And When She Was Good by Laura Lippman Page B

application. Name, address, Social Security number. Almost all clients balk at providing their Social. Heloise expects them to do just that. She then agrees to waive the requirement, stressing that she never, ever does that for any client. Then she gets it anyway, through her private detective’s sources, and presents it to the applicant, usually with a full credit report. This puts the men on notice. She’s got their number, as the saying goes.
    Despising impulse customers as she does—they carry too much risk—Heloise structures WFEN more like a country club. New customers are asked to pay an initiation fee of sorts, which is then applied to the first six dates. Once a man has enjoyed six visits, he has a habit. Once a man has a habit, she has a regular.
    Sometimes, when business is particularly soft—regulars cutting back, the legislature not in session—she tells a certain kind of would-be customer that she has too many clients and he will have to wait for an opening. She based this tactic on a story she’d heard about a laundry in North Baltimore that doesn’t accept new customers unless an old one dies or moves away. And sometimes not even then—customers are allowed to leave their spots to others in their wills. This makes people desperate to have their shirts laundered there. They beg, they plead, they offer to pay more. When Heloise senses that a man is very rich and very connected, she plays this game. It’s usually good for several more clients. Because the new customer has to brag, of course, tell his friends about this exclusive deal he’s getting, and they all want it, too.
    It’s not like she can use Groupon.
    Heloise’s customers are all men, although it’s not uncommon to field requests from married couples looking for something novel. No judgment, no judgment at all, but Heloise avoids that type of trade. She never wants to be outnumbered. Besides, someone always gets jealous, the wife or the husband. Usually the husband, who had the fantasy to begin with. Heloise figures such couples are really looking for drama, even if they don’t know it.
    The bane of her existence is the rating services. Although she and her girls generally get top marks from the two best-known services, all it takes is one disgruntled customer to torpedo a girl’s rating. Of course, everyone and everything gets rated online these days. Restaurants, professors, movies. Once Heloise spent an afternoon with a touring novelist—she takes on the occasional one-timer if he has strong references—and he became so exercised on this topic that he almost risked running out his hour without receiving any benefits. (His ex-wife had organized a group of her friends to sabotage his latest book with a bunch of one-star ratings at Amazon and Goodreads.) Strangely, some clients provide low ratings yet continue to use WFEN. When Heloise puts that together, she drops the customer. Then she contacts the service and asks to have the rating taken down, claiming that the reviewer has a grudge because he was dropped for bad behavior.
    Today she is poring over a new applicant’s file. The guy looks fine to her, but Audrey has flagged his folder. Heloise sends her a text, asking her to come down from the den, where she is watching television with Scott. Yes, he probably would have enjoyed ice-skating with Lindsey, but Heloise didn’t want Coranne to think she was taking advantage, parking her son with a stay-at-home mom while she caught up on her work.
    And she’d rather plunge a knife into her chest than spend the afternoon drinking spiked hot chocolate with Coranne.
    â€œWhy are you suggesting we reject”—she peers at the name in the file—“Mr. Callender?”
    Audrey looks nervous yet defiant. “I didn’t like his tone.”
    â€œHis tone?”
    â€œHe sounded coarse.”
    Heloise flips through the papers. “Financials check out. He has