Love Story Of A Call Girl

I looked at the balcony behind him. The moon was full; an exuberant yellow amongst the dark skies. Lights from lower buildings beamed on and off the glass panels.

"You have a lovely balcony view." I said, changing the topic.

The next second, he had risen to sit beside me, looking beyond the balcony to the nuances of grey-black colours which seemed to disappear into nothingness, if not for the lights of nearby buildings and those in the distance which gave the clouds its shapes. It was a starless night, but the moon; how full and bright she was.

"Damn the realtor. Those buildings of the city. Not far enough. I can see my office from here. You see that one there?" He asked, pointing to one of the further lights.

I nodded. I thought he had good bearings for how could he be so sure of a tiny speck of light some twenty kilometres away?

"What are you thinking about when you look outside?" He asked me.

"The moon." I said.

I wanted to take his attention away from what I perceived to be work stress. Most clients who hired me were up the career ladder, and occasionally they talked about the amount of work that was taking its toll on them.

"It's a full moon tonight. I would say it's as bright as the sun in all this darkness without the stars." He said, gazing up at the moon.

Reaching out from under my cardigan, I fished out my pebble-sized moonstone which hung on a black-stringed necklace.

"This is a moonstone." I said, showing to him the stone with the bluish-white sheen.

"It's beautiful. Can I touch it?" He asked.

I nodded.

His fingers lightly grazed the surfaces of my moonstone.

"It's really smooth to the touch and extremely icy cold like ice itself." He said later.

I wondered if I should talk a little about my stone.

"When you have a moonstone and you touch it when you look at the moon, all wishes of the heart will come true. But you have to believe." I said.

His reaction indicated to me that it was a splendid fairy tale with no relevance to the real world. Yet out of respect to ancient mysticism or just perhaps my "exotic" cultural heritage, he said nothing.

I was not sure for how long then we gazed at the moon, each occupied with our own thoughts. All we heard were the constant sounds of our breathing.

He broke the silence.

"I am getting tired. I will go to bed. I was wondering if you could stay with me for a bit." He said.

He patiently waited for my reaction.

I was unsure if it meant that he wanted me to accompany him in bed doing nothing or if he wanted me to hang around in the penthouse suite at my own whim and fancy.

"Okay." I said, thinking that I could watch television.

After all, he had paid me in advance for the night. A generous amount too, which was already banked into my account via my agency.

I thought that I was too soft. I could have said no and left. I could find no reason to like him even the slightest bit. He was arrogant and he downright mocked me. Perhaps I was also feeling a bit tired and could do with a bit of rest at his place. It was midnight. A storm was brewing and I could wait out the storm instead of making a dash out in the rain. I had scented its musky saturation for ages, especially in the penthouse suite. My internal forecast was not accurate today.

I had started the evening thinking it would rain; and that was three hours ago. I had scented it -- the musky saturation. The scent before rain. Something had broken my flow.

I did not have to think too much for then he ushered me into his bedroom; the same door which he slammed when he said that he would be right back. I saw a wide, canopied bed with velvet sheets and satin vanilla-coloured lace as its curtains for an ounce of privacy.

He went into the bathroom and when he came out moments later, he was in an old fashioned striped pyjama set. I found it a stark contrast to the black suit he wore earlier. He whisked the curtains apart and climbed into bed. He looked at me with an expression I could not decipher. Somewhat unsure; somewhat hopeful.