CHAPTER ELEVEN
Rena checked her reflection in the full-length mirror. A Portia & Scarlett red satin dress that accentuated her curves, an oversized diamond necklace that complemented her golden locks. The only question was whether she went for the heels or the boots. Louis Vuitton versus Gucci, a rivalry twice as old as she was.
She opted for the heels, finding they completed her ensemble better than she could have imagined. That was the secret to this game. It didn’t matter if you just lay there like a sack of bricks, as long as you looked good, that’s what the guys remembered most. For a lot of guys, the sex was secondary anyway. Some of them, especially the younger guys, just wanted someone to vent their frustrations to. Sometimes they expressed those frustrations physically, and some just wanted to talk. She was an escort first, a therapist second. It was strange how the oldest profession had evolved over time. Now it was as much a mental outlet as a physical one.
Rena had a feeling that this first-time client was going to be one of the latter types; a talker, a lost soul, exhausted with the state of the world which he’d transposed into sexual frustration. These kinds of men didn’t really crave sexual release, they just hoped that being intimate with someone might change their outlook.
That said, this client had requested the top-level service, but a lot of clients did that just to grab her attention. When they actually got here, they found that the basic service was more than enough. Even so, she’d be making a minimum of five-hundred bucks for a maximum of ninety minutes work. No one could complain about that.
She went out onto her balcony and surveyed what lay below. From the top floor, she had a fantastic view of the city, and up here was probably one of the safest spots in Lancaster. No one was going to risk breaching this little community, especially when there were a million more accessible locations a few miles away.
A car pulled up outside the gate. The same one her client said he’d be driving. An old, brown Mondeo with tinted windows. Rena understood some people couldn’t make a grand a day like she did, but damn she wished people took a little more pride in their first impressions. Next to the Porsches and the Beamers, the little brown wreck stood out like a rock in a ball pit.
Rena watched the driver emerge. He was wearing black jeans and a black t-shirt, and he had a mask covering half of his face. He must be big on discretion, Rena thought, and that was usually a good thing. Maybe the guy was married.
The meetup process commenced. Rena’s buzzer rang. She went back inside to pick up the call.
“Hello?”
“Florence, one-two-three,” the voice said. Rena pushed the button to open the door down below. She made every client choose a unique password to grant them entry. It was just an added layer of caution, plus, it began what was known in her trade as a ladder of compliance. The more subservient you made a client, the more they’d dote on you, and that meant more sessions and more gifts.
A minute later, there was a knock at her door. Rena waited on the other side, not answering, not saying a word.
Then the gentleman pushed an envelope under the door. Rena picked it up and counted the contents. Five-hundred dollars in full. The second rung on the ladder. Rena opened the door, prolonging the tease of showcasing herself to this lucky gentleman for the first time.
“Hi, honey,” she said. “Please come in and make yourself at home.”
Rena got that little rush of excitement. The man returned her gesture with a smile that wasn’t unattractive by any means. The guy was young, maybe mid-twenties at most, with a classically handsome face that could easily be modernly attractive with a few little twists. Comb that shaggy hair to one side, shape the beard around the jaw, maybe a nice denim jacket instead of that baggy leather thing he was rocking.
But even with his nineties throwback style, he was good enough. God knows she’d had some real ogres in the past, so a young, pleasant-looking guy was a welcome client in her book.
The man walked in, hands and legs shaking like leaves in the wind.
“I’m Matthew,” he said.
“Good to meet you,” she said with a kiss on his cheek. Matthew froze like a statue at the point of contact. Must be a first-timer, Rena thought. Probably a virgin raised on pornography, or one of those ‘nice guys’ who thought that treating women with respect earned him sexual favors. Unfortunately, modern women saw through that shtick like glass. “I’m Rena.”
“Your real name?” he asked excitedly.
“Sure is.”
It wasn’t her real name, but it was just another rung on the ladder of compliance. Give them a little and they’d return the favor tenfold. They moved through into her living room, lights pre-dimmed, the scene already set. They took a seat on her giant leather sofa. This was where the magic was confined to. Her boyfriend didn’t like her doing these deeds on the bed.
“So, tell me what you’re looking for,” Rena said, one hand on his knee. The man flinched at her touch, his breathing blowing up.
“Sorry. First time seeing a professional,” he said. “I’m just here for one thing.”
“And what’s that?” Rena followed his line of sight. Since they’d sat down, he hadn’t looked her in the eye once. He’d been fixated on her thighs. The dress was doing its job.
“I’m a leg man.”
“Fine by me, sweetie. What services do you have in mind? Did you really want the A-Level treatment?”
The man nodded enthusiastically. It was almost adorable, Rena thought.
“Let’s just see how it goes. The top service might be a little much for a first timer. Can I get you a drink?”
Something told her that Matthew wasn’t exactly going to be a Sixty Minute Man, so she needed to kill half an hour or so before they got to the main event.