Love Story Of A Call Girl

"Can I get you something to drink?" He asked, noncommittally.

He saw that I was about to head into the living room.

This time, I answered, "Let me serve you, Mr. Boardmann. After all, you hired me for the night."

"Very well." He said, slumping down on the settee facing the balcony.

He clutched the notebook in his hands the same way he shook my hands.

I had noticed yesterday that he walked to the cabinet to get the bottle of Pinot Noir. I did see other types of liquor there as well as a flask of water. All I really wanted to do was mix some water with my red wine. I came to a conclusion that its pungent taste had compromised my sense of scent yesterday. I was far off my weather forecast because my sense of scent was muted, thanks to the Cabernet Sauvignon and Pinot Noir.

Senses were my protective armour; my invisible shield. These secret shields I would never mute, not if I can help it, unless unpleasant times warranted for it. Senses were my armour against life. The sense of smell had the most freedom. The scent before rain was my solace.

I got the crystal glasses and filled his with Pinot Noir while I added lots of water to mine. It was a shade lighter in colour than his, but because of the dim, subdued or maybe it is nicer to say "romantic" lighting, I hoped that he would not notice. His eyes should be only on me. In the call girl business, judging a book by its cover goes without saying. Outside the business, it was still the same with all men. Only that in the business, men do not need to hide their pretensions.

He accepted the glass from my hands as I sat by his side. The reason was that I did not want to risk him looking at my glass.

"Lila, what time did you leave yesterday?" He asked.

"A little before sunrise." I said.

"Why did you not stay till I woke up?" He asked.

He turned to face me now. I looked at him and in the warm lighting saw that the ghastly paleness which enveloped him yesterday was less visible now. The eye bags under his eyes were still visible as with his skin; still sallow and sunken. Nonetheless the ghastly hues of death was gone. He looked more approachable and less tired.

"I did not know that it was required of me, Mr. Boardmann. Should I have stayed?" I enquired.

"Would you have wanted to?" He asked.

"As standard practice at my agency, we all leave by morning or earlier. There can be a partner finding us out or other complications." I said.

"I don't have a girlfriend. Not anymore. She doesn't give a damn about what happens to me." He said, in a flat voice.

I heard the bitterness in his voice. I looked away from him.

"Were you repulsed by the thought of staying with me? The fact that I paid through the ceiling for you was not enough to warrant you to say good morning to me?" He asked.

"No. Like I said, it is standard practice for me to leave before the client awakens. It is nothing personal." I said.

He did not speak but the wolf in his grey eyes was ready to devour me. Thus I felt compelled to justify the standard practice, as was my penchant for explaining myself also being second nature. I was always doubted by people.

"Most clients prefer call girls to leave as soon as the deed is performed. S.e.x is a form of release; it's a need, not a want. Clients prefer to wake up with no loose ends. They prefer to start the day afresh as if nothing happened the night before." I said.

While I spoke, I kept my eyes to the spaces between his, right at the bridge of his sharp nose. I would not subject myself to his piercing eyes if I could help it.

Eyes were the windows to the soul; and my senses did not go into rest mode. I was always alert. Maybe that was why I never slept well, day or night. I had to be on guard, just in case. Sometimes I saw more than I wanted to see. It was easy to deny sight by not looking at something. I was able to mirror my conversationalist's emotions if I looked them in the eyes. It did not mean though that I could comprehend their emotions.