Why not, after all? My friend wasn’t hurting anybody and was able to keep herself in school with her job. At worst, she was lifting the confidence of a ton of lonely men. And after my attempt to open my personal health business went kaput, I decided to give escorting a try too.
It’s been okay. Rose hooked me up with her agency, City Girls, and it was as she described: we don’t have to sleep with the men. It’s just an “extra” that each girl decides for herself. More often, we attend events and functions or go out for dinner and drinks for a lofty sum of money. Sometimes, the guys are so drunk afterwards that there’s no way they could even manage that “extra something” at the end of a date.
Plus, it’s really worked out for my friend, to be honest. Rose doesn’t even escort anymore! Instead, she went out on a gig through City Girls and ended up marrying her client. Of course, it helps that her new husband Damon’s also our friend Lucy’s dad, but it doesn’t really matter. The May December aspect worked out, and Lucy loves having Rose as a friend and sister in law.
All this makes me a little sad sometimes because I would love to meet a handsome man and get married too. We could go on triple dates with me, Lucy, and Rose, and let our kids run wild together at the park. Not to mention I could get myself out of this dreadful fifth-floor walk-up apartment. But realistically, the chances of that happening are slim. At least for the foreseeable future because I have zero prospects.
Right now, I’m not seeing anyone, not even casually. Between the commuting, the yoga, and my City Girls rendezvous, I just have no time. I’m so tired at the end of every assignation, that usually I’m in bed within ten minutes of the front door closing. Of course, I go on dates with clients on a regular basis, but those unfortunately aren’t real. What happened to Rose is more of a one-off, and again, she already knew Damon because he’s Lucy’s dad. So the chances of that happening for me are just about nil.
Plus, I would never attempt turning a business date into a real relationship. The guys using City Girls aren’t looking for girlfriends; they’re looking for the girlfriend experience. Besides, it sounds like a bad idea to mix work with pleasure, and I don’t want to make that mistake.
Sighing, I turn to stare out my window forlornly. People watching is one of my favorite de-stressing activities, and at least I’ll always have New York City on my side. A horn blares below my window on Eighth Avenue as I witness a giddy young couple run out into traffic in a hurry to greet their friend passing by on the opposite sidewalk. Upon hearing the horn, then tense up, grasping onto each other in a fright, as if holding one another tightly will protect them from the oncoming SUV. Then, the black Toyota squeals to a stop just feet away from the couple. When the realization that they just avoided certain death washes over them, the couple breaks into a childish frenzy, laughing and skipping the rest of the way across the street into the waiting arms of their friend. I can just barely make out the driver’s rude gestures at their laissez-faire attitudes. Such is another mini-drama on the streets of the city.
Just as I turn from the window to head to the kitchen, my phone begins to vibrate in my back pocket. Setting my tea down on the side table, I pull my cell out to see an unknown caller ID. I plop down on the sofa while answering casually.
“Hello?”
A raspy voice sounds in my ear.
“Hi, I’m looking for Marley Magnus.”
“Why, who could this be?” I playfully think to myself upon hearing the deep tone, but of course, those words never come out. Instead, I answer more appropriately.
“This is Marley. What can I do for you?”
The man speaks again.
“This is Justin with NYC Repo. Ma’am, for your information, this phone call is being recorded as proof that you have received the following information. You have defaulted on a loan pertaining to a 2001 Honda Civic. NYC Repo will arrive at your home tomorrow to repossess the property around noon.” The man speaks emotionlessly, harboring not even the slightest amount of sympathy for the listener. Is he reading from a script?
But my heart starts pounding, and the blood rushes in my ears.
“What? No! You can’t take my car!” I plead helplessly into the receiver. But it’s no use because it’s his job to repossess my car. Even I understand why he’s calling. I bought the junker on credit and have fallen behind on payments the last couple of months, so his words are true. Plus, I’ve been getting warning letters in the mail, but there was just nothing I could do about them. I don’t have the money! So what now?