Love Story Of A Call Girl

He extended a hand towards me. We shook hands for the longest of time until my hands were drenched with cold sweat. I pulled my hands away.

His grasp on mine was somewhat hard yet his eyes- what strange wolfish eyes, seemed to deeply pierce mine. I could not help but shudder when our eyes met. I was spellbound by some unknown force in those deep-set grey eyes, and without realizing it, I had stared at him longer than necessary. I got a hold of myself when he bent a little lower so that he gazed me at my level. He spoke to me his first words.

"Are you alright?" He asked, in a cool, indifferent tone.

"Yes. I am. I just thought..." I said, not knowing how to finish my sentence.

I had spoken my thoughts aloud but they were half-way thoughts, lost in the moment with no coherence.

"You expected someone else?" He asked, in that same, cool indifference of a voice.

I shook my head.

"I'm pleased to finally meet you, Mr Boardmann." I said in my standard formal tone.

"You must be from the agency. You are...?" He said, trying to remember, as if he forgot.

The fact was that he did not know my name. When my agency assigns a girl for the night, they omit to tell the client the name of the escort, just in case there were last minute changes with the availability of the girl. It was a flexible business practice perfected for practical reasons.

"You did not forget. They did not tell you who was coming. By the way, I am Lila. I'll accompany you for the night." I said.

"Lila." He said.

He beckoned me to sit. I sat down opposite him. To avoid his eyes which were undoubtedly affecting my standard professionalism, I averted my gaze to the table some distance away from ours. A young couple, looking amorously at each other, were on to their dessert.

"I trust that you have had your dinner, given how late it is." He said, observing my feigned interest at the amorous couple.

I could still feel his piercing eyes from the corner of my very own.

"Yes, I have had something light to eat. I never eat heavy dinners." I said, trying to break the ice.

"Something light; perhaps dessert, or something to drink?" He asked, when he saw me look at the huge dame blanche portion the couple were devouring with one huge spoon.

"Only if you would join me." I said.

I gathered that it would be a good time to engage in small talk. Knowing what made a client tick made it easier for me to find out how to make him a satisfied customer.

He asked me what I wanted to drink and spontaneously I said red wine. He gestured for the waiter, skimmed the menu in a haste and ordered two glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon.

I sipped my wine in silence, taking care to smile at him, giving him my attention. I could see that he was somewhat affected by my presence. He eyed me, as most men do, from head to toe. He had a rough, rugged quality in his mannerism and I thought, out of the blue, that he could have been one of the peasants in the Potato Eaters. He could have toiled the earth very comfortably, and for that I would have given him a thumbs up.