The EscortBy: Amy Brent
I stepped into the kitchen to pour some coffee into my travel cup, seeing that it was empty. My husband, James, worked days while I pulled more of a swing shift and we often missed each other during the week. Not that it was a bad thing. I frowned as I filled the large cup with the potent brew that started while I was in the shower, adding some cream to lighten the dark brown liquid.
Things had been bad for years now, and steadily getting worse. I knew that we married because our families were close to begin with, and the fact that I’d known James since grade school. It just made sense for us to marry and as I looked around the top-of-the-line chef’s kitchen that was hardly used, I realized that it painted a pretty picture for the world. It was a picture that was fading around the edges, tearing apart.
I grabbed my purse and walked out into the garage, sliding into my Range Rover to go to the office. James worked at a law firm in Los Angeles and worked some of the toughest divorces in the history of celebrities, making thousands of dollars and impressing all our high-class friends. I sometimes wondered why he didn’t just divorce me instead of losing respect for me as the years passed, but James stayed.
I got a job to get out of the house, finding something a bit edgy through a friend that wasn’t part of my usual crowd. Lana was a woman that I met at a local coffee shop that was as far removed from Starbucks as it could possibly be. Grinder’s was a single shop with vibrant colors splashed on the walls and mismatched furniture in the same shades. It offered a great variety of organic appetizers and small meals, and of course, delicious coffees and teas. I stepped in quite by accident one day while I was secretly thrift shopping to kill time, craving a job of my own just two years into my marriage.
Lana was sitting in a booth with her dark purple hair and bright blue eyes, sipping coffee as she worked on a laptop. Something about her struck me, and I watched her for a moment before I looked around the large shop. My own hair was a dark blonde that hung down my back in loose curls and glasses that I’d been wearing for years covered my deep blue eyes. I felt so dull compared to most of the people in here, and I laughed to myself as I approached the counter to order.
I sat down and pulled out my phone to look at the job ads for the day on one of the popular sites. I had been looking for a few months, and as my eyes skimmed the words, I took a drink from my cup of coffee. I came across something that sounded interesting, reading the short ad that asked for someone to assist in a business, booking appointments and keeping a flow in the busy setting. The ad didn’t say what the job was, but it did specify that the hours were late afternoons into the night. That appealed to me. I looked at the email and memorized it, leaving the screen to send a message inquiring if the position was filled.
I set my phone down, smiling as I looked around to see the woman with the purple hair watching the screen of her own phone. She typed something with a smile and set it back down, focusing on the laptop as she entered something with a slight frown. My phone chimed, and I looked down to see a response to my email, opening it curiously to see that it was still available and that they would love to fill it as soon as possible. There was a phone number, and I licked my lips before I pulled up the screen to dial the number, glancing around to make sure I wouldn’t be inconveniencing any of the customers. There were just one and a half rings before someone answered, and I blinked as it seemed to echo through the room. “Hello. I was calling about the job,” I said as the woman answered me, making me realize that she was in the same shop as I was. I raised my eyes to see the woman with the purple hair looking around as well, and she smiled as our eyes met.
That was how I met Lana, learning over coffee that she was an escort at a successful service in the city, and that they were short an assistant. She must have seen the horror on my face since she laughingly assured me that I would be making the bookings, not the hooking. Once she told me about the pay and the hours, going into the general atmosphere of the office as well, I had to admit that I was intrigued. I didn’t need the money. James made plenty, but I craved the edgy life that this promised, a job where I could escape the life I led every day without going over the edge of the cliff.