Where Rick and Karin Begin

What a difference. From being a little kid playing on the street in the '90's, where no one stood on the corner because they were up in the building hiding from the law but everybody, even the kids, knew which units to buzz if you were looking to score some dope, then whose mamas would let you in for awhile once you had it, knew who would take a forty for something equally cheap and tasteless and which ones only took cash.

Twenty years later you could stop on the corner to buy legal weed from a sparkling glass case and a site on the internet would find, screen and schedule your dates for you.

Calling it a new millenium seemed pretty accurate, she thought, lighting up and logging in. Requests for dates with established clients were all processed automatically; all she had to do was click accept if she was free, and respond with a short regretful decline if she was unavailable- with a referral to one of her 'girlfriends' she thought he'd have a good time with, of course.

New clients were handled a bit differently, but it was still unusual to have a message from Evie: call me, cherie.

Ugh. Phone calls made her anxious, and mystery phone calls with unknown subjects were the worst. It was still early, she told herself. She'd call Evie at some point between making herself a cup of coffee and three hours from now- 9:30 wasn't too late to call a madame, right?

Her roommate came home while she was still in the kitchen. It was a relief to have someone to interact with, to dissipate the anxiety that felt like static on the surface of her skin. The apartment instantly felt warmer, more occupied, with someone else in it.

"I'm supposed to call Genevieve," she blurted as soon as the other girl appeared, catching her like deer in the headlights on the way to her room with her own dispensary bag. "Sorry," she said awkwardly, stirring her coffee. "Do you want a cup?"

Angie's face reanimated at the prospect of coffee and she nodded. She didn't need to be told why having to call Evie for a mystery reason was nerve wracking to her roommate, and that was why she definitely deserved the last vanilla-maple-nut coffee pod.

"I didn't get a message like that, so it's probably nothing. You haven't been out with anyone weird lately, right?" The last question came over her shoulder as she finally headed into her room.

Angie was gone long enough for the anxiety of not knowing what the message was about to outweigh the phobia of calling for a moment, and she tapped 'Call' before she could talk herself back out of it. Evie answered almost instantly, which hardly helped.

"Hallo, my darling, how have you been? I see in the system you are keeping yourself busy! You are following your studies, yes? Do not neglect-"

"Evie, you're making me nervous. It's not something bad, right?"

"Oh, no no do not worry my dear..." Evie was a babbler, but luckily Angie reappeared, having changed into what she called 'house clothes'. She held up a slender blunt and raised a questioning eyebrow. Karin nodded enthusiastically and passed her the lighter she had in the pocket of her sweater, pointing at the cup of coffee on the counter. Angie took a drink and rolled her eyes in mock ecstasy, lighting the blunt and offering it on one knee as though proposing. Evie was getting around to her point, so the happy couple would have to seal the engagement another time.

"...he is a new client and he is special so I knew it should be you..."

"What do you mean, he's special?" She and Angie both did well for themselves, but they were generally "town" dates... they knew there were certain girls who handled the ultra rich clientele, but it wasn't them. If she was getting an upgrade, she must be doing something right...

"You will see, ma cherie, I know you will be just fine with this client, I think there is nothing to worry about. I'll put it in your log book, when? Saturday, are you available? No, I see that, o-kay, Tuesday, hmm? When is your school? Can you meet him at six?"

Surprised to finally be offered input, Karin stuttered a yes, which in her mind was only to the question "can you meet someone at 6 given your school schedule on Tuesday?" and accepted the blunt from Angie with more enthusiasm than she felt about this blind date. Normally they were allowed to view a client profile and decide privately whether to accept a client who was new to the service.

"Hokay my darling it is all set up now, you'll see. Brush your teeth after that ceegar, keep them white." The motherly advice snapped like a rubber band, the sting and incredulity coming only after the call had beeped to a close.

"He's special," she told Angie, who looked a bit like Alice's caterpillar, sitting on the kitchen counter with her brow furrowed and smoke swirling about her.

"Okay..." said her friend. "Well, shall we finish this on the balcony and then avoid our problems by playing video games?" She asked, holding up the blunt horizontally between them.

"Definitely," Karin replied gratefully.

Despite her extreme desire for it to not happen, Tuesday came anyway. The date notes were vague and the address was for an apartment building, which was... irregular. First dates usually began on more neutral- and anonymous- territory. The text that her driver was downstairs was more typical, but it didn't come from the number that the service usually used, which was saved in her phone. Fending off the chills, she texted Angie: leaving on special date. He sent his own car or something. Weird?

Her text came back fairly quickly.

I've done that b4 but maybe weird. Let me know if you're okay.

Her message was followed by an automatically generated one: Roommate_Angel has requested access to your location, do you wish to share your gps data? She selected yes so Angie would know where she was, hit a bowl and checked her makeup one last time, stopping for perfume before hurrying downstairs.

"Sorry," she muttered to the driver as he held the door for her. He fended off her apology courteously and then drove in silence, a small miracle she was largely thankful for.

The building he let her out at was modestly upscale. She stopped to text Angie before heading upstairs to the unit number from her notes. She noted the doorbells next to each number as she walked down the hall, hoping a simple knock would suffice because loudly chiming her arrival was not her style.

She didn't even have to knock, presumably the doorman had called up because the door opened just as she raised her hand to it. She was taken aback by the man who answered it. He was younger and frankly more stunning than the men she usually dated, not to mention taller, some kind of islander with bronze skin and glossy black hair...

"Hi, you must be Karin," and, oh em gee, his accent made him pronounce her name perfectly, and his smile was just about dazzling.

"I'm Eli," he said, taking her hand and leading her in the door like a skilled dance partner, so subtly she hardly noticed him doing it. They all joked about the rich silicon valley guys that would sweep you off your feet, for a second Karin was thinking her ship may have actually come in, and then he continued, "he's in here. I'll introduce you."

OMG she thought, already drafting her text to Angie in her head. 3some maybe? One of them is super hot so maybe I don't mind...

She followed him down the hallway and into the dining room, where a large picture window commanded attention.

"Rick, this is Karin," bless Eli for facilitating the moment, she thought. "Karin, Rick" he inclined his head toward the man, who did not rise from the table.

Introductions apparently complete, he continued more directly to his associate, "If you're good, I'm out of here, ey?" And when Rick nodded in answer, "Alright then man, text me and let me know if you want me to come at the usual time or... later," he said, lifting his eyebrow almost imperceptibly. She blushed, but he gave no sign that he noticed as he turned to grasp her hand and give her another brilliant smile.

"Don't worry," he told her, "we are glad you're here." He said, with just the slightest emphasis on 'we', before he swept out of the room... all six-foot-something of him.

The guy at the table was also younger than usual, but otherwise more like the men who she usually went out with.

"Do you mind if I use the restroom?" She didn't need to go, but it was an easy icebreaker that promised a private moment.

She didn't realize he hadn't spoken until he finally did, suddenly coming to life with the appropriate amount of courtesy despite his earlier lack of engagement.

"Sure, it's just there, on your left." He pointed and smiled, and she wasn't sure if it made her more or less nervous.

Its weird but im not in a cage, she texted Angie quickly from the bathroom, I think I'm ok. Keep you posted.

Back in the dining room, an assortment of drinks had appeared on the table- a bottle of water, can of soda, a glass, two beers. A chair had been pulled out for her, and music was playing softly somewhere. Some cheesy old guys will put Barry Manilow on like it's 1978 and they just slipped a quaalude into your wine, but in this case it was just instrumental, something you might hear on hold or in an elevator.

He- Rick- seemed more normal when she returned, beckoning her to sit.

"Sorry about that," he gestured at the space where Eli had been. "It's just-"

"Awkward," she finished for him, nodding.

"It always is, the first time," she meant it to be reassuring, but when he reddened she regretted her phrasing. "First dates, I mean," she sputtered awkwardly, looking down at her hands.

"I didn't really know what to expect," she admitted, meaning to excuse her own awkward arrival, but he seemed annoyed when she said it, offering her a drink as though to change the subject.

She didn't normally drink and didn't care for the taste of beer, but if it was what he was having it seemed like a good way to ease the tension. She grabbed one, twisted the top off and poured half into the glass, setting the bottle down beside it.

"Bottle or glass?" She asked. It took him by surprise and he smirked, claiming the bottle. "I don't drink," she admitted, "I don't need a whole one."

"Me neither," he returned the admission, taking a swig. "I wasn't sure..." he trailed off, but the potential was clear. How this works. What I should do. I never am either, she wanted to tell him. That was why seeing repeat clients was so much easier, she had a pretty good idea of what they wanted and what to expect from them.

The beer went to her head with a giddy rush, all too quickly.

"So, was that your roommate?" She asked, after a long moment of silence.

"No," he began, somewhat heavily. "Eli is my caregiver." The surprise must have shown on her face. He sighed. "They were supposed to tell you. I said I didn't want-" he cut himself off, annoyed again, only deepening the mystery. Karin sipped her beer.

"Um," she began, wanting to say something, not knowing what the hell was going on. "Evie probably knew. She told me you were special, but she didn't tell me why." He smirked bitterly and shoved at the table, causing himself to glide backwards. In his wheelchair.

"Oh," she said, more surprised because the possibility hadn't occured to her, but while her mind was reeling her face was frozen in something that might have resembled horror, to the untrained observer. She grimaced, wishing she could call back the word 'special'.

"It's okay," he shrugged. "I'm sorry. You can go. I don't know how it works but I won't request a refund or anything." He took a hard drink of beer to shut himself up and gazed out the window, giving her space to flee.

"No!" She took a breath and tried to organize her thoughts. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to seem freaked out. I was just thinking that it made sense to come to your house and everything now," shut up, she thought, shut up, shut up.

"Oh, I can take you out," he told her, voicing it like a threat, and it sent a little chill down her back. "I just didn't want to go through this in public," he gestured between them. Finishing his beer, he opened the water with hands that shook slightly.

The buzz from the beer was gone for her as quickly as it had come on, leaving her feeling drained even though it had only been an hour. They sat in silence for several moments, and then his jaw seemed to come unstuck.

"It isn't my first time. I used to be normal. I've had... partners. But it has been a while, and not since-" he stopped, and changed his tack. "Dating fucking sucks. Fifty shades of pity with a dash of repulsed fascinations."

He seemed agitated, making her nervous. A client had hit her once, before she started with the service, and it wasn't an experience she was keen to repeat. He was a good read, picking up her anxiety right away.

"It's okay," he told her. "It's... the disease. It's neur. Neurological." He paused to take a breath and calm himself. "It's better if I medicate. Do you mind?"

"No, not at all. Can I get your medication for you?" Too late, she remembered that she shouldn't be ableist- this was his home and his life, if he couldn't get his own medicine how would he have gotten by all the other evenings of his life? When she was done mentally scolding herself, he was waiting with a smirk.

"Sure," he told her. "It's on my dresser." He nodded toward the hallway where she had already been to the restroom, the bedroom must have been beyond it.

Staring down at the top of the dresser, she let out a laugh. There was a multicolor plastic pill organizer just like she'd been expecting to find, right next to a tray that held flower, grinder, papers, pipe and a lighter, all laid out and ready to go. Sending a silent prayer of thanks to the universe, she grabbed all the medication and headed back out to the dining room. The drinks were cleared away, but he wasn't there. She found him in the kitchen, making a cup of coffee. The counter and the shelves in the fridge were low and arranged for ease of access, he actually seemed more comfortable rolling back and forth from the fridge than sitting at the table.

"I think you meant this," she rattled the pills, "but I'm hoping you wanted this, too," she held up the tray and slid it onto the granite bar. He laughed.

"I wondered what you would come back with," he confessed. "I don't need the pills. Can you roll? I can when I'm ok, but once I start shaking I have to use the pipe." He grimaced awkwardly, but she wasn't looking to see it.

Could she roll? It was her turn to smirk, passing him a fresh, neatly rolled joint and the flowered bic from her own pocket, which he noted immediately.

"Cute," he said, lighting the joint and passing it back. "I'll have to ask Eli to keep an eye out, plain black just doesn't express my spirit like your purple flowers..." she giggled, taking the joint from him when it was her turn.

Doing drugs with clients was far from unheard of, but she was rarely so lucky. The guys she dated usually just offered her an antacid. This bizarre experience was rapidly shaping up to be the best date of her career.

"Do you know what it means to have a glass face?" He asked her.

"Yes," she said, ruefully. It wasn't the first time she'd heard it.

"Let's go into the living room," he offered, taking the rolling tray and making room for the two coffees on it, then leading the way into the living room with it on his lap. Once it was all on the end table between them he transferred himself to the couch and kicked the wheelchair away.

"There," he said. "I don't know if it makes you feel more comfortable, but I hate that fucking thing. I feel more like myself, out of it."

"I'm not uncomfortable," she denied. He gave her a look. "Okay, I am, but not because you use a wheelchair. I was surprised," She sighed, and he passed her the loaded pipe. Hitting it gave her a moment to think.

"I'm uncomfortable because I'm not usually myself when I... date. I go out as the person I'm supposed to be. I don't know who I'm supposed to be right now, so I have to be myself." She fought the urge to avoid his eye, and mostly succeeded.

"I want you to be yourself," he told her evenly.

"Well maybe I don't like myself," she countered, wishing she could take back the snappy words as soon as she said them.

Rick held the pipe to his mouth and lit it for a long drag. When he lowered it he nodded. "Word," he said, sympathetically, exhaling a cloud. Her eyes welled with tears and she laughed at the same time.

"I like you." He said it comfortably, not like a stalker.

Saying "I like you, too," felt natural. He laughed, which seemed like an odd response, but they were high, after all.

"We're not going to have sex tonight." He told her, offering the pipe.

"Why not?" Why did she sound offended, she asked herself. He laughed again, apparently she sounded offended to him, too.

"It's late, and this has been stressful for both of us. My body... works, but not always. I can't handle the humiliation of failure, honestly." His smile was infectious, if self effacing.

"That's more common than you'd think." She blushed, another slip. You don't talk about clients, to clients.

"Even so," he shrugged. "I have my pride. I really liked hanging out with you like this, I didn't think to ask for a lady stoner, but it's way easier-" she did it again, the thing where she had a thought, which was that lady stoners aren't so rare, and her face got serious, and then his face got serious.

"Angie!" She bit off the name like a curse and lunged for her phone. "She probably thinks you're making me into dog food by now..."

There were twelve messages from her increasingly concerned friend.

I'm fine I'm sorry, she texted. Your bunny in fourth grade was named patches so you know it's me and I'm not dead. Heart, heart.

"I'm sorry," she told Rick, putting her phone away. "This arrangement was unusual so I told her I would check in. She was worried."

"I get it," he told her, waving it off. "I thought I offended you about asking for a stoner..." She shrugged, pulling the tray onto her lap to roll another joint.

"Any of the girls would have been fine with it, I'm sure. I wasn't offended. I'm an escort, you're a client." He winced, and she laughed.

"A romantic, eh? For most people it's just a matter of convenience. They're busy, and life is too short to go on bad dates and sleep alone. They want to have a nice time now, not search for their soulmate through the singles section on Friday night." She lit the joint and passed it to him.

"What do you want?" He asked in a moment that was so Pretty Woman she wanted to gag, but she just shrugged.

"I kind of have what I want. I go on nice dates and it pays my bills. I'm going to school-" her phone lit up and cut her off.

I'm outside.

"Shit." She bit her lip and apologized to Rick again. "Angie was worried so she drove over here. I should probably go anyway, it is late." He nodded.

"Yeah, I wish it wasn't over yet, but I'm glad you'll have a friend to ride with," he told her, stretching across the couch to retrieve his chair.

He saw her to the door and followed her out, called the elevator for them and accompanied her out to the sidewalk, where Angie was waiting with the engine running. Karin rolled her eyes at Rick.

"She's a good friend," he defended on Angie's behalf, reaching from his chair to get the door.

"Sorry for the late hour, ma," he nodded to Angie. "I have no pets," he added, perplexing her further. To Karin he said more quietly, "Thank you, I had a really good time..." and caught her hand for a quick kiss against her knuckles before he shut the door and waved them off. Angie wasted no time putting her car in gear and pulling away from the curb.