Telegraph Hill by John F. Nardizzi

you close with her?” Ray asked. He sat down
and begin to pull his clothes back on.
    “Yes.”
    “What is she like?”
    “Tania’s a wonderful girl. Very sophisticated,
attractive. Beautiful legs. She was one of the most popular girls in the
house.”
    “Tell me about the house,” said Ray, buttoning his
shirt.
    “Why do you ask these questions?” asked Moon.
    “Her family is worried about her. No one has seen
her in years. I can help her—if she needs it.” Ray concentrated on keeping his
dark eyes calm and flat.
    Moon considered it. She explained that Tania had
used the name Michelle when she worked. At the time she was reading books on
alternative religions, spirituality. She defied the stereotypes of an escort:
she had been well-educated overseas and invested much of her earnings in the
stock market.
    “She never told why she was in the life. She was
smart, she could do other things. She wanted to start her own business. Some of
her clients were businessmen, lawyers, athletes—famous people in the city. She
used to see a famous athlete. Very famous.” Moon gave an exaggerated wide-eyed
look.
    “Who was that?” Ray asked.
    “Football player.”
    “Raiders or Niners?”
    “Oakland,” Moon nodded. “He has all these muscles.
He’s strong! But when he sees Tania, he’s like a little sheep. He wants her to
tie him up and whip his ass.”
    He noted the present tense: sees, wants: “She
still sees the football player.”
    Moon gave him the stone-face. “I don’t know.”
    “You said she was popular. In demand.”
    “Tania made a name for herself. She was what the
clients call GFE. ‘Girlfriend experience,’” said Moon sarcastically. “Like the
real thing.”
    “Did you work with her?”
    “Sometimes. We made a lot of money together.”
    Moon seemed to have overcame some of the
inhibitions that had earlier held her back, but there was still a cold, caustic
edge to her tone.
    “What are most of the clients like? Good guys?
Wackos?”
    “Why do you think they’re any different from you?”
she asked.
    Ray laughed. “I came here seeking enlightenment.”
    “Oh sure! You are all alike—horny men!” Moon
laughed, enjoying the bullshit. “It’s not easy. We try to fit every man’s
fantasy. They want to screw for five minutes. Then they want someone to listen
while they complain.”
    “They pay you just to talk?”
    “Sometimes. Men don’t show their feelings, right?”
she said, sarcastically drawing out the word ‘feelings’ like a talk show host.
    Ray finished tying his shoes. “They talk about
problems with their wives?” he asked.
    “They’re the problem. Their wives are fine. It’s
everything else—their jobs, their bosses. Money. Unhappiness. We‘re like
psychotherapists.”
    “Except less clothing,” Ray said. “But you
probably get better results too.”
    Moon nodded. “One guy came in today and said: ‘I’m
ready for some poon.’ Such a blunt way of getting to his needs.”
    “Poon, what a great word.”
    Silence. Moon looked more relaxed, but she still
dodged the question of where Tania was living.
    “Where did you last see Tania?”
    “Here. She and I shared an apartment together
during…”she stopped. “Before she disappeared.”
    Her face quivered, and her left hand whispered
against her cheek.
    “During what?” Ray asked.
    Moon said nothing.
    “You were lovers.” He said it quietly, not asking
a question.
    Her eyelids flickered slightly wider for a split
second, then pulled down quickly, like shade in a private room. “For a time.”
    “Did you work with Tania at all during your
therapy sessions?”
    “Occasionally.”
    “Is that how you both first met?”
    Moon nodded. “A client called, and asked for two
Asian girls. Big deal, right? That's the most common request. The guy was a
dotcom businessman. He owned some computer company in San Jose. Nice man. Lots
of money and no one to share it. He rented a suite on the top floor of the