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him for good.”
    “I doubt it,” Wasserman growled. Of indeterminate age and formidable weight, he was deeply tanned year-round, arms covered in a curling black pelt. Only the top of his head was shiny and bare. A salt-and-pepper beard and moustache perpetually obscured his lips, adding to the effect of a boulder that spoke. “See that little piss ant? He made your ‘international diplomat’ so happy, the client asked to always have Andrew from here on out. Client even said he’d rearrange his flight dates if necessary.”
    The blond spun around to examine Andrew, frozen in the doorway as if his ears had stopped working.
    “Him? Cormac wants him ?”
    “Never any accounting for taste, is there?” Wasserman held up a sealed envelope marred with what looked like thumbprints. “Here’s what you’re owed. Take it and get out.”
    “But if you’ll just call Cormac… if you’ll tell him it was a one-time problem, that I’m still available—”
    “Get out!” Wasserman stood up. He was hardly any taller out of the chair—five-four at most, if Andrew was any judge—but the blond shrank back as if Godzilla had come up from the depths.
    “Don’t smirk at me,” the blond said to Andrew as he pushed past, envelope in hand. “You’ll wreck it. Cormac will want me back, wait and see.”
    “Was I smirking?” Andrew asked Wasserman, too dazed to get anything else out. Not only had Cormac decided not to complain, he’d asked for Andrew on a recurring basis? Offered to change his travel schedule to accommodate the request?
    “Nope. Looked more like a deer in headlights. Come here.” Wasserman sank back into the receptionist’s chair slowly, as if the effort of standing had winded him. “What did you do to him, anyway? What kind of tantric voodoo bondage did you pull on Mr. Ice Water to turn him into your biggest fan?”
    “We just…”Andrew started to say, “talked,” and then stopped. First, why did Wasserman deserve to hear the details, innocent as they might be? Second, revealing anything was breaking confidence with Cormac. And that was one thing Andrew wasn’t willing to do. “…had a nice date. That’s all.” He offered his most enigmatic smile.
    Wasserman studied Andrew with slitted eyes. “Discretion,” he said at last, “will get you everywhere in this business. You have good instincts, kid.” Unlocking a desk drawer, he withdrew a metal cash box. Digging into the thickest stack, he counted out five hundred dollar bills. Those beady eyes flicked up at Andrew. Then he counted out five more.
    “There.” Shutting the cash box with a bang, he stowed it back in its drawer and locked it away. “Five hundred dollars bonus for not shitting the bed. Another five hundred dollars because I didn’t think you had it in you. Don’t spend it all in one place, because there won’t be any more bonuses. Not unless you earn them client-to-date, in which case it’s prostitution and I don’t want to know about it.”
    “Just being on the payroll is good enough for me,” Andrew said, accepting the thousand dollars and restraining himself from kissing every greenback.
    “I have another job opening tonight.” As usual, Wasserman spoke with little inflection, facial muscles immobile. “Pool boys and party favors. Standard rate from me. Plenty of client-to-date possibilities, too, if you want them.”
    Andrew’s throat tightened. At some point he’d have to stop feeling ill at the mere mention of gay sex. Hadn’t Wasserman assured him dozens of times no escort could legally be forced into intercourse?
    “But… the clients won’t get angry if I’m not interested, will they?”
    Wasserman sighed. “Not if you’re charming and polite. Tell them you’re a born again virgin. Tell them you have a husband. Just don’t say you’re a straight boy getting paid to act queer or I’ll get a nasty phone call for sure.” That beady stare again. “You are straight, aren’t you? Not doing some kind of