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Oh wow. Now this is just what I need to get my mind off of missing Arsen.
“Feel sexy, Yasmine?” I ask, and lean in. “Who is he? Don’t tell me it’s one of the bouncers again!”
Again, Yasmine laughs and takes a sip of her champagne.
“Hardly,” she says. “And I can’t tell you. Call it attorney-client confidentiality.”
“So, he’s a lawyer?” I ask. She just smiles at me and stays silent. After a moment, I move on. “So what happened to the guy who tried to pick you up literally?”
"I hit him. Repeatedly. And then the bouncers showed up and asked me what the hell was going on. I had to recount the whole thing to them, and they asked me if I hit him open palmed—like a slap—or close fisted. Do I look like I'd slap someone?"
I watch as she balls her fist in reenactment. She has a point. Despite her small size, she's got a hard exterior. Cross her or her dancers, and she’ll come after you with the power of a MAC truck.
"No, you're right. I could picture you close fisting that asshole."
"It's like letting a dog piss in the middle of your living room, you know? Sure, I could've let the bouncer take care of him, but then he'd never learn. He'd do it again to some other girl, in some other club, and the cycle would never end."
"I guess you've got a point."
"I swear I need to get out of that place. The money's good, except on Mondays. Can you believe I danced for a solid 45 minutes and only made $25 on Monday? If that were a Friday night, I'd have made $500. My family keeps asking me when I'm going to get a real job—they know what I do, but they pretend like they don't. It's always awkward."
I nod my head in agreement. I can understand where she's coming from. I couldn't even tell my family about it. They still think I'm serving coffee somewhere while I try finding a place to put my Art History degree from Yale to use. But let's be real—serving coffee won't pay NYC rents.
"Anyways, enough about me," she continues. "You're lucky you got out when you did. It was a smart move. Sit in bed all day at talk dirty on the phone. I’m glad one of my girls got out."
"I'm not so sure," I say, shaking my head and looking down at the last bits of my pastry. I don't even want to look Yasmine in the eyes, in fear she'll recognize something in me that I haven't even admitted to myself.
"What's that supposed to mean? I thought you were doing great at Simulated Pleasures? Aren't you one of the highest grossing operators?"
"I am, but it's complicated."
"How complicated can it be? You take a call, act as part seductress and part therapist for as long as possible, and get them off. Voila!"
"It's been a crazy last couple
of days."
"So what—you have some crazy stalker now calling at all hours of the night? Keep him on the line and rack up those minutes, girl."
"It's not a stalker. I'm falling for one of my clients."
"You can't be serious?"
"Serious as a heart attack."
"Rule number one, never fall for a client, especially not over the phone! Ashley, come on! He can be anyone. You don't know him at all. You've never even seen the guy. He could be an ex-con with a tattooed face for all you know."
"Actually, you're wrong. I do know who he is, and that's the problem."
I watch as she chokes on her champagne. "Now you've lost me. I don't understand."
"Do you remember Arsen from Scorcher's? Intensely blue eyes, hot body, and billion dollar playboy?"
"THE Arsen Hawke? Sure. I mean, who could forget a guy like that? So, where's this going?"
"Well, last night I found out that Arsen is the client. He's the same person. But he's been hiding that from me for weeks. For countless calls, he's been calling my direct phone sex line and masquerading as a 'King Henry.' We were having the most mind-blowing phone sex. I mean, I was supposed to be getting him off, and yet, there he was, making me come so hard every time. It was like he could read my mind. I couldn't get him out of my head. But as this was all happening, I was meeting up with Arsen—dinner, drinks, sex, and I found myself falling in love with him. But then I started pulling away from Arsen when I realized I was falling for a man on the other end of my phone too. It all became so emotionally confusing. It didn't feel right to be falling in love with two separate people."
"Wait a minute. You're in love with Arsen Hawke?" Yasmine asks, eyes wide in disbelief, and seemingly ignoring a good majority of my story.
