This weekend is looking like a pretty standard one for you. You plan to stay in, drink scotch and hire a prostitute to give you a half and half and spend the night.
However your regular call girl, Carla, is out sick with strep this week. The agency will apologize profusely (Carla gives hand jobs just the way you like them and doesn’t move much when she sleeps) but assure you that Laura, the girl they’re sending over in her place, is a fine replacement.
You’ll be upset, but you’ve been so doped up on antidepressants and painkillers lately that you won’t put up much of a fight. You do force the agency to repeat several times that she is not a cop before you let them off the line thought, so you’re not completely off your game.
The moment Laura shows up at your doorstep you’ll know she hasn’t been in the business long. She’ll smile a lot, looking nervous, and she’ll be wearing revealing clothes. Carla usually shows up in sweats, sometimes jeans if she’s feeling fancy. But Laura will be there in a cute black dress, dolled up with earrings and everything.
When you welcome her in she’ll be a little bit surprised by the state of your place. It isn’t filthy, per sec, but you haven’t cleaned up much this week so Chinese food containers and beer bottles litter your coffee table. She’ll be even more surprised when you invite her to sit on the couch and watch According to Jim.
Neither of you enjoy the show, but you’re both uncomfortable enough around each other that you won’t say anything. When it finally ends you’ll eye her with sadness and a tinge of remorse and she’ll feel a little bitof pity for you, even though you’re a creep who’s paying for sex. She’ll fix you with her Hooker Gaze™ to see what’s up.
Like all sex workers she’s great and reading people, and when she stares into your eyes she’ll see what you truly are. She’ll see a weak little man whose world has fallen apart, a man who hops from prescription to prescription so he can avoid confronting his issues. She’ll see that you never really had love, not even the idea of love, just the thought that it might be out there somewhere until that bitch took it away.
When she sees the pathetic wreck that is your life played out across your face she’ll crumble inside and break the cardinal rule of hookerdom: she’ll kiss you without using too much tongue. Then she’ll take you upstairs and make love to you with a tenderness you’d known only in movies.
The next day she’ll call the agency and tell them that she’s taking a personal day. She’ll wake up before you, cook you breakfast and clean up your place. She’ll tell you some bullshit about the agency giving him a freebie because of loyalty and current circumstances. The two of you will spend a lazy Saturday together and she’ll sit and listen to what you have to say in a way no one’s done for you in a long, long time.
When the night comes you’ll sleep together again, this time with the gentle familiarity that comes from not exchanging money for physical affection. When it’s done and you drift off to sleep she’ll pour each of your prescriptions down the toilet, flush it, and arrange the empty bottles on your bathroom counter. Then she’ll sit down and write you a long, elaborate note explaining why she did it, and how you need real help. Then she’ll pin her shrink’s card (girl’s got mad baggage) to the paper and leave your house at 4 AM, moving through your neighborhood like a ghost.
When you wake up and see what she’s done you won’t feel pissed, which will puzzle you. The rational part of your brain that knows you’re dying slowly from the inside will scream at you to come to rage, but the part of you that realizes you’ve been given a gift will be in charge that morning.
You’ll see the note and realize she risked her job, her livelihood, and her future all so she could try to help you. A stranger who paid her to replace an old lover with cheap sex.
You’ll sit down with the card and contemplate calling the number, then think better of it. After a few minutes staring at the sunlight creep across your floor you’ll sit back up, go upstairs and fill out an OkayCupid profile.
Not the greatest romantic move ever, but hey, its the right direction. Congratulations on remembering how to love, stud.
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