I hung up on the failed attempt at trying to call Milo and threw the wretched phone into my bag, closing the front door behind me. I had called Leticia and she had a booking ready and waiting for me if I wished to accept it. I’d snatched it up the minute she’d stopped speaking. I needed to keep my mind off things.
I pushed the elevator button and waited for the heavy metal doors to open before me. I was in Roxy’s apartment building complex. As much as I loved my flat, I couldn’t help wanting to get away from the place for the time being. Besides, I didn’t want to spell like chip fat when I met with my client.
He was new and inexperienced to the world of escorts so my main goal was to allow him the satisfaction of reassuring him he’d made the right decision when phoning the agency for the first time. Trust me, by the time I’m finished with him he’ll be phoning the agency and booking his next appointment more-or-less as soon as I’ve left the room.
The whirring elevator came to a halt and the ding, alerting me that it was at my floor, chimed as the double doors slide open. I stepped inside and pushed the ground floor button as they closed again, encasing me in the confined, metal console.
As the elevator began to descend, a sudden urge to check my phone took over me and I reached into the bag and retrieved it, cradling it gently in the palm of my hand. I slid my finger gently across the screen to unlock it and sighed as I saw that he’d not bothered to call me back, if not to just learn who his miss caller had been. I returned the phone back into my bag and the elevator reached my desired floor and the doors opened once again before me.
The staff that worked in the apartment complex didn’t bat an eyelid when they saw me step out and simply carried on with whatever they had previously been busy with. They were used to me and never asked any questions. I could even be sure as to say they knew what I was and what I did to pay my rent in this building. Un-hoaxed by them, I glided across the marble lobby floor towards the main doors, leading onto the street front. The doors were held open for me by the two door men and I smiled politely at them. They knew what I was too, I reckon, but they just smiled in return, tipping their hats with their free hand and nodding curtly.
“Taxi!” I called, as I saw the black vehicle coming my way, raising my arm to grab the driver’s attention. Sure enough, the city cab pulled in at the curb in front of me and I climbed in, giving the driver the address of my destination. My client, Mr. Jones, had arranged for us to spend the night at a new hotel in the wealthy sector of the city. It was nearby but, especially considering the heels I was wearing, I preferred to be chauffeured from door to door; even if it was just in a city cab.
The sky was a crisp, cool shade of red as the daytime turned into night time. The street lights were just starting the awaken and the city goers were all beginning to retire for the night to the comfort of their own homes and be reunited with their beds. I, on the other hand, was wide awake – many thanks towards the three cups of coffee I’d consumed before leaving the apartment – and was ready to face Mr. Jones and do my job.
The city cab pulled up outside the front doors of the hotel and I paid the driver with a very generous tip. I stepped out of the vehicle and strut towards the doors, held open by another two door men, and entered the brand, spanking new lobby and reception area. Light music played in the background, some sort of contemporary classic either been played live from the on sight bar or through speakers embedded in the walls, and the general ambience was quaint. It wasn’t the most expensive looking hotel I’d stayed at – or visited, I should say – but it wasn’t so cheap that it repulsed even the likes of the working class man. My father might have approved, but my mother would have picked out faults.
A tall, fair haired man in a designer suit approached me with a somewhat nervous expression plastered across his face. He appeared to be in his late twenties, possibly early thirties, and was very keen on the eye with light stubble along his jaw line and upper lip. From my point of view, he was very keen on the eye and could have passed for a model to some. I also knew that he was a bachelor due to the lack of a ring of tan line on his left hand. He was handsome, tall and unmarried. If I had a type, he might have fit it. The only problem was that he’d hired me to pleasure him and that was all.
“Mr. Jones.” I addressed him, presenting my hand for him to shake. He took it tentatively and shook it briskly, smiling nervously.
“You must be Roxy,” He replied. I smiled and retrieved my hand from his grasp, “may I escort you to our room?”
“I do believe, Mr. Jones, that it is my job to escort you.” I answered, a hint of flirtation tainting my words. He laughed nervously and cleared his throat in attempt to banish his nerves. His nervous demeanour amused me and I edged around him gracefully in the direction of the elevators at the far side of the lobby. He followed closely behind me like a stray puppy.
The journey to our room was short, as our room was on one of the lower floors, and not far down the corridor from the elevators. Mr. Jones hadn’t over the thick brown envelope as soon as he shut the door to the door, which I quickly deposited in my bag.
“So, Mr. Jones, what can I do to pleasure you?” I asked seductively, edging closer to him. He closed his eyes and smelled my sweet perfume, caressing my right arm with the edge of his fingertips before pulling me up to his lips and kissing me hard. I responded how I was supposed to and passionately kissed back, grabbing hold of the lapels of his suit jacket and pulling him closer into the form of my body.
The routine of undressing each other took place and we soon fell onto the bed in just our underwear when my phone back to ring in my bag.
“I’m sorry,” I apologised, appalled that I’d forgotten to turn the thing off before in the elevator. I was highly unprofessional of me and might cost the agency of hearing back from Mr. Jones in the future. I reached over to my bag and pulled the phone out of my bag. I stared at the screen as Milo’s name flashed across the screen. I ignored the call.
“Who was it?” Mr. Jones asked, panting beside me I returned it to my bag. If he was panting now, wait until I’d finished with him.
“Work,” I lied, “I’ll call them back later.” I returned to our previous engagement and just as he was about to undo my bra my phone began to ring again. I looked over in the direction of my bag and sighed.
“Ignore it.” He whispered, kissing my cheek and turning my face to mirror his.
“I can’t, it must be important.” I answered, climbing off of him and taking my bag into the bathroom. I retrieved the phone and confirmed that it was Milo again and answered, “What is it?”
“I need to talk to you.” He slurred on the other end of the line. I sighed. He was drunk. Something had happened.
“Look, I love to talk to you but, unless it’s really important, I’m somewhat preoccupied.” I replied, sitting on the toilet and running my free hand through my tousled hair. My appointment with Mr. Jones was definitely ruined and Leticia would not be happy with me. I heard stifled tears coming from Milo’s end and became really worried, “Milo?”
“It’s Mo,” she answered through slurred bursts of tears, “She’s… she’s…”