For Fun & Profit (Drafting Phase - feedback wanted!)

Yvaine

It's hot in Los Angeles so I opt to wear a sundress to breakfast. I make sure it has a plunging neckline so I can annoy Jackson over crepes.

Jackson is the best, but he won't sleep with me.

"It's not professional," he always says, and I definitely agree, but sometimes I think about it and...

I shake my head. I can't get all horny before I've even left the house. I rein it in and lock the apartment door behind me.

Because I hate driving in the city, I tell Jackson to meet me at the bistro down the street which serves an affordable brunch and flowing mimosas. I saunter down Tangerine Ave and browse the shop windows when a tapestry catches my eye. I hop inside a shop called Witchy One, run by a wiccan in her mid-thirties and her shop cat, Rex.

"Mol," she calls to me. "How're things?"

Where I live, everyone calls me Molly. It's not my name, but neither was Amy last night. I find it helps to keep my life totally under wraps almost at all times. Just in case I need to skip town.

Why not just do my escort work in Nevada where it's completely legal?

Well, I can't stand being so far from the ocean

No, LA is home. Besides, the money is good, the sex is naughty and I get to see Jackson once in a while. It's really the perfect setup. Even if I can't go by my real name.

"Things are good, Tee," I call back. The woman's name is Manistee, named for where she grew up in Michigan, but everyone calls her Tee. "I saw that tapestry in the window. Did you make it?"

"No, a friend," Tee says, coming out from behind the counter. Rex the shop cat naps lazily in a basket by the register, unbothered. "This lovely woman in Ecuador I know who weaves with real llama wool. You interested?"

I stare at the tapestry again. It's gorgeous: a naked, dark-skinned woman is splayed out on an emerald jungle floor in front of a pool of clear blue water. Fish swim and long ibis birds look as though they are stepping into the water to catch them. A jaguar is almost hidden from view, but napping in the dense thicket of dark green trees. A toucan watches over the sleeping woman, its colorful beak dyed bright in shimmery wool.

"Yes," I say. "How much?"

"Four hundred fifty," Tee says. "Plus tax of course."

I don't even bother to haggle. Something about the piece speaks to me.

"I'll take it."

Tee wraps it up nicely in cream paper and folds it into a large brown bag with the Witchy One logo on it. It's a pair of hands with sharp-tipped fingernails and many rings cupping the moon between them. I thank her, promise to be back another day, and carry the bag proudly down the street.

When I arrive at Fat Turtle, the patio is already full of people having Sunday brunch. I don't worry about getting a table. Jackson is already sitting at one beneath a potted palm, one ankle up on his knee, dark sunglasses over eyes that I know are hazel green.

"You're late," he says when I sit down. I roll my eyes.

"I just had to buy it," I tell him, patting the brown bag and settling into my chair.

"You have to buy every little thing you see," he says. "Your apartment is bursting with tchotchkes."

"Treasures," I correct. "I'm like a slinky dragon watching over her hoard."

I lean forward and rest my chin on my hands, letting my breasts fall forward a little, barely contained by the low neckline of my sundress. Jackson flips through the menu, unperturbed. I like the way the sun shines in his dark auburn hair. But because of his fair complexion, Jackson wears long sleeves, even in the hot sun, and I miss having a view of his arms.