The silver screen might be full of fiction, but romance was real. Deep down, she was a hopeless romantic just waiting for the breath to be knocked from her lungs when true love whisked into her world. She rarely had those, but she wasn’t against finding Ms. She saved those precious moments for “real” dates. Jodi never held hands with her dates, no matter how big the paycheck. Carlotta tucked her hand around Jodi’s elbow, and together they moved forward. When Carlotta looked her way, the sign that she had given the media enough of her time, Jodi moved back to her side. That was far more than she could say about the alternative. Of course, a personal escort was little removed from a paid whore, but no matter how many ways she examined the formula, Jodi couldn’t hang her head in shame. She could have ended up in the clutches of a violent pimp, dependent on him for the drugs that made her sordid life bearable, or worse, with her throat slashed and her body dumped in an alley before her eighteenth birthday. If anything, Jodi was proud of herself for finding another route out of an otherwise shameful life. But not just any escort-a paid, personal escort who did more than just walk her dates down the velvet aisle, or waltz the rich around a dance floor for her paycheck. Carlotta had paid handsomely for Jodi’s services, not the first time, and surely not the last. No doubt the pictures would grace the front covers of every tabloid and newspaper by morning light with their taglines pondering the mysterious date escorting the famous theater director into the limelight. Shutters hummed ferociously, and then Jodi stepped to the side while the paparazzi beckoned their star to pose for the customary photographs. The crowd shouted, and applause built all around. Slowly, Jodi led her wealthy date onto the red carpet. The actress in front of them moved forward. It kept her expression mysterious, and she liked that. Jodi held her head high as she looked over Carlotta’s awaiting fans. The prisms danced as the camera flashes sparkled. Carlotta pasted her bright public smile firmly in place while Jodi placed a hand at the small of her back and urged her to the edge of the carpet. Carlotta’s personal designer, Navarro, had outdone himself for this occasion, producing the most amazing chiffon gown covered with chips of mirrored glass that glinted like a myriad of diamonds in the flashlights. Jodi took her red silk-gloved wrist and escorted Carlotta from the stretch limo.
Her air of arrogance kept most people at arm’s length. At the ripe age of fifty-seven, Carlotta, the grande dame of the theater world, had lost none of the grace, sophistication, or style for which she’d become famous.
The flashes lit up the night sky as soon as she turned to extend her hand for Carlotta. She took in the paparazzi armed with their cameras, clumped in groups outside the golden ropes lining the red carpet.
Jodi waited for the driver to open her door before she stepped out of the limo.