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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

6:30 P.M.

Katie Battle made certain to keep her knees together beneath the short hemline of her dress as she shifted her weight from the cab. A uniformed bellman opened one side of a set of double red doors for her.

“Welcome to the Royalton, ma’am.”

She bypassed the hotel lobby’s suede sofas, leather-covered walls, and steel tables and headed directly for the wood-paneled Bar 44.

It was six thirty, a bit early for New York City happy-hour standards, but the space had already started to fill. She’d learned that this time of day was popular for married men who could fit in an after-work diversion and still make it home in time to claim a late night at the office.

Taking the last remaining seat at the bar, she ordered a Manhattan from a light-haired bartender, who gave her a knowing look. “You want some bar mix to snack on, or will this be a quick visit?”

The comment was obviously a dig. Or maybe not. Perhaps it was all in her imagination.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

The bartender nodded politely and made his way to the other end of the counter, where a barrel-chested man tapped a credit card on the sleek brass bar top.

She had taken two ladylike sips of her cherry red cocktail when the man approached.

“Are you Miranda?”

She gave him her warmest and most welcoming smile. “Very nice to meet you.”

“Stuart,” he said. “Uh, Stuart—”

“That’s okay,” she said, with a reassuring nod. “You can be anyone you want tonight.”

She gave Stuart a quick but subtle once-over. He was probably just past fifty, but he was still in decent shape. A full head of dark hair, but she suspected the assistance of a toupee. Titanium wedding band. Decent suit and tie. A little shy. Clean.

Pretty routine.

Stuart eyed the bartender nervously. “Um, the bar’s a little tight. You want to move over—” He gestured toward an empty brown leather sofa toward the front of the bar, not far from the entrance to the hotel lobby. She led the way while Stuart ordered himself a Maker’s Mark neat and dropped cash on the counter for the two drinks.

Once he was seated next to her on the couch, Miranda noticed his left thumb fiddling with his wedding band.

“Are you going to be okay?” She placed her hand gently on him, only at his knee, no higher. The last thing she needed was this guy to succumb to a sudden attack of piousness.

Stuart held his highball glass with both hands and stared at the swirling brown liquid.

“Sorry. Last night was my twentieth anniversary.”

She reminded herself she was Miranda and forced herself to keep her hand planted exactly where it was. As if she were comfortable.

“Charlotte was in an accident three years ago. Spinal damage.” He wiped at his eyes. “God, I’m sorry. It’s, well, this isn’t the first time or anything. And I suspect she even sort of knows. But, you know, last night—”

“Sure,” she said, giving his knee a reaffirming squeeze. “Maybe another night,” she offered, confident that he would decline the offer of a rain check, just like the reluctant buyers who argued with her if she suggested that an apartment might still be available down the road.

He shook his head and downed a sip of his bourbon. “No, I’m good. I’ll be fine once we’re upstairs.” He gave her a sad smile. “Is that okay? If we go upstairs?”

“No problem,” she said, rising from her place on the sofa. “And, remember, tonight you’re anyone you want. You can be Derek Jeter as far as I’m concerned.”

He laughed.

“Go ahead. Lie to me.”

He looked at her reluctantly but rose from the couch to face her.

“Really,” she repeated softly, almost in a whisper, “go ahead. Lie to me.”

He placed his hand on her elbow. “I’m Mike. I’m in town for a convention.”

“Yeah?”

“And I’m single.”

“Well, nice to meet you, Mike. And I’ll be anyone you want in return.”

“I do have a favor to ask.” He continued to hold her elbow. “Is it possible for you to book the room in your name?”

“I don’t usually—”

“It’s my…well, my wife,” he said, looking down at his feet. “It’s one thing to do this to her under the circumstances. It’s another to flaunt it. A charge on the credit card would—”

“Sure, I understand. It’s just I carry a balance, and so with interest—”

“I’ll make up for it.”

He’d obviously made this arrangement before, as had she. It was a common practice, a way for girls to get some extra cash to themselves on the side. She’d never been ratted on yet.

“All right. Mike.”

“Mike’s gonna go outside for a smoke. I’ll meet you by the elevators?”

She nodded and watched him walk outside.

At the registration desk, she asked the clerk for a single room. While the clerk ran her credit card through the system, Miranda dug her cell phone from her purse, pulled up a number in her list of contacts, and hit the dial key.

“It’s Miranda. I just wanted you to know I already sent flowers to Mom, so you don’t need to worry about it.”

The substance of what she said was irrelevant. What mattered was her use of the word flowers. Stuart passed the no-freaks-allowed test, and Miranda was fine.

The word tight was another story. One utterance of the word tight and help would be on its way. Or at least that’s how it had been explained to her.

She understood the need for a check-in system, but she’d been doing this now for six months and still didn’t see why they had to be so James Bond about it. She supposed it played into the myth that what she was doing was acting. Role-playing. Fantasy. A “hobby,” as some of the so-called providers dubbed it. Something other than what it obviously was.

Stuart (or Mike) was already walking toward her when she approached the elevator, the fading smell of cigarette smoke still on him. She pressed the up button. They waited alone.

“They explained to you I only do what’s safe?” she asked. Even some of the tamest men would pressure her to avoid condoms.

He nodded, but his embarrassment about the subject showed in his flushed cheeks. “That’s…well, of course, that’s my preference. I’m…I’m definitely safe.”

When the elevator doors opened, Miranda stepped inside and Stuart followed. Only minutes later, the fantasy had fallen away, and Miranda was back to being Katie Battle.

And that night, Katie was definitely not safe.