Chapter Eleven
Angel Doesn’t Do That Anymore
I spent three months with Meyer Gustafson, twelve weeks of Thursdays in uptown hotel rooms giving up my ass. It came to four thousand dollars, with wages, tips and add-on s*x. Every time Meyer invited another man to join him, the trick cost double, and the last fifteen hundred I made in a single night.
“Ready to stretch your limits?” he asked me over coffee in his bistro restaurant the Thursday before. I had a gut feeling he was buttering me up for something when he took me out to dinner—it had only been the second time and I’d given up thinking we’d ever have anything more than a business relationship. He had something on his mind from the time the session started until he had me cornered at our table in the middle of champagne, scallops and
