap—crisp and cold—as he walked briskly down the cracked and well-trodden sidewalk of 17th street.
He had come to DC twenty years prior, finally escaping the primitive grasp of a small-town in Tennessee. He had been a headstrong seventeen-year-old with lofty dreams, going as far as savings took him... but soon found himself living on the streets, and hustling for meals. He met Reed one day outside of a Bank of America, naively thinking that people would be coming out of the bank with plenty of cash. He had propositioned him, and Reed had taken him in—playing Henry Higgins to Demarco's Eliza Doolittle... and eventually turning him into a prize prostitute.
Yes, it was a little Dickensian, only the less sordid American version... and he had been and still was immensely grateful for Reed having found him. The man had fed him, sheltered him, and finished remnants of an education he had left behind... polishing and nurturing him into the man he was today.
Reed was a pimp—there was no sugarcoating it. However, he was an educated and shrewd businessman. Hiscontributionsto the political cadre of DC were no less than that of Anna Wintour's influence on the fashion industry and similar in ways that extended beyond the confines of the continental United States.
When Reed had discovered Demarco, a ragamuffin on the street, Chandelier was a male-escort agency in its infancy. But in the world of bi-curious and closeted politicians and dignitaries, far away from their respected jurisdictions—it was growing faster than Reed could handle.
Demarco started as an errand boy—fast, efficient, and with a sense of humor and wit so sharp, he was destined to be a performer. And he wanted it... wanted to make more money and prove himself. Reed was reluctant at first but soon succumbed to the force he refers to still this day asHurricane Demarco.
When Demarco turned eighteen, he transitioned to the entertainment side of the Chandelier business. He began with the naive and green country-comes-to-town shtick and it served him well, many of his clientele coming from similar circumstances. He was also playing with more than a full-deck down below, which didn't hurt. He was young, hung, and full of cum... a hot ticket.
It was very much a case of being in the right place at the right time. Demarco shot to the upper echelon of high-demand escorts fast, bypassing third-level pros, second-level dabblers, and leaving entry-level doubters in the dust. He had wanted to please Reed, who had been the closest thing to a father-figure he'd had (his own having died young) and, quickly, he was one of the best.
Much had changed since those early days in the nation's capital, and Demarco grew and adapted at the same rate as Chandelier. He left Reed's home for a condo in Adams Morgan on the anniversary of his first year and had remained there ever since. He had good clothes, a good home, and he was happy. At least that what he told himself. But deep down—and his friend, Alec, knew this better than anyone—something was missing in his life. Alec had often deduced that family played a large part, especially the one Demarco had left behind in Tennessee, regardless of their biased beliefs.
Demarco would dismiss him but Alec, good friend that he was, would press further, explaining to him that—smart, witty, and gorgeous specimen of a man that he was—he was somehow incomplete... and that if he couldn't plug that hole with a child, or reconciling with his mother, then he needed to find a permanent partner to share his life with. This would be the start of the real evolution of Demarco Alford.
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Humor had been his defense mechanism when dealing with these mid-life insecurities and, annoying as they were, there was yet another crossroads he was approaching that was even more sobering, destined to change his life and career forever. And now, walking the frozen streets of Dupont Circle his thoughts went there... as they often did these days, inevitably.
Christ, I'm close to forty.
He lifted the folds of his cashmere scarf higher above his nose, and tossed the excess over the shoulder of his Ralph Lauren topcoat, making the turn onto Massachusetts Ave.
The embassy homes were on both sides of him now, their solo-lit flags representing various nations. He passed Zimbabwe, El Salvador, Kuwait, before he reached the address Reed had disclosed on the phone.
Demarco looked up at the maroon and white flag.
Qatar, he thought.This should be interesting.
He walked up the steps and approached the front door. A Secret Service agent was stationed there.
"Platinum," Demarco said, and the agent allowed him to enter.
He gave his coat to the page in the red-carpeted hall, and proceeded toward the sounds of a gathering in a large room ahead. Typical. He'd been here countless times before, maybe not this particular domicile, but the scenario was more than familiar.
Seen one, seen them all.
The whole James Bond feel had worn off long ago.
He stepped through an archway to his left and there was a crowd of at least a hundred men, several women as well. Most of the women he recognized as co-workers from Chandelier. He saw Ami accompanying a familiar face, a higher-ranking chairman of the Christian Coalition, he believed... couldn't remember the man's name though, and didn't care. There was also a new Asian beauty he had seen at the office occasionally but did not know. She was laughing, her arm draped over the shoulders of the Senate Majority Leader. And there was Tiffany, who he did know well. She was top-tier in Demarco's book and was conversing with none other than what appeared to be the Sheikh of Qatar himself. She winked at him.
The boys were out too, and he saw several familiar faces chatting it up with secreted officials and curious foreign VIPs as well as a handful of celebrities... music, film, and television.
Demarco snatched a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and thanked him.
Yes, sir, he thought.There's a lot of highfalutin folks here.
But when you got to the down and dirty, everyone was looking for just one of two things—stimulation or validation... mostly sexual, but often only conversation... someone to be real with aside from getting your privates petted.
Demarco's job was to find a man and help him accomplish that goal.
He surveyed the room again, methodically sifting the escorts he knew from the faces he didn't in his slow pan, attempting to zero in on a potential and avoid peripheral annoyances.
