“But with a belly like this? I’m not so sure. Besides, how did you know I’m single?”
The middle aged woman merely smiles.
“I know,” she says. “I’ve been in this job for a long time. But I should also clarify that we’re not exactly a dating agency. We do escorting.”
Now I really stare at her.
“What does that mean?” I ask in a faint voice.
Clarissa shrugs lightly.
“We match beautiful, intelligent, and sophisticated women with rich, handsome men who value discretion. It’s dating, but of a very high-end sort.”
“Is there any chance of a relationship? Or is this pure escorting?” I ask as my brain runs at a million miles an hour. “Not that I’m interested,” I add hastily. “Again, I’m hugely pregnant at the moment.”
Clarissa merely shrugs with another mysterious smile.
“These things can go any way, that much I can say for sure. Maybe not all of the assignations end with marriage and a baby, but I can say that it’s definitely happened. And again, Christine, being pregnant doesn’t disqualify you. In fact, I’d say that there are men with a fetish for pregnant women. They prefer being with fertile, lush women, if you understand my drift.”
To be honest, I don’t, and I stare at the middle-aged women with my mouth agape.
“Really?” I ask.
“Really,” she nods merrily before turning to leave. “I can’t talk now, but please, call me anytime,” she says. “Just ask for me, and I’d be happy to explain more about City Girls.”
Then Clarissa strolls out, leaving me in a state of shock with the card dangling from my limp fingers. I should definitely throw it away right now, but what’s the harm of keeping it? After all, I’m a woman with no options, and maybe this mysterious stranger has just shown me a path forward.
3
Christine
Looking around my small apartment, I have no idea what I’m going to do to make rent, but something has to happen that’s for sure. The property manager isn’t exactly known for cutting people breaks, and he loves adding a late fee just for the hell of it. Even worse, I live in a shabby little studio apartment on the Upper East Side which is in badly need of repairs, but I’m almost afraid to complain in case I get thrown out.
But I’ve done what I can to make my place homey and comfortable. A few rattan screens create a small bedroom area for myself, and recently, I purchased a white crib complete with a mobile made up of the cutest little zoo animals to place at the foot of my bed. Part of my living room is sectioned off into a “living room” by a comfy couch that’s at a ninety degree angle to the wall, and a colorful rug reinforces the feeling of warmth. My home may be small and quaint, but it’s mine and me and my baby will be comfortable here.
But what am I going to do to make rent this month? Heaving myself off the couch, I lumber to where my purse is on the mantel. Then, I pull out the City Girls card Clarissa gave me yesterday. The paper stock is a heavy cream, and the words “City Girls” are emblazoned in a classy, san serif font. It certainly screams money, even if their particular business is a bit seedy.
But what am I thinking? Never before in my life have I considered becoming an escort because what would that make me? A woman who sells her body for money, that’s what. But then again, what choice do I have? I need a job stat, and no one else is going to hire me when I’m showing like this.
Before I can overthink things, I sit back down and grab my cell phone and call the number on the card.
“City Girls,” a woman’s voice answers.
“Um hi,” I stammer. “Is Clarissa there?”
“Hold please,” she says in a professional manner. Then, there’s a swift clicking sound and the woman from yesterday picks up.
“Christine, is that you?” Clarissa hums. “I was hoping I’d hear from you.”
I nod even though she can’t see.
“Yes. Um, hi. How did you know?”
She chuckles on the other line.
“This is from an unknown number, so I just figured. Lucky guess, I suppose.”
I nod and swallow.