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* * *
It is the most he has ever said, and what I understand from it far surpasses the short speech. I step back, tripping over the chair before catching myself. He doesn’t move, doesn't reach out, doesn’t offer a hand. He only watches me, our eyes meeting for a long battle of silent communication, one I don’t win.
* * *
Then he turns, and leaves, the door slamming against the frame.
* * *
I sit, my eyes drawn to the papers. I am now alone with Drew, a man whose presence is distracting, the weight of his stare heavy on my back. I read the first paragraph three times, the words blurring, my brain unable to focus. I turn my head slightly. “Do you mind leaving me alone? I’m trying to think, which is hard with you breathing down my neck.”
* * *
“There’s not really anything to think about.” His voice echoes in the small space, and I lift my head from my reading.
* * *
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
* * *
“I’ve seen your life. That creature you live with, that dirty club you work at. He picked you because you are better than that. Because you have the qualities he wants. Most women with your qualities are in a lifestyle that they are comfortable with. They aren’t going to leave their lives behind, no matter how big his bank account is. You are a unique breed in a unique situation.”
* * *
“And you are sharing this information with me because…” I set down the papers and lean back, looking into those green eyes, trying to sort the bullshit from the truth. The problem is, everything he is saying is just wretched enough to be true.
* * *
“Because I know what you are thinking. I know that you are about to take the ten thousand dollars and ask me to take you home. And you will have a temporary reprieve from your misery. But then life will return and you will be in the same position as before. You cannot rise above your current life if you are always one paycheck away from homelessness.”
* * *
One paycheck away from homelessness. A sobering thought. Was it true? Jez would take me in for a week or two, offering up her couch and a worn sheet. But she struggles as I do, all of us selling our bodies at an exchange rate that is far too low. My college friends have all moved on, my shame causing me to cut all ties when I began to strip. As for family… my mother passed on four years ago, ovarian cancer taking her quickly. My father… he needs my help right now, not the other way around.
* * *
The doctors can’t figure out what’s wrong with him. Six months ago he fell sick, and now his health insurance is close to maxing out, our last conversation one of heavy stress. Ten thousand dollars would be swallowed by his bills. I haven’t seen him in almost two years. He thinks I’m a wedding planner, that my busy schedule won’t allow a visit. The reality is that I haven’t had the money to take time off and stay with him in the hospital. Plus, there is the five hour drive in my car. With the dry cough of my engine, the shimmy that occurs over forty miles per hour, and the worn tread of my tires, the probability of being stranded on the side of the highway is too high.
* * *
It’s depressing to take such a critical life inventory. I've never allowed myself to dwell on it before because, really, I’ve had no options. I’ve focused on one day at a time, and the years have passed, the time marked by late rent payments and the appearance of wrinkles – tiny ones, on the corners of my eyes. They are a reminder of the hourglass that we all live in, grains of sand slipping through the gap of time, each granule adding another wrinkle, another pocket of fat, another sag that I will have to fight to overcome, another grey hair to pluck or dye. My earning potential is at the highest point of the arc right now, and that is a terrifying reality.
* * *
But we all know that our best chances lay in the clients. And here is my client, offering—not romance, but a contract, a business proposition. A proposition that I should strongly consider.
* * *
The man speaks, interrupting my thoughts. “There is another piece of the process. If you decide to stay here, the contract is contingent on acceptable test results.” If I didn’t know better, I’d say there is almost an apology in the words.
* * *
“What kind of tests?” I laugh. “Is there an intelligence requirement?”
* * *
“We already have your college records and test scores. I’m referring to blood tests.”
