At Your Beck & Call

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  “Oh,” I mumbled, embarrassed beyond further syllables.

  “Goodness,” she said. “You’re just adorable—what am I going to do with you?”

  She shook her head and I sat at the table again, wondering if I could really do this. My dick had already shriveled under the present humiliation.

  “Look, imagine that Véro had said … by the way, what did my daughter say to you that you ended up in bed together?”

  I felt my face get hot. “That’s … private.”

  Her expression gentled. “A very good answer, Hallen. Well, imagine that she—or another woman, let’s say—had expressed an interest in taking the evening further, but that you weren’t interested—because, after all, you are just an escort—what would you say?”

  Hell, I was 21. I couldn’t imagine a situation where I’d turn down sex if it was offered. Then I realized I just had—with Eloise—even if it hadn’t been for real. Jeez, this was so confusing.

  “A woman you didn’t like, or a much older woman—someone in her sixties, perhaps?”

  That hit home. Could I fuck a woman in her sixties? I mean, Goldie Hawn was still hot, right? Yeah, but what if I didn’t like her? What if she was a complete bitch?

  “I’d say, ‘I’m flattered, but that’s just not possible’.”

  She gave me an approving look.

  “Good answer, Hallen. You haven’t given a reason, so you haven’t left an opening for the conversation to be continued either. Although … what if she persisted. ‘Oh, come on. I’m sure a young man like you could be … encouraged. What would you say to … $5,000?’”

  “I’m sorry, the answer is the same.”

  “Ten thousand dollars.”

  I licked my lips. Fuck, ten K—was that even likely?

  “No, same answer. Sorry.”

  “I’m a very rich woman. Name your price: twenty-thousand … forty-thousand … sixty-thousand? I’ll write the check now.”

  I swallowed.

  “Well, no need to answer,” Eloise smiled, knowingly, “but you do need to think about how you’d respond. Because I can guarantee you, it will happen eventually. And why not?” she asked, frowning. “Why should a woman be embarrassed about finding a younger man sexually attractive? Just because our bodies have become wrinkled, or because we’ve had so many facelifts that our ears meet on the back of our heads, it doesn’t mean our vaginas have completely dried up.”

  She must have seen the horrified look on my face.

  “I apologize, Hallen, I’ll get off my soapbox, but I don’t rescind the point. Nobody seems to think anything of a man in his fifties or sixties who finds a twenty-year old woman attractive, but an older woman—she’s supposed to just shut up shop. Well, no. We earn our own money and if we have to pay for rousing sex with a well-endowed young man, I don’t see why we shouldn’t. Why shouldn’t we enjoy male beauty in all its forms?”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  She sighed.

  “Hallen, being a successful male escort is not about sex: it’s about making a woman feel good about herself. I simply want you to be prepared in your own mind if, and when, the question arises. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I posted the contract back to her the next day. And no, I hadn’t seen a lawyer.

  Eloise’s training began in earnest. I thought she’d been joking about that, but I was wrong.

  A lot of it was stuff my dad had taught me to do anyway—open the door for a client, pull out her chair, walk between her and traffic if we were on the sidewalk.

  Other things I didn’t know, like the BMW rule at a dinner: bread, meal, water—the order of my place setting from left to right. But some of the ‘rules’ were more intuitive, like making the woman feel she was the center of attention. Also, I should stand when I met a woman, but only slightly leave the chair if she was temporarily moving away from the table. And this was a weird one—if getting in a cab, go in first. Apparently this saved her scooting over when she was wearing a dress and heels. I also had to be punctual, compliment my date on her appearance no matter what (“reassuring, not clichéd,” said Eloise), avoid sarcasm in case it was misinterpreted, oh and, “A gentleman never rushes to eat his food”, and she had a real problem with brown shoes, (“Never wear brown in town,”—apparently). And I learned to tie a fuckin’ bow tie.

  That was stage one. Stage two meant learning about food and wine: how to tell when a wine was corked (but not if it had a screw top), what to say to the waiter if my date didn’t like her meal, that Chardonnay goes with lobster and Tuscan red with venison.

  Stage three was a freakin’ nightmare. And she gave me homework! If I addressed a duke (was that even likely?), I had to call him ‘Your Grace’. Same for his wife. But a marquis or an earl was ‘My Lord’ or ‘Your Lordship’. And there were different terms for when writing.

  But in essence it all came down to two simple rules: forget myself and concentrate on others; and alter my behavior to the crowd and event.

  “A gentleman always strives to make others feel at ease,” she said, “and is always at ease himself.”

  Fuck knows how, with all those rules to remember.

  Eloise smiled.

  “Hallen, good manners will imbue you with confidence. The rest is all you.”

  She was pleased that I spoke French. That was no great surprise—most schools in Canada were bilingual. Although apparently I had a “horrible, provincial accent”.

  The final stage was getting some suits made to measure, or as Eloise called it ‘bespoke’. She paid—I was going to be in debt to her forever.

  She was obviously enjoying herself but I was impatient to start earning some money—and soon. My truck was still languishing in the weed-covered parking lot where I’d had it towed two weeks ago, an act that had put my credit card on life support. I’d taken a couple of extra shifts at the Harvest Moon to pay the increase in my rent, but I couldn’t expect Eloise to give me an advance when I hadn’t earned anything for her, and she’d paid out large sums already.

  I was frustrated and she knew it. We’d met up at a coffee shop and I was feeling tired from taking the late shift the previous night.

  As I slid into the seat opposite her she smiled her sphinx-like smile, and passed me an envelope.

  “Your first appointment,” she said.

  I sat up straighter. “Really?”

  “Yes. Her name is Audrey Thynder—an events planner at a multimedia company. Single, thirty-one years of age. She has a problem with an over-amorous colleague. She simply wants an escort to accompany her to a work party.” She smiled. “I thought I’d start you off with something straightforward—not too challenging.”

  I swallowed, suddenly feeling a bubble of nerves or adrenaline. The reality came sharply into focus. I felt like I’d been under a film of icy water and now my head had broken the surface.

  “When?”

  “Tonight,” she said.

  My first appointment, and I was nervous as all fuck. Far more nervous than when I’d taken Véro to her friend’s wedding. Far more nervous than on a real blind date. Actually, I didn’t get nervous on blind dates—just that pulse of excitement at the thought of meeting someone new.

  With Véro, it had felt like doing a favor for a buddy and afterward, well, that had happened naturally. Tonight it was the real thing—business, I mean. Eloise had invested a lot of her own money in me, and was charging me out at $400 an hour with a $400 ‘introduction fee’ for herself, plus fifty per cent of what I earned.

  Tonight, I’d been scheduled for four hours which had seemed like a pretty sweet deal, but now I was sweating bullets. I was escorting the client to a party at a hotel in Larchmont. Apparently her colleague had a tendency to hit on her at social settings or when he’d had a couple of drinks. So, yeah, I was kind of close protection.

  I was meeting her at a coffee shop on Boston Post Road so we could ‘get our story straight’—her words to Eloise—before having to answe
r her colleagues’ inevitable questions.

  I’d had strict instructions to ‘act older’. I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to do that but I hadn’t shaved for a couple of days so I hoped the stubble would help. Eloise was scandalized at my suggestion and insisted that I present myself clean shaven, so that plan was null and void. I wore the suit that Eloise had picked out for me—navy blue worsted wool with a 110 thread count. She said it cost more than my truck. But damn, I felt good in it. Even Eloise approved.

  “Very suave, Hallen,” she said, with a cool smile.

  My date, Audrey, had insisted on taking her own car which was fine by me, although if things didn’t go well, I could end up being stranded at an out of town hotel and a damn expensive taxi ride home. But I’d be earning $800 so I was willing to take the risk.

  I looked in through the window of the small café and saw a woman who fit Audrey’s description: dark brown hair, shoulder length. Kind of small and thin, but she had a nice face, although she was frowning when I saw her and tapping her cell phone impatiently. Maybe she was nervous, too, because I’d made sure I wasn’t late.

  I tugged on my tie, took a deep breath and walked in.

  “Audrey?”

  She looked up and her eyes widened.

  “Hi, I’m Hallen.”

  “You’re … you’re Hallen,” she choked out.

  “Um, yeah,” I said nervously, her response making me feel awkward despite all Eloise’s training and insistence that I ‘take command of every situation’.

  “Oh, gosh. You’re not what I was expecting,” she stuttered. “I mean, you look great, but, you know when your agent wouldn’t mail me your photo, I thought, well, I thought you were going to be, um, but wow, you look…”

  I held out my hand for her to shake, and she took it limply, staring up at me.

  “Do you mind if I sit?” I asked, remembering my training.

  “Oh, no, of course not. Please.”

  “Thanks.”

  I slid onto the seat opposite her, unbuttoning my jacket as I’d been taught, and smiled.

  But she was still staring—I was beginning to wonder if she was stoned. Nah, not for a work function. At least, I hoped not. I wondered if I’d have to add ‘no drugs’ to my list of prohibited activities.

  I tried to focus on Eloise’s advice: Get them talking about something neutral.

  “So, Audrey, this is a nice place. What’s the coffee like?”

  “Excuse me, what?”

  “The coffee?”

  “Oh, yeah, it’s good,” she said, unconvincingly. It made me think she’d never been here before. I guess that would be the smart thing for her to do—because she was probably ashamed of paying for an escort. Ashamed of me.

  I kicked the thought away.

  “Okay, great. Can I get you another?”

  “No, I’m good, thanks. Um, am I supposed to pay for this?”

  Eloise had drummed it into me that the client paid all expenses but I couldn’t bring myself to take four bucks for a coffee when she was paying two grand for my time.

  “No, it’s cool. No worries.”

  I stood in line for my coffee chatting to the barista who served me. Audrey seemed to have pulled herself together by the time I sat down in front of her again.

  “Maybe you could tell me a little about your work?” I said, sinking back into my chair.

  I was pleased to see that she relaxed slightly.

  “Oh, sure, okay. Well, I work in events planning, mostly for the media industry. We organize everything from small parties to events with thousands of people—you know that beach party at Venice two months ago?”

  “That was you?”

  “Yes. Did you go?”

  “Sure! That was a great evening.”

  From what I could remember. I’d been with Carl and after the sixth beer, things got kind of fuzzy.

  “Oh, good. Well … my job is logistics and to be there during the event to make sure everything is running to time, fix any problems, you know?”

  “Sounds like a lot of responsibility.”

  “Yes, it can be pretty pressured, but I love it.”

  Her eyes crinkled happily as she talked and I was glad to see her smile more naturally. She was cute, if you liked girlish women.

  “And tonight is?”

  “A thank you from the bosses for hitting our targets.”

  “And this guy who’s bothering you?”

  She groaned and rolled her eyes.

  “Leonard. He’s a creep. At work I can handle him, just about, but at these sort of evenings he just hovers over me the whole time, looking down my cleavage, making all these inappropriate comments.” Her cheeks flushed as she caught me looking at her chest. I couldn’t help it—she was the one who’d brought it up, so to speak.

  “Some of the guys think it’s funny,” Audrey continued, quickly, “but most of the girls have had to put up with him at one time or another. It’s just gross. He’s the nephew of the CFO so no one ever does anything.”

  “You want me to keep him away from you?”

  “Yes, without getting too heavy. I’ve told people that I have a boyfriend but he just keeps hitting on me.”

  “You want me to do the boyfriend thing?”

  She looked down and bit her lip.

  “Is that okay?”

  “Of course. So…” I drew out the vowel slowly. “Hand holding?” She nodded. “A kiss on the cheek?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “Will there be dancing?”

  “Yes, but I don’t dance.”

  “That’s up to you. I will if you want—might be fun.”

  She shook her head.

  “Okay, no problem. Anything else I need to know?”

  “My best friends are Kelsey and Kandace. They know … about you … but no one else does.”

  “Kelsey and Kandace, right.” Sounded like a couple of the girls I’d met making porn movies.

  “Um, Hallen, what do you do? Other than this, I mean?”

  “I tend bar downtown at a place on Seventh Street.”

  Audrey looked surprised.

  “Oh? I thought you might be a model or an actor or something.”

  “Do you want me to be—for tonight?”

  She thought about it for a moment.

  “No, I like that you have an ordinary job, too.”

  I winced internally but kept on smiling.

  “So, Audrey, how did we meet? How long have we been dating?”

  “Um, well, can we say we met at the bar where you work? I was going to say we met at a club, but I like the bar better.”

  “Okay.”

  “And we’ve been dating five months.”

  “Okay. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  “Oh, one sister, Susan. She’s married with kids and lives in Fresno.”

  “And where do you live?”

  She looked at me suspiciously. “Why do you need to know that?”

  “Just the general area. It’ll look weird if I don’t know.”

  “Culver City,” she said, at last.

  I got why she didn’t trust saying more, but it made me feel pretty shitty. I gave myself a mental shake—this wasn’t about me. She didn’t ask where I lived. Not that I’d have told her. All information was on a need-to-know basis. And anyway, the less a client knew about me, the more they could imagine what they wanted.

  We finished our coffees, and Audrey drove us to the hotel. She seemed flustered when I held the door for her. But before we’d even entered, we heard someone calling her name.

  “Oh God, it’s him,” she hissed.

  I put my arm around her shoulders and pulled her into my side protectively. She curled into me slightly and I could hear that her breathing was rapid. This guy really freaked her out.

  “Hi, Leonard,” she said, politely.

  “Who’s this?” he slurred, staring at me.

  “I told you about my boyfriend, Hallen.”

  She s
tumbled slightly on the word ‘boyfriend’ but I think the dude was too juiced to notice.

  I didn’t hold out my hand and he didn’t offer either. Instead, we did the guy staring thing. I could tell he wanted to say something clever, but he was too dumb and too drunk.

  He was shorter than me, about 15 years older and 30 pounds heavier—and it wasn’t muscle. From the way he was swaying, it was clear that he’d be puking on his shoes later tonight. I couldn’t wish it on a better person.

  I held his gaze and I guess I still looked like the hockey player I used to be, because after a second, he frowned and dropped his eyes.

  “Leonard, good to meet you,” I said coolly, then I leaned down and kissed Audrey’s temple softly. “Let’s get you inside, baby—it’s cold out here,” and I steered her away.

  When we got through the door she let out a deep breath. “Wow, that was smooth, Hallen!”

  I laughed. “Sure, no problem. But I don’t think he’ll give up that easily.”

  She sighed. “You’re probably right. Stay close, okay?”

  She led us through the dining room to a table toward the back, stopping to greet a number of co-workers along the way. I played my part, shaking hands and smiling, keeping my left hand in contact with the small of her back at all times.

  Finally, we sat at a table with three other couples, a woman who hadn’t brought a date, and the two women she’d mentioned, Kelsey and Kandace. Audrey introduced me to her friends and I saw them swap approving looks. To be honest, I was used to that. I knew women found me attractive but tonight—because they knew about me—I felt uncomfortable, like I was a commodity—which was pretty much the truth.

  Audrey started knocking back the champagne. I had one glass then stuck to water. Eloise had drummed in the importance of not getting toasted when I was working. But at least it loosed up my date. I don’t think she tolerated alcohol that well, because two glasses in, she was getting kind of giggly and flirty. I don’t know who was more surprised when Audrey rested her hand on my chest and leaned in to kiss my cheek—me or her friends at the table. Their reaction made it seem like this wasn’t normally how she behaved. I couldn’t work out how I felt about that. But at least she seemed like she was enjoying herself. I had a feeling I’d better consider myself designated driver for the evening, just in case.