My Escort, Page 2

  “That’s it!” Cassidy exclaimed, scurrying to her bag. After a fruitless struggle with an invisible animal that seemed to strangle her hand from the depths of the big bottomless pit she called her bag, she emptied the contents onto her desk. Bright lipsticks, perfumes, and even jewelry littered the table.

  “Do you have half of your apartment in there?” I asked, amazed. I contemplated whether a kitchen sink could possibly fit. A small purple purse fell out at last. With triumph she picked it up and scanned through its insides before fixating on a card and then offering it to me. “His name is Damon, and he offers an hourly rate.”

  I looked at the card in suspicion. “Cassidy...this is an escort’s card,” I said cautiously, wondering if she knew what “his services” actually entailed.

  “One of my friends gave me the card. She said he was great and utterly divine. At least this way you won’t rock up by yourself. His charm and looks will make her even more envious. It’s completely confidential, so no one will know.” She flicked her bouncy curls over her shoulder and looked around to make sure no one was listening.

  As if secrecy were contagious, I too glanced around before looking again at the card. “I’m not sure about this. It makes me feel pathetic that I can’t find a man myself. And besides, what is so wrong with being single and independent? That was always something I was proud of. Until today,” I whispered. I looked down at the simple black card. The gold calligraphy was elegant and tasteful. It cited only a first name, a contact number, and the most important word of all. Escort.

  “It’s just once and no one will ever know. Just imagine her expression when you do turn up with your ‘boyfriend.’ She will be so jealous. Gary doesn’t have much to offer in the looks department anymore,” she laughed lightly.

  I fiddled with the card in my hand, and as I did a more immature part of me acknowledged how great it would be to trump her just this once. I couldn’t help but consider it. “Maybe,” I pondered, walking back to my office to face the “to-do” list.

  *

  Hours later, I was alone in the office and still busily replying to clients and sponsors. Every time I unearthed a new set of instructions highlighting another unrealistic task, I fought the urge to reach for the phone. I looked from the black card to the time: 10 p.m. I froze as once again my fingers itched to call the number. His number. Just this once, I wanted to see an expression of embarrassed repentance fleet across Debra’s sharp features.

  But I found that I couldn’t make my fingers dial the number. I grabbed my cell phone, too scared to call the number, and sent a simple text instead. “Is this Damon?” Instantly I set the phone down as if it had burned me. I picked up my list once again with a sigh.

  The sudden vibration and glow of my phone gave me a fright. I stared at it. The number I had just text was now calling me back. I didn’t think he would respond so quickly. My heart was now racing and, reluctantly, I answered the phone.

  “Hello?” I said shakily, feeling stupid.

  “Do you need to be escorted somewhere?” a low, deep voice asked.

  “Um,” I said, surprised by his enticing voice. If he looked as sexy as he sounded then he would be perfect to show Debra up. “I am. It’s a...a formal event. Tomorrow night?”

  “I am free tomorrow night,” he said smoothly. “Text me your address and pickup time before tomorrow, and I will see you then.”

  “Okay,” I agreed.

  He hung up after the brief exchange. I felt like I had committed a crime. But I had to admit, the secrecy of it was exciting. Thrilling, even. I looked to the photo of Megan and started smiling at the thought of what she would say. Much like Cassidy, I think she would agree that getting an escort to annoy Debra was a small way by which I could stand up for myself.

  I text Damon my address and time of pickup, and then refocused on my work. I suddenly had all the concentration I needed. I would give a good impression tomorrow at the campaign. I wouldn’t let Debra look down on me any longer. This was one of her games I was willing to play for the first time. I accepted the challenge.

  Chapter Two- Unlucky in Love

  I was facing the early hours of Saturday and yet I was still in the office. Much to my disgruntlement, no matter how many times I tried to reorganize the scheduled times for the models we had booked, I was struggling to meet an agreed time with their agencies. It was hard to find a time that suited our guests for interviews and modelling shoots that was also convenient for our staff as well. It seemed like in the next six months we would all be working overtime to make all of this fit in. Although they showed interest in complying with our vision, I couldn’t help but feel as if Debra knew they would be a challenge to compress so quickly within the six-month forecast.

  Our sponsors wanted advertising space for cheaper prices, all of which I had to oversee. Soon we would be looking at the Christmas edition and at that time in the office it just felt as if everyone was going crazy. We published monthly and fortnightly on the website with smaller tips, advice, and shoots that didn’t make it to the front. This was to keep our magazine online informative and intriguing for our readers. Finally, when each monthly edition came out, it was comprised of our top stories, competitions, articles, advertisements, and photography.

  Recently, a lot of advertising contracts came to an end and were not renewed. About six months ago we had to drop our advertising prices just for a month or so to compete with Be True magazine. Because of this, and after the renewal of the appropriate price, we had to barter with the customers, hoping they had full confidence in advertising with our magazine once again.

  It felt as if Debra wanted me to smooth them over in a short time. I emailed their agencies back and forth, with a few calls here and there, and I couldn’t help but think, “Why are you awake so late?” It was 2 a.m. and I was still at the office. What made it worse was this wasn’t even my job, but the sales department’s. But conveniently enough, Debra had me look over them all before handing it back to them, only increasing my workload. “I trust you with our customers, Clover. Good luck,” she had said.

  There was a build-up of requests by colleagues to have time off and it only annoyed me even more to see that all the dates had been approved but mine. I entered them into the forecast schedule so everyone had access to the dates when others would be away. This type of monotonous chore could have easily been completed by one of the interns, but somehow Debra viewed it as a task only I could manage.

  I finally completed the new employee-of-the-month portfolio to send through to everyone’s e-mail, complete with photos and a brief description of the various departments’ achievements. I noticed on a report that only two days from now we were expecting a new website designer. How typical of Debra to expect me to organize a page for Issobelle Sherain when she knew it could be completed within only a few hours by a professional the next day.

  I ignored the following two e-mails I received, deciding instead that I would go home for a few hours’ sleep before I continued going back and forth with the agencies. “I will have to leave the research of the website design until tomorrow,” I thought as I gathered my books and bags before turning all the lights off.

  I stopped turning them off when Lucy, the cleaning lady, ventured in with a large trolley of cleaning products. “Is she working you to the bone again, Miss Granture?” Lucy asked with a crooked smile. I gave her a soft one in return. Lucy was an older lady with wiry gray hair, but she was still bursting with youth and witty comments.

  “Oh, how too often we meet like this,” I responded sleepily, reflecting on how often I was in the office so late. “Have a good morning, Lucy.”

  I waited patiently in the lift for the doors to close. I clutched my handbag and work bag whilst balancing all my notes. The cheery notes of the elevator music taunted my already taut nerves. Pressing my back against the metal bar behind me, I peered up at the mirrored roof. Black bags were etched under my eyes and my figure was drooping with fatigue.

  Tight
ening my scarf around my neck, I braced myself for the cool breeze of the autumn night air. I greeted the new security man as I left and walked out in front of the large windows of the Candice empire. Immediately I could see my breath. The air was unusually icy for this early in autumn. I held my arm out to a passing taxi, which thankfully screeched to a halt. I collected my items and fitted them through the door before gratefully climbing into the warm taxi and shutting the door against the looming glass building in which I spent so many hours.

  I blinked tiredly at the Candice building as we pulled away and merged with the traffic. To others it probably looked just as formidable. It was stark and intimidating—perfect for a high-end fashion magazine. We were a successful magazine that catered to the interests of young to middle-aged women. We mostly focused on fashion and women’s issues, such as relationships and short stories. The pieces ranged from instructional to motivational. But to me the topics were mediocre in comparison to the pieces I wanted to write. It was the world I wanted to see and write about and only a few travel excerpts were ever written for our magazine. Usually they were included in the summer or just before, when people were booking their holidays. But even these pieces were not without bias. They were designed to fit around a certain fashion show or runway campaign. There would be a little more coverage if our sponsors were involved and we were invited to attend.

  I had now raised the topic numerous times in our regular meetings but Debra would quickly usher my voice and opinion away. My proposals apparently seemed in no way beneficial to the magazine. I highlighted the cultural experience we could offer our readers and even listed the potential sponsors at our disposal. A good working relationship with other industries would only strengthen the business, I argued. But it seemed whenever I mentioned or proposed something new, it was never conducive to the direction in which Debra wanted to take Candice.

  The taxi crawled behind some cars leading to a set of lights, and, glancing past my tired reflection, I saw a locked magazine stand on the sidewalk. Through the metal bars I could just make out our rival magazine glistening with gold text. It was the new issue of the monthly magazine. For many years I had had my eye on Be True magazine. The difference between their magazine and ours was far too obvious at times, not only in sales but in style and content as well. Currently they had the critically-acclaimed ballerina, Sarah Hine, on their cover. Our request for a photo-shoot with her was quickly denied. I now understood why.

  I had to disown my interest in their magazines a long time ago. Sometimes, in an act of petty revenge, I would buy a copy here and there to read my favorite article by the celebrated writer known as “Anonymous.” Her writing was magnificent, and she conveyed fantastic stories on any topic she covered, including travel. I envied Anonymous for having such powers of expression and for the freedom to write whatever it was that took her fancy. She wrote for the weekly-updated blog online as well as the monthly prints. It hadn’t yet been confirmed if in fact she was a woman, but I could only conclude that she was. Her writing had such a sensitive and rich tone, and she was appreciative of culture and nature at once, all whilst being a quiet authority on fashion and style. It was my goal to reach the same level of fame, not just for recognition, but for the freedom to express myself freely and pay my bills by it. I had a long way to go before being recognized in such a way.

  Watching over the night lights whilst being driven to my apartment, I observed the couples who walked together in the late night, arm in arm. Was it sad that I had not yet attempted to date any men since moving here? I had no reason to be repulsed by men. I had never been hurt. My small flings only lasted a short time before I became annoyed by their immaturity and lack of ambition. The longest relationship I had lasted no more than six months, and that was back in Ithaca. It had only made me more reluctant to date the men of New York. Weren’t they all more or less the same?

  Almost falling asleep in the taxi, a smile brushed past my lips. My name, Clover, was always a quick and easy joke for people to use. My sister had always insinuated that I was not “lucky” in love. She now had two children, and I was happy for her. I wished I could have such a simple and attainable wish: a family, a home. Eventually, one day, I think I could imagine myself with children. But when I looked at the chaotic lifestyle around me now, I couldn’t imagine a man fitting in, let alone children.

  I looked at my phone, wishing that it would glow with a personal message or a missed call, something to validate that someone needed me outside Candice. I opened it, re-reading my two messages to the escort. How unlike me to message him on a whim. My curiosity piqued. I wondered who he was. I tried to picture a face to match the voice as I replayed his voice in my mind. I furrowed my eyebrows, recalling that I had never asked how much his... escorting... would cost. Was it inappropriate to ask an escort, “How much?” It’s not like he was a prostitute. I blushed at the thought. I was unfamiliar with this kind of service. I hid the phone away in my purse so I wouldn’t be tempted to ask such questions over text. Who knew what I was capable of in my sleep-deprived state?

  I paid the cab driver, thanking him before jumping out and then letting myself into my building. I waited for the elevator, then eagerly stepped inside and pressed the button for level nine. I headed down the hall on my left. It was sparse and barely decorated with terrible, flaking blue walls. I leaned against the wall as I fumbled inside my bags for the key to my apartment. The corridor was cold and silent.

  When I finally stepped inside, I was greeted by Pudding, my ginger cat, which I had owned since I was sixteen. He rubbed my leg impatiently. He had gone a long time without food.

  “I’m sorry, Pudding!”

  Guilt drove me forward and I hurriedly dumped my bags on my dining table. In his impatience he had knocked over my large blue vase that lovingly housed a fake plant. “Ahh, why?” I asked, thankful that he hadn’t broken it. I set it upright once again in the corner of my dining room, fluffing the artificial purple flowers in it. I quickly fed the few fish in the tank behind the dining table.

  I bumped my hip against the front door to close it before tiredly walking into the kitchen. I scurried through the high cupboard near my fridge. Pudding impatiently rubbed against my legs again as I opened the can. He dragged one nail down my hosiery, splitting it, probably in spite for not feeding him sooner. I dished out some canned food and began to mix it with the dry biscuits, but he shouldered me out of the way. “Ah, Pudding,” I whined at the malicious cat. I gave up on the battle as he had already begun downing his food. “You are such a determined thing.” I hissed, thinking of the cat dominating the world scenario you sometimes see in films. If any cat could, it was Pudding.

  I walked into my lounge, which had the curtains open to the bright lights of the city. I pulled my hosiery off and threw them in the bin. Pudding had ruined them. I missed completely but I left them there for the time being, not having the energy to pick them up. I contemplated a shower and immediately lost any intention I had of it when my eyes fell upon my comfy blue couch.

  I caught side of my bedroom as I collapsed on the couch. It looked gloomy and dark. There was a pile of washing that had yet to be folded. “I will get to that tomorrow,” I convinced myself, covering my face with my arm and removing my reading glasses that I had almost forgotten I had on. “I am absolutely exhausted,” I yawned to myself loudly. I snuggled into the couch and almost immediately fell into the welcome respite of deep sleep.

  Chapter Three- Just Business

  Startled by a banging noise, I sat upright and rubbed my eyes. When lucid, I realized someone was knocking on my door. I stroked through my hair, trying to neaten it, and wiped over my mouth. I must have drooled in my sleep. I dragged myself to my door, still disoriented and exhausted.

  “Good morning!” Cassidy chirped. Her hair was pinned into a messy bun on top of her head and she was clad in casual sweatpants and a warm coat. She held out a few silver bags and a large make-up case. “You obviously weren’t prepared for my arr
ival,” she giggled as she walked in and greeted Pudding.

  The clock on my wall told me that it was already after lunch. I stared at my silver watch, shocked that it could possibly be so late. “I didn’t realize it was this time already.” I panicked as I looked at my desk in horror. I had not yet done any research on how to create a webpage. I hadn’t even checked my e-mails.

  “You obviously needed the sleep. What time did you get home last night?” Cassidy asked, placing the dresses over the sofa and pulling things out of her make-up bag.

  “No, I don’t have time to sleep,” I mumbled, turning on my laptop. I only had time for three hours of research until I had to leave for the campaign.

  “Leave that for now, you are a smart cookie. You will be able to do that tonight. Let me do this for you first. I have a date soon so I can’t be here all afternoon,” she beamed.

  I was conflicted. I wanted her help but I needed to do research. This was exactly what Debra wanted. But then again, if I didn’t look the part, I was equally a failure in her eyes. I relented. I could do the work after Cassidy left. “Just a few ‘copy and pastes’ here and there. Easy,” I deluded myself.

  “I wasn’t too sure, so I brought a red dress and a green dress. I think the green will look nicer on you, and fit your curves better as well. But first I am going to let you shower before you put on my dress,” Cassidy giggled. I remembered that I had not yet showered since arriving home the night before.

  “A shower sounds good,” I agreed.

  Enjoying the brief shower, I washed my hair and vigorously scrubbed over my curves. The water dripped over my lips. I breathed in the steamy air, trying to wake myself. I still couldn’t believe I had slept for so long. I stepped out, quickly wiping over myself before walking out in my towel. Immediately I went for the coffee machine.