Carl called me three days later, insisting that we meet for a few beers and a game of pool.
Chico’s pool hall had kind of been our place ever since we’d met as freshmen. It wasn’t really somewhere that women went to, and the owner turned a blind eye to obviously faked IDs. It was the first time I’d been there since I was legal to drink.
It was the dinginess that had first attracted us. At 18, a dive seemed dangerous and exotic, full of dark possibilities. In reality it was just a dirty, uncared for drinking joint, with six greasy pool tables.
I found a stool at the bar and ordered a beer while I waited for Carl.
The early evening light filtered in through the dirty windows bathing the gloomy bar in gold. I watched as dust swirled and glittered in the slanting sun. It was the time of day that photographers call golden hour—an hour before sunset—when the low angle of the sun washes everything with diffused light. I grabbed a couple of napkins and started sketching people in the room.
There were two guys playing serious pool while three men watched, occasionally swapping dollar bills as they bet on each shot. One of them looked like the stereotype of a thug who wanted everyone to think he was hard. I was fascinated trying to draw the tattoos that coiled like snakes up the thick trunk of his neck. But when he caught me staring, I turned my attention to the bartender.
He was a few years older than me and clearly bored. His eyes kept flicking to his cell phone lying on the bar in front of him. I wanted to catch his expression of exasperation and irritation as he willed the inanimate object to ring. I wondered who he was waiting for: his girlfriend, his dealer, his mom, for all I knew.
I looked up when someone punched me on the arm, sending my pen sliding across the sketch and tearing the flimsy surface.
“Hal, you dog! How the hell are you, man?”
“Carl, you bastard! I’m good, how are you?”
“If I were any better, there’d be two of me.”
“That’s a fuckin’ scary thought!”
He laughed and signaled the bartender.
“Tell me about that older chick I saw you with. Was she good?” he asked, his eyes lighting up like an amusement park at night. I could almost smell fried onions and hotdogs just by looking at him. “Older chicks try harder ‘cause they’re more grateful—or so I’ve heard.”
He was such a tool. I couldn’t help laughing.
“Carl, buddy, it amazes me that you’ve ever been laid.”
He frowned, looking hurt. “Hey! I’ll have you know that there’s a list as long as my johnson of lovely ladies waiting for me to give them the ride of their lives. But we’re not talking about my talents—tell me about your hottie. How long have you guys been dating—and how come I’m the last to know, brother?”
You know, for a guy, Carl could be such a girl.
I decided to do what Véro had suggested and tell him the truth.
“We’re not dating.”
“Oh, just hooking up?” He leered at me. “Fast worker, huh? Well, taught you all I know.”
He was distracted when the bartender placed a bottle in front of him, and we wandered over to one of the empty pool tables and chalked up a pair of cues. I flipped a coin and Carl won the break.
“So, you still tending bar over at the pensioner place?” he asked.
I smiled. “It’s not that bad—it’s easy.” I took a deep breath, “Got an offer of another job, too, which pays better.”
“Yeah?” he said, lining up to pot an easy shot into the top pocket.
“Yup, working as an escort. For women.”
His cue skittered onto the table, almost tearing the baize.
“Say that again!”
“Working as an escort. Doing dates, ya know?”
I’d had enough of staring at his tonsils, so I took my turn at the table while Carl pulled himself together.
“What, like … a gigolo?”
I laughed at the expression on his face.
“I’ll take women on dates and get paid for it, yes.” I walked around the table and sized up my next shot. “Thing is, this woman I met—Eloise—she said I could get plenty of work as an escort. I’d make more money than bartending. I don’t know … what do you think?”
He stared at me like I was crazy.
“Are you seriously considering saying no? Dude! It’s a dream job!” Then he frowned. “Although, I dunno. Do you get to choose? What if they’re coyote ugly?”
“I don’t know, man. Would it make a difference to you? I mean one pussy is like another.”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I guess. Although maybe you could ask them to wear a paper bag over their heads—although maybe not if they’re paying you. Could ya still get it up?”
I shook my head impatiently. I thought it was more likely that an ugly personality would put me off; but that wasn’t the point.
“No, man. It’s escort work, not … look, that night with Véro just happened. I liked her. It was cool. It wouldn’t be like that all of the time…”
He gave a short, cynical laugh.
“Seriously? You think women will pay just to talk to you. If they’re shelling out some mighty dollars, they’ll want more than that.” He hesitated. “Won’t they?”
“Eloise says not. She thinks most of them just want to make their ex’s jealous, or something.” I leaned back and took a long drink of my beer. “Besides, she’s going to be running a legitimate business—nothing illegal. She’d make the introductions, set up the appointments. I’d just have to show up.”
He chewed on a nail thoughtfully and then used it to clean his ear.
“How come you never told her about me?”
“What?”
Carl scratched his armpit and squinted. “I could do that shit!”
I stared at him, trying to tame the laugh that was threatening to break through.
“You have a job,” I pointed out, reasonably.
“Yeah, but come on. This is major! I thought we were friends.”
I shrugged. “Jeez, I don’t know. Don’t start whining like a bitch.”
Carl wasn’t the deepest thinker ever, but he was a good friend. He slapped me on the shoulder.
“Well, it sounds like a no-brainer to me, brother. Bartender! More beer!”
Then he looked at me, a hurt expression on his open face.
“How long, man?”
“How long what?”
“How long have you known about this?”
“Like I said—it’s new. Véro, the woman you saw me with, she was my first date, appointment, whatever. And, um, she’s Eloise’s daughter.”
Carl looked like he was having trouble taking it in.
“Are you shitting me?” he said, shaking his head again. “And you scored with her!”
I smirked at him but didn’t answer.
He looked like he was in pain. “So that totally hot babe … her mom paid you to have sex with her? That is awesome, dude! You. Are. A. Legend!”
Then he hesitated.
“So, you really wouldn’t have to screw all of your … dates?”
“No, yes. I don’t know. Only if I want to.” I guess.
“What the hell? Then … you could get paid for sex!”
I couldn’t help grinning at the twist of desperation in his voice.
“Ah, man. I am so in the wrong job,” he sighed. Then he pulled a face. “Yeah, but like I said, what if they’re seriously dogs? Would you still do it?”
“If I don’t like it, I’ll walk away. Same as on any other type of date.”
Then his eyes opened wide. “What about two women? Some lesbo action? Man, that would be awesome!”
His expression went dreamy and I remembered that Carl had always had a thing for girl on girl action in his porn preferences.
I hadn’t even considered that as a possibility, but hells yeah!
“Have you ever had any problems getting it up?” Carl asked again, recovering from his reverie.
“No,
man.”
“Never?”
“Nah, why, something you want to tell me?”
He laughed uncomfortably, and I wondered if I’d hit a nerve.
“What about dating? I mean real dates, with a girl you like?”
Good question. And one I couldn’t answer honestly. So I hedged it.
“I’m not interested in dating right now.”
Carl sighed again. “No, I guess not. I mean, why would you?”
Yeah. Why would I?
I didn’t say anymore but I’d been working on an answer to that question while I’d been waiting for Carl. I couldn’t imagine being an escort and dating. Because I wasn’t sure I could be myself if I was working. Because if I was paid to go out with a woman, it was all about them. My needs and wants were irrelevant—Véro had sort of taught me that—so you couldn’t say we’d be on an equal footing. That’s what it came down to.
Maybe that’s what it always comes down to: the one with the money has the power, I don’t know.
I could always say no, of course. I could walk away. That was the power I had. But with a girlfriend, we’d share everything, right? So could I share the facts of my potential new job with someone? That question was getting harder to answer.
So I did what any other 21 year old guy would do—I ignored it.
“Are you going to see her again? That woman—Véro. I mean, is she going to pay you again? Or does she want some fresh meat?” and Carl puffed out his chest, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “‘Cause I’m totally available. How much does she pay?”
I ignored that, too—the whole payment thing was still a touchy subject for me.
“Your break,” I said.
He’d kind of missed the finer points of the story. Or maybe he hadn’t. I rubbed my eyes. Carl was looking at me like I’d just singlehandedly won the Stanley Cup.
He slammed his empty bottle down on the pool table, earning an annoyed glare from the bartender, and high-fived me.
We didn’t talk about the subject of my potential employment again that evening, and by the next morning I’d pretty much put it out of my mind. But the idea wouldn’t go away entirely. It would be easy money, wouldn’t it? I wasn’t getting any additional shifts at the bar and my student loans weren’t going to magically disappear. None of the few galleries I’d contacted had called me back either.
Maybe I should give the escort work a go. Besides, Eloise said I didn’t have to sleep with anyone if I didn’t want to.
But then two things happened simultaneously that made up my mind: my douchewad landlord increased the rent on my apartment by $150 a month; and my ride broke down.
The truck was a 19 year old Silverado with over 200,000 miles on the clock. I’d paid $1800 for it when I’d arrived in LA and it had gotten me around okay. Best of all, I’d been able to transport the large canvases that I showed at the exhibition for my finals.
It had been running rough for a few weeks and I suspected that there was a problem with the transmission, but I didn’t have the money to fix it; I barely had money to fill the tank with gas. It died as I was driving to work one evening, and I had to leave it at the side of the road and jog the rest of the way.
Barney, the duty manager, was pissed that I turned up late and sweaty. He didn’t give a shit about the reason. Asshole.
I thought about what Eloise had said and in the end I thought, well, why not?
That evening, during my break, I texted and asked to meet her. She replied straightaway.
The following day, we met at a coffee bar downtown.
I wasn’t prepared for her to turn up with paperwork.
“Hallen, this is a contract between us, as discussed. You need to get your attorney to look it over.”
“Yeah, I’m not sure about this. I just wanted to talk to you.”
She leaned back in her chair and frowned.
“What else is there to say? I’m not forcing you to do anything. It’s a straightforward business proposition. I make a commission on all your appointments, plus a finder’s fee for every new client. And we’ll both pay tax. What’s the problem?”
She pushed the contract toward me again. I picked up a pen to sign it.
“Hallen, no! Let your attorney see it—at the very least you have to read a contract before you sign it.”
“That’s okay, Eloise. I trust you.”
She smiled and shook her head disbelievingly.
“You’re very sweet but you’re going to have to get some street smarts if you want to survive in this business—or in any business. Get your attorney to look at it.”
Jesus Murphy, I was 21. How many 21 year olds have an attorney? Scratch that—how many 21 year olds who’d never been arrested have an attorney?
“I don’t have one.”
“Then you’ll need to find one.”
“Can’t I use yours?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, dear boy. But I’ll give you the names of two or three people.”
“Oh, okay.”
It wouldn’t make any difference how many names she gave me, I’d never be able to pay their fees anyway.
I flipped through the pages of meaningless jargon when something leapt out at me.
“What’s this clause about ‘no body art, no body modification’?”
Eloise threw me an irritated look.
“It means, no piercings, no tattoos.”
“Why? What difference does it make?”
That annoyed the fuck out of me. I’d been saving to get an awesome tattoo between my shoulder blades—Yggdrasil—the tree connecting the nine worlds of Norse mythology. I’d designed it myself, along with the words Av skadan blir man vis which meant ‘Injury makes you wise’—to honor my father’s memory.
She tapped her coffee spoon against the cup in irritation.
“Because the kind of clients I intend to book for you will not be impressed with a pierced and tattooed escort.”
“But they won’t see it,” I said, raising my eyebrows.
She skewered me with a look. “Véro would have.”
“Some women like tattoos,” I mumbled, a faint flash of heat in my cheeks as she reminded me that I’d fucked her daughter.
“Hallen!” she said, impatiently. “You don’t put a bumper sticker on a Ferrari! Now, pay attention, we need to talk about something else.”
“Yeah?” I said, sounding like a sullen kid who’d just been reamed out.
“Well, to be blunt, what additional services you intend to offer. You need to have thought ahead about what you will and won’t do.”
I must have looked clueless because Eloise continued, speaking slowly and clearly. “Sex, Hallen: what you will and won’t do.”
My throat was suddenly dry.
“You said I’d just be doing escorting stuff … not sex.”
“That’s up to you.”
Christ, this was embarrassing.
“Okay, I’ll spell it out for you,” she went on, “because you need to be prepared. Will you have sex with men?”
I nearly swallowed my tongue.
“What? No way!”
“Okay, so that’s something you need to make clear. What about sex with someone watching? Or filming, for example. Would you be prepared to have pictures taken?” She paused. “I would strongly advise against either of those examples, for obvious reasons.”
I nodded, cringing internally, and started seriously to reconsider what I was getting myself into.
“What about two women?” she went on, as my eyes widened and near enough dribbled out of my skull. Yeah, I liked that idea. Hell, what guy wouldn’t? Not that it was anything new for me since my movie days, but it would be cool to do it without being wasted and be able to remember it for once.
“What about bondage?” she asked insistently, her eyes drilling into me. “Would you let a woman tie you up? A stranger? Would you be prepared to tie her up or hit her, if that’s what she asked for?”
“Jeez! Fuck, no! I don’t
… I want … I mean … you make it sound…”
I think I was hyperventilating by this point.
She rested a soothing hand on my arm.
“Hallen, calm down. I’ve already explained that your service as an escort begins and ends fully clothed, simply fulfilling the contract prepared in advance. That’s it. You can go home a happy and well paid man. But if you wish to have sex with a client and they wish to give you a bonus—that is between you and the lady in question. But you need to be clear if that’s something you want—or not. You need to know your own limits.”
She looked at me calmly.
“Yeah, um, I think I’ll just stick with the escort thing.”
“A shrewd decision,” she said with an amused smile. “But what would you say to the woman?”
I knew my face was blank and my brain was already empty of rational thought.
“Um, ‘no thanks’?”
She gave a small smile and shook her head.
“Dear boy, have you ever had a woman simply say ‘no thanks’ when you asked her for sex?”
“Um,” I was desperately trying to think. “Uh, I got my face slapped once.”
“What were the circumstances?” she asked, and I thought she was trying not to laugh.
“I was a freshman and I’d been drinking tequila shots after a hockey game and…”
She held up a hand. “Say no more. You’ll need to come up with an elegant refusal or the whole point of you building up a woman’s self-esteem will be crushed with a few ugly, ill-considered words.”
She leaned forward and rested her hand on my thigh.
“It’s been a wonderful evening. It would be such a pity to end it here. Why don’t you come to my room where we can get more comfortable—really get to know each other. I’d make it worth your while.”
I froze. Eloise was an attractive woman and I liked her, but I didn’t think about her that way. Besides, she was old enough to be my grandmother.
“Um, that’s really nice of you, Eloise,” I said, removing her hand and standing up awkwardly. “But I don’t think that would be a good idea if we’re going to be working together.”
She stared at me and then started to laugh. Long, silvery peals of laughter ended in a snort that sounded like a camel choking.
“Oh, you amuse me, Hallen, you really do. Sit down, silly boy. I was role-playing a client! You were supposed to practice letting me down pleasantly! I wasn’t flirting with you!”