He’d never known that drudgery. But he had known despair. A despair pushed on him again and again by ignorance. He was an artist who used his innate talents to bring beauty to this dull, often dreary world.
He’d been born into wealth and privilege, and that afforded him the means to focus all on his art, and not have to fracture that focus on some mindless, miserable job.
He understood the power of money.
Tonight, he’d offer the one he’d chosen the kind of money she couldn’t resist.
He took the elevator down to the garage, where he kept two vehicles. He thought the sleek black sports car would serve as another lure for her. He’d bring her to his studio in that.
When he took her out, he’d need the all-terrain.
Though the area she worked was several blocks away, he didn’t want to draw too much attention. So he cruised by it. Sometimes the street-level licensed companions gathered in groups, other times they spreadout. He spotted her, the short red skirt, the low-cut top with spangles that glittered in the streetlights.
He drove another two blocks to an automated lot where he flicked on the jammer that would prevent the scanner from reading his car.
He meandered his way down to her, made eye contact, then stopped as if unsure.
He watched her slow smile, and thought again: Perfect.
Hips swaying, she walked to him.
“Looking for a date?”
“Actually, I was just going to… You have wonderful eyes.”
“The rest of me’s even better. Standard rates, and I’ll prove it.”
“I… would you walk with me?”
“I’m working, handsome.”
“I’ll pay you.” He reached in his pocket, took out a fifty. Bait for the hook.
“Fifty to take a walk?”
“Yeah, for that.” He gestured the way he’d come. “And more if you agree to pose for me.”
“What kind of poses are you into?” She took the fifty, then fell into step with him.
“I’m an artist.”
“Yeah, what kind?”
“I paint. I’m working on a show for next spring. I don’t actually know the standard rates for what you do, but if you’d pose for me tonight—and tomorrow night. At least two sessions? I’ll pay you double. You’ve got the face I want for this portrait.”
Her eyes narrowed. He wanted her eyes on canvas.
“Double?”
“It’s important to me. It could be the centerpiece of my show. My car’s in the lot right over there. My studio’s not far.”
She wasn’t ready to buy it, he thought, so he offered what he believed would tip her over the edge.
“I can give you a thousand a session. It’s probably going to take three, maybe four. Up to four hours each. After that a model, especially if she’s not a professional, can get stale.”
“Four hours?”
He could see her calculate. Yes, those who needed money often calculated.
