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but last night was . . . Shit. Look, maybe you won't believe me but I can't stop thinking about you. I want to see you, okay? I'll be in the park, the one I told you about. Piedmont. On one of the benches by the lake. I'm going there now, and I'll wait. I hope you come. I'll bring doughnuts. Do you like doughnuts? I'll be waiting. Please."
    Oooh, you're different, ooh, you're so special, ooh, give it to me baby, just pay another thousand dollars and I'll love you forever . Sure. But Cookie's voice sounded so soft, so uncertain, as though she really meant it. But of course it would. That was her living: playing pretend. Using people.
    Cody's face prickled. Be honest, she told herself: who really used who, here? Who got the big contract, who got to have exactly what she wanted: great sex with no complications, and on the expense account no less?
    It was too confusing. She was too tired. She was leaving. It was all too late anyhow, she thought, as the car moved smoothly onto the interstate.
    A woman sitting on her own on a bench, maybe getting hot, maybe getting thirsty, wanting to use the bathroom. Afraid to get up and go pee because she might miss the one she was waiting for. Maybe the hot sweet scent of the doughnuts reminded her she was hungry, but she wouldn't eat them because she wanted to present them in their round-dozen perfection to her sweetie, see her smile of delight. She would pick at the paint peeling on the wooden bench and look up every time someone like Cody walked past; every time, she'd be disappointed. This one magical thing had happened in her life, something very like a miracle, but as the hot fat sun sinks lower she understands that this miracle, this dream is going to die because the person she's resting all her hopes on is worried she might look like a fool. Or doesn't want to admit she had used a woman for sex and then thrown her away.
    Cody blinked, looked at her watch. She leaned forward, cleared her throat.
    The driver looked at her in his mirror. "Ma'am?"
    "Where is Piedmont park?"
    "Northeast of downtown."
    "Do we pass it on the way to the airport?"
    "No, ma'am."
    She was crazy. But all that waited for her at home was a tankful of fish. "Take me there."
     
    Without the hat and boots, wearing jeans and sandals and the kind of tank top Cody herself might have picked, Cookie looked young. So did her body language. Her hair was in a braid. She was flipping it from shoulder to shoulder, twisting on the bench to look to one side, behind her, the other side. When she saw Cody, her face opened in a big smile that was naked and utterly vulnerable.
    "How old are you?" Cody blurted.
    The face closed. "Twenty-six. How old are you?"
    "Thirty-one." Cody didn't sit down.
    They stared at each other. "Dirt on my face?"
    "No. Sorry. It looks . . . you look different."
    "You expect me to dress like that on my day off, too?"
    "No! No." But part of her had. "So. You get a lot of days off?"
    A short laugh. "Can't afford it. No expense accounts for me. No insurance, no 401(k), no paid vacation."
    Cody flushed. "Earning two thousand bucks a night isn't exactly a hard luck story."
    "Was I worth it?"
    Her smell filled Cody's mouth. Yes ! she wanted to shout. Yes, a hundred times over . But that made no sense, so she just stood there.
    "You paid twenty-two hundred. The house takes sixty percent off the top. Out of my eight eighty, Danny takes another twenty percent and, no, he's a bouncer, not a pimp, and I've never done that before last night. And, no, I don't expect you to believe me. Then there's costumes, hair, waxing, make up . . . " She leaned back, draped both arms along the back of the bench. "You tell me. Would fucking a complete stranger for three hours be worth five hundred dollars?"
    Her mouth stretched in a hard smile but her eyes glistened. She put one ankle up on the other knee.
    "Does your ankle still hurt?" It just popped out.
    Cookie turned away, blinked a couple of times. Cody found herself