The Call Girl and the Businessman Ch. 00-01

"What are you thinking about when you look outside?" He asked me.

"The moon." I said.

I wanted to take his attention away from what I perceived to be work stress. Most clients who hired me were up the career ladder, and occasionally they talked about the amount of work that was taking its toll on them.

"It's a full moon tonight. I would say it's as bright as the sun in all this darkness without the stars." He said, gazing up at the moon.

Reaching out from under my cardigan, I fished out my pebble-sized moonstone which hung on a black-stringed necklace.

"This is a moonstone." I said, showing to him the stone with the bluish-white sheen.

"It's beautiful. Can I touch it?" He asked.

I nodded.

His fingers lightly grazed the surfaces of my moonstone.

"It's really smooth to the touch and extremely icy cold like ice itself." He said later.

I wondered if I should talk a little about my stone.

"When you have a moonstone and you touch it when you look at the moon, all wishes of the heart will come true. But you have to believe." I said.

His reaction indicated to me that it was a splendid fairy tale with no relevance to the real world. Yet out of respect to ancient mysticism or just perhaps my "exotic" cultural heritage, he said nothing.

I was not sure for how long then we gazed at the moon, each occupied with our own thoughts. All we heard were the constant sounds of our breathing.

He broke the silence.

"I am getting tired. I will go to bed. I was wondering if you could stay with me for a bit." He said.

He patiently waited for my reaction.

I was unsure if it meant that he wanted me to accompany him in bed doing nothing or if he wanted me to hang around in the penthouse suite at my own whim and fancy.

"Okay." I said, thinking that I could watch television.

After all, he had paid me in advance for the night. A generous amount too, which was already banked into my account via my agency.

I thought that I was too soft. I could have said no and left. I could find no reason to like him even the slightest bit. He was arrogant and he downright mocked me. Perhaps I was also feeling a bit tired and could do with a bit of rest at his place. It was midnight. A storm was brewing and I could wait out the storm instead of making a dash out in the rain. I had scented its musky saturation for ages, especially in the penthouse suite. My internal forecast was not accurate today.

I had started the evening thinking it would rain; and that was three hours ago. I had scented it -- the musky saturation. The scent before rain. Something had broken my flow.

I did not have to think too much for then he ushered me into his bedroom; the same door which he slammed when he said that he would be right back. I saw a wide, canopied bed with velvet sheets and satin vanilla-coloured lace as its curtains for an ounce of privacy.

He went into the bathroom and when he came out moments later, he was in an old fashioned striped pyjama set. I found it a stark contrast to the black suit he wore earlier. He whisked the curtains apart and climbed into bed. He looked at me with an expression I could not decipher. Somewhat unsure; somewhat hopeful.

"I cannot say how much it would please me to have you by my side. I know I cannot force you to lie with me, but I was hoping that even knowing about how rude I can be, you would still want to." He said, in a soft voice.

"Oh?" I said, the words came out of my mouth instinctively.

"...although I cannot imagine why you would." He said.

I watched him in amazement, my thoughts simply scattered.

"I know I was rude towards you. I was not in the best of moods, but trust me, I can do better." He said.

There was an emotional rapture in his voice which I had not heard the whole night through until this very moment.

His eyes softer on me now, he waited for my answer. When there was none, he spoke.

"Well then, close the door softly when you leave. That timbered door causes such a ruckus." He said.

"Your bedroom door does the same." I said, recalling the loud bang of the door.

But in the door's defence, he was actually slamming the door in all brute force.

Having said that, I got into bed beside him, fully dressed. He gazed at me as I did him, and it was as though we both felt empowered in some way.

I did not lie down as this little black dress limited my movements. I could not stretch my thighs apart anymore I could curl over to one side of the bed. I could only sit still at a ninety degree angle. I propped myself against the velvet pillow. Its softness embraced me like a second skin. He was lying down; his head propped on the corresponding pillow beside me. He gazed at me, rather unsure of what to say.

"I believe that a thank you is in order. So, thank you, Lila for being here by my side." He said.

I thought that he over-compensated with his words. Hearing a thank you was far from my mind. In fact I was thinking of nothing at all now. Every experience with him was puzzling. For once, I had to take the moment as it was without any standard answers ready.

"I have trouble sleeping at night. I have recurring nightmares. I wake up drenched in cold sweat. Your presence makes the night more tolerable." He said to me, almost a whisper.

He was ashamed of himself.

I was taken aback at his change of emotion. He had displayed a variety of emotions throughout the night but not of shame.

"I am sorry that the night was not what you expected." He said, when I was thinking of what to say.

I least expected an apology from him then. I tried to say something sensible.

"I have no expectations, Mr. Boardmann." I said.

"You must have had an idea of how the night would turn out. Standard practice, no?" He said.

"Every client is unique, so are the both of us. Each experience is different." I said.

"Goodness, Lila, you are really kind." He said, in amazement.

"I am?" I said, wondering about the truth of the statement.

I had never thought of myself as kind, or unkind for that matter. That was just how I spoke and presented myself naturally.

"Look, I know what the situation presents itself. I am a grown man and I can't bear to sleep alone. I need someone by my side and the sad fact is despite all the money I have, I have no one who can. No one except you; a call girl whom I have to pay through the ceiling to stay with me." he said.

It definitely did not sound like a compliment to me.

"You made your choice." I said, in a soft voice.

I turned away from him.

I spoke out even though I was wary of his piercing eyes. I had gathered my courage now that he was lying down and I sitting up. We were not gazing each other directly in the eyes.

"Ah, Lila, I did not mean you any offence. I am merely bemoaning my sorry, pathetic state. You are the smart one. You are a high society call girl. You pick and choose your clients." He said.

I saw no link to his pathetic state and to me being the smart one. Unless of course, he likened his sorry, pathetic state to a lack of intelligence.

Ironically I thought only the smart ones were the pathetic ones simply because they were smart enough to give themselves every reason to be pathetic.

"I am here with you, and I have chosen to be with you tonight. I accept you as you are, in this state you are in." I said instead.

"Thank you for tonight, Lila. I do appreciate your company. From the bottom of my heart." He said.

When I was still finding my sensible words for the situation, he breathed in deeply and his deep-set, wolfish eyes closed. His forehead furrowed and his eyes looked too tightly shut to be really comfortable.

I had no words. Instead I felt an urge to talk to him again to get him to do what I wanted. I felt it would help him sleep better.

"If you like, you can rest your head on my lap while I sit still here." I said.

At least, I found this soothing when I was a child. I remembered my mother soothing me to sleep like this while she mended our tattered clothes. It was a miracle that the sharp needles never fell upon my head, or my eyes for that matter.

"Are you sure you are not disgusted by the thought of a grown man laying his head on your lap?" He asked.

I shook my head. Had he known what I had been through, this was of no disgust at all. I was not easily disgusted.

His eyelids fluttered open and he looked at me, as if still seeking approval. When he sensed it; without speaking, he bridged the minuscule distance between us and placed his head on my lap.

"You're as good as your agency says you are. You are worth the amount I paid, even if it means I'll go bankrupt soon." He whispered, barely facing me just before he lay on my lap.

"Hush now, close your eyes. I'll make sure you don't have nightmares." I said.

"How can you be sure I don't?" He asked, arching his head to look at me.

"If I see your forehead furrowed in, your eyes shut too tight and your body twitching, I will wake you up." I said.

"What an original way to prevent nightmares." He said, as a matter of fact, but nodding his head.

"Thank you, my..." He said, before biting his lip.

"I'm Lila." I said.

He must have more than just tired to have forgotten my name. He was clearly troubled by the nightmares.

"Lila, thank you." He said on his second attempt, and then he raised his slender fingers to caress my face.

His long, practical fingers brushed my cheeks and then my lips. I took his hand in mine and squeezed it tight. I gave him a reassuring smile.

"Tonight you shall sleep better. I promise." I said.

I switched off the night lamp beside the bed and my gaze concentrated on this fragile man who lay on my lap like a child.

I must be as good as the agency says I am. No wonder I am one of their top escorts. These days, I only accept reservations which pay a ceiling amount. I also request that Penelope give me clients who were older than me, unmarried and who had no special requests. I asked for older clients because I feared that I was thought of being too old by younger ones. I did not want to take my chances. They had never been good.

I also asked for unmarried clients because that meant no complications of a girlfriend catching us in bed or private detectives taking photos of our rendezvous. Lastly special requests meant specific sexual acts which I did not wish to engage in or perform. I was open to a submission, a little bondage here and there but not the full range of fetishes and BDSM. In short, the quickest, conventional no frills way appealed to me the most.

It was unconsciously at first when my hands stroked the back of his head; his thick, brown hair getting all detangled nicely. When I realised what I was doing, I continued because he loosened up his body; his shoulders relaxed from the hunch position he had unconsciously undertaken. I saw him heave soundless sighs corresponding to the rhythmic stroking of his head and detangling which I had started. I continued stroking his head gently with my hands.

He opened his eyes, and whispered, "You don't have to, Lila."

"I want to." I said, also in a whisper, because it was dark and because he whispered to me.

When he woke up the next morning, he need not brush up his thick, lustrous hair. He would have me to thank for it. However I would have long left hours before.

I heard the storm rage in this concrete jungle of the suburbs. Despite the fact that the windows were closed, the extreme musky saturation was in the air. There was something about him which smelt vaguely familiar too. I felt at home, strangely, like I was outside this penthouse suite with the scent known only to me. I saw lighting and thunder crash into oblivion from the door which was slightly ajar; giving me a view beyond the balcony.

I continued stroking his head, and then I sought to even out those furrows on his forehead. Those worry lines need not be there now. Another time perhaps, but not now when I was here.

The storm thundered on. Feeling languid by its sounds, I must have slept. When I opened my eyes, I realised that I had missed the storm. What remained were bubbles of water on the glass panes, wriggling down, catching other droplets of water on the way down. Up till now, I liked to see which stream of water went down the fastest. It was a game I played with myself to escape boredom.

I saw that dawn was approaching. The sun was rising and its beams illuminated through the bedroom in stripes. A ray of sunlight fell upon his face. I brushed a strand of hair which had gone awry to his temples back to where it belonged to that lush mane.

I looked at my client. He was still asleep on my lap. He had barely moved the whole night. I had managed to keep my promise somehow. I would have known if he had nightmares for I was easily awoken. I was a light sleeper. Gently I cupped his head from my lap and placed his head on the pillow. I saw him sigh in his sleep as I did that. Covering the blankets over him, I left the bedroom.

I gazed at the balcony view again, this time from the perspective of morning. She had risen. It was beautiful. Quietly and as nimble as I could be, I opened the door and was at the lounge. Henry was there, about to end his night shift. I smiled at him and handed him an envelope which was in my clutch. He walked towards the "Strictly for Personnel Only" door. Moments later, he handed me my duffel bag.

I had come prepared. I went to the restroom and changed into an inconspicuous jumpsuit with matching sneakers. I was on the streets in no time. I raised my head to look at his penthouse suite right from below. I saw only the balcony jutting out. I thought then perhaps it would have been nice to see some flower pots with flowers which stretched outwards. It would have made a nice view for whoever was gazing up.

With a deep breath to welcome the morning, I chose to walk the ten kilometres home. I climbed over the boulevard, and walked amongst the sandy dunes. I disturbed a few herons along the way, but I think by now, it was only a minor disturbance for them. I had been taking this side route for the past three years. I did not want clients to see me walking on the boulevard. These herons had recognised me. They squawked nonetheless but they did not fly away. Sometimes they let me stroke their young, and I liked that a lot. So innocent and unspoiled, unlike the hands which stroked their little heads.