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Nervously, I climb the stone steps to the door and press the buzzer on the Intercom. A few seconds pass before I hear a low crackling noise and then a woman’s voice.
“Hello, Premiere Ladies Escort Agency.”
“Um, hi,” I squeak. “My name’s Jessica Gardner. I’m here for my six o’clock appointment.”
“Come on up. We’re based on the second floor.”
The buzzer sounds to release the door and I enter an opulent entrance hall. A crystal chandelier protrudes from the ceiling and the carefully placed furniture looks antique and expensive. Smoothing down my dress, I trudge up two flights of stairs to the second-floor landing. As I walk, my footfalls sound hollow and there’s an eerie sense that the entire building is empty except for me and the lady who spoke on the Intercom.
At last, I reach a door with a brass plaque outside that reads:Premiere Ladies Escort Agency.
Taking a deep breath, I turn the handle and step timidly into a luxurious office with regal furniture and high ceilings. Over by the window, gazing at the London skyline, stands a tall, handsome-faced woman in her early sixties. She is dressed in a beautifully tailored suit and her statuesque figure suggests that she may have once done modelling in her youth.
As soon as I enter, she glances sideways and gives a warm, accommodating smile. “Hi, I’m Jane Waters. We spoke on the phone.”
“Hi! I’m Jessica,” I reply shyly. “Pleased to meet you.”
Still smiling, Jane moves towards a large circular desk in the middle of the room and I’m about to follow her and take a seat, when she suddenly raises her hand. “No, please remain standing. I want to take a proper look at you.”
Taken aback by the forcefulness in her voice, I stand to attention and watch helplessly as she opens one of the desk drawers and retrieves a packet of wet wipes. Pulling out two, she turns and fixes me with piercing grey eyes. Slowly, she steps towards me, her gaze travelling from my head to my toes, drinking in every curve of my body and appraising me in the way a man would.
She stops just a few inches from my face, then reaches out and proceeds to use the wet wipes to remove all of my make-up. When she has finished doing a thorough job of it, she takes off my jacket and throws it over a chair. Then, clasping her hands behind her back, she slowly circles me like a predator sizing up its prey, taking her time to continue her appraisal. My body trembles. I’ve never felt so on edge. The suspense is killing me.
At last, she looks me in the eye and murmurs, “You should never wear too much make-up. Remember, in this business, less is more. If you look like a harlot, you’ll be treated like one. Always keep it classy, understood?”
“Y-yes.”
“Good. Now take a seat and we shall begin.”
Sagging with relief, I follow her to the desk and take a seat opposite. For a moment, Jane doesn’t say anything, then she presses her perfectly manicured fingers together and tilts her head to one side. “So, Jessica Gardner, you want to be an escort, do you?”
“Yes,” I nod eagerly. “Only…well, see, the thing is, I don’t intend to make this permanent.” My voice trails off as I struggle to find the words. “What I mean is, I want this to be a one-off, if you know what I mean.”
The woman looks confused. “A one-off? What on earth do you mean?”
“Sorry, I’m not explaining myself very well.” I stare at the floor, floundering. “Okay, what I mean is, I don’t want to become an escort permanently. Currently, I work as a waitress, and I intend to keep that as my main job. I only plan to do this escorting thing as a one-off venture. Earlier today, I saw a story in the newspaper about a girl who sold her virginity for £250,000, so I thought…I thought that maybe I could try for £50,000.”
“And you want me to broker the deal?”
“Yes.”
Jane bursts out laughing. “You must think very highly of yourself.”
“No, actually I don’t,” I say with quiet dignity. “Quite the opposite, in fact. I don’t think I’m anything special. But I do know I’ve got to get £50,000 because that’s the amount my mother needs for her cancer treatment. We’re not exactly loaded and there’s no other way for people like us to get that kind of money. So, I’m asking for £50,000, nothing more, nothing less.”
“You do realise that not everything you read in the papers is true?”
“Are you saying that the story is fabricated? That it didn’t happen?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. But there may have been certain embellishments, especially if it was in one of the tabloids…”
“Am I wasting my time being here, then? Are you saying you can’t help me?”
“Not necessarily. Wait, I’m thinking…”
There’s a long, tense silence. Under the table, my knees are knocking.Holy Mother. Have I royally fucked this up?
“Are you really a virgin?” Jane asks.
