The Practitioner Read online

  “That’s the idea.”

  He gave her hand a squeeze. “Johnnie, you need to paint.” He held up a palm. “I know you don’t need pressure, and I’m not trying to add any. I’m just simply saying that there is inspiration out there. Sometimes you just have to know where to look.” He watched her closely to see if he’d gotten in. “How much money do you have?”

  “Enough.”

  “Enough for a few sessions with someone special?”

  She eyed him. “A few sessions of what exactly?”

  He looked sheepish. “A little creative inspiration. A much needed match to light your flame.”

  “Are you talking about sex?”

  He blushed again.

  “Eddie, you want me to pay to have sex with someone?”

  “No, it’s not like that. It’s…”

  She stared at him, searching for answers. He gave away nothing.

  “Just call. Please.” He stood and pushed the card toward her. “Tell them you were referred by Pedro’s client.”

  He squeezed her shoulder. “You’ve got nothing to lose.”

  She touched his hand. “Thanks. For caring I mean.”

  “You know I do.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Call me,” he said as he walked away.

  He pushed out into the light, and this time she didn’t recoil. She let it burn.

  Chapter One

  “Mm, when’s it gonna be my turn?” the young woman asked, her voice scratchy from a long orgasm. She looked up at Elaine with liquid eyes, long lashes flashing.

  Elaine pushed away, slung her legs over the bed, and slid into the thick hotel robe.

  “Where you going? Don’t you want to snuggle?”

  Elaine tightened the belt and left the bed.

  “Are you coming back?”

  She disappeared into the bathroom and locked the door behind her, ears straining to hear if the woman was following her. Quickly, she turned on the water to drown out any other annoying questions from her guest. She leaned on the counter and stared at her mussed hair and smeared lipstick. Her eyeliner had smudged with sweat and exertion. Unable to stand the image, she scrubbed her face with the hotel bar soap. She turned off the water and pressed a towel to her skin. Then she pulled back her hair and turned on the shower. A knock came from the door. She sighed.

  “Are you coming back? I miss you. Hello?”

  “Yes?” She pulled open the door and breezed into the room. The woman was standing and smiling like they were both in on a secret. The bedding was draped around her nude body.

  “Can I shower with you?”

  Elaine grabbed her phone and her clothes. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Elaine felt herself grimace. This one was particularly clingy. And pouty. Question after question. Call after call. No more.

  “I want to be alone.”

  “But why? I thought we had a good time. We always have a good time.”

  “We’ve been together twice.”

  “Right.” She smiled, oblivious to the point. “And we’ve talked, a lot.”

  “You call, ask personal questions.” She carried her bundle into the bathroom and set it on the counter. “Questions I’m not going to answer. Questions I told you I’m not going to answer.”

  “But I want to know you. Don’t you want to know me?”

  Elaine returned to the room to get her shoes.

  “Did I ever ask you any questions?”

  The woman seemed to think for a moment.

  “No. Why didn’t you?”

  “Because if I had you would’ve ran with it, thinking I was interested.”

  Her face fell. “Oh.”

  She retrieved her heels and tossed them in the now steamy bathroom. “I told you, I have nothing to offer you. Nothing. I don’t want a relationship.”

  “I said we could take it slow. Slow is okay.”

  “I don’t want slow. I want nothing. Why can’t you hear me?”

  “But we’ve talked, we’ve—”

  “It’s sex. That’s all. And talking on the phone does not constitute a relationship. One that I don’t want. That I’ve been very clear about.”

  The woman let the bedding drop. “Fine, I’ll just go. You’ll never hear from me again.”

  Elaine watched her dress, knowing her words meant nothing. She would pout and not call for a while. And then in a month or so she’d call and apologize. But the next time, Elaine wasn’t going to bother to bite. No matter how cold her bed was.

  The woman turned at the door, knob in her hand. “Good-bye.” She clenched her jaw and steadied herself as if waiting for Elaine to say Wait, don’t go. Elaine didn’t speak, just walked toward her. She removed her hand from the knob and replaced it with her own. She tugged the door open and swept her arm, motioning for her to go.

  “Bitch.” The woman glared at her and walked out.

  She closed the door, engaged the lock, and leaned against it.

  If the shoe fits, I’ll wear it.

  She felt drained, and her mind was spent from dealing with someone who refused to hear her. She slowly crossed to the bathroom and let her robe fall outside the shower door. She entered and melted beneath the hot spray. She did her best to wash the woman away, lathering up and rinsing a few times. If she scrubbed, she could dissolve the evening away, watch it slip down the drain, never to return. But she knew it wasn’t as simple as that. Women, no matter how casual she tried to keep things, were complicated. And as for herself, she knew she wasn’t exactly the nice guy.

  She killed the water and stood leaning against the wall while allowing the steam to come off her body. She thought about just collapsing into the sheets and spending the night, but the sheets were tainted and she needed to get home. Thankfully, she never met anyone at her home. She couldn’t imagine the trouble that would cause. So she used a pay as you go phone and always kept it at hotels.

  She stepped from the shower and pressed herself dry. Then she slid into her clothes and stepped into her heels. She never carried a wallet in with her, only her phone. She pulled it out of her pocket and saw that she had a message. She dialed her voice mail and entered her code.

  “Yeah, Elaine, it’s Michael. Sorry to call you on the booty call phone, but I have a client for you. Call me.”

  She hung up and dialed her partner’s number. She hadn’t had an intriguing client in months, but right now she’d settle for anyone new. Anyone to change up the game a little. Her numerous male clients were so caught up in power struggles and sexual attraction, it was growing tedious. She could use some good old-fashioned work on a willing client.

  “Michael, it’s me.” She sat on the edge of the bed and slipped in her earrings. “Please tell me it’s someone interesting.”

  He laughed. “I bet you would pay for an intriguing client at this point.”

  “I would. But don’t tell them that. Tell me all about him.”

  “Actually, it’s a woman.”

  She straightened. “Oh?”

  “She’s thirty, single. Looking for creative inspiration. Those are her words.”

  “I see.” Her heart sped up a little at the thought of a woman. But she calmed herself, knowing that clients were never what she dreamt them to be. She’d lost that fantasy long ago. Besides, a client was a client, nothing else. No matter how badly they wanted it to be more.

  “Did she check out?”

  “Yep. No criminal history, no craziness. Just an average woman. And I won’t tell you anymore because I know you don’t like that.”

  “No, I don’t.” She preferred to read the client herself.

  “Anyway, Julia has set up the appointment for tomorrow afternoon. All right by you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay, then. See you at the office.”

  “Hey, Michael? Did she say…why she wanted a woman?”

  “I’m not going to tell you.”

  She closed her eyes. “Fine. See you tomorrow.”

  She
ended the call and rose to look out the window. For the first time in a long time, she looked forward to tomorrow.

  Chapter Two

  The desert was never ready for rain, nor were Phoenicians for that matter. Johnnie was no exception, and the constant smattering of the drops made her all the more agitated and depressed. Truth be told, she was anxious, and when she was anxious she grew cranky. Her windshield wipers whined as if to drive the feelings home, one of the rubber pieces hanging from the blade like a limp snake as it moved across the glass. The relentless desert sun had rotted it in the scorching heat, making it useless when the time came to actually use it. The sun was merciless that way, and it would eat at you down to the bone if you weren’t careful. But sun she was used to. She liked sitting in her hot car after being inside a cold building. She’d become reptilian that way, craving the heat and sunlight, needing it to feel alive.

  She wished for that sun today, but wishes were just that, and she knew she was in for more rain the rest of the week. The winter had been cold and wet. She might as well give in and get an umbrella. She might as well give in and get new wipers.

  “Fuck that.” She eased down her window and took in a palm full of droplets. The cold water did nothing for her. She sighed and powered the window back up, then muted the radio. The door in front of her loomed and the wipers whined. She wrung her hands along her steering wheel.

  She should put the truck in reverse and get the hell out of there. Fucking tell Eddie it wasn’t for her, that she didn’t really need it after all. She was fine, just a little off her mark. Nothing a trip to Sedona couldn’t fix. Sit in the sweathouse and ooze it all out, then emerge and put it all back in, this time better, purified. But Sedona wasn’t beckoning, and the truck was only a year old, and she’d updated to a high loft in prominent downtown, along with a larger studio as well. Bottom line, she had shit to pay for and she wasn’t producing.

  She slammed the heels of her hands against the wheel. She had to do this. She had everything to lose if she didn’t. She killed the engine and opened the door. Then she shut it. Then she cussed and opened it again. She cowered from the rain like a lizard worried about its scales, like a Phoenician, and hurried up to the door. She didn’t give herself time to think as she turned the knob. She just walked right in and stood, chime sounding, welcoming her, the door closing behind her. The waiting room was small but empty. Relief washed over her a little at not having to see anyone, but it didn’t last.

  “Are you my three o’ clock?” The voice came from behind a wall of glass. Johnnie’s shoes squeaked as she approached the check-in counter. The woman was young, maybe twenty-two tops. She was made up nicely and had a very bright smile against tanned skin. She looked like she worked at a spa.

  Johnnie couldn’t think of what to say. She was disappointed and hoped like hell she didn’t have to pay. This was not what she had hoped for and not what she’d requested.

  “Riot?”

  Johnnie looked away with embarrassment. The pseudonym was ridiculous, but then again so was what she was about to do. The woman apparently took her shame as a yes and nodded as if trying to comfort her.

  “Great. I’m glad you showed. First time jitters and all.”

  “I’ve been in my truck,” Johnnie found herself saying. “Outside.” She hitched her thumb back at the parking lot like an idiot.

  “Right.” The woman dug a nail file out of a drawer full of Post-it Notes. “We get nervous. Nervous we understand.” She analyzed her well-manicured pinky and went to town on it. “No-shows we don’t understand. So don’t ever do that.”

  Johnnie lowered her hand, trying to look casual but failing desperately.

  The woman looked bored, like she’d seen it all before and then some. “You can go ahead and have a seat. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  Johnnie took a step back and then stopped. The woman looked up at her, questioning her with her lifted eyebrow.

  “It’s just that…I requested…someone older.”

  The woman stopped filing, and the corner of her mouth rose. She was amused, and Johnnie wanted to die.

  “Your appointment’s not with me, sweetie.”

  Johnnie heated, and if spontaneous combustion were real, she’d be able to prove it at any given second.

  “Have a seat.” The woman continued to smirk as she went back to her nails, completely ignoring Johnnie.

  Johnnie sank her hands into her back pockets and then changed her mind and wiped her palms on her jeans. Anne Murray was playing through the speakers overhead which took her back in time and made her feel all the stranger.

  She felt like she was in the wrong place. The professional decor, the music, the receptionist, it all seemed a little too bizarre. As if she were waiting for a business meeting or waiting to see a podiatrist. What the hell was this place?

  The receptionist tapped the glass and slid a clipboard with papers through the slot. “We need you to fill this out. And just as a reminder, we’re cash only. Do you have your funds for your visit today?”

  Anne Murray kept on. Her cheeks burned. “Yes.”

  “I’ll need that now.”

  Johnnie dug into her worn, paint splattered jeans, found the fold of hundreds, and placed them on the counter. “Don’t I pay…after?”

  “Oh, no. We take it up front. No pay, no play.”

  Johnnie couldn’t hold her gaze as the words settled in. “But what if I—”

  “That contract explains it all. Read it, sign it, go in. Or don’t. It’s up to you. We don’t make you do anything here.”

  Johnnie took the clipboard and sat. It was still up to her. She could still back out. Her foot began to move on its own accord as she read, and she knew it showed her nerves. But each time she stopped, it started up again when she wasn’t paying attention. Nail biting was out of the question because she didn’t have any long enough to bite, and she didn’t want to say or do anything more to show how freaked out she really was.

  Are you currently or planning to become pregnant?

  What the fuck? She thumbed through the questions.

  Have you ever been suicidal?

  Do you have any major health concerns?

  Practitioner has the right to refuse service at any time.

  Only validated appointments will be allowed into the waiting area.

  Do not loiter in the parking lot.

  Johnnie read them all and her mind shot up red flag after red flag. Still, she checked the boxes, like a drone, a drone paranoid and about to go haywire. She rose to turn it in, but she knew she couldn’t do it. She’d turn it in and leave. This was crazy. Too fucking crazy, even for her.

  But to her surprise, the receptionist pressed a button, and the door to Johnnie’s left clicked as it unlocked.

  “Go on back.”

  “But—” She held up the paperwork. She hadn’t signed yet. Didn’t she have to sign? Couldn’t she still go?

  “First door on the right. Your practitioner will be right with you.”

  Practitioner. Is that what they are calling it these days?

  Johnnie hesitated. Her insides screamed at her to run. Her legs, however, remained grounded.

  The receptionist cocked her head. “It’s okay to be nervous. Everyone is.”

  Johnnie glanced back at the door. It looked like an average door. But she knew anything but average remained beyond it.

  “You’ve already paid; you might as well go in and talk.” She smiled, sincere like. Johnnie bought it and grasped desperately to it.

  “Talk. Yeah, I can just talk.”

  Chapter Three

  Johnnie’s heart jumped to her throat. She opened the door and stepped into a hallway with several doors. Her senses keyed in, and she was poised for noises. But there was only silence. She took a step and focused on the first door to the right. It was open. Warm light seeped into the harsh fluorescent hallway, lulling her forward. The sharp, spicy scent of cinnamon hit her before she stepped into the doorframe.
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  “Did you sign the bottom?” a throaty voice asked from inside.

  Johnnie stopped and stared into the room. A large, deep red sofa sat off to the right, bookshelves lined with dozens of books sat straight ahead, and what appeared to be a well-polished desk to the left, just behind the door, hiding the voice.

  “You can’t come in unless you sign.”

  Johnnie inhaled the cinnamon, stared into the lit candles, and eyed the luring sofa.

  “Come inside, Riot. We have a lot to talk about.”

  With a slight tremble to her hand, Johnnie signed the last page and took a step inward.

  “Good. Now come in farther and close the door.”

  Johnnie licked dry lips and stepped in farther with the clipboard, nervously tapping her outer thigh. She closed the door but still could not bring herself to face the voice. She hoped to get lost in the flicker of candlelight. To somehow ooze into the dancing shadows of the wall.

  “You don’t want to look at me?”

  Johnnie pushed out a breath that shook. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  Johnnie struggled for the right words but found none. “I’m nervous.”

  “Because of me?”

  “Because of this.”

  Johnnie heard movement from behind the desk. The thrumming of her heartbeat muffled out the rest.

  “I won’t bite.”

  Johnnie let out a laugh before she could stop it.

  “Glad to see you have a sense of humor. It makes my job less tedious.”

  “Tedious?”

  “Did that also amuse you?”

  “I just can’t imagine this being tedious.”

  The voice was silent. “What exactly is this, Riot? Do you know?”

  Johnnie flushed and searched the wall of books. There were numerous books on psychology, philosophy, and then she noticed the books on sexuality, the Kama Sutra, and several more. She had no idea what to say in regard to her question or what to think in regards to her books. “You know—what it is you do.”

  “And what is that?”

  Johnnie closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing. “I don’t know.”