Read The Blue Room Vol. 2: The Blue Room Series for Free Online Page A

truffles and caviar with Mr. S.
                But
when I spy Mr. Nice and Handsome on the treadmill next to me, I know – with a
pang of sadness – that a desire for endorphins wasn't the only thing that
prompted me to the gym. I'm glad he's here. Relieved, even.
                He
smiles when he sees me – a smile so genuine it almost breaks my heart.
                This
is the kind of guy I should be dating, I think to myself. Someone honest.
Someone real. Someone who smiles when I walk in not because he knows what's
about to happen – knows that I'm going to fulfill his fantasy – but because he
doesn't know anything at all. He's celebrating the unexpected. He's excited
because I'm excited, because we're real people, laughing, talking, joking,
getting to know one another, and because that reality sustains us.
                “I
thought you'd be wiped out,” he says, mopping the sweat from his brow as he
motions for me to take the treadmill next to him.
                “Me?”
I laugh. “Never. I'm up for everything.”         More than you know , I
think.
                I
feel almost ashamed when I talk to him. Every word I'm saying, I think, is a
lie. Every minute I don't tell him I'm a Blue Girl is a moment he's dealing
with a girl who's maybe more a fantasy than the femme fatale who will be
sharing a tiramisu with Mr. S. in a few short hours.
                “I
like a strong girl,” he laughs. “Although given the rate you're going, I bet
you could probably beat me up.”
                “I'd
never do that!” I laugh back. “You're too nice.”
                “Oh,
am I?' His smile glimmers. “That's a pretty big judgment call you're making
there.”
                “I
have a good intuition about people,” I say.
                You
have to be, if you're going to be a hooker.
                “Do
you?” He looks faintly amused.
                “Don't
you?”
                “I
like to think I do,” he says. “Go on, then – what else can you tell about me.
Other than that I'm nice.”
                And
very handsome , I think, but don't add out loud.
                “You're
– relaxed,” I say. “You don't seem to let life get you down.”
                “I
try not to,” he says. “After all, if I let life get me down, nothing would ever
get done.” His smile fades, and for a moment I wonder if I'm not wrong, if Mr.
Nice and Handsome hasn't suffered after all.
                “You
seem trustworthy,” I say. “That's rare in this town.”
                “You
don't seem to like LA too much.”
                “I
don't know how I feel about LA,” I say. It's the honest truth. Once it was the
field of dreams – of my dreams – and in my more idealistic moments I
wonder if it still could be. Other times, I wonder if I'm trapped in a
nightmare for good. I could be a singing sensation – or just another used-up
junkie prostitute. “It's kind of a love-hate relationship.”
                “I
know what those are like,” Mr. Nice and Handsome sighs.
                I
grin at him.
                “Bad
experiences?”
                “Lots
of experiences,” he says. “Some good. Some bad.”
                “With
girls?” It just slips out. I don't mean to pry, to be too personal – but he
takes it almost as flirtation.
                “Not
at the moment,” he says. “I mean – there was someone in my life. I used
to come out to LA for her. But we're not together anymore. So I just find other
ways to fill my time.”
                “Like
working out?”
                “Exactly,”
he smiles. “Gotta keep fit on the market.”
                “Are
you on the market, then?” I mock-raise my eyebrows in