don’t we say ten thousand for overnights?”
“Twelve thou,” I say.
Bill laughs. “Twelve thousand it is. And our commission is forty percent.”
“But why would these guys—or anybody—pay that much money to be with a woman?” Sienna quibbles.
“Exclusivity,” I tell her. “Why do you pay four hundreddollars for designer jeans that are made from the same denim as the thirty-eight-dollar ones you could get at the Gap?”
“It’s the same reason that people are willing to pay a premium for good sushi. Clients want to know that what they’re paying for comes from a reliable source,” Bill says. “Our women will be attractive, smart, the kind of woman you could take to a dinner party with your boss or home to meet your parents. Then in bed, she’ll be a man’s total fantasy.”
I can see from the look on her face that Sienna’s starting to toy with the idea. Until, that is, Bill adds one last detail.
“And by the way. Everyone who works for us will be at least forty.”
“Forty? Forty-year-old hookers?” Sienna shrieks, pounding her fist on the table. “Now I know the two of you have both lost your minds!”
“Not hookers, courtesans,” Bill says patiently. “And I’m quite serious. To be successful in today’s business world you have to have a niche, and my gut tells me that this could be ours. Inkjet printers, bamboo flooring, one of my clients is a psychiatrist who specializes in CrackBerry addicts—each of them filled a need in the marketplace that wasn’t being met.”
“Older women and younger men. It’s a trend, just look at Hollywood,” I say. “Courteney Cox Arquette is seven years older than her husband, David; Demi is sixteen years older than Ashton; and Katie Couric is seventeen years older than her boyfriend.”
Bill pulls off his sunglasses and reaches over to take off Sienna’s, meeting her gaze as if they were the only two people in the room. “What I love about you, Sienna, is that you’re smart and sexy and worldly. It’s not like being with a girl—I feel like we could be together forever and I’d never be bored. And I think other men would feel that way, too. I mean they’dfeel that way about other women,” he adds quickly, lest Sienna get the impression that he would be willing to share her. “The guys I know are successful and smart, but they’ve spent too much time focusing on their careers. They need an experienced, sophisticated woman to teach them about life in the outside world.”
What I love about Bill—oh, let me count the things I love about Bill at this moment. That he thinks this is a viable idea and he seems to have figured out how to make it work. That after knowing my best friend for all of forty-eight hours he guilelessly used the L word that it sometimes takes months—and a crowbar—to wrench out of a guy. And that for a seemingly meat-and-potatoes American dude, his tastes are delightfully European—he appreciates an older woman and all she has to offer. As luck would have it, Sienna’s phone beeps and she reaches expectantly for her BlackBerry—the same BlackBerry that used to chirp with news scoops and dinner invitations and that since her firing seems to have gone silent. Except to deliver bad news.
“My broker, he leaves a message every time the market goes down another hundred points. Which is about once an hour. I’m worried that he won’t be able to afford his phone bill,” Sienna says wryly. “Not to mention how I’m going to pay mine.”
“The company will pay for your phone, your Con Ed bill, your cab rides, and those silly little luxuries you’ve gotten used to, like food,” Bill says, seizing the opening to reassure Sienna that our plan offers financial security. “I think we could be highly successful. If everything goes according to my estimates, you should be able to rebuild your nest egg and buy that apartment of yours within the next couple of years.”
“And it would be fun. You’ve said yourself
“Twelve thou,” I say.
Bill laughs. “Twelve thousand it is. And our commission is forty percent.”
“But why would these guys—or anybody—pay that much money to be with a woman?” Sienna quibbles.
“Exclusivity,” I tell her. “Why do you pay four hundreddollars for designer jeans that are made from the same denim as the thirty-eight-dollar ones you could get at the Gap?”
“It’s the same reason that people are willing to pay a premium for good sushi. Clients want to know that what they’re paying for comes from a reliable source,” Bill says. “Our women will be attractive, smart, the kind of woman you could take to a dinner party with your boss or home to meet your parents. Then in bed, she’ll be a man’s total fantasy.”
I can see from the look on her face that Sienna’s starting to toy with the idea. Until, that is, Bill adds one last detail.
“And by the way. Everyone who works for us will be at least forty.”
“Forty? Forty-year-old hookers?” Sienna shrieks, pounding her fist on the table. “Now I know the two of you have both lost your minds!”
“Not hookers, courtesans,” Bill says patiently. “And I’m quite serious. To be successful in today’s business world you have to have a niche, and my gut tells me that this could be ours. Inkjet printers, bamboo flooring, one of my clients is a psychiatrist who specializes in CrackBerry addicts—each of them filled a need in the marketplace that wasn’t being met.”
“Older women and younger men. It’s a trend, just look at Hollywood,” I say. “Courteney Cox Arquette is seven years older than her husband, David; Demi is sixteen years older than Ashton; and Katie Couric is seventeen years older than her boyfriend.”
Bill pulls off his sunglasses and reaches over to take off Sienna’s, meeting her gaze as if they were the only two people in the room. “What I love about you, Sienna, is that you’re smart and sexy and worldly. It’s not like being with a girl—I feel like we could be together forever and I’d never be bored. And I think other men would feel that way, too. I mean they’dfeel that way about other women,” he adds quickly, lest Sienna get the impression that he would be willing to share her. “The guys I know are successful and smart, but they’ve spent too much time focusing on their careers. They need an experienced, sophisticated woman to teach them about life in the outside world.”
What I love about Bill—oh, let me count the things I love about Bill at this moment. That he thinks this is a viable idea and he seems to have figured out how to make it work. That after knowing my best friend for all of forty-eight hours he guilelessly used the L word that it sometimes takes months—and a crowbar—to wrench out of a guy. And that for a seemingly meat-and-potatoes American dude, his tastes are delightfully European—he appreciates an older woman and all she has to offer. As luck would have it, Sienna’s phone beeps and she reaches expectantly for her BlackBerry—the same BlackBerry that used to chirp with news scoops and dinner invitations and that since her firing seems to have gone silent. Except to deliver bad news.
“My broker, he leaves a message every time the market goes down another hundred points. Which is about once an hour. I’m worried that he won’t be able to afford his phone bill,” Sienna says wryly. “Not to mention how I’m going to pay mine.”
“The company will pay for your phone, your Con Ed bill, your cab rides, and those silly little luxuries you’ve gotten used to, like food,” Bill says, seizing the opening to reassure Sienna that our plan offers financial security. “I think we could be highly successful. If everything goes according to my estimates, you should be able to rebuild your nest egg and buy that apartment of yours within the next couple of years.”
“And it would be fun. You’ve said yourself
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