A Romantic Occupation

"Is that your message?"

"That's the subtext. The direct message is that we need industry to create good jobs, we need banks to treat us fairly, and we need politicians to represent our interests. That's all. Jobs for Americans, banks for Americans, and government for Americans. It's what we've been saying from day one and it's not a hard thing to understand. The worst part for the billionaires is that we aren't saying anything that anyone would object to. They can't spin it their way, so they ignore it and say, over and over, that we have no message. That's just another lie from a media that tells almost nothing but lies."

"You're not being so upbeat, now," Suzie warned.

"I can be upbeat," Helen said. "I got a new job. A good one. A good American job from an American company. And I'm not being evicted from my home, either. It's a good week for me."

Lawrence looked at her. "A full time job?"

"No. Part time."

"Benefits?"

"Tips."

"Health insurance?"

"Tips."

"It's a service job."

"There's nothing wrong with being a waitress."

He smiled. "No. You're absolutely right. It's good, honest work that gives people something they want and need. It's a profession that you can be proud of. But you should be rewarded for it, not be given part-time shifts with no benefits and no security. There's nothing at all wrong with being a waitress but there's something very wrong with an employer who doesn't respect you for your contribution to his business."

"They respect me." But her voice said that she wasn't so sure about that. During her shifts, neither the maître d' nor Mr. Starr looked at her with much respect.

"Where, if you don't mind me asking?"

"The Fisher House, down by the harbor."

"I know it. It's owned by the Ocean Gold Group. They own a bunch of places along the coast. The CEO is Matt Oringen. His salary plus bonuses was more than ten million dollars last year. I'm afraid that he doesn't respect waitresses quite as much as I do." Lawrence shook his head. "Don't worry about that, though. You're never going to have to meet him. He's not the kind of guy who hangs out with the little people. I doubt that your restaurant manager has ever met him, either."

"Aren't you the walking Wikipedia," Suzie said.

"I told you last time, I try to keep track of what certain wealthy people are up to."

"Have you been spying on me and Ken?" Helen asked. She wondered if Ken's apartment was bugged. Did someone have a video of her giving oral sex to him?

"I never spied on you. I just happened to notice you in his company once. Are you still keeping company with him?"

"He got me the job at The Fisher House."

Lawrence frowned. "I warned you about that. He's going to burn you."

"He's been good to me. Nothing but good."

"When the bill comes due, and it will, look me up and I'll see if there's anything that I can do to help."

"You said that before," Helen said.

"I repeat myself because it's important," Lawrence replied.

* * *

Helen didn't see Ken until Wednesday. She was working an evening shift at The Fisher House when the maître d' seated him in her section.

Another man, considerably older than Ken and quite distinguished looking, sat with him.

She smiled and said, "Hi," but Ken didn't reply or look directly at her. The other man was warmer. He nodded and smiled at her.

She interpreted Ken's reaction as a signal that he wanted to keep their personal relationship private. That suited her. She said only, "Can I take your drink order, sir?"

He let the other man order a Manhattan, and then he said, "The same, please, miss."

"Yes, sir."

She maintained her professional demeanor when she brought their drinks, and took their order for oysters on the half shell, seared mahi mahi tuna for him, and a lobster for his associate. After paying the bill, he left a business card on the tray in addition to a generous tip.

On the back, a note said, "Call me on my cell as soon as your shift ends. It's important."

She called at eleven, as soon as she walked out of the restaurant.

"Wait on the sidewalk at the front of the restaurant. I'll be right over to pick you up," he said. True to his word, he was there in less than five minutes.

When she got into the passenger seat of his Corvette, he said, "Let's go to my place for a drink."

The drive was short and neither said much.

In his penthouse, he made a vodka-cran for her and served himself a beer.

She expected him to sit beside her on the sofa so that they could neck. She was tired after a full shift at the restaurant but was still willing to spend the night with him.

Instead, he sat by himself in a leather easy chair, facing her. "You noticed the man who ate with me tonight?"

"The distinguished looking man with the white hair?" she said.

"Right. Not just distinguished looking, but genuinely distinguished. He's the CEO of Pacific Gas and Electric, the biggest power generation and distribution company on the West Coast. Mr. Corrone is an important man, indeed. I need his help on a project that I'm putting together."

"I hope it goes well for you."

"It will. Especially if you help me out with him."

She frowned. "I can help?"

"You can. I need you to deliver a kind of message for me."

"What kind of message?"

"He's a long way from home. Business travel is no fun. He noticed you tonight. He thinks you're pretty. I'd like you to go out for drinks with him tomorrow afternoon."

"I don't understand. Drinks? What does that mean?"

"It means drinks. We're spending the afternoon planning strategy. We'll be done by four o'clock. He'll be flying back to Los Angeles later that night. I'd like you to spend a little time with him before he catches his flight. Take him to a decent bar. The Twin Pines would be perfect. Let him buy you a drink or two. Listen to what he says. Laugh at his jokes. Let him entertain you. He can be an entertaining fellow."

She didn't know what to say. "I have to work," she said at last. "I have a shift from three to closing tomorrow."

"No, you don't. Your shift has been cancelled. Someone else will be filling in for you. This is more important. Much more important."

She flushed. "You cancelled my shift?"

"Mr. Starr cancelled your shift. His boss told him to. Don't worry. Your job is safe. He understands our priorities."

"How dare you?" she snarled. "How dare you interfere with my job?"

He laughed. "What do you mean by that? You don't think that I've been interceding on your behalf from the start? How dare you object when I ask you for one little favor?"

"Little favor? You want me to sleep with some guy to seal a business deal! Like I'm his signing bonus! And you think that's a little favor?"

"No. I never said that you had to sleep with him. I said that you had to go out for drinks with him. If you want to sleep with him, you can, but that's between you and him. All I'm asking is that you go to a bar with him for an hour. I don't see where that's any big deal."

"And if I don't?"

"Don't have a drink with him? I would be very disappointed in you."

"I mean, if I don't sleep with him."

"I told you that you don't have to sleep with him. You just have to talk to him and laugh at his jokes. You're an adult. You can decide for yourself who you want to fuck."

"What if I do? What about you?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if I do fuck your business partner? Are you going to want to see me again?"

He laughed brightly. "Sure. I like you but we haven't made any commitment to each other. We better be clear about that. You and I are both free adults. Until I put a diamond ring on your finger, you better assume that I'm dating other women because I'm assuming that you're dating other men."

She froze and stared at him for a long time.

He met her gaze calmly.

Finally, she looked down at her drink. He was right. She had picked him up in a bar. In three weeks, they had spent exactly three nights together. They were essentially strangers. What did she expect? It was foolish for her to think that they had some kind of relationship.

She thought about her job. He had made tomorrow's shift disappear with a snap of his fingers. His word, disappointed, terrified her. He could make all her shifts disappear if she disappointed him. She had earned barely enough to pay Suzie for the clothes on her back. She still had to come up with two month's rent in the next five weeks or she would be turned out on the street.

She looked at him and said, "I'll have drinks with your friend. You said that you wanted me to deliver a message. What is it?"

"You are the message," he replied. "This is a case where the medium is the message. You don't have to say or do anything. Just be at the Twin Pines at four o'clock tomorrow afternoon. Dress nice. Classy, not trashy." He smiled. "His wife is a bitch. If you pretend to like him, pretend to respect him, that will be enough to make him a happy man. Like I said, sex is optional. I'm not asking you to do that. I'm not even recommending it. I do recommend that you pay attention to him. This is a chance for you to learn something about a powerful man. What he wants most is to keep company for an hour with a woman doesn't treat him like he's a contemptible bastard."

"What if he likes me? What if he asks me to come to Los Angeles and be his mistress?" She asked only to see if she could get a rise out of him.

Ken laughed again. "I'd advise you to decline. If you get to know him too well, you'd find out that he really is a contemptible bastard."

There was nothing more to say. "I'd better get home," she said.

"You can stay the night if you like," he replied.

"Do you want me to stay?"

"It's up to you."

She stayed.

They made love but the sex wasn't as good as before.

The last thing that he said to her was, "Call me as soon as you're finished with Mr. Corrone. This is business and I need to know where I stand."

* * *

Mr. Corrone was a charming raconteur. Helen found it easy to pay attention to him, to laugh at his jokes, and to encourage him to talk more.

After an hour and three vodka-crans, she asked, "What time is your flight?"

"Whenever I want it to be," he replied. "I'm taking a corporate jet."

"Oh." Helen had flown on commercial flights when she had taken vacations with her mother a couple of times. She could imagine that flying on a private jet would be an entirely different experience. No arriving at an airport hours early to wait for delayed flights. No standing in lines, waiting to suffer the humiliation of pat downs and body scanners. No one asking you to cough up cash so that you could bring your luggage with you. No spending hours crammed into a seat two sizes too small with some other passenger's seatback reclined in your face.

For the first time, she realized that a wealthy man lived in a different world than her. A much better world.

"You're a lucky fellow," she said.

He smiled indulgently. "Luck has nothing to do with it, dear. People who win lotteries are lucky. But luck only takes a person so far. You can't afford to ride around on private jets, even on lottery winnings. To be in my position takes a lot more than luck."

"You have to be smart, I guess."

He nodded. "Yes. Smart. But not the way you think. I have scientists and engineers with all kinds of education working in my company but they're no more important than the guys who climb poles and install wires. Less because the power goes off if the guys stop climbing poles. The power doesn't go off if the scientists stop doing their research. To get to the boardroom you have to have a special kind of smart. It's hard to explain exactly what board-room-smart is but not many people have it."

"You do."

"I do."

There was a pause. Helen looked at the older man with genuine respect. He understood things that she never knew existed.

She couldn't have what he had. She couldn't be what he was. But she could get close enough to get a taste of it. Close enough to try to absorb a bit by osmosis.

"Do you have a room in town?" she asked.

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you trying to seduce me, young lady?"

"No. You're the one who seduced me. When I came here, I had no intention of sleeping with you. In fact, I was determined that I would not." She spread her hands. "I've changed my mind and I don't know why."

He laughed. "It was an accidental seduction, then, because I had no intention of sleeping with you, either."

"So do you have a room?"

He looked at her shrewdly. "I suppose that I could get one but I'm not sure that I should. I don't know what you expect to get from me."

"I don't expect to get anything from you. I'm doing this because I..." She paused. She didn't know why she was doing this. She decided to admit it. "I don't know why I'm doing this. I guess it's just because it's an experience that I've never had. I don't pick up strange men. I don't have one-night stands. I've had a couple of boyfriends, but that's about all. You're older than the boys that I've dated. You're different. I guess that's what interests me. It's something different than I've ever done before so I want to try it."

He looked at her for a long moment.

She couldn't tell what was going through his mind. He looked like he was calculating complicated mathematics in his head.

Finally, he said, "You're younger than my daughters. You have no idea how flattering it is for an old man like me to be propositioned by a lovely young thing like yourself, but I'm going to exercise incredible self-restraint and put you in a cab. Do you mind?"

"I'm disappointed, but I'll get over it." She smiled wryly.

"Me too. Now, let's ask the bartender to call a cab before I lose my will and do something foolish."

When the bartender informed them that the cab had arrived, Mr. Corrone escorted her out, put a couple of twenties into the driver's hand and told him, "Take her wherever she needs to go."

She waited until she was home before she called Ken.

"What happened?" he asked.

"We spent an hour in the bar, talking, then he put me in a cab and sent me home."

"Did he try to seduce you?"

"He didn't try, but he did anyway. I offered to spend the night with him, but he didn't want to."

"What was his mood?"

"Happy."

"I mean when he declined your offer of sex."

"Happy."

"Exactly what did he say? What did you say? Tell me how the conversation about sex went."

She told him the whole truth. She was afraid to lie because, if Mr. Corrone told Ken a different story, it could cost her her job. She needed her job.

"Okay," he said when she was finished. "I think I have a good idea about what happened. It's good. You did a good job. Thank you."

He sounded like he was about to hang up.

"Wait," she said. "I don't understand what happened. Why did he turn me down? I thought that men always say 'yes' to sex."

"The boys you know might, but men like Mr. Corrone have a lot more to consider. It might have bothered him that you're younger than his daughters, but I doubt it. More likely he was afraid that you might be my agent. I was with him when he first saw you and I offered to act as the go-between. That would have made him suspicious. He might have feared that I was paying you. Corrone is very careful to know where people's loyalties lie before he commits himself to anything. That he couldn't see any reason for you to offer yourself to him would make him nervous. If you'd asked for a couple of hundred dollars cash in advance, he would have understood what you wanted and you'd probably be in a hotel room with him right now, getting rogered six ways from Christmas."

"I thought that maybe that he was too old to want sex."

Ken laughed. "I wouldn't count on that. He's only about sixty. Even if he had his prostate removed and was impotent, that wouldn't stop him. You'd be surprised at the ways a woman who is willing to follow instructions can pleasure an impotent man. You would have found yourself giving him a very imaginative performance."

Helen didn't like the sound of that. "Good night," she said.

Ken was still laughing when she pressed the red button on her cell phone.

* * *

Ken didn't call her that weekend but he brought business associates into The Fisher House twice during the following week. Both times, he was cordial in the restaurant but never gave any indication that he knew Helen personally.

She was happy with that. After the Corrone affair -- or non-affair -- she felt as though her relationship with Ken had changed. She was not so much his lover as his employee. He had the power to let her work or not at his whim and she needed to raise enough money to pay two months rent and keep buying food.

The first time that he came in with an associate that week, there was no follow-up. The second time was different.

She glanced at her tables while she was waiting for the bartender to pour a pair of brandies to serve as digestifs. She didn't look directly at Ken and his colleague, just watched from the corner of her eye to see what they were doing. The men were leaning close. Ken's colleague was looking at her while Ken grinned and talked to him.

She did not doubt that she was the topic of their discussion and was not surprised when Ken brought his credit card to her and said, in a low voice, "My friend, Carl, there, finds you very attractive. He'd like to spend a few minutes with you back in his room at the Marriot. I'll talk to your manager and arrange for you to get off your shift right away. It's late and there's not many customers left so I'm sure that the other waitresses can cover your last few tables for you."

She looked at Ken in disbelief. He wasn't suggesting a drink and conversation with a distinguished older man. He was ordering her to go to a hotel room with this bald, potbellied, fifty-year-old man wearing a wedding ring and fuck him.

"No," she said. "I'm not a hooker."

"That's right," Ken said. "You're not. No one is offering to pay you. I'm asking you to do a favor for a friend. My friend. I can vouch for Carl. He's a good guy. He's a lot better man than Erik Corrone and you were willing to put out for Corrone. Carl's having a bad time and he needs someone to help him through it. Someone who can build up his confidence in the bedroom a little. We both need you to do this favor for me. Please."

She glanced at the man again. There was nothing about him that she could find attractive. "I'm sorry," she told Ken. "I can't. Not like this. Not... Not like this."

"You're embarrassing me," he said. "What can I tell my friend? I made a promise. He's going to take this personally. He's already had too many rejections in the last couple of months."

"Tell him that I'm tired. I've been on my feet all day. I'm beat and feeling a little queasy and I couldn't give him ... that it wouldn't be good with me tonight."

Ken looked at her coldly. "You didn't look beat when you were serving us. You looked cheerful and fit. You wouldn't be too tired to finish the last two hours on your shift, but you're too tired to spend a half hour lying in bed? You think Carl's going to buy that story? He's an intelligent man. A really intelligent man. He has a Ph.D. in economics. He taught at Yale. He's not going to believe a cockamamie excuse like you've got a headache."

Helen was tired. She sighed. "The cheerful is an act. It's part of the job. I am tired and I am not going to let your friend fuck me tonight. I don't care what you tell him. You're as smart as he is. I'm sure that you can find a suitable way to tell him that I won't fall on my back just because he's a professor and I'm only a waitress."

Ken didn't say another word. A few minutes later he and his friend left the restaurant.

He didn't leave a tip.

At the end of her shift, Mr. Starr told her not to come to work tomorrow. He'd accidentally double booked the wait staff and needed to fix the schedule. She should call him tomorrow evening after nine to find out about her next shift. He promised to do what he could to get her another shift as soon as possible.