The Midnighters

"So, how often does this happen?"

"Oh, more often than you think...I'd say, over the past couple of years, about seventy-five percent of the time."

"Wow."

Peter stood up and paced in front of the large window in Room 509 of the Courtyard Hotel in Manhattan. He wasn't exactly nervous, but he wasn't relaxed, either. He turned around and looked at Alyce again. He wanted to and he didn't want to. He wasn't quite sure what to do.

He saw Alyce trying to restrain a smile. She looked so beautiful sitting there in her black silk dress, with her seductive cleavage, her gorgeous hazel eyes, her very pale skin, and her long curly light-brown hair flowing over her shoulders like a young Amy Irving.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Well..."

"What?"

"I was just thinking...you're my first client who isn't an athlete."

"Really?"

"Well, I mean my first...well...you know..."

"Oh..."

Alyce laughed, and Peter had to chuckle as well.

"Well, we can't all be athletes, you know."

Alyce brushed back a strand of her hair, and Peter felt another tremor in his pants. Why couldn't he do this? What was holding him back?

"So, how long have you been at that agency?"

"About five years or so-we usually do the car campaigns. Big-ass SUVs-I hate doing it, but it's good money."

"Why do you hate doing it?"

"Too much pollution. Wasn't there something on the news that said we only have about twelve years before all the ice caps melt?"

"I heard it would be twelve years before things get really bad, but I didn't hear anything about all the ice caps melting. Some of them, though, I'm sure."

Peter nodded his head. "I just get nervous about that shit."

"I hear you."

"I mean, I really want to leave...but what do you do when the money's so good?"

"Well, there's that."

Peter sat back down on the bed again. Alyce thought he looked so cute; the sight of his warm chocolate skin above his navy-blue jacket and light-blue shirt was so inviting she almost wanted to comp him.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure. It's your dime."

"How did all this happen?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean...how did you end up here? Doing this?"

"Well..."

"I mean the real story, if you don't mind."

"Well, you'll have to believe it's real."

Peter laughed. "I will. I mean, seriously, how does a young British girl like you end up-"

"Can't you Americans tell an accent apart?"

"You're not British?"

"Take another guess."

"Australian?"

Alyce gave him a thumbs-up.

"Oh, my bad."

She shook her head. "I moved here a few years ago-I had done some modeling back home, and thought this was the place to really make it big, but it didn't work out."

"Why? You're quite beautiful."

"Thank you...but they said I was never thin enough, and I didn't feel like starving myself to look like a twig. I met another girl from Adelaide who also wanted to become a model and then started doing this...she said the money was incredible, the guys were mostly nice, and if you were really good, then the world was your oyster. And so...here I am!"

"Wow."

"Now, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Why are you here?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, if you don't mind me asking...don't you have a wife and two kids somewhere in the suburbs wondering where daddy is?"

"No."

"Really?!"

"Really. Never had much luck there."

"I can't imagine that being the case."

"Oh, but it is. I was always considered nerdy, not sexy. Always. High school, college...now...story of my life. A couple of flings here and there, but never anything long-term."

"That's a shame."

Peter sighed. "Yeah. Anyhow, work became my wife, and we're happily married."

"So you're cheating on her now."

Peter and Alyce both laughed.

"You're very funny."

"Why, thank you."

"Look..."

Peter walked towards Alyce and motioned for her to stand up.

"I...uh..."

Alyce smiled again, and Peter paused before finding his words.

"I...I don't just want to fuck you...it's almost too cheap-"

"It's certainly not cheap, babe!"

"I know, I know...but still...look...this is gonna sound so crazy, but...can I just kiss you? That's it."

"Just a kiss?"

"Yes."

"You're spending all this money for a fucking kiss?"

"I don't know what else to do."

"I can think of a few things..."

Peter smiled.

"All right...can I just hold your hand and kiss you."

"Sure...but you're sure that's all you want?"

"Yes."

Alyce gave Peter her hand; as their fingers interlocked, Peter gave Alyce a sweet, deep kiss. The passion in his lips was so strong that it seemed to her that he was trying to kiss away frustration, loneliness, misery, perhaps even death; maybe to him, she thought, kissing was more erotic than fucking.

Peter broke the kiss and drew a deep breath.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"Thank you," she replied. "You're one hell of a kisser."

"Well..."

Peter embraced Alyce, and they both looked at their bodies reflected in the hotel window.