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“Oh, how tawdry,” I mock.
“Don’t be simplistic. Not sex work. Not that I judge anyone for doing it. It’s just not for me.”
“You misunderstand me. I simply like to test people’s presumptions. Some of my best friends and clients are sex workers.”
“I gathered. No, I mean that I do favors for people. College papers. Getting materials, school supplies. Tutoring. Dorm room luxuries they’re not supposed to have. I coordinate parties. I get booze for people who can't, find dancers and DJs, promotions, sell ideas for clubs to use for fundraisers. Anything to make ends meet. Not settling for the status quo.”
Ingenuity. Creativity. Willing to work hard, but not conform to the norm.
She refuses to stick to the mold of the world. Like me.
“Well put. That’s exactly what I gathered so far from looking into your case.” Realization gleams in her eyes quicker than I hoped.
“Then this little game of cat and mouse that you've been playing with me was what, just for fun? Just to fuck with me?”
“I told you this was a negotiation, a test of sorts.” Her fists clench on the armrests. “I have a very good reason for everything I do. Learning certain things about you was the only reason you even got a meeting, woman.”
I hate to be condescending, but sometimes, you have to make a statement. It has her glaring at me.
“What certain things were those?”
“That you have rules. That you follow a system all your own.”
She hesitates. “How would you know that?”
Yes! I’ve got her interested, now.
“You're careful. You've never been caught until now. You fly under the radar. You can keep secrets. You don't indulge in the parties you coordinate. You're not a drunk. You're not a wild child. Frankly, you're too controlled in some ways.”
“Says the guy that can’t abide a wrinkle in his starched suit.”
“Please, I would never starch silk.” She's looking disgusted and annoyed again. It’s making me want to throw something across the room.
This could be interesting. No one has ever made me lose my composure before.
“I’m still a little lost on where we stand. How does this work?”
“Ah. Now it’s time for the pitch. You need money. We give you money. You pay us back with favors down the line. It's fairly simple.”
“Doesn't sound fairly simple. It sounds like I could be owing you for the rest of my damn life.”
“We do not abuse our customers. Like I said, it is a two-way street. We work out something that's agreeable to both parties. Fulfill the terms of the bargain. Then if we choose to work together in the future, so be it. If not, no harm done. Everyone wins.”
“Somehow, I feel like you're always on the winning side if there is one.”
“You are too smart for your own good.” I smile, curling the edges of my lips, the way that makes women’s toes curl. “Tell me what sounds agreeable to you, and we can start negotiating there?”
“How about you quit jerking my chain and trying to lead me around like a fucking dog on a leash and tell me what I will owe you in plain terms. You clearly have a plan for me. You keep saying ‘we’ like you’re either insane, speaking in the third person, or you represent some secret… investors or something.”
“Well, aren’t you perceptive.”
“Quit beating around the bush and talk, you contentious prat.” Her response is whiplash fast. No one has ever spoken to me that way before.
I’m pissed. I’m aroused.
This changes things somewhat. I shuffle my ideas around.
Plan C it is.
