by Matt Shaw
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said referring to the gown, “I was freezing. Only arrived about ten minutes before you and didn’t have a chance to get the place warm yet.”
“It’s fine,” I reassured her. “You look cosy.”
She smiled, “I am,” as she took a sip on her hot tea. “Your wife,” she said cautiously, “have you got a photo of her?”
I used to carry one in my wallet but - as my depression continued to take me to darker paths - I felt it was holding me back in my efforts to move on with my life. One night, drunk, I took it from my wallet and hid it in the back of my bedside cabinet. I always knew where it was if I needed it, if I changed my mind but - well - it’s still there with random paperwork and trinkets. To answer Danni’s question I shook my head. I have some pictures on my phone but they’re not the clearest of her. Even if they were perfect - not entirely sure I’m ready to share with a stranger. Not yet.
“Shame,” she said, “I wanted to see how alike we really were.”
I couldn’t help but smile as the similarities once again struck me.
“I’ll email you a picture,” I said.
I could see she didn’t know how to respond to that. She probably doesn’t get a lot of clients offering to email her pictures of their dead partners. Must be a first. After a slight delay, she smiled.
“What was her name?” she asked.
“Michelle.”
Danni nodded as though she approved of the name, “I like that name.”
“Have you got anyone special in your life?” I asked.
“Only my dog,” she laughed. “Honestly I don’t have time for relationships - or the hassle that go with them.”
“Sometimes they can be good.”
“In my line of work? I’ve tried before but it doesn’t work out. The guy pretends to be okay with what I do for a living but - sooner or later - the cracks start to show and the jealousy begins to leak in.”
“Don’t you miss it?”
“Sometimes,” she shrugged. “Mostly I’m happy with where I’m at. I have good friends around me, I’m never alone, and I’m my own boss. What more could I ask for?”
I smiled as though I understood but I didn’t. I miss the love of a good woman, I do. Sometimes I wonder whether I should be out there, mingling - hence the blind dates I attempted - but each one just reiterated that I wasn’t ready yet. One day maybe although I’m not sure when. I changed the subject, “What breed is your dog?”
She laughed, “I’m sorry to admit I did get myself a handbag dog. A little pug.”
I didn’t laugh. Michelle used to hassle me for a dog but I never let her. I am fine with the idea in principle but neither of us were at home for much of the day; stuck at work instead. And then - when she got ill - she wouldn’t have been able to look after it properly and I struggled enough with everything else I was trying to juggle. “What’s its name?”
“He’s a boy dog. His name is Dahl.”
“Dahl?”
She nodded. If I didn’t know her better I could have believed her to be blushing slightly. I couldn’t help but wonder whether she was this sharing with the rest of her clients or whether it was new to her as - talking to her - was new to me. She tried to hide her embarrassment by taking another sip on her cup of tea. I did the same.
Chapter Four
I surprised even myself with how much information I’d given the stranger. This isn’t what I do. Usually I am more guarded. Admittedly I hadn’t given him anything which could lead him to me, or even let him into my life, but - even so - usually they get nothing from me other than an orgasm and even that is a lie for more than half the time, not that they’d ever know.
I actually felt sorry for him. I guess that’s why I opened up to him. In all the years I have done this job, I’ve never had someone act the way he did; not wanting to go ahead with sexual services offered to him because he was too hung up on his ex-partner. I found it sad that he’d not been able to move on since the passing of his wife even after all these years. I wished there was more I could do for him, other than to listen to his stories, but it wasn’t my place to get involved. I was being paid to listen. I wasn’t being paid to fix his life for him. Even if I were - I’m not a therapist despite what some men believe. I wouldn’t have known where to start.
He seemed keen to talk about his lady so I let him lead the conversation - occasionally asking him the odd question to keep the chat from drying up. We covered how they met, their first date, he told me about their first kiss and how he proposed. From the way he told the story - it did all sound as though it was a perfect romance and relationship. Something more akin to a scenario dreamt up by screenwriters. I’m not sure whether I believed all of the aspects but it was still nice to hear. It could have been his imagination - and time - had tainted some of his memories but who am I to question him? I just sat there smiling and listening. By the time he was done, the appointment had run over slightly but I didn’t mind. It felt rude to cut him off mid-story - especially when it was something so close to his heart and, in his defence, he was mortified when he did realise he’d gone over the hour. He even offered me extra money to make up for it. I declined telling him not to worry about it. When I walked him out he shook my hand and thanked me for my time. I told him it wasn’t a problem and he turned away - heading down the hallway towards the stairs. I closed the door to the apartment and walked back into the living room. For the first time since starting the job, I was unsure of what to do. There were no sheets to wash, my underwear and dress were fine to come off and go back into the cupboard for another day - although, despite only wearing the knickers for just over an hour, I’d probably still put them in the wash basket but I’m not about to do a washing run for just them. A waste of both water and electricity.
I crossed the living room space over to the sofa and picked up the two used cups, along with the half-drunk glass of water. I took them through to the kitchen and put them in the sink. I ran the hot water, adding some soap, with my mind playing through what Jake had been telling me during the night. I tried to put myself in his position. I tried to understand what he went through and whilst I could - on some level - I realised there was nothing I’d been through which could compare. I should be thankful for that. I rinsed the cups through and gave them a quick scrub with a brush before upturning them and putting them on the draining board.
Still running through the various stories of the evening, I walked through to my bedroom. I didn’t turn the light on as the lamp - resting on the small bedside cabinet along with the jar of waiting condoms - was still on from where I’d expected to be entertaining in the room. I much preferred the soft light of the lamp to the harshness of the bulb hanging from the ceiling. A slightly dimmer room helps to not only create a little ambiance but also hide the little imperfections such as small spots or blemishes previously unseen (by me) on my skin. I took the dressing gown off, hanging it over the door temporarily, before doing the zip on my dress and letting it slide down my body (helped by a little wiggle on my part). Next up I pushed my knickers down before stepping out of them and undoing my bra. The two items I put in the otherwise empty washing basket in the corner of the room. I pulled some more comfortable knickers from the bottom drawer of the bedside cabinet and stepped into them before pulling them up. Designer underwear looks incredibly sexy and - despite having a g-string back that disappears up your backside - can make you feel like a million pounds but for comfort, nothing beats a cheap pair of cotton pants purchased from the local supermarket. I collapsed on the bed. It’s funny - I haven’t done anything physical tonight and yet I feel absolutely drained from listening to the client’s obvious heartache.
Dahl is round my mum’s house. She knows what I do for a living and - despite a slightly rocky start - she supports me all the way so long as I am careful (which I am). I’ll text her in a bit and ask if she can keep Dahl for the night. Seeing as the bed is still clean - might as well make use of it and save on the unn
ecessary journey back to mum’s to collect the dog before going back to my own home. I’m sure she won’t mind. She loves him as much as I do and doesn’t have anyone else with her since dad died last year.
I closed my eyes. It felt good. Peaceful. Despite not fucking anyone tonight I still feel as though I earned my money. I wonder how he is doing having brought everything back up to the surface?
*
When I first stepped into her apartment I had immediately felt a wave of guilt rush through me. I felt as though I was cheating on Michelle even though I didn’t go ahead with any of the potential sexual activities on offer. Ten minutes into the appointment though - when I’d made it clear I wasn’t there for any of what was supposedly on offer - the guilt soon all but disappeared. I hadn’t spoken to anyone about Michelle for as long as I could remember and was surprised how good it did feel to get it off my chest - especially to someone who wasn’t going to judge me for failing to let go after all of these years. With each story shared, I felt as though a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. It helped that she looked so much like her too.
I was lying on my bed with my mobile phone held out in front of me; her number loaded on the screen. I was desperate to talk to her. I felt as though I had so much to tell her - tonight reminded me of all the positive stories. I closed the phone back to the home screen before making a fool of myself. I put the phone to the side as my mind remembered the ruder of the stories between Michelle and I. The intimate times shared in the bedroom. Those thoughts accompanied with the more recent feeling of Danni’s teasing touch upon my leg. My mind taking the memory further - showing me what could have happened had I not stopped her from doing her job. My penis twitched at the thought of her touching me, along with the more explicit thoughts as to what could have happened. Eyes shut, mental images flickering, I reached down underneath my boxer shorts and started to gently stroke myself. In part of my mind it was Danni’s hand. In another part of my mind Danni had turned to Michelle. Whoever’s hand I pictured- wrapped around my penis gently tugging it into life - it felt good. I didn’t fight either side of my imagination. I just kept my eyes closed and allowed myself to go with it.
*
The following morning I woke up with a smile. Michelle was my first thought of the day but - I don’t know - it felt different. It felt as though she were still here with me. So much so, in fact, that when I first opened my eyes I immediately looked to the right of where I laid. It would have been her side of the bed, next to the window as she never liked to sleep near the door in case someone came running in. I felt a brief moment of disappointment when I realised she wasn’t here with me but it soon disappeared only to be replaced by a smile; not because she was gone but because I felt like I’d been given a little extra time with her. I know it sounded strange - stupid even - but I was smiling and, well, that was good enough for me.
Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, clean white shirt on and combing my wet black hair, I noticed I even looked ‘lighter’ than usual as though a dark cloud had been lifted from me. I actually look near human as opposed to my normal look of messy hair, five o’clock shadow from lack of effort as opposed to setting a style, and heavy bags under my eyes due to the late nights and alcohol consumption.
Alcohol?
It just dawned on me that last night was the first night I didn’t have at least one glass of alcohol in as long as I could remember. For a split second I considered that to be the reason for my new, fresh disposition. That is, until images of Danni / Michelle crept back into my mind once more reiterating that it was last night’s excursion which seemed to brighten my mood. With my hair brushed back, and to the side, I walked from the room after a final spray of aftershave; a bottle which has been sitting there for over a year - sealed - after a relative gave it to me for Christmas. I walked from the room shutting off the bathroom light in the process. A skip in my step as I headed down the stairs where I grabbed the keys from where they hung on a small nail nailed into the brickwork. No breakfast, as I opened the door and stepped into the bright morning sunshine outside.
Michelle used to moan at me for not eating breakfast but the truth of the matter was I just didn’t feel hungry in the mornings. She always used to say it was the most important meal of the day but I never saw it - nor did I eat it unless, before she got ill, she surprised me with a fry-up of beans, egg, and toast on the weekend. Nowadays it’s back to skipping breakfast and focusing on a bigger lunch instead. Dinner always out of a cardboard box and cooked in the microwave for ease and because I was tired after a hard day in the office. I could never understand how she’d go to work and then come home and cook us a nice two course meal - even on the days she came home absolutely shattered she still managed it. I’d make-up for my lack of cooking by clearing the plates away but that wasn’t exactly a challenge. I could just switch off; engage auto-pilot and get on with it. With cooking you need to be thinking about the various cooking times and when to put things in the oven and take them out and what sauces you need. It’s all somewhat of a chore. My way - you just throw the plastic dish into the microwave and set the timer. Sit back and wait for the microwave to ping at you.
With the front door locked I climbed into the front of my car and started the engine up. For some reason I wondered what Danni was doing this morning. More to the point, I wondered if she thought about last night at all. I knew it was silly of me to presume she’d care but she genuinely seemed to. I knew there was a good chance she just played her part extremely well but, I don’t know, I think there was something there. Not in a girlfriend / boyfriend kind of way - again, I’m not that foolish - but rather in a ‘friend’ capacity. She made an impact on me, I just hope I made an impact on her. I heard myself ask if it really mattered; a question I chose to ignore.
Traffic to work was mercifully light compared to usual. Some days I could sit in a jam for up to twenty minutes, sometimes thirty. More frustrating were the days where you’d be stuck in a heavy jam a few hundred yards away from the carpark you needed to be in. You’d sit there willing the cars to part - like Moses and the Red Sea - but they never did. It did mean I got to work fifteen minutes before I actually needed to be there though. I’d parked up close by to my usual spot which - somehow - someone had managed to beat me to. My phone in the palm of my hand and her number pre-loaded on the screen from last night. I so desperately wanted to phone it. It wouldn’t do any harm, would it? The worst that would happen was she’d tell me she were busy. Chances are - especially at this hour - she wouldn’t even answer the call anyway and it would go straight through to her voicemail. My finger hovered for a moment before I pressed cancel and went back to the home-screen of my phone. Before the screen had a chance to rest properly I entered into the Internet section of the phone; the last page I’d been on loaded up more or less immediately.
Danni’s profile.
Her pictures. My heart skipped a beat as I was once again reminded of my Michelle. I closed the pictures down - taking me back to Danni’s main profile page. To the top right hand side of the main profile photo, there was a little box with a green light signifying she had availability for the day. If she’d not been readily available the green light would’ve been replaced with a light red in colour. I have to admit - when I first registered on the site in order to contact her - I didn’t get the significance of the lights and was forced to look it up. When I saw what it meant I actually felt a little stupid. It’s pretty obvious when you come to think of it. The frequently asked questions section of the site also mentioned that a red light didn’t necessarily mean the girl wasn’t available for that particular day - just that she hadn’t changed it to green. When I read that I couldn’t help but question the point in the lights in the first place. Regardless - I was relieved to see the light was green - I hit the ‘contact’ button towards the lower right hand section of the page. An email box loaded up onto the screen awaiting my message. I’d intended to send her a message thanking her for the previous night. I ev
en contemplated writing one of the report things other clients had left her. I didn’t have to say what occurred between us - figured most men wouldn’t be interested in that, at least not the men on that particular website - but I could have at least stated I had a pleasant time with her and left with a smile on my face; both of which were the truth. My fingers started to tap out the quick message on the phone’s sensitive touchscreen but it wasn’t the initial message I’d intended. I was asking if I could see her again. I said that I enjoyed the previous night and would love to have the opportunity to see her for another appointment, for her usual going rate of course. I didn’t want her thinking I was looking for some kind of free counselling session. As soon as I finished writing the message, I hit send and closed the web browser down back to the phone’s home-screen; some photo set up with the basic factory setting. I’d asked her for an appointment at the same time as last night’s. Fingers crossed - by lunch time - she will reply. Something to look forward to.
I hope.
*
Lunchtime came in the blink of an eye. My work productivity had been less than stellar though. Hopefully the boss won’t notice. Usual routine involved tucking into a packed sandwich I’d take with me, or eating one from the small cafeteria on the ground floor of the office block. Overpriced and slightly soggy and yet I continued to purchase them. I’d surf the Internet - on my work computer - for things to purchase from various websites. Little purchases spent in an effort to make me feel better about my life. Nothing major - just films to help pass the time, silly little gadgets that would get unboxed and thrown in a cupboard never to see the light of day again, that kind of thing. On rare occasions I’d converse with colleagues but only if they started the conversations - hence it was an infrequent occurrence.
