"I waited a couple of days to call her, because that’s what people do to
pretend they aren’t desperate. We chatted briefly and made plans to
meet in a park by her place. Before she hung up, she said, “Be there at
6 p.m., don’t be late and bring me an Iced Mocha Frappuccino from
Starbucks.”
In retrospect, I admit that was a pretty obvious red flag. But at the
time, I distinctly remember thinking to myself, “That’s a bit odd,
normally girls don’t. . .” and then losing my train of thought when my
mind wandered back to the fact that she apparently enjoyed showering
with other people enough that she took it into consideration before she
would consider moving into an apartment. And by the time I stopped
thinking about that, I realized that I was sitting on a park bench near
the East River with an Iced Mocha Frappuccino perspiring in my hand.
“I love taking pictures,” she went on. “You can really capture moments that way, and even feelings. But I work at a dungeon in Tribeca for money on the side. And Craig was a client of mine that really started liking me. He’s so loaded, so he helps me out a bit and sometimes goes a bit overboard, because he’s always trying to impress me. You can understand that though, right?”
“Listen, it’s real tough to find guys to date me cause of this. Please try and understand. I think you’d feel better about it if you went to my website. You’ll see it’s all very professional,” she said, not realizing that was the problem. She wrote the URL on the palm of my hand, which, let’s be honest, is pretty whorish.
She was standing next to an overweight, middle-aged man. He was naked except for a leather mask and was sprawled on his back across a stainless steel table. His eyes were closed, and the muscles in his neck were strained, suggesting that he was in pain—which made sense, because half of Katrina’s forearm was in his ass. She was smiling, and looking at her, I realized it was the only time I’d seen her smile.
