“Uh, we are not going for pensive and temperamental. No. In this fantasy, you are charming. Look at the camera and smile. Come on, look happy. You’re at a cocktail party, you just said something hilariously mean about Jeff Koons, and everyone is laughing.”
Adrian suppressed a scowl and tried to fix his features in an expression he could barely remember making naturally. It seemed to satisfy Tom, who uploaded it to hislaptop and then turned to filling out Adrian’s profile, greatly embroidering Adrian’s preferences regarding black-tie galas and long walks on the beach.
“What if someone I know finds my profile?”
“Then you know a bunch of people who pay a hundred bucks a month to check out sugar babies. Nobody ever found out aboutme. Relax.”
Adrian did not relax. He gritted his teeth and peered over Tom’s shoulder.
“And whywomenand notany?” Adrian asked, pointing to theSeekingdrop-down menu. He imagined there were a lot more men looking for paid companionship than women.
Tom gave him another long look. “You need to pick a struggle, buddy,” he said. “If you’re gonna start dating men, maybe try it for free first? I wish I had.”
“If it’s not about sex though—”
“Well, obviously, it’s alittlebit about sex, or at least theideaof sex....” Tom’s voice delicately trailed off as he pursed his lips.
Adrian groaned and stuck his hands in the air, backing away from the laptop. “I’m not doing this,” he said. “I am not! I’ll start looking for a job tomorrow.”
“I just uploaded your profile,” Tom said firmly. “At least take a look at who’s on here?”
“Take it down, Tom,” Adrian instructed him, going to the kitchen to investigate the leftovers Tom had brought home. The tuxedo felt a little tight, and Adrian didn’t know if that was because he’d been in drawstring pants for two weeks or because Tom’s leftovers all seemed to contain a great deal of béchamel. Adrian found a paper container of braised chard, which couldn’t be too bad for him, and dumped it into a bowl to reheat in the microwave.
“Okay, how about this lady? She’s going to the Cape soon, her sister is bringing her ex-husband as a date, and she wants someone to spend the week rubbing suntan lotion onto her shoulders and asking her ex pointed questions about his real estate portfolio. She says there’s only one bed at the beach house though. Is that weird?”
“Take it down,” Adrian repeated, watching his dinner circle in the microwave. He’d apply at the retail shops on their block, and maybe he could make some extra money teaching those paint-and-sip classes for seniors or something.
Tom clicked again. “This lady is in her eighties, but she’s flying to Arizona for the Ring cycle, and I know you like opera. You can lift fifty pounds, right? She has oxygen tanks.” He paused. “Oh, and she’s into BDSM. Huh.”
“Take itdown, Tom!”
The microwave chirped, and Adrian stirred the greens. He took a bite. Bitter. Just roughage. It tasted like penance. Mentally vowing that he would go to the gym the next day, he opened the fridge and got out a carton of moussaka. He put the food into a new bowl and started the microwave again.
Tom continued clicking on his laptop. When dinner was done, Adrian arranged it on the tiny kitchen table and was sitting down to eat when Tom stood up.
“Look,” Tom said triumphantly, turning the screen of his laptop around to show him. “What about her?”
Adrian paused with his fork halfway to his mouth.
Tom had expanded his potential patron’s photograph until it filled the entire screen. The blond woman’s face was obscured by the shade of a visor, but she was wearing a short white tennis dress and sneakers, her racket held at the ready. The picture had been taken on thecourt, the sun shining on the woman’s long tan legs. She looked way too young to be hiring a sugar baby.
“That picture’s probably thirty years old,” Adrian said.
“So?” Tom said. “At least you know she used to be hot. Maybe she still is.”
Adrian ignored him for a minute as he chewed his reheated dinner, and Tom browsed the rest of the woman’s profile.
“What does she want?” Adrian finally asked, unable to immediately discard the concept of going out with the tennis player.
Tom smiled in suppressed triumph. “She’s new in Boston, and she wants someone sophisticated to show her around the city.”
Adrian waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. Instead, Tom began typing. Adrian worried that Tom was now going full Cyrano de Bergerac: Tom did regional theater when he wasn’t waiting tables, and he had a large flair for the dramatic.
“What’s the catch?” Adrian asked suspiciously. He thought he was broad-minded, but he had some firm lines he was not going to cross, even if Tennis Girl had grown up into a reasonably attractive Tennis Woman.
“Hmm?” Tom said, typing, deleting, typing again.
“What’s the weird thing she wants that she can’t get for free?” Adrian demanded. With his luck, it was something painful or illegal.
