Needless to say, Rosie offered me a job at Marchmont Ladies, the upmarket escort agency which she ran out of her tenement flat. And of course I was happy to accept, if a little apprehensive as to what to expect; glossy brochures and easy words are all very well, but reality can be quite messy, and who knows what sort of man I'd have to pretend to like.
Still, the money was excellent. I'd earn enough in one assignation to pay the rent for a whole term. If I had enough clients I could probably build up quite a nest-egg to see me through the rest of my time at university and to get me comfortably started as I stepped out into the world beyond.
Rosie gave me an advance so that I could get some new clothes for my new life, so I splashed out on some sexy new lingerie and a pair of high heels. When I tried them on in the shop I felt like a real tart, but, let's face it, that was exactly what I had agreed to be. In fact, I found myself wondering more and more what exactly I was: tart, prostitute, escort, courtesan, whore, hooker – so many different ways of describing a woman who sold sex.
Each one was subtly different and implying a different attitude, both on her part and on the part of the one paying. And which term could I safely use if I ever had to tell my friends what I'd done for work over the holiday? In the end, I decided that “escort” was probably the most innocuous and in its own way accurate enough.
You may wonder why it mattered to me to think of a word I was comfortable with; but if you think about it, we each have words we like to apply to ourselves, and these become significant parts of how we view our place in the world. I usually don't think of myself as Asian but as Scottish, even though I am both of those things; there will be times, however, when I drop more readily into my Asian identity. Certainly, as an escort, I want to be Asian, because it's part of my role – a mysterious oriental beauty with one thing on her mind: how to please her man. There, digression over.
It was a day or two after meeting Rosie that she rang to say she had an engagement for me if I was interested. It was to be with Ian, the man she had told me about when I saw her, but he would explain in more detail exactly what it was that he wanted. I was to go and meet him at his office that afternoon for a full explanation.
It was clear that this wasn't the actual engagement but a kind of briefing session. I suddenly felt rather important, having to be given instructions for my new role, almost like an actress being told about the film she was being offered to star in. And again, that made a lot of sense, because I would almost certainly be acting a part when it came to the job itself.
I met Ian at his office and was immediately impressed by how welcome he made me feel. He ushered me into a quiet room with glass walls on two sides and we faced each other across the boardroom table; there was definitely not going to be any hanky-panky here.
“I'm pleased to meet you, Evelyn,” he said once we were comfortable. “I hear from Rosie that you're new. I regularly use Marchmont Ladies and have nothing but praise for the girls who've helped me out at different functions and events over the past three or four years. My business is really starting to thrive now, in no small part because of the good work you and girls like you do – always professional, always discreet.”
“Before you go any further,” I said, “I should perhaps explain that this is my first assignment, and I really don't want to disappoint you, so I thought it best to get that out of the way first. But yes, I'm looking forward to it. What is it you'd like me to do?”
“I like an honest girl, so thanks for telling me that. I'm sure you'll do just fine. So, the assignment. I've arranged a meal this Saturday evening, catered for by an outside company, for a man who could very well turn a lot of business my way, a Mr Granger. I plan to wine and dine him and his wife and generally show them what a good guy I am so that when it comes to putting pen to paper he'll trust me and be happy to do business with me. I want an attractive young woman – that's you – to be my partner for the evening. You happy with that?”
“Sounds good,” I said. “A dinner party for four? I think I can manage that.”
“I have no doubt about that,” he replied. “The thing is, though, that I'd like you to flirt with him, make him think that you're interested in him, maybe even dangle the prospect of a little sexual contact before him. He's a bit older than me, in his mid-fifties, and from the dealings I've had with him so far he appears to think he can manipulate me into doing what he wants. This time, though, it's me who'll be doing the manipulating, through you; but he'll think all along that he's got one over on me by making my girlfriend lose interest in me and go after him. Still OK?”
“Yes, could be a lot of fun. I'm guessing that I can dangle this prospect of sex before him and maybe even have sex with him. Is that what you're saying?”
“If necessary. It may not come to that, and frankly might be a bit awkward at my house – and I don't want this to go on for days and weeks while he pursues you. You can play it however you want: dumb broad looking for a sugar-daddy, young girl completely overcome by an older man's power and wealth, or maybe a sex-crazed teenager wanting to experience new things. I don't mind. Just so long as he thinks he's in with a chance of having you and stealing you from me. And if you do end up having sex with him, I'll reward you appropriately; say, double the normal fee.”
“Well, that is very generous. And if he signs the papers?”
“I like your thinking, Evelyn,” he laughed. “You're right, of course; it would be a very lucrative contract and it's only fair that you should be rewarded properly. So, if after all that, he signs on the dotted line I'm prepared to give you four times the usual fee. Does that sound reasonable?”
“Make it six,” I countered.
I don't know why I'd suddenly started bartering like this, but it was clear from what he said and from his body language that this was possibly a once-in-a-lifetime deal he was trying to set up. Why shouldn't I value myself accordingly?
“Hmm,” he smiled. “You should go far in your business, young lady. I may even have to take you on as a negotiator. Five – it's a lot of money for a student. And a word of advice: I've been in business a long time – it never pays to overplay your hand. So what do you say?”
“A very generous offer, which I'm pleased to accept. Do you want me to dress in any particular way?”
“No, I leave that up to you; I'm sure you know how to dress to impress, and even how to undress to impress.” He winked at me. “And one day, who knows, I may get to see you all by myself.”
I laughed. “Indeed you may. I'm actually looking forward to this; should be a lot of fun.”
“Good. Just keep thinking of that big fat bonus if you're successful.”
We shook hands on the deal and I left his office in a bit of a buzz; it really did feel as if an exciting new opportunity was about to open up.
On Saturday evening I tarted myself up in a tight-fitting black cocktail dress which showed plenty of cleavage; underneath I put on a matching bra-and-panty set of red lace, together with black seamed stockings and suspenders and my new high heels. I felt so slutty and was sure that an older man wouldn't be able to keep his eyes off me. Or a younger man come to that. Which turned out to be exactly right, because when I turned up at Ian's front door, early as arranged, he let out a low whistle.
“You look stunning,” he said. “If he doesn't want to fuck you he must be mad.”
“Down, tiger,” I growled. “Just let me do my job.”
“As far as Mr Granger is concerned, you're my long-term girlfriend, don't forget, so we might get into a bit of difficulty if the conversation gets too personal. Mind you, I think he'll be so fixated on you that he won't take much else in.”
“You have a very high estimate of my charm,” I blushed.
“And rightly so,” he said. “But here they are. Let's go to work, sweetheart.”
Ian showed Mr and Mrs Granger into the lounge and introduced me as, “Evelyn, my partner.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr Granger,” I simpered. “Mrs Granger.”
“Please,” he said. “I'm Geoff, and this is Anna. I think we can relax the formalities tonight, don't you agree, Ian?”
“As you wish, sir. I mean Geoff.” Ian seemed rather nervous with this new-found familiarity, but I expected he could cope.
Mr Granger, Geoff, was a silver-haired rather distinguished-looking gentleman, somewhat formally dressed in a grey suit with a blue tie.