‘Look at you, staring at me,’ she said, laughing. ‘Aren’t you a complaining diner?’
‘Never really thought about it,’ I replied. ‘I once found an acrylic fingernail in my stuffing at a work’s Christmas party. It was quite a festive addition. A snowman and some snowflakes. I almost didn’t complain, as it added to the holiday ambience.’ She threw her head back and snorted, then covered her nose with her hand like she wanted to catch the noise and push it back in. Adorable.
’You’re making me snort! Argh. I’m such a lady!’ She held the menu over her face, dropping it again with a smirk. ‘So, are we doing starter, mains, and desserts, or just mains? Or starters and mains? Or mains and dessert?’
This woman.
‘What do you want?’ I replied, smiling.
‘What do your ladies normally go for? I bet they just go for a starter. Something light. They don’t want to feel full before the…you know…doing the deed.’
‘Stace—’
Her eyes flicked to mine. ‘I talk a lot when I’m nervous.’
‘Why are you nervous?’
She sighed and dropped her eyes to the table. ‘I have no idea.’
‘Just relax.’
‘Have you booked a hotel room?’
I hesitated before answering, unsure of what she wanted to hear, or which answer would make her feel less nervous. ‘Yes, but we don’t have to use it. You’re completely in control here.’
‘Jesus,’ she whispered, clasping her hands to the side of her head.
‘Let’s order, and then we can relax,’ I said. ‘Are you interviewing me tonight?’
‘Err…yeah. I have some questions, but I was just going to see how the night panned out.’
I nodded, disappointed she’d come prepared, and unsure why that stung me so much. ‘What do you fancy to eat?’
‘Hold on.’ She scanned through the menu, twisting her mouth to the side in confusion. ‘Schnitzel…that’s chicken, right? I need to be sure. You don’t want to make a mistake and regret what you’ve ordered for the rest of your life. I like to stick with what I know; I don’t know about you, Matt. The disappointment of veering off what you would normally choose and regretting it is up there with an item of clothing haunting you because you didn’t buy it.’
‘What was the original question?’ I asked, losing myself in her.
‘Schnitzel.’
‘Oh, yeah. It’s usually meat coated in breadcrumbs and deep fried.’ I looked over the menu. ‘It’s chicken.’
‘I always get schnitzel and strudel mixed up,’ she said, totally serious.
‘Don’t do that,’ I replied. ‘Never good.’
She laughed. ‘I know! See, I can’t cope with mistakes of the food variety.’
‘I get it. Really, I do.’ Her eyes shone and she was the most perfect woman I’d ever seen. ‘I once ordered fish chowder. Total mistake and I got food poisoning. In my circle of friends, it’s now referred to as fish chunder.’ I shivered.
‘Oh no! Terrible,’ she replied, holding back her smile. ‘I love mix-ups. My mum has Narcolepsy. She once fell headfirst into the bin at work, it was tragic for her. She was so embarrassed.’ She closed her eyes and pulled her lips between her teeth. ‘Anyway, once she was diagnosed, she told everyone in our block of flats that she had Necrophilia.’
‘Oh fuck.’
‘I know. Betty in number seventy-five has never looked at her the same way since.’ A deep rumble of laughter spread through me as Stacey clapped her hands and held onto her nose, like she was holding in a sneeze but was really containing a laugh. Precious.
She curled her lip under her teeth again and busied herself looking at the drink’s menu.
‘My aunt loved The Sound of Music. Every time we put it on for her, she said the same thing: “Those kids have never changed in all these years.”’
‘Bless her,’ she said, pressing the menu to her heart. ‘We shouldn’t laugh.’
‘She’s in the early stages of dementia.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she replied, sitting forward like she wanted to hear more.
‘Whenever I visit, if she’s having a good day, she tells me the funniest stories. They’re all made up, but it makes for an interesting way to pass an afternoon.’ She smiled. ‘She keeps trying to set me up with a woman that works at the care home.’
‘Does she?’
‘Yeah, I’m super pissed because she always forgets who she is.’
Stacey rolled those beautiful green eyes of hers. ‘Dementia is hard,’ she replied, bringing us back to serious as she placed her hand on mine. It was natural, instinctive. She wanted to offer me comfort, spread her warmth. ‘I don’t have personal experience, but I’ve met people who have it. Terrible disease. Heartbreaking for the family.’
I stayed looking at her a little longer, as much as I could get away with before she shyly looked away. I tried to remember the last time I’d talked about myself, my life, the important people in it. I struggled to recall when anyone had shown an interest in me. Not for a while. Never on a date.
I’d always enjoyed people. Conversations and small talk. I wanted to know about them. At least, I thought I did. I was starting to think there was always a guard there, a thin sheet of metal between my clients and me. The simple questions I asked were questions with an aim of making someone feel at ease. With Stacey, it was more than that. I wanted to climb under her skin. Settle under her heart. Look into her mind. I wanted more than, ‘Are you a dog or cat lover?’ I wanted, ‘So, how many children do you want. Where do you want to settle down? What is your life plan? Can I be a big part of it?’
The waiter returned with a new set of cutlery. ‘Are you ready to order?’
‘Thank you. You’re a diamond,’ Stacey replied. ‘I’ll have the…’ She looked up at me and I mouthed, Schnitzel. She smiled wildly as she carried on talking. ‘Schnitzel…and green beans come with it, don’t they?’
‘Yes, madam.’
‘Great. Oh, and plenty of mash. Love it. Comfort food.’ He laughed and promised her heaps of mash.
‘I’ll have the sticky barbecue chicken, please.’
‘Ooh, that sounds good. Any food described as sticky has got to be a win,’ she said, shaking her fist in triumph. Stacey handed our menus to the waiter and sat forward, watching me for a second. ‘Do you mind if I record our conversation?’
She took out her phone and placed it on the table. The damn thing flashed at me, like a beacon of destruction to all I’d wanted this night to be. She was going to record me, which in turn meant she was ready to start the interview.
‘Go ahead,’ I replied, as I fought the urge to swipe it off the table.
‘One night only with Matthew Shaw, male escort, part two.’ My heart felt like it was scampering around in my chest, an anxious rhythm that had been thrown up by her words. ‘What are your rules for a first date with a client?’
I took a sip of water as she pressed her finger to her lip, waiting. ‘Well, I’ve told you rule number one. Tell them they’re beautiful.’
Why did I sound like a loser?
‘Even if you don’t find them attractive?’
‘Err…yeah. I may not find them attractive, but there will always be someone else who does.’ I shrugged. ‘I try to flatter them, make them feel good about themselves. The reason they’ve hired me is to have an evening where they’re the main focus, all attention on them.’
She made a few notes, tapping the pencil on the paper. ‘Would you say you’re playing a part then? Almost like an actor?’
I swirled the water around the glass. An actor? Was I like an actor? ‘I’ve never thought about it before. Maybe aspects of it could be considered playing a part, but usually when I’m on a date, I’m totally with that person. I act like it’s a completely normal. It’s just human interaction, at the end of the day.’
‘With sex.’
‘Isn’t that another form of human interaction?’ I asked.
She considered it for a moment, focusing her gaze on the ceiling. ‘That doesn’t always happen on a normal first date though, does it? Some people wait. Get to know the person better. Fall in love.’
‘I guess,’ I replied. ‘But some do. As long as it’s a decision made by both parties on the night. Just like it would be a mutual decision on a date with a client. There’s no difference.’
‘You honestly believe a woman hasn’t made her mind up about having sex with you before you meet?’
‘Not always,’ I replied, taking a sip. ‘You haven’t.’
She smiled before dropping her eyes. ‘How do you know?’
I felt a tingle in my stomach, a small buzz coming to life, just like the feeling that transforms into a heavier vibration right before an orgasm stormed through. ‘Stace—’
‘Isn’t that what drives most of your clients?’ she replied, ignoring her name on my lips sounding like a plea. ‘They want a night of fantasy, including having a sexual encounter to remember?’
‘Sex is a big part of it, yes.’
‘You make it sound clinical,’ she said, tap, tap, tapping that pen. ‘Like intimacy, real intimacy, is almost a step removed.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ve said before it’s about giving a woman control, making them feel good, but isn’t it really just about sex? How can you get to know someone intimately on a few dates? I mean, the person you’re meeting with, who they are, what makes them tick. A person in their purest form. Isn’t that real intimacy?’
‘You’d only know the answer to that if you spend the night with me.’
She held her breath for a second and gazed at the table linen, nose crinkles appearing as she tried to tame a smile.
‘Do you enjoy your job?’ she asked, deflecting. ‘I know you’re training to be a relationship counsellor and feel there are parallels to both, but honestly? Is this something you’re happy to do?’
‘I get enjoyment out of every date,’ I replied, ignoring the voices shouting, tell her the job is a means to end, in more ways than one. ‘I try to look at it as meeting their needs and some of my own.’
‘What do you get from it?’
‘I get to see human behaviour firsthand, which helps my studies. Plus, I get paid.’ I shrugged.
‘What if you don’t like the people who’ve hired you?’ she asked. ‘You can’t like everyone.’
‘I like people. I get intrigued as to why they want to be with me, what their stories are. What made them pick up the phone and call me.’
‘That’s fine for a date where you can grin and bear someone’s company for a couple of hours, we’ve all experienced that, but to have sex with them? That must be…challenging.’
‘There have been times where I’ve made my excuses and left. If things feel off, or she mentions something vaguely disturbing she enjoys sexually.’
‘Give me an example,’ she said, leaning in again.
‘There was one time when a woman suggested she enjoyed…’ I paused.
‘Go on.’
‘I can’t. It brings back terrible memories. I could have a panic attack right at this table and you wouldn’t even care.’ We both laughed but, God almighty, I didn’t want to talk about past sexual experiences with Stacey. It felt wrong. It felt…fuck. Dirty.
‘You’re such a nice guy,’ she said, like it was a terrible shame this was my current career. She bit her lip and looked genuinely upset. Like I deserved so much more.
‘Expand why you’re looking at me like it’s such a travesty.’
‘It’s almost like you have to have two lives,’ she said. ‘The male escort side and the real you. The man that likes people, but has to find a way of balancing what’s real about those relationships and what isn’t. What means the most to you as a person and what you can leave behind as fantasy.’
‘I separate the two.’
‘How?’ she asked, her expression quizzical.
‘I put them into boxes.’
‘We don’t all fit into boxes though, do we? I can’t put every aspect of me into a box. I wouldn’t fit.’
‘I’m pretty sure every aspect of you wouldn’t fit in an aeroplane hangar, let alone a box.’
She screwed up her face as she laughed. ‘Don’t. Honestly! You’ve made a quick assessment of me.’
‘You make an impression.’
‘Back to boxes,’ she replied with a lopsided grin. ‘Some parts must overlap.’ She held her hand up, like she was thinking through what she wanted to say next because she didn’t want to bother me with words that weren’t important. ‘You have relationships in your life, real and false. What about your need for human interaction? Or to have a fulfilling relationship—not one you’re being paid for?’
‘I’ve made a choice to step away from having my own relationships because it complicates things. As soon as this is over, I’ll start dating again.’
‘Over? You make it sound like you’re counting down the days before you leave escorting behind.’
I am, Stacey. Believe me, I am.
‘You already know this is a means to an end. I want to be counsellor.’ I cleared my throat, shifting in my seat. ‘This is helping me get there.’
‘What do your parents think about your job? And friends? Do past girlfriends know?’
‘My mum’—my heart sank to my boots—‘doesn’t know.’ Why didn’t you tell her the truth?’ ‘My dad chooses to ignore it. My friends take the piss out of me and I’ve not told past girlfriends.’ I sighed, settled back, and pressed my thumb against the pressure point in my forehead. Christ, I needed a change of direction. ‘You seem intrigued by my dating life, Stacey Clifton.’
‘Do I?’ she asked, pulling back her shoulders and twirling her wine glass.
‘Is there a reason for that?’
She smiled as our meals arrived and waited for the waiter to leave before she continued. ‘I guess I’m interested in how you maintain any sense of normality when aspects of your job could cause personal relationships to be emotionally charged.’
I sat back and watched her for a second, then decided to call her bluff. ‘Are you thinking about how you would feel if your boyfriend was an escort?’
‘No,’ she said firmly before shaking her head. ‘Maybe a little…I mean, I’ve thought about it. For the sake of the article.’
‘Have you thought about me?’
‘In what way?’ she asked quietly.
‘How you would handle my profession if I was your boyfriend?’
‘Let’s shut this conversation down right now.’ She held up her hand and I laughed as she twisted the end of her ponytail around her finger. It was such a vulnerable action for someone who seemed so confident and in control. ‘Right now.’ Her laughter tripped over her words. ‘OK.’
‘Why? Would it be hard for you?’ I wanted to know. Needed to know.
‘Yes. Of course it would,’ she replied. ‘I can’t imagine sitting at home with a meal for one, watching EastEnders in my PJ’s when I know my boyfriend is about to make another woman come as part of his evening work.’
I nodded, taking it all in and agreeing fully. ‘And that right there is why I don’t have a girlfriend.’
‘It’s a shame,’ she replied. ‘Because—’
‘I’m a nice guy.’
‘Yeah. You are.’ She smiled before she started to eat. ‘You obviously respect women, to make the choice not to put them in a position that would be difficult for them. It’s a huge commitment to decide to hold off from having a girlfriend.’
I wanted to say it hadn’t bothered me until she walked into my life but thought better of it. ‘Not really.’
‘Have you had many relationships?’
‘A handful,’ I replied. ‘My first love was my longest relationship. We were together four years.’
‘Aww. Young love. There’s nothing better,’ she said, pressing her hand to her chest. ‘What happened?’
‘We drifted apart. We got t
ogether when we were sixteen. We grew up and our interests changed.’ We still keep in touch and have always been on good terms. It was a mutual decision that made perfect sense to the both of us. We were young and nothing else mattered until it did. ‘What about you? I know you describe yourself as the training bra for men. Which is epically sad, by the way.’
She covered her face, rose gold rings catching the lights overhead like she held a collection of stars in her hands. ‘Do you remember everything I say?’
‘Starting to,’ I replied, as she poked the ice in her glass with her finger, avoiding my gaze. Then she wrinkled that nose again. ‘Who was your first love?’
‘Duggie,’ she said wistfully.
‘Duggie? Isn’t that your dog?’ She snorted again before letting out a gorgeous laugh.
‘No! That’s Reggie and you know it.’ She took a sip of wine. Delicately, not like Stacey at all. The girl kept throwing up surprises. ‘We did A-Level English together when we were eighteen. He worked in a bookstore at the weekends and I thought that was amazing, and not just because I could use his staff discount.’
‘Yeah, right, you big freeloader.’ She threw a green bean at me and laughed as I stuffed it in my mouth. ‘What happened to Duggie? Did he move on to bigger things? Is he working for Amazon now? Chief exec.’
‘He dumped me for a girl at Uni.’ She sighed dramatically. ‘I was heartbroken, but we weren’t meant to be, Matt, that’s all there is to it.’
‘Oh no.’ I laughed. ‘Staff discount went poof.’
‘There were huge downsides to our breakup, I’ll give you that.’ She laughed as she rested her head on her hand, then poked an ice cube again and stared at me with a lazy smile. ‘If you could go back to your sixteen-year-old self and tell him when he’s twenty-six years old, he’ll be working as an escort, do you think he’d believe you?’
My stomach dropped, flipping over like a pancake toss. My sixteen-year-old self was juggling A-Levels and a dysfunctional family. No time for thinking about the future because I wasn’t sure what any kind of future looked like.
‘No,’ I replied, trancelike as I remembered him. ‘Definitely not.’
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