The Call Girl and the Businessman Ch. 02

Author's Note: I would like to thank all my readers in support of the first chapter. I am not sure if this is a typical story or if this would appeal to all readers, so do feel free to let me know what you think of this story. If it's not exactly what you would like to read, I would stop posting further chapters. Writing is a hobby, and I must admit that I can get carried away with a certain theme which strikes me interesting :)

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Chapter 2 - The Call girl and the Businessman

How Much of You Do I Want to Know?

My agency informed me that Mr. Boardmann had hired me for the night again.

"So soon?" I asked Penelope.

She and I had become friends of sorts over the past three years while I was pulling in clients for her. I was not sure if she would have liked me for who I was, without what I brought in. If we had met under different circumstances, I wondered whether our acquaintance would have evolved into friendship.

"You have made a good impression on him. Do you want to work with him tonight? The decision is yours." She said.

It was a very formal way of asking, but it has always been this way with Penelope. At our first meeting, we had a discussion about my previous job experience. Penelope felt that if it had nothing to do with engaging people, then she would give me some pointers on how to talk to people. To make them feel that every word they said mattered. Customer service, as she called it. Thankfully I had plenty of those experiences in my life, even more than required. Penelope was impressed.

"I'm not sure. He seemed a little out of touch with himself. What else did the background check reveal?" I asked.

The advantage of working for Penelope is safety. She does background checks on all potential clients and weeds out those with criminal offences. But not psychiatric problems.

"You mean he is not quite right in his head?" She asked, concerned.

I nodded.

"You know, I can't get hold of medical records of clients. That's confidential. I can only pull those out of public registers. If you don't feel safe with him, then I take your word, I will decline his further offers to our agency." She said.

I wavered over this for a while.

"I think I'll give him one more go. Perhaps I was too quick to judge." I said.

"Alright. Good to go for tonight. Meet at his penthouse suite. Nine o'clock sharp." She said.

The image of his grey, deep-set eyes appeared before me. It hit me hard. I shuddered a little. There was no reason for thinking why he looked the way he did. People just look the way they do. I noted that his emotions were as changeable as weather. I wonder if deep within him, violent tendencies lay dormant; the slightest trigger awakening them.

I had no concrete thoughts that I could count as facts in regards to Mr. Boardmann, labelled as client number 2439, according to the agency registration list. The thoughts were fleeting and since I could not trust myself to judge his character, I thought it better anyhow to voice my concerns to Penelope should anything happen tonight. I had disliked him, but the realization came to me that if I were to judge too quickly, I was no better than those who judged me. I had been judged, no matter where I was in the world; and from the time I could perceive the world. How many times have I been judged at face value myself? I ought to have a higher standard.

Penelope noticing my discomfort, said, "Pablo will be on standby tonight near the penthouse."

I thanked her. Pablo was one of our security personnel. If anything went wrong, all we had to do was call Pablo; that is if our safety was not compromised first.

That night, big, burly but quiet Pablo dropped me off at the penthouse suite and he proceeded to the bar next door. He would wait for my signal; a phone call basically, in the event Mr. Boardmann were to behave violently towards me. He would then come charging in.

To avoid scandal, Penelope was averse to involving the police or other authorities. Many of her agency's clientele were public figures. The fewer scandals, the better the business. The business thrived by word of mouth and private recommendations. She was a shrewd businesswoman in her own right. Sometimes I admired her cunning ways.

...

I knocked on Mr. Boardmann's door. When he opened the door, his face lightened up and he held out his hands like he did yesterday. His hands appeared limp but they shook mine with force. I could feel my fingers being squashed to the bone. Like yesterday, I was the first to pull away.

"Lila. I've missed you this morning." He spoke in a rather sedate tone which betrayed none of the more stirring emotions of yesterday.

"Good evening, Mr. Boardmann." I said, mirroring his composed greeting.

"I hope you slept a little better." I said, not really sure if I wanted to turn it into a question.

"No nightmares for the first time in a month. What do you say?" He asked.

"That's good." I said.

"I have to thank you for working your magic on me." He said.

He made a sudden grasp for my hands again, and shook them with fervour. My fingers felt bruised.

"It was hardly anything. I gave you a head massage. That was it." I said.

"Still, can you imagine all the difference it made to me?" He asked.

It was not the deepness of his voice, but the withholding of some emotion which touched me. But I had no standard answer to that. In fact I did not have any standard answers to emotional questions.

"I have a list of places worthy to visit in this suburb." I said, instead.

I handed him one of my standard notebooks. He took the book and he browsed through my research.

"What the..." He said.

My heart nearly thumped out. What was wrong this time? How could it possibly go wrong?

"Goodness, Lila, you sorted out places based on your own invented scale- you call it the scale of emptiness. The higher up the scale, the emptier the place from tourists." He said, looking at me if I had gone completely crazy.

"Yes, that's right." I said, wondering about the big fuss.

He did not like crowded places, so I had compiled touristic places based on their emptiness and the corresponding off-peak times to visit.

He looked at my handwritten notebook again which ran into fifty pages, comprising fifty different places.

"How did you find the time to do this?" He asked.

"I had the whole day, Mr. Boardmann. Furthermore I did not feel like painting the walls today." I said, smiling a little.

It was pure laziness. The poor walls had to wait another day to see dark shades of lilac gradually swirling upwards into pale lilac clouds.

"All this for me?" He asked.

"Yes. I hoped that since you are new here, this might help. I had great fun compiling the list myself." I said.

"You amaze me, Lila." He said, speaking like he was in awe.

I managed a little smile and then I looked haphazardly at the living room behind him. Personal attention made me feel uncomfortable.

All my life I came in second best or worst, neglected. It was difficult to acknowledge the turn of the tide for the odd situation. My momentum had not quite adjusted itself and I needed time.

I omitted to say that I had in my own notebook, a condensed version of what I gave him. I had a whole list of tourist hangouts should he ask again. Realizing that it seemed quite petty as if I were doing a school assignment, I convinced myself that I was not wasting time with this. Who knows if future clients were to ask similar questions? It could very well be the first time they set foot in this suburb.

The penthouse suite building was new, after all. There were bound to be potential loaded clients from the city requiring escort services. These penthouse suites could double-up as hangouts away from their main home, giving them all the privacy they needed for clandestine one-night stands.

I also had another topic of interest in my notebook. No staring at the piano! My personal interest shall not be a topic of discussion. I did not mix my personal life with work.

"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. Sex 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.

"Tell me, would you have liked to sleep in with your clients?" He asked.

The answer was a no. I preferred to go back home, clean myself up and start the day afresh too. This meant waking up in my own bed on my own fluffy, lilac pillow. After each intimate encounter, I had to give myself a good soak in the bath to cleanse away all the impurities inside of me. I was sullied because of sex which took place inside my body. My mind thought like that. It could have been due to all the taunting and bullying from classmates when they found out that my mother was selling herself at the back streets. The teachers at school said that prostitutes were dirty people and have sinned in the eyes of God. I used to be one, and now I am a call girl. By any other name, it was the same.

Yesterday we did not have sex, but it was out of habit that I went home and soaked myself in the bath anyway. It was easy to follow a set routine, despite the motivations which triggered it in the first place.

My train of thought took me on a journey back to memory lane. The fact that he was waiting for my answer slipped my mind for a split second.

"Forgive me, Lila. Because I am new to the world of escorts, you will find my questions blunt. I go straight to the point. I do that at my work meetings too." He said.

Looking at the bridge of his sharp nose now, I said, "It is irrelevant what I prefer. It's what the client prefers. I am a call girl. It is part of my job description to please the client. So don't ask me what I want."

Strange way of answering, I thought then. Because I had been asked strange questions.

It was much simpler to say this, than explain the part where I was compulsive obsessive with my baths. If I had considered sexual encounters with unknown men dirty, he would have been offended.

"But I want to know you; in that sense, what you really think." He said.

His voice was deadpan serious and his eyes appeared kind.

"I think that you ask too many unusual questions. They are not standard questions." I said, looking down at the carpet, away from his piercing eyes.

I felt a little dizzy. My answer was not a good answer either. Whether or not his question could be categorized as standard was irrelevant. I had to answer my client anyhow.

"What's the point of beating about the bush, Lila? Do you not think it a waste of time?" He asked.

I saw that the carpet had animal motives. I tried to make out the silhouette of the animal. Ah, it was a camel because it had two humps. I often mixed it up with the llama which had only one hump.

"You're used to getting your way but I'm not your employee." I said, feeling quite detached from my statement.

The whole conversation was surreal. The carpet of camel motives were also surreal. Who gets camel motives on their carpets?

He was again silent and appeared to look through me; instead of at me. This was really disconcerting. I would rather a client be in awe of my body than peering through the skeletons in my closet. He did not appear impressed by my perfectly contoured body. I wore a different black dress today but it was equally provocative; at least by "the regular, objective man" standards.

"I want to make your experience an enjoyable one. I would like to please you, Mr. Boardmann." I said, feeling out of sorts.

"How do you propose to please my battered soul?" He asked.

He lifted his head and I saw his upturned chin in a rather flattering angle, despite the odd, orangey lighting. Although I was not looking directly into his eyes, I had a wayward view of them. In his countenance rose a harsh agitation. Perhaps he did not like me or forgotten that he had liked me when I had stroked his head into sleep like a baby.

"However you would like to be pleased. If you had wanted me to stay, I would have stayed. I regret that I did not know you wanted me to sleep in with you. I was afraid that I would mess up your routine." I said now.

"How are you feeling, Lila?" He asked me.

He almost drawled out his words. It was an unrelated question. It was as if he was trying to fish out something from me. It must have been his curiosity about me.

"I am fine, Mr. Boardmann." I said.

"You look a little pale. You seem uncomfortable with me. Do I frighten you?" He asked.

"No." I said, looking straight ahead of us.

I might as well look him in the eyes now. Perhaps I had stared away for too long. Yet my head would not turn towards him.

I saw the skyscraper night view as was reflected by the glass panels. I took a sip of the red wine.

"If you are not as nervous as you say you are, why were you twitching your hair with your fingers, almost pulling them?" He asked.

I muttered something inaudible. Drat. I did not realise that I was playing with my hair in the most unfashionable way.

"What did you say?" He asked.

"I apologize, it's unbecoming of me. It's an old habit of mine." I said.

"I sense a docile tact in you. Is that part of your agency's standard practice or are you generally self-depreciating and compliant?" He asked.

It was the strangest question I had ever been put to so far by a client. Forget the non-standard questions. This was just off the scale.

How could I answer a question to which I did not even know the answer myself? This was a grey area to me. My work and personality were merged into one. I could not tell apart where work started and personality ended. The question was relevant for soul-searching, not for pre-sex banter.

The essence of what he asked sent a shiver to my spine, causing me to turn unconsciously towards him.

"Why do you remain silent?" He asked, lowering his head sideways so that he could have a full view of my face.

His voice was now lower, and a notch softer. Our glasses of red wine had remained untouched for some time.

"Would you like more wine?" I asked, aware of his warm breath on my cheeks.

He shook his head.

"You're trying to divert my attention." He said.

"I do not understand your question. I am not as well-learned as you are. I am only a call girl, not like you. I am here to give you pleasure, nothing more. You question me like I'm supposed to have answers for everything which I don't." I said.

I expected him to get mad like he did yesterday when he found out that I knew where he stayed beforehand.

"Lila, I was merely asking if you feel compelled to act in a certain way because of your agency's standard practice; or that if you act the way you do because that comes naturally. I am only asking because I would like you to feel as comfortable as possible when you're here with me. I want you to be able to talk freely to me without imposed restrictions or inhibitions on your part or your agency's." He answered.

He was not mad at all, but it was not quite a relief for me.

"I want you as you; just the way you are. I want you to be spontaneous with me; to say what comes naturally to that mind of yours." He said.

He sounded really kind, and I sensed something amiss. It made me tremble from an uneasiness I did not quite understand. I knew he was going to be difficult, and I could handle brash behaviour better than I could behaviour that was armed with kindness.

I faced him blankly. The truth was I really did not know and it hurt. I had understood his question perfectly the first time; but to cover up my ignorance, I had played dumb. It dawned to me that I was messed up here. I had to look for my own standard answer.

He was observing me. It made me nervous. I had taken centre stage before, but I was never this nervous.

'"The truth is I've never thought about it before. All I know is that I am able to do my job well by catering to the agency's standard practice and the client's needs. It has never ever gotten me into any trouble. It's all part of the job." I said.