The Hardest Thing

said.
    “What did you have in mind?”
    “How about honesty?”
    “Honesty.” We tapped our bottles together, each drank half. “So tell me about Julian Marshall the Second.”
    “It started four years ago. Let me think—yeah, it was spring, I was wearing this new shirt I got in the Armani sale. It was gorgeous.”
    “Not interested.”
    “Sorry, but sometimes the only way I can remember things is by what I’m wearing. Anyway, it was spring four years ago, and I got an email from a guy who wanted a companion for a weekend trip.”
    “Sounds nice.”
    “That’s the kind of stuff I did. Better than going to a hotel room for an hour. Pays well, you get to see nice places and eat in nice restaurants and—well, you get to share a bed for the night. I charge more for it, but I like it. It’s comforting, even with a man like him.”
    “Go on.”
    “I was living with three other actors in Brooklyn, in a really small sublet apartment that was only meant for two. It was, you know—grungy. And this guy sent
his chauffeur to collect me in a limo. Can you imagine? A big, shiny black car pulling up outside our building. My roommates were all hanging out the window as I walked out in my Armani shirt, with a weekend bag, it was Chanel that bag, or at least it was supposed to be.”
    “Try to remember that I don’t care about labels.”
    “We drove to the Upper West Side and waited outside. The driver was this Italian guy, really handsome, and I tried to make conversation with him, but he wasn’t the talkative type.”
    “Ferrari?”
    “Yeah, Ferrari.” Jody sighed. “I never did get to suck his cock. Anyway, after half an hour the old guy came out, big and fat, in the worst kind of resort wear you could imagine, and I’m like—Jesus, if you’re that rich can’t you afford some decent clothes?”
    “And that was Marshall?”
    “Yes. Although he told me his name was Smith. Can you believe it? I’ve had so many Mr. Smiths the whole family must be queer.”
    “What was the deal?”
    “I was to be his secretary for the weekend. He was going down to his place in Connecticut to prepare a speech and he needed someone to take dictation. Oh, please! Dictation.” He laughed. “But you have to play along with this shit, so while we were driving out of town I told him that I could do shorthand and typing and yes, I’d be happy to help him with his frozen shoulder, I was a fully qualified sports masseur, blah, blah, blah. He kept touching my arm, my leg—not groping or anything, just little dabs. He had really soft hands—kind of fat, with manicured nails. That’s such a giveaway. He pretended
to be the big family man but one look at those nails and I knew his game.”
    “And what was that?”
    “Nothing fancy. Father-son stuff. Bit of spanking. Getting me to walk around in a pair of gym shorts and tube socks, telling me how disgusting I was, putting me over his knee. He couldn’t really get it up.”
    “Easy money, then.”
    “He liked the sound of his own voice—lecturing me while I was showing off for him, telling me I was going to hell. He was big on the religion. That was kind of funny.”
    “And after that first weekend?”
    “He hired me again. Repeat business—that’s what you’re always looking for. I knew just what he wanted, and I was a good enough actor to pretend that I was there to help him with his work. We’d get talking about my sinful lifestyle and the more I confessed, the more he liked it. If I said I was truly repentant he’d spank me and let me jerk off. One day I had a brainstorm, and I burst into tears while I was telling him some stupid sob story, and he nearly had a heart attack. He had his hand down his pants, and I think he might actually have shot his wad that time.”
    “Jesus.”
    “Pathetic, isn’t it? But he was paying me a thousand bucks for a weekend. That’s a lot of money.”
    “You obviously gave satisfaction.”
    “You can sneer all you like, Dan, but it’s better than killing people for a living.”
    “You’re probably right.”
    “Anyway, it got to the point where he offered to
set me up in an apartment with a regular allowance. He’d see me when he was in town, or we’d go down to Connecticut for weekends. He even took me with him to conferences, and I was always introduced as his secretary. I don’t think anyone was fooled, but believe me I wasn’t the only one. A lot of those business leaders have personal assistants or drivers or