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She wasn’t modeling, even though she had a striking look: jet black straight hair, smooth cappuccino-colored skin, and gray eyes. She possessed a seductive air that allowed her to wield a remarkable power over men. We all whispered about her, debating whether she was putting it on or if that’s how she naturally walked, held herself, and laughed a husky, knowing laugh. She’d made it clear that she already had a few boyfriends, or as she put it, “meet between the sheets” acquaintances. Maybe one of them was footing the bill for her new look.
“Wotcha!” Mandy gushed, hugging me, then scooting on to the stool next to me. The pub was brimming with bodies—a lot of students, but also young business types who preferred the traditional English pub and weren’t after a posh place to be seen. They just wanted to pull a beer, have some rowdy conversation, and of course, hang out with the working class. The old pubs made me feel connected to my dad. I imagined he’d probably hung out in a place like this before he met my mother, a model.
He had married that model and had a baby with her. Within a couple of years, they had an opportunity to take over my grandparents’ ranch in Australia. My dad seemed genuinely content with that life-changing decision, but I’d seen how melancholy my mom got when she talked about London andworking there. I always wondered if she regretted things. The question was: Was it my dad, was it me, or was it moving to Australia and living on a ranch? I didn’t know what was behind it…but regret inhabited her.
“Rakell, another one?” Lana asked over the blaring music.
“I’ll pass. Still waiting to get paid from Millington’s, so I need to meter,” I said, winking at her.
“I’ll get this round; you can get me next week.” She smiled, hopping off the stool.
I didn’t get as many modeling gigs as Lana. She had the perfect petite frame, whereas I had one of those tall-but-not-thin bodies, always trying to lose weight.
Mandy turned toward me. “Rakell, you having a hard time making it?”
My face flushed. I decided to be honest. As much as I hated to admit it, there was a chance I wouldn’t last in London beyond this year. I tossed my eyes toward Mandy steadily. “How do you say it? ‘I’m on my uppers for sure,’” I said, making quotation marks with my fingers. “I guess when I decided to move here from Australia, I didn’t account for the cost of living.”
“I understand. It’s a pricey city.” Mandy offered a smile that had something behind it, like she had a secret. “Be back after I grab a drink, then we’ll have a chat. I may be your fairy godmother right now,” she said, winking along with her signature chuckle.
She returned with a champagne flute filled with a dark thick liquid that looked like beer, not something you’d typically see in that kind of glass. She flashed an irritated glance at the guy who had just come over and was trying to flirt with me.
“Hey, sport, let me just cut to the end of the night, after you blow some pounds on a drink or two while stealing glimpses of her amazing tits. She’s still not going home with you, andshe still won’t date you. I’m thinking she may be more keen on chicks, so push off, will ya? Need to discuss something with my girl.” He shook his head and started to protest, but she responded by bringing the dark liquid to her lips with her right hand, while her left middle finger ran down the side of her temple, not so subtly, making me laugh.
I looked at her as he ambled off. “Mandy, jeez, he was just…the chick comment, really?”
“And is that bloke going to pay your rent? Buy you some new clothes? Because if all he’s going to sum up to is a drink, I’ll get you another,” she said. Her eyes shifted around the table, landing on Lana and Stacy as they commiserated about something intensely. “Follow me to the loo.” She sucked down another sip before sliding off her stool.
I got up and followed her down the dark hallway leading to the bathrooms, but she walked past the door marked women. “Mandy?” I whispered as she continued toward the back emergency exit.
“Listen…” she said, turning around and eyeing me closely. “This is between us…got it?”
“Yes, of course,” I said, alarmed by the sudden serious tone.
“I took another job,” she confided. “It pays really well. I can even afford to move out to my own flat or have no more than one roommate. Do you want to know about it, because it’s not something I’d share with the group, but I think you’d be perfect for—”
“Um, yes, what?” I interrupted her rush of words, wondering what she was getting at.
“I’m…” She hesitated. “I started working for an agency two months ago…”
“Modeling? Because I can definitely see that…”
She put her finger to her lips, then said, “Escort. But just dates for now.”
Inadvertently, my head snapped back. “As inescortescort?” My eyebrows shot up before I had a chance to adjust my expression.
“Forget it,” Mandy quickly replied. “Obviously, you don’t have an open mind, so this won’t work for you. Too bad because you’d probably be buried in work.”
“Wait. I just wasn’t expecting you to say, I mean…maybe I’m thinking about it in…”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Rakell, you’re thinking prostitute. It’s not that. It’s through a good agency—they’re the most elite in Europe. I’m basically just going on dates with wealthy men.” She bent her head closer. “I mean, I know they also cater to clients for sexual trysts or ‘girlfriend’ assignments, but you have to be ‘invited’ to even apply for that. And they have a no give-away policy.”
“No give-away?”
“No additional services that are not agreed upon contractually. So a guy, well, client, can’t spring it on you. Especially with new escorts, the agency is very protective.” She spoke as if she was proud of herself for joining such a prestigious firm like we were talking about a finance job at the right hedge fund or investment bank.
She straightened up. “So are you interested? If so, I’ll give them your contact information. Either way, this conversation goes nowhere, understand?” She lifted her hand, extending her pointer finger toward me.
“Of course. I guess I could look into it.” I lied to assuage her, my mouth moving on its own as thoughts bounced around my head. I wanted them to jump right out—I couldn’t entertain something like working as an escort, pretend date, or whatever Mandy called it to make herself feel better. I thought about my mom and wondered if she’d struggled financially trying to make it as a model in Europe. Had she ever considered something likethis to get by? Everyone knows that escort is a euphemism for prostitute or at least prostitute-light. I’m sure everyone starts out just doing the ‘date-thing,’ but there is a reason everyone perceives it to be prostitution.
