She convinced him he could charm the pants off a komodo dragon, and eventually Charlie believed her. Of course, as a seventeen-year-old runaway
Charlie had to believe in something and trust someone.

Too bad it had to be Miss Layla.

That was a good thirty years ago. Now, Layla was long gone and Charlie was still “in the business.”
It’s the only life he knew.
Charlie had grown used to the fast money,
the trips to Europe and jetting to private islands—
and the champagne, caviar and nose candy that went along with it.
Although, now that he was forty-seven those trips to exotic destinations were few and far between.
So much for the days of wine and roses, he grimaced.
The money wasn’t as plentiful and the clientele weren’t as attractive. In fact, they were downright disgusting.
He was lucky to get a burger and soft drink for his time, these days.
Charlie considered his reflection in the mirror: a middle-aged man with shaving cream all over his face
and vacant, milky-brown eyes.
Charlie hadn’t felt an emotion in years. In order to succeed as a male escort, you had to stay numb, so he did.
Glancing at his watch, he realized he had ten minutes to get into character
and charm the pants off the next komodo dragon.

The Daily Post

Photo Courtesy of Vickie Fuchs