by Belle Brooks
I type the details into the notes section as Matthew rattles them off. “Yes, sir,” I say once completed.
“You don’t fancy some time out to sea do you, Mindy?”
I fake a giggle. “Water and I don’t mix, Mr Muller.”
“You say this every time I ask you to come out on my boat.” I can hear his amusement.
I giggle again.
“Okay, beautiful, you have yourself a good night. My assistant will send you the address details, and if I think of anything else, I’ll pick up the phone and call you.”
“Thank you for using Kit on High. Have a lovely evening, Mr Muller.”
“Goodbye, Mindy.”
The line goes dead.
Pressing the end button on the console has me leaning back in my leather chair. If only making dates for myself was as easy as making these appointments for our escorts. How am I so confident in my job on the phone with the opposite sex, but in everyday life, I’m a bumbling mess?
Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.
You have to press six numbers into a keypad outside my door to gain access not only to the room I work out of but to the entire floor.
I sit stiff and upright in my chair at the sound, placing my palms on the glass table in front of me. I turn my eyes towards the blacked-out door panels, awaiting the entry of who I believe will be my boss, Ms Kathleen High. Usually I’d know beforehand who’s entering, but since the security camera’s outside the door are currently on the blink, I’m left blinded.
The door opens. Platinum blonde hair and blue eyes fill the gap between the door and its frame, causing me to relax my posture.
“Hey, hey, gorgeous. Is Kathleen around?” Callie’s voice is soft, smooth, and sweet like honey. Her toothy smile reminds me of the same one Julia Roberts flashes in many a movie. The door closes.
“No, she’s not in yet.” I smile.
“Shoot,” Callie tsks.
“I expect she should be arriving any minute, though.” I peek at my watch. “It’s one forty-five a.m.”
“Okay, I’ll wait. She’s never later than two.” As she sits, Callie’s long legs seem to stretch on forever until they disappear under her small black leather mini-skirt. There’s no doubting she’s in immaculate shape with a body created for the catwalk. She has toned arms, a tiny waist, and a large bust currently spilling out of a corset top now sitting an inch from my face.
“How're my appointments looking?” She’s bent at her midsection, sliding my mouse under her hand and tapping the glass over the top of it with one of her long black-painted nails. “Booked until December. Oh, and Matty did take that weekend. Good.”
“I just took the booking.”
“Fantastic.”
“Why does he always book in the early hours of morning?”
“Um.” Callie stops speaking. Her chin tilts slightly, in a way I assume she’s thinking about or searching for a reply. “Let’s just say he has a mind that never stops processing. He doesn’t sleep much, and he’s always working on something.” She stands, towering over me. “Oh, I love your dress.” Her instant change in tone, from monotone to chirpy, implies the conversation change. Callie’s always so lovely and complimentary, and she’s also incredibly smart from what I’ve gathered from our often-brief conversations. Out of all the escorts, Callie’s the one who most has her finger on the pulse. She doesn’t wait for her calendar to fill up; she takes the initiative and ensures her clients are rebooking her before she’s even left her appointment with them. Maybe it’s why she’s the most sought-after escort here. Perhaps I could learn a lot from Callie on how to sort through the plethora of men I might possibly find myself facing thanks to this new online dating world I’m currently entering. I’d like to find the right guy for me in a very short timeframe.
“Where did you get it from? I love those red roses against the black. What material is this dress made from?” Her blue eyes sparkle when I gaze up at her, and I’m not sure if she does like my flowy dress or if she's just being nice.
“I actually can’t remember.”
“Well, it suits you.”
“Thank you.”
Ring, ring, ring.
“Welcome to Kit on High, you’re speaking with Mindy. How can I be of service?”
“Melinda, it’s Kathleen, and we have a big problem. Is Callie with you?”
“Yes.”
“Put her on.”
“Okay, doing it now.”
I pull the headset from my head and hold it in Callie’s direction. “It’s Kitty, and she said there’s a problem, and she doesn’t sound happy.”
Callie’s red-stained lips tug upwards. “I’m sure she's acting dramatic. She’s often dramatic.” Callie slips the headpiece into her hair. “Hey, boss, what’s wrong?”
Callie’s face is mute of expression. “What happened?” Her eyes go bug wide. “Oh no. Is she okay?” There’s a long pause. “It was bound to happen. She doesn’t eat enough, and she probably got dizzy and passed out. I’ve been warning Alice that eating properly was essential.” Callie shakes her head. “Yeah, I can manage it, but I want your cut as well as mine.” She purses her lips. “It’s called business, Kitty Fingerlings, and my fingerlings want all the dollars.” She laughs. “Don’t you hate it when we repeat your catchphrases back to you?” Callie tips her head to the side. “Right-o, I’ll be there, and I’ll charge my phone so you can get a hold of me. But tomorrow, I need to talk to you. It’s important, and why I came in,” she says, laughing once more before hanging up and passing me the headset. “Got to fly, beautiful. I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”
“I’m not on the night shift tomorrow. I have the weekend off.”
“Well, enjoy your weekend, sugar.” A quick turn on her six-inch heel has her hips swaying in the direction of the door. I really need to learn how to sway my hips like Callie does. It’s sexy—guys find it hot. I need to go from floppy sausage to sexy diva. I’m going to appoint Chris to help me with mastering the seductive saunter. I’m sure there’s a course on how to be alluring yet graceful. There’s a course for everything these days.
I open my internet browser.
Courses on how to be a sexy woman.
Search.
I sit scrolling down the page, wondering how many of these will open to porn. I take a risk and click on one, reading, learn to be as sexy and sultry as our women.
The alarm at the door beeps. My computer speakers fill with the sound of a woman who is either having the world’s most magical orgasm or she’s dying. I don’t look. Instead, I click my mouse frantically. “Close, no close. CLOSE!” I say in a panic.
“Coffee. Black. Strong. Now!” Kathleen stomps through the door, wearing a hoodie covering her natural tan and usually made-up face. “Watch porn on your own time, Melinda. Not at work.”
Oh, thank fuck! The screams of delight suddenly cease.
“I wasn’t …You see, it was …” Just let it go. She won’t believe you. “No porn. Okay, sorry.” I already know from this point to keep my head down and to be as quiet as humanly possible. When Kitty gets in a mood, all hell can break loose over even a minor situation. And I wouldn’t think using the work equipment to view porn is a minor issue. When Kitty thinks you’re doing personal stuff on company time, she gives you the stink eye and lets you know how pissed she is at you at every given opportunity.
“I’m not paying you to get your rocks off.”
“Yes, Kathleen. I understand. It won’t happen again,” I reply quickly.
I don’t breathe until she makes her way into her office. As soon as she’s gone, I drop my head and mutter, “Seriously, why me?”
Kathleen stays in her office and barely says two words to me after her arrival. I deliver her coffee, keeping my eyes turned downward and my lips zipped. She’s in full dramatics tonight, so much so that I begin to worry about how pent up she seems. I sit, listening, extending my neck in the direction of her closed door, trying to decipher the words she’s sudd
enly screeching down what I know to be the work phone because one of the many lines out is lit red, and I’m the only other person here.
There are bumps and banging, even a moment when she roars, then everything goes quiet again.
What’s going on?
Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.
“Morning,” Indie chimes, walking towards the desk.
“Morning,” I answer, distracted. Maybe Kathleen’s had some plastic surgery gone wrong.
“Busy night?” Indie puts her handbag on the table beside mine.
“Yes. Alice passed out. Kitty’s in the worst mood I’ve ever seen her in. Be warned, there’s been banging and lots of shouting coming from out of there.” I point in the direction of Kathleen’s office.
“Really? Oh crap! Well, this shift is going to suck.”
I offer Indie a sympathetic smile.
“I’ll call Alice and make sure she’s okay. I love her; we’ve become friends, you know?”
I nod.
“You’re good to leave when you’re ready.” Indie runs her fingers through her long, straight purple hair.
“Is it six already?”
“Five minutes to, yes.”
I shake my head before throwing my arms into the air and pulling my shoulders back in a stretch.
“You look beat.”
“I am. I’ll see you on Monday?”
“Sounds good.”
I scoop my bag against my chest and shuffle my weary feet across the floor.
“Oh, by the way, nice dating profile you have on Romancing Gold, Mindy.”
I swallow hard. I know I’ve turned the colour of a rose from my sudden embarrassment.
I don’t turn around. Instead, I hang my head in shame.
I need to delete my account. How mortifying.
Chapter Five
My mint green Barina hatchback stands out like a sore thumb in the public parking lot as I walk towards it. I take a moment to remember the day I picked up this somewhat unusual coloured car. It was right after I’d moved here. It was the day I told myself my life would change forever, and my many problems and mistakes would remain buried far away back home in Queensland where they couldn’t haunt me anymore.
I ran away from home. What twenty-seven-year-old woman finds herself running away like a confused teenager? Me, that’s who. But I had a choice to make, and the one I made ensured I stood on my own two feet after such a colossal downfall.
Coming to Melbourne was my fresh start. The place I would find the new and improved version of myself. I knew I’d have to figure out how to fit in with society and not hide away from all the things happening around me, and I believed, at the time, Melbourne would be the perfect destination to accomplish such a task. That and to find the love of my life. It appears I was wrong.
Finding the love of my life: IMPOSSIBLE. He’s not out there anywhere. Perhaps I wasn't created in a pairing of one soul split into two. Maybe I have been doomed to walk this Earth solo from the very beginning of my creation.
Climbing into the car, I turn the ignition over. The automatic windshield wipers swish back and forth without hesitation. I sit, waiting for the misty fog to be wiped from the glass. It doesn’t take long, and as I pull out from my parking space, I have only one destination in mind: The Quarter.
The Quarter is my favourite café. It’s the place I met Chris not long after I arrived in Melbourne, and it continues to be the spot where we catch up after each one of my shifts, be it early morning or late afternoon.
The streets are quiet as I commute into the city. The traffic lights shine green the entire way down the main drag, and before I know it, I round the final turn and pull into a car park right out in front of the café. I leap from the car and dart through the empty tables filling the sidewalk. I don’t stop until I’ve charged through the front glass doors and marched to the usual booth Chris and I have claimed as our own.
Chris is seated, tapping away on the keys of his laptop when I reach the padded cream seat with the well-placed buttons that don’t end until halfway up the chocolate-painted wall.
Chris doesn’t look up or even acknowledge my arrival.
“Indie knows,” I blurt out, bypassing any polite greeting.
“Hello to you too.” Chris flicks his eyes in my direction.
“Hello. Indie knows.”
“Knows what exactly?”
“She knows I have an online dating profile. I’m deleting mine as soon as I get home. I shouldn’t let you talk me into these things. What must she think of me?”
Chris shakes his head. “You won’t delete it.”
“Morning, Mindy. How are you this morning?”
I swivel my head and spy an outstretched hand holding a mug of coffee beside me. “Morning, Annie.” I force a smile.
“You look like you need this. What’s up, buttercup?”
“Arrrgh. You don’t want to know.”
Annie blows her brown fringe off her eyebrows before sitting down beside me. “That bad, hey?”
“She's dramatic. And here I thought I was supposed to act the queen.” Chris giggles
Annie giggles.
I do not.
“I set Mindy up with an online dating account, and it seems her co-worker has found out. She’s having a fit about nothing. If she took a moment to think about it, her co-worker only knows she’s on there because she too must have an account."
My shoulders suddenly drop. I hadn’t even thought about such a scenario.
“Everyone’s doing it, boo-boo, so chillax and drink your coffee,” Chris instructs calmly.
“I have an account," Annie admits.
“You do?” I’m surprised by this because Annie’s beautiful, young, and has flawless brown skin. Her dark eyes, long, slender face, and well-kept physique complete her impressive package. She has no reason to need an online dating account, so why does she? “Good for you."
Why did I say that?
Annie places her hand on my arm. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about for either of us, Mindy.”
“Annie, table six,” a man’s voice I don’t recognise shouts.
“Gotta run. New duty manager. He’s not with our program yet. He’s all like ‘I’m the boss, bark, bark, bark’. He’ll learn, though. Drink your coffee and let it go.” Annie turns on her heel and scoots across the room.
“See? Told you.” Chris drops his chin and turns his eyes back to the screen of his laptop.
I take three deep breaths and tell myself to release the tension I carried in here with me as I close my eyes.
CLANG!
I open my eyes swiftly, swivelling my head until I see Annie bent down picking something I can’t quite make out up from off the floor.
“I don’t know why you care so much about what people think. I thought by now I’d have talked this out of you. It turns out you’re a stubborn project,” Chris interjects.
I point at my chest. “Project, huh?”
“A very difficult one. I’ve met politicians more relaxed than you.”
I laugh.
“Drink your coffee.”
"Yes, boss."
The sweet aroma of the coffee Annie delivered takes over my senses. I sigh, then immediately relax back into the soft backing of the booth. I bring the mug to my lips. The tip of my nose separates the artistic foam, and the first sip of my daily ritual slides down my throat like silk. I hope when I die, heaven is like The Quarter: posh, full of elegant furnishings and coffee, and lots of coffee in every variety. Life isn’t worth living without coffee, especially the ones The Quarter serves.
“Really, Frothelupagus?” Chris throws a black napkin at my face. “You’re such a messy drinker and eater, by the way. You have foam on your nose again."
"I know." I take the napkin, dabbing it gently against my skin. “Some guy might find this to be an endearing quality one day, you know. Like your giggles.”
“I think not. Your oink-like eating style has nothing on my gi
ggles.” Chris rolls his eyes.
“Shut up. Tell me, what’s the special today?” I peek over the rim of the coffee mug which I again cup in my hands.
“Caramel tart with fresh whipped cream and strawberry ganache.”
I swear I’m instantly drooling, but I should say no to the tart. New diet, new willpower needed. “I might pass on the tart,” I confess. “I’m starting my diet again.”
“It shouldn’t be too far away.” Chris ignores my confession the same way he always does when I speak of dieting. “I ordered about five minutes before you stomped in here all worked up and seething.” Chris taps away on his keyboard.
“Did you hear what I said?”
Chris bobs his head. “Yep.”
“Well, you should know I’m serious this …”
“You’re not fat. You’re always announcing your diet status. You’ll eat the tart because it brings you happiness, and because life is way too short to deny yourself such pleasures, so give up while you’re ahead and save your energy for shoving your crusted shell with caramel lathered inside it down your throat.”
“I’m serious, Chris!”
“Okay,” he scoffs. “The lemon meringue we got yesterday was not my cup of tea, but caramel tart … hell, anything ending in tart ... yes please.” Chris licks his lips.
“Yeah, because you’re a tart. It’s why you’re all excited—”
“Born and bred, sweetheart,” he declares.
“—And I’m going to pass on dessert today,” I finish.
“Sure, whatever. You’ll eat it.”
“I might ask for an apple. I can’t keep eating special mystery desserts every day with you. I can’t even keep asking you what they are when I arrive. Maybe I need to look for a new venue, a healthier alternative to our daily catch-up.”
“Said ya mum.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Just that. You’re acting like a mum—quit it. Dessert is an important part of happiness.”
“Whatever,” I say, shifting my attention towards Annie, who gives me a subtle wave from a few tables over. “How’s your Twilight-inspired, male-on-male vampire novel coming along?” I shift my attention back to Chris with full interest in knowing the answer, and not just because I want to change the direction of our conversation.
