by Nicola Jane
'But you are a vampire?' He laughs, not at all embarrassed to have tried to pay a random stranger in a bar.
You pull a face, grateful for his silly joke, and lower the arm holding the envelope. 'If you can just take back your envelope, we can both go back to what we were doing tonight.'
'Which for you means sitting alone at the hotel bar, looking sexy? Why don't you come in and have a drink with me instead? Let me thank you for your honesty.' He stands back and gestures to the side of the room. 'After all you know I have champagne for two and now I have no one to drink with either.' He smiles sadly before breaking into a cheeky grin.
'Maybe some other time, when you're dressed for a different kind of guest.' You wave at the towel, the words clattering out of your mouth. 'Here.' You pass him the envelope to fully unseal the deal.
He takes it and puts it on the side next to the ice bucket and champagne glasses. 'Wait one second.' He ducks behind the door for a few seconds. There's some rustling and he reappears with a card in his hand.
'I'm here for the rest of the week. Here's my card. I can definitely be dressed for dinner. Or you know where to find me if you change your mind about champagne. And I do owe you.'
You take the proffered card, damp from his fingers. An invitation you can accept anytime you want to.
The end
Or...
That was certainly very saintly of you, but are you really that angelic? There’s still plenty of fun to be had so you retrace your steps...
Let Yourself In
Curiosity, fuelled by the escort's thong, fishes the key card out of the envelope in your bag. When else in your life are you going to get the chance to glimpse what goes on behind this kind of closed door? At this moment, there's no difference between you and the woman who was supposed to get the key in the first place.
The door opens with a barely audible click and you push it gently. It swings back and you can see the corner of the bed. You hold your breath, expecting to see the man but as the whole bed comes into view, it's clear the room's empty. Your heart beats faster as you cross the threshold. There's the champagne tray on the side but no sign of him.
Then you hear the sound of running water and look to your left. The bathroom door is open and steam entices you in. This is it – the moment where you can end the role and go back to being the girl that has been stood up or live a night in someone else's life.
He doesn't even know anyone is here so you could leave the envelope next to the champagne and go as quietly as you came. Or you can join him in the bathroom and live out a fantasy.
Or...
You can’t resist the temptation, and why should you have to? You decide to slip inside the bathroom...
It would probably be best if you just dropped the envelope and quietly made your escape......
Maybe this isn’t how it’s supposed to go, so you retrace your steps...
The Underwear
When the lift arrives in the lobby, the bustle and chatter draws you into the bar. Things have picked up since you left and the clink of glasses and rattle of cocktails shakers can only just be heard over the after work crowd. They've dimmed the lights and the city sparkles like imitation jewellery below. A girl in a red dress similar to yours, but about five rungs further up the designer scale, picks up her bag and leaves her seat at the bar. You wonder who stood her up. Red dresses must be bad luck.
If you sit where she was sitting you'd be next to an older looking business type with dark silvery grey hair. His tie is loosened and he's got a half full tumbler of what looks like whisky in front of him.
At the other end of the bar, the only empty seat is next to two youngish twenty something guys. They're both casually dressed in jeans but with shirts, one black, the other a dark blue, hanging out over a couple of beers.
Or...
You decide to join the suited up silver fox, the thought of the little pink thong you’re wearing making you feel extra bold...
Why not join the businessman for a drink? You’re already wondering how he’d react to a woman wearing nothing under her dress...
Who better to appreciate your choice of barely-there underwear than the two young men at the bar?...
Although... if there’s one thing better than a girl in cute underwear, it’s a girl wearing nothing at all! You’re sure the two boys will agree...
Maybe you weren’t quite finished with Room 942, so you retrace your steps...
The Proposition
It wouldn't be right to take it, you tell yourself firmly, swallowing the last of your drink. Maybe she's paying her way through college or supporting elderly or sick parents with her earnings. It shames you that you were imagining spending the money on clothes and other luxury nothings.
You hop off the barstool, gather your bag and the envelope and make your way to the other end of the bar where the girl is sitting. She glances at her watch and checks her hair in the mirror behind the bar. Your reflection joins hers and now you can see the hair and dress is where the similarity ends. Although she's beautiful, her sharp cheekbones and heavy makeup outline a face that's harder than yours.
Confronted with this confident looking creature, your sudden nerves make you abrupt. 'Room 942 – here.' You shove the envelope at her and are further wrong-footed when she laughs.
'Sorry honey, I do take female bookings but tonight I've got a prior engagement.'
'No! Not me!' You shriek far louder than you should have.
'Calm down, it's a joke, OK? What are you, my stressed out twin or something?' She looks you up and down, taking in the red dress and heels. 'I can guess what happened.'
'Yeah, kind of embarrassing.'
She narrows her eyes as she plays the scene out in her head. 'He's going to be expecting you though, that could be a bit tricky.'
'Oh no, it was all really quick and we didn't even make eye contact. I don't know what he looks like really so I doubt he would know the difference.' Curiosity gets the better of you and you can't help adding 'So haven't you er…?'
She shakes her head. 'New client. Room 942 you said, right?'
'Yes, you've got champagne and everything.' What a different kind of life she has. It seems so much more exciting than yours.
'You're right about the "and everything."' She holds up a pink thong that she's just pulled out of the envelope. It's a tiny piece of material with a row of diamante stones in place of the string at the back.
'Wow,' you breathe. You try to remind yourself how sleazy this all is but you're not doing a very good job of convincing yourself. 'Aren't you – aren't you nervous?'
She shrugs, 'Just another day at the office.'
You laugh but then stop because she's not smiling. You stare at the thong dangling between her long nails.
'Well, it's not much like my office.'
She grins. 'Does my stressy twin want to join in? Be my stunt double?'
You instantly feel your face go red and you don't know what to say. You hope you look like you're tongue tied out of pure shock and disapproval but you can't deny that part of you is fascinated.
'N–n–no.'
'Ah, shame,' she mocks. 'A shame you can't admit it, I mean.'
Your face burns at the shrewd accusation. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'
'Call it divine inspiration or something, but what say you and me do a double act? I can tell you're dying to wear this. You want to know what's going to happen in Room 942, I know it. It's not an opportunity you get every day.'
It certainly isn't. You're more than curious. It beats being stood up in a bar for an evening's entertainment. But can you go through with it?
Or...
You can’t help yourself; when are you ever going to get a chance like this to live out your fantasies?...
That certainly sounds very intriguing, but you’re not quite ready to join to join the world’s oldest profession yet...
Maybe this isn't quite what you were expecting, so you retrace your steps...
<
br /> The Hold-Up
You're annoyed with yourself for not having left earlier without drawing attention to yourself. You check that the barman is still busy. He's got his back to you and is scooping ice into glasses so you slip off the barstool, grab your coat and make a beeline for the way out. If he sees you, he'll think you're going to reception.
You focus straight ahead so as not to make eye contact with the girl at the bar. You're sure she'll see your guilt written all over your face. The more people you pass, the more of a buffer you create between you and her. Again, you wish you'd left before you knew who exactly the money was meant for. It's too late though, you're already past reception and to suddenly turn and go back would only draw attention to your planned theft. You push on ahead but your heart pounds as if there are twenty security cameras trained on you, all feeding your image to the security guys primed to trap you outside the door.
You can't even manage to look the doormen in the face when they wish you a pleasant evening. You mutter your thanks to their hands as they hold the door open. The sudden blast of hot, unconditioned air outside the hotel slows you down on your way to the shadowy car park but the ring of police waiting for you remains hidden for now.
You scrabble in your bag for your car keys. The envelope of money is sitting on top of the rest of your paraphernalia. You wish you'd left behind half the makeup, tissues and shop receipts that are concealing the keys. You fish out two lipsticks and a packet of aspirin and dump them on top of the car, shaking the bag to check for the jangle of keys. Then you hear something far less welcome.
'Hold it right there.'
You're red handed in your red dress and there's nothing you can do to cover it up. You turn slowly and then drop your bag, instinctively putting both hands up.
It's the woman from the bar and she's pointing a gun at you – a miniature silver pistol like something from a spy film. You don't care how big it is, you've never seen a gun in real life before, let alone aimed at you. Suddenly it no longer seems like much money.
'Take it, take it. It's in the bag.' You motion towards the bag with your foot, keeping your hands up. 'It's all there.'
'I didn't give you enough time to spend it you mean?' She comes closer and you can see that it's only her hair and dress that are similar to yours. Otherwise she looks completely different, more makeup and harder, sharper features like a beautiful Fury.
'Just take it, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.'
'Oh relax. You think I'm going to shoot you where everyone can hear me?' She lowers the gun and you breathe out, unaware that you'd been holding your breath. Your shoulders start to drop and you're bringing your hands down when she suddenly aims the gun at your face again and you freeze in terror.
'No way. We're going to get in your car, drive away and then I'm going to shoot you!'
'Look, there has to be some other way!' Your voice comes out shrill with the knowledge you can't think of any other way. What bargaining power have you got? You probably couldn't match the amount of cash in that envelope if you emptied your savings account.
'Oh yeah?' She moves her thumb to release the safety catch. 'Let's hear it then.'
'I–I can…I mean I have…you can take my car.' It's the only thing you can think of and it's so lame you wince at the sound of your own words.
She laughs hysterically. You had to go and steal money from a psychopath. She's going to kill you but only when she's gotten over how pathetic of a joke you are.
'You should see your face!' she squeals, hardly able to get the words out.
She bends over and picks up your bag. Is she going to take it to dump it with your body? You try to think who knows you're here. Your absent date? But he's hardly likely to be phoning in a missing person's report seeing as he didn't even show up himself. Someone will notice if you don't make it to work tomorrow, surely. You stifle a sob at the unfair loneliness of your final few moments.
She's still laughing and her next words filter through slowly, distorted by your panic. 'You believed me!'
You just stare unable to activate the long process from thought to reaction. She hasn't dropped the gun whether or not she plans to use it. You don't know what to believe and stand dumbly, something like relief nibbling at the edges of your fear.
She's dumped half your bag's contents on the roof of your car and the other half clatters out onto the floor. It's easy for her to pick out the envelope, which she doesn't even bother to check, and your purse. She snaps it open and rifles through the sections. There won't be much satisfaction in robbing you of some small change and a couple of notes. 'Aha!' She pulls out your driving licence and reads your name aloud.
'Now I know who you are and your address. So?'
Hope unblocks your throat. Maybe she really isn't going to kill you. You find your voice, ashamed at the quaver you can hear as you speak.
'S–so, can I go?'
'G–go?' She waves the gun. 'No way. You owe me.'
'But all the money is there. You can take it and I'll never say a word to anyone.'
'That's big of you. You'll never tell anyone you tried to steal from me?'
'I'll never tell anyone you tried to kill me,' you say defiantly.
'With this?' She twirls the pistol around her finger. 'It's a toy. We're not in a Hollywood film.' She shrugs. In this job, you can never be too careful. I carry it around just in case a client tries anything funny. But actually this is the first time I've ever got to use it.'
'Then I can go. You can't stop me.' All the energy your paralysed muscles were hoarding for flight evaporates and you need to sit down before your legs collapse.
'I can't stop you but I can follow you and make your life an embarrassing nightmare. Follow you to work, send clients I don't want to your house. The really creepy ones. The barman told me you'd taken the money. He said you were going to give it to reception. I'm more suspicious than him though luckily. But he can tell the police and the doormen make more witnesses. Kind of embarrassing even if it doesn't lead to jail, don't you think?'
'Then what do you want? You can see I don't have any money.'
'I don't need your money. Just your time. I feel like having the rest of the night off seeing as I've already missed one client tonight. You think this job is easy? And that gives you the right to take my money? Well, pick a number honey.'
'What?' You've no idea what she's talking about.
'One or two? My next jobs. You're going to do one of them for me.'
You choke on your own rapidly inhaled breath. 'I can't.'
'Haven't you already surprised yourself tonight? You don't look like the kind of person who steals regularly, unless I'm wrong. Surprise yourself again. Or I really will make your life very uncomfortable.'
'Wha–what would I have to do?' You picture the guy who dropped the money behind you. If she has clients like that with expensive champagne and fancy hotel rooms, how bad can it be?
'Pick a number and you'll see. Job one doesn't involve any sex, not unless you want it to of course. Number two is, let's say, passive.'
Your mind reels. Nothing she says makes any sense to you at all. But you haven't got much choice if you want her to just go away and leave you alone. Which job should you pick?
Or...
Job One sounds like the easier option for a beginner...
Something tells you that Job Two is the right call...
Maybe this is a decision you’re not ready to make yet, so you retrace your steps...
The Film Set
'Ever been on a film set?'
'Wow, no!' You can't believe your luck. A film set! 'Oh, right.' You try to play it more casually. 'Has an actor hired you then?'
'The director actually.'
You think of the directors you've heard of, not as mind blowing as getting George Clooney but still. 'Anyone I'd know?'
'How do I know what films you watch?' she snaps. Then she laughs. 'Maybe. I'll try and remember some of the titles on the way over.'
You make
an effort to stop sounding like some star struck groupie and arrange for her to pick you up. She tells you to wear what you want as long as it's a skirt and to go heavy on the makeup. It seems odd for such a high profile job but you don't doubt she knows what she's talking about so you take a denim miniskirt off the pile of clothes you haven't got round to hanging up. Remembering her face with its hard angles, you shade and highlight your cheekbones and slant your eyes with thick, black eyeliner.
'You must remember some of them,' you urge, still keen to indentify the mystery director.
She looks as if she's genuinely trying to remember as she indicates left and turns into an industrial area with large grey warehouses. It's not what you'd pictured but you suppose film sets probably are built in warehouses.
'Ah! Here it is!' She pulls up at a warehouse as nondescript as all the others and the conversation, such as it was – she's not much of a chatter you've discovered – is over. All you managed to get out of her was a name, Giselle, which you assume is not her real one. She didn't ask for yours.
She calls someone on her phone, announces your arrival and then gets out of the car. You don't have long to wait as a bearded guy with a hefty gut, wearing a leather waistcoat over a grubby T-shirt comes around the side of the building. Some crew member, you suppose. The director is bound to be busy.
'Hey, Mike,' greets Giselle. 'I've brought along a fan of yours.' She indicates you and you freeze. This is the director? 'What's that film of his you liked best?'
You clam up as she giggles meanly at you.
'Must've been Cunts Go Crazy,' he suggests. 'Everyone loves that one.'
Your stomach curls up as you realise how badly you misjudged the set up. You only risk making yourself look more stupid by saying any more. But why does a porno director need to hire prostitutes? He can't be short of women willing to have sex. You follow after the two of them as they disappear around the corner and screw up your courage for whatever it is you're about to find on set.
