Love Story Of A Call Girl

He looked at me, torn and passionate. Then he sobbed softly on my shoulders. I let him cry himself out. I tried to concentrate on that messy clump of hair of his when I felt tears glistening at my eyelids again. After a while, his sobs subsided. I then led him to the bedroom and got him into a change of striped linen pyjamas from the cupboard drawer. He seemed to have many of those in different shades of blue and grey. In another drawer, I also chanced upon all the pill prescriptions which I assume he had taken he slammed the door. I wondered at the necessity of all those pills. Did he really need to take all of them? The pill bottles were strewn carelessly amongst many spotless white linen handkerchiefs. Had I not known better, I would think that he had a fetish for all things linen.

I tucked him into bed, placed his head on my l.a.p, and started stroking his head like I did yesterday. We were both silent. Before he lay on my l.a.p, he gazed at me intensely. He whispered again that he was sorry for everything. I shook my head, and placed my fingers on his lips. He sighed deeply, and took my fingers in his. He then turned around. A few minutes later, I knew that he was asleep when his body loosened up and lines of tension left his forehead.

I caught a whiff of a scent in the room. As it was yesterday, it seemed vaguely familiar, but I could not quite pinpoint when I had scented it. The whiff lingered on in the room on and off. Sometimes I caught it and sometimes I lost it. Until came the moment that I decided I had better leave now that he was asleep. I only prayed that he did not have nightmares for I would not be around until dawn like yesterday. I wondered if it were hard-hearted for me to leave like that. Against my better or worst judgment (I did not know anymore how to think objectively), I took the whiff as my cue to leave for home.

I reapplied my makeup on my tear-stained face. His emotional episode had affected me. Quietly I made my way out. I chose not to stay the night. He had wanted me to speak my mind, and I have spoken. I felt bad about it though, but if I stayed, I would have pitied him more, and I did not want to pity him. He was a man full of life and passion before, and I would have liked to see him in his prime. I would never have that opportunity but at least I have known him. It was an experience I would never forget. I learnt that I was a wreck on my own emotions. I learnt that my standard answers were useless if the right questions were not asked. All those years of preparation only to be shot down by this one man.

I thought again, trying to give myself some credit for all the hard work. He was not a standard man. It was hardly my fault not to be able to predict his standard questions. I had considered him an enigma, so it should not have surprised me.

What a night! I needed to meditate once I reached home. I needed to get back to my peaceful physical and spiritual abode. All that was possible before he came into the picture.

Men who requested escort services lacked something in their lives and he lacked it the most. Those piercing eyes and horrible questions drained me emotionally. Yet as far as I was concerned, he did not deserve to be in despair because of one woman; the same way I would never despair because of one man. I hoped that he would find peace somehow, now that we were done with each other. I touched my moonstone under my neck and made a little wish for him to be able to move on. He should be able to, having all that passion in him, if he channelled it to good use. I wondered if we would bump into each other someday.

I called Pablo, and he drove me home. Driving out of the carpark, I looked up to see whether I could catch a glimpse of his penthouse. I saw nothing but reigning darkness. As the car was turning into the junction, a small speck of light from the fortieth floor glowed. I was quite sure that it was his suite, for the rest of the suites were not yet taken. Henry had told me so. His suite brightened my view as the car drove towards the main road.

Pablo saw me looking up and asked if the speck of light was from my client's suite. I answered in the affirmative. It was the orangey shaded light in the living room which we had forgotten to switch off because of the nature of his bizarre conversation, and perhaps answers which he did not expect to hear uttered from my lips. I then thought it ironic that I should concentrate on a tiny speck of light just like he did with an erratic fervour towards his office building. Instinctively I turned my head away, and looked at the darkness ahead. Except for the few street lights lining up the road, the sea was devoid of any light. The boulevard was now quiet as restaurants and malls were closed; all past the hustle and bustle of their peak hours.

It was a starless night and the wind was blowing heavily. I was seated at the passenger seat beside Pablo. Throughout the short ten minute drive, my mind drifted to the vaguely familiar scent in the room, and then out of the blue, towards Mr. Boardmann. Alas, never had I thought about a client more.