Hope was keeping company with one of her regulars, Jeremy Witt, at the Platinum Club in Mount Vernon.
He had told her he was from Weybridge, Surrey, when they first met. Hope figured that Weybridge must be in England because of his accent; other than that, she didn’t much care where he was from or who he claimed to be.
He tipped generously, and unlike her other customers, he was handsome and well-dressed. He was attractive to American women in a classic James Bond way: dark eyes and dark hair, tall, looked to be about twenty-six, and was always tan for some reason.
It was a mystery to Hope why he would hang out at the Platinum Club in Mount Vernon when the city was so close. He looked like he could get any girl he wanted; he seemed flush with cash, and with that accent, he was irresistible. He was also sincere, which was a character flaw that generally made Hope leery.
Jeremy generally made a point of asking Hope back to his place when he paid her for a lap dance, saying how he would take care of her, but she always said no.
There had to be a catch.
Bad karma, or good?
While Hope flattered herself that Jeremy was interested in her, she realized that this guy traveled in wealthy social circles; she had been down that road before with manufacturing magnate Ian Henshaw III.
No thanks.
“How is our Hope tonight, if that is your real name?” Jeremy smiled when he sat next to her.
“I’m fine, Jeremy, if that is indeed your real name,” Hope said, returning his cheeriness.
“You’ve finished your shift, I see,” Jeremy said.
“Yes.”
“As always, I’m going to ask you if you want to go for a drink. If you’ve noticed, I’ve stopped asking if you want to go back to my place. Although I am willing to pay if that is what it takes to spend some time with you.”
Hope smiled wryly.
“I told you, Jeremy, I’m not a hooker, and I don’t fraternize with the patrons outside of this fine establishment.”
“That sounds so cold, calling me a patron. I thought we were becoming mates.”
“Look, Jeremy, you’re cute, and I like you, but I don’t know you, and you don’t know me.”
“So tonight I get an ‘I don’t know you,’ instead of a firm ‘No’? What’s changed?” he asked inquisitively.
Hope’s lucky day with Foster Prentice was what had changed. The day she swindled Foster Prentice out of his money and dignity, she had outwitted the upper class. Hope had extracted her pound of flesh that day. She was no longer intimidated by the rich.
And maybe meeting Jeremy was fate knocking at her door again. After all, she had met both her husband and her enemy’s husband at the Platinum Club.
Maybe the third time was the charm.
Hope looked around the club. This den of sin had suddenly become disheartening.
What did she have to lose by spending some time with another nice-looking stranger who had somehow come into her life?
“Ok, I’ll go for a drink with you,” Hope said, “but you’ll have to meet me somewhere else. If they see me leave with you, the owner’s going to think I’m turning tricks, and she’ll want a cut. You leave now, and I’ll meet you at the Quickie Mart two blocks up the street in about fifteen minutes.”
“The Quickie Mart?”
Hope shot him a look.
“Sounds perfect. Till then. You won’t stand me up, will you?”
“I’ll be there.”
After Jeremy left the club, Hope finished her drink and ordered another. If her luck was changing, she wanted to enjoy it while it lasted, before she faced disappointment again. She looked around the club once more, at the girls dancing and the uncultured men smirking and grabbing, and wondered if a better life lay ahead of her.
About thirty minutes later, Hope walked to the convenience store up the street.
It was springtime, so people were milling about in this mixed neighborhood of strip malls and fast-food joints.
And along with the seedy people who hung out on the block, there was one person in particular, hiding out in her Mazda, spying on them. It was Erica Parsons.
She was falling in love with Payne, but she couldn’t let go of the idea of marrying Jeremy and having the perfect life back across the pond. So she was following him. Finding out what he was up to before she would let him go once and for all.
Jeremy was in the parking lot of the Quickie Mart, leaning against his new Aston Martin Vantage, grinning from ear to ear.
“You cheeky bugger,” Erica said to herself. But her jaw dropped when she saw Hope walk up to his car to meet him. “He’s seeing that slag from the strip club!” Now, Erica was in full stalker mode. She had to see where Jeremy was going with this relationship. “Wait until I tell everyone back home.” Erica chuckled to herself.
Hope was dressed to go out in a tasteful, spring cocktail dress.
“I didn’t think you’d come here to meet me,” Jeremy said as Hope walked up to the car.
“Nice car,” said Hope, “Is it yours?”
“It is,” said Jeremy, opening the door for her to get in.
When Hope got into the Aston Martin, she noticed the interior was state-of-the-art. A world away from the low-budget SUV her husband Ian had purchased for her, and then took back when they got divorced. Ian may have been a billionaire, but he was so cheap.
Jeremy got in on the other side and started the engine.
“Where to?” he asked.
“Any place you choose is fine. As long as it doesn’t have women dancing on poles,” Hope said.
“I know just the place.”
Jeremy drove downtown, stopped at a restaurant called ‘Wish,’ and parked the car.
It was a beautiful and balmy evening, so Jeremy asked for a table on the outdoor patio.
The sun was setting on a Thursday night in downtown Orchard Park. It was late spring, so many other people were enjoying the temperate air and light breezes of a June evening. ‘Wish’ was on a busy street with other cafes buzzing with couples and dinner parties, chatting and enjoying each other's company in the agreeable night air.
Hope and Jeremy were making small talk and enjoying an expensive bottle of wine. Hope remembered the vintage from her days at the Orchard Park Country Club with Ian.
“Would you like something to eat?” Jeremy asked her.
“I suppose so,” said Hope.
Jeremy ordered another bottle of the wine, and they looked at the menus.
Hope let Jeremy do the ordering.
“This is definitely different from seeing you at the strip club,” Hope commented, looking around.
“I could take you away from there,” said Jeremy.
The server brought their wine and poured it.
“You say that every time we talk,” said Hope, “but I don’t need you to do that. I can make my own money. And I have plenty of money from the divorce.”
“I just want to get to know you better. But it’s strange trying to date an exotic dancer. You must know that.”
“I know what you mean, but I have to make a living, and I don’t wait tables.”
“You wouldn’t have to work at anything if you were with me.”
“I already told you that I had that situation going with my billionaire ex-husband. It didn’t end well, and you’re not that wealthy.”
“Touché. Is there something else you want to do, professionally speaking, where I could be of some assistance?”
“You asked me that before, and I have thought about it, but you would make fun of me.”
“I promise won’t.”
“Then I am just going to say it,” Hope said. “I want to go to beauty college and learn to cut and color hair.”
Jeremy wasn’t sure whether to burst out laughing or congratulate Hope on making a career decision that was realistic for her.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Hope went on, “I can see it on your face, but I’m serious. I would make a good hair stylist. And it’s an honest trade that someone like me can learn, and then earn a decent living.”
“I see.”
“You can make fun of me all you want, but for me, it’s practical. I’m not one of those people who have their head in the clouds. I live in the real world. Those girls at the club think some rich guy is going to take care of them, but I did that, and it didn’t work out.”
“I’m not making fun of you, Hope; I think it’s a very sensible career choice for you.”
“Thank you, Jeremy. I’m glad you agree, but I don’t need anyone’s approval.”
The server brought their appetizers, and they ate in silence for a few minutes.
“You know, you could open your own salon,” said Jeremy. “That would be something.”
“No, for now I just want a trade where I can be independent and not have to take my clothes off, or have to get married and have children,” said Hope.
“I could help you out if you needed it.”
“I have money. I don’t need your help,” Hope said defensively.
“I was just offering,” Jeremy apologized.
“Thank you. If I need anything, I’ll let you know.”
Jeremy changed the subject, and he and Hope finished their meal with light conversation and a few more glasses of wine.
They were both in good spirits when Jeremy paid the check.
“Why don’t you come back to my place?” he proposed.
“Normally, I would say no thank you, but it is such a nice night. Do you have a place where we could sit outside and talk?”
“Yes,” Jeremy said, “as a matter of fact, I do.”
Jeremy drove Hope down to the Long Island Sound Yacht Club and parked the car.
“What are we doing here?” Hope asked.
“In the warmer months, I live here on my boat. It’s a great place to sit outside and talk.”
“Which boat is yours?”
“That one.” Jeremy pointed to a 90-foot yacht docked at one of the larger slips.
Hope stopped and stared.
“What did you say you did for a living?”
“I manage my family’s money. So I’m afraid I don’t really work at a job.”
Hope was not impressed.
“And am I supposed to be some new plaything to help you pass the time? Is that what you think of me? I told you I’m not for sale. Goodnight, Jeremy.”
Hope turned to leave.
“You can’t walk back to town,” Jeremy said. “Let me give you a lift.”
“I’ll call an Uber.”
“Hope, wait,” Jeremy said. “I consider you to be a friend.”
Hope turned back to face him.
“How many ‘friends’ have you brought back here?”
“Not as many as you might think,” he said. “Please stay and let’s talk about it.”
“All right.”
And waiting quietly in the bushes of the yacht club was Erica, dying to find out what was going to happen next.