One Night Only

by Stewart, Lynsey M.

  I looked down at her delicate hand, rings still shining, and curled my little finger around hers, linking them together on a promise. Ours. Except it wasn’t.

  Whatever it was we’d shared, whatever it was we had, was as fake as my story.

  15

  Stacey

  ‘Well? How did it go?’ Anna asked as she flipped through last month’s copy of Upfront.

  I can’t stop thinking about him. I’ve never had sex like it. Addicted doesn’t come close.

  ‘Good.’

  Anna pushed her glasses to the end of her nose. ‘Good?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Is that all? Good does not make a fantastic article, Stacey.’

  ‘I slept with him.’

  The glasses came off and she rested them on top of the magazine. ‘Well, well,’ she said. ‘You really will go a long way for a good story.’

  ‘I wanted the full experience and it felt—’ Amazing. Wonderful. Empowering. ‘Right at the time.’

  ‘So, tell me. How was it?’

  I cleared my throat. ‘He was charming and lovely, and it’s very easy to see why he’s so popular with his clients.’

  End of story. Do not make eye contact.

  ‘The sex, Stacey.’

  I wondered how much detail she would want from me. Should I tell her he made me lose the ability to see straight? Would it be appropriate to tell her he fucked me like a starving man despite sex being part of his everyday routine? What would she think if I told her we’d slept in each other’s arms all night? Perhaps she could help understand it all. Ease the confusion in my head of what I felt and soften the blow of rejection when he let me go.

  ‘His skills are…impressive.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘He knows exactly where to put…things and how to…thrust.’

  ‘Good for you.’ She smiled as she put her glasses back on. ‘You’re not feeling regretful? I want to make sure you’re happy with your decision to sleep with him. It needn’t go in the article if you’re not completely happy.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I replied.

  And I was. Instead of feeling seedy or embarrassed, I felt empowered. I’d told him what to do, what I liked. No silent wishing for it to be over or thoughts of how I could sensitively point out where my clit was. Matt knew immediately. His whole aim was to make me feel good. Worshipped. Like I was the only woman on the planet with a lovely vagina.

  A past boyfriend once said mine was tidy. I wasn’t sure what he meant. I hadn’t dusted it or given it a fresh coat of paint. And that was the point, wasn’t it? He’d made it sound like an inanimate object. A nice vase on his mum’s windowsill. He complimented my tidy vagina because he was a nice boy, but I was done with nice. I wanted filthy. A dirty master. A man who didn’t compliment vases on windowsills but instead, knocked them off with his impressive rugby shoulders. What am I thinking? He sleeps with women for his job and I can’t handle that.

  ‘I’ve started working on the article,’ I said, turning my laptop towards her. ‘I should be finished in a day or so.’

  ‘Perfect,’ she replied. ‘I’m looking forward to reading it.’

  ‘I wanted to talk to you about the follow-up in the next edition.’ I’d been thinking about my original idea of interviewing Matt’s clients and trying to blow away some of the stereotypes of who regularly meets with a male escort. ‘I’d like to interview some of his clients, put a humanistic angle on things.’

  ‘Let me read the full article first,’ Anna replied as she read through the bare bones of what I’d already put together.

  ‘I think we’re doing Matt an injustice if we don’t,’ I said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You promised him we wouldn’t just focus on the sexual side of escorting,’ I said, remembering our earlier conversation. ‘He wants to give his clients a voice.’

  ‘But you were his client, Stacey.’ She pointed her sparkling Swarovski pen at me. ‘Tell me your story.’

  I wanted to vomit on the word client. I wasn’t ready to admit Anna was completely right in her assessment. I was just another client with a story to tell about my sexual awakening. I could join the ranks of widows who wanted intimacy, virgins who wanted a great first time, and now me, Stacey Clifton, the woman who found her sexual mojo after a night with Matt. He handed me the full escort experience on a plate and I decided I wanted it on a silver tray instead. What was I thinking? He was paid to make women fall in love with him and I fell for it like an idiot. I blew out my cheeks as I lay my head on Anna’s desk, my laptop illuminating as my hair fell over the track pad.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Anna asked.

  ‘I’ve found this whole experience…slightly confusing.’

  She sat back in her white leather chair. ‘Go on.’

  ‘It’s made me reflect on my dating history,’ I said. ‘Especially since I started working here.’ She threw out her hand to indicate she was happy for me to continue. ‘Let’s just say I haven’t put as much energy into my relationships as I have my career.’

  ‘I understand,’ she replied, looking at the photograph of her husband on her desk. ‘It happens.’

  ‘But it shouldn’t,’ I said, tapping on the desk. ‘Being with Matt has…awakened something in me. I’m a young woman, Anna, who’s yet to reach my sexual peak.’ I raised my hand in the air to demonstrate the peak and her eyes followed. ‘I should be experimenting sexually. Dating without the pressure of agreeing to see someone again if the spark isn’t there to begin with. Not agreeing to a weekend away or meeting their friends to play squash. I want the wonderful. I shouldn’t settle for anything less, and in between finding the wonderful, I should be enjoying my womanhood, having fun, gathering together my likes and dislikes. Enjoying men who make me feel goosepimply and not feel any shame in doing so.’

  And I’d had a taste of it, on a big spoon. I’d met my perfect man but unfortunately, there were the slightly problematic issues of Matt viewing me as just a client and my inability to share his penis.

  Anna was still sitting back in her chair, but she was staring at me and I felt unnerved at the silence. ‘I have a friend who has a very attractive son.’

  Oh, balls.

  ‘No.’ I’d had enough of her set-ups.

  ‘He’s gorgeous and a pharmacist. He’s beefy. Carrying all those…medicines around.’ She curled her arm to give me a demo. ‘Very nice young man.’

  ‘No,’ I repeated. I didn’t want another date, unless his name was Matt and he’d quit escorting.

  ‘You said yourself that you haven’t given your dating life as much consideration as your career.’ She took out her phone and started tapping the screen. ‘I’ll get his number and you can set something up.’

  ‘Anna, I don’t want a date.’

  ‘What’s there to lose? Meet him and if the spark isn’t there, say goodbye.’ She shrugged and continued tapping before holding the phone a distance from her eyes. ‘His mother says he’s free Friday night. I’ve given her your number.’

  Great. A date arranged by his mother. Sounds like a keeper.

  ‘I don’t want a date, but I do have an idea for a regular article.’ I drummed my fingers on the table. ‘A new feature. Something women can relate to,’ I said. ‘Plus, it will be cathartic for me.’

  ‘Spill.’

  ‘I’m thinking Carrie Bradshaw.’ She pressed her lips together, giving me poker face. ‘Dating mishaps. My experience with Matt and how it’s made me reflect on my disastrous love life. I finally meet a great guy but he’s an escort. Off-limits.’

  A few seconds of silence settled across Anna’s office. ‘I like it.’ Anna speak for, It’s a great idea, I’ll run with it. ‘Real-life relationships, reflections on where things went wrong. Great.’

  ‘Yes! Get in!’ I replied, clapping my hands together. ‘I’ll pull some ideas together.’

  ‘But it’s on the understanding you do one thing for me.’

  ‘What’s that?’ I asked as dread
flooded my stomach.

  ‘Blind date. Friday night.’

  ‘I have a bad feeling about this,’ I replied, as I rested my head on Anna’s desk again.

  ‘Nonsense.’

  I sighed, knowing I needed this break, wanted to show I had a fire in my belly, a desire to climb the journalism ladder. To join Anna on the top rung, with just my little finger supporting me and my eyes squeezed shut. ‘You’re my boss, Anna. How could I possibly say no?’

  ‘Exactly. Now get back to your desk and finish this article.’

  I picked up my laptop and smiled as she carried on working. I had to forget planning my regular dating feature, shelve it for now, because the ‘One Night Only’ article was going to be a seriously delicate operation. I wasn’t sure how much detail I wanted to put in about my night with Matt. I’d started three or four different versions and deleted all but one. I certainly didn’t need distractions of the dating kind.

  My phone vibrated on a boob as I got back to my desk and I took it out of my bra.

  ‘How’s the article going?’ Will asked.

  I held the phone under my chin as I typed out an email to Sarah, Matt’s client, the woman who originally contacted Anna about his escorting service.

  ‘Erm…yeah. It’s going good.’

  ‘Have you heard from him?’

  ‘No. Not since Sunday.’

  ‘And how do you feel about that?’ There was more laced through his words. Will knew me well and had already figured out I was having a hard time piecing together what happened after my one night with an escort.

  ‘He’s not my type,’ I replied.

  ‘What is your type? Utter tosspots? Wankers? Losers?’

  ‘I don’t know. The not-a-male-escort type.’

  ‘I didn’t have you down as being a prude,’ Will replied.

  ‘I’m not.’ I put the finishing touches to the email and hit send. ‘How would you feel if you were going out with a woman and she was sleeping with a different man every night?’

  ‘He does it every night? He must be bloody worn out,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t know how often, and I don’t want to know because that would drive me crazy.’

  ‘See? Why would that bother you?’ he replied. ‘I smell feelings. You need a good talking to.’

  ‘I need to work. I’ll see you soon.’

  ‘I’ll meet you for lunch,’ he said. ‘Sometime in the next decade.’

  It had been too long. We didn’t work far from each other, but our careers were exploding and we both knew that meant we had to put in the time.

  ‘Or even a coffee. I miss you,’ I replied as the phone on my desk started to ring. ‘I’ve got to go. See you soon?’

  ‘We’ll work something out.’

  ‘Bye.’ I shoved my mobile back in my bra and picked up my phone. ‘Stacey Clifton speaking.’

  ‘Hello, Stacey. My name is Sarah Kerins. You’ve just sent me an email about Matt Shaw.’

  ‘Yeah. That was quick. Thanks for getting back to me.’ I took a notepad out of my drawer and pulled the top off my pen with my teeth. ‘I was wondering if you would be happy to meet me for an interview. I’d love to talk to you about a follow-up article.’

  ‘I’d be happy to,’ she replied. ‘He’s an amazing man.’

  I took a breath. Needed to. ‘Yes. He is.’

  ‘When are you thinking?’

  I flicked through my online calendar. Space was tight. ‘Oh, blimey. OK. I’m struggling a little bit, Sarah, I’ve got to be honest.’ I really wanted to do the follow-up to Matt’s article in the March edition. ‘I’m in Brighton most weekends. Argh. I’m having a nightmare.’ I tapped my fingers across my mouth.

  ‘I can get to Brighton if it’s better for you. I have friends there and I’m overdue a visit. This will give me a great excuse,’ she replied.

  ‘That would really help me out, Sarah. Are you sure?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Fab.’

  We arranged to meet at Turnip The Beet. She’d heard of it, having passed by a few times when visiting friends, and said she was fine meeting in a public place despite the subject. I started scribbling down some questions, trying hard to separate the professional part of me and the part that wanted to stab my eyes out with a pen.

  Anna swung her office door open.

  ‘You have a date with Orlando. Friday night at eight.’ She handed me a Post-It note with a number scrawled across it. ‘He’s expecting your call.’

  I gave her a brief smile as I stuck the note on my computer screen. I wasn’t sure how I felt about going on a date with a man named after one of my favourite holiday destinations.

  ‘Oh, and Matt Shaw has emailed. He’s had a change of heart and no longer wants the article publishing. Said something about a seedy turn of events and a misunderstanding about what he thought the article was about.’

  ‘Seedy?’ I gasped. ‘What does he mean?’ Was he referring to our night together? He couldn’t be. Could he?

  ‘I’ll call him back and reassure him you’re interviewing his client for a future publication.’

  ‘Does he want to see me to discuss it further?’

  ‘No,’ she replied, taking off her glasses. ‘He didn’t mention you at all.’

  I nodded and somehow held it together. I couldn’t put my finger on why I was biting my lip to stop from bursting into tears. I was confused, exhausted from bouncing from one thought to the next. Unable to shake the idea I’d missed an opportunity, met my soul mate, I was firmly in agreement with my rational side that I wasn’t the kind of woman who could share my soul mate with a little black book filled with the names and numbers of other women.

  The neon pink Post-It note caught my eye, the number in striking black ink, a handwriting style to match the woman it belonged to. Perhaps this number was a lifeline? A sign that was guiding me to move on and forget?

  Or was it just Anna, walking all over me with her tortoise shell heels?

  I need this break. Ladders are hard enough to climb as it is.

  I scrunched up my face in regret as I dialed his number, unable to believe I was actually doing this.

  ‘Hi, is this Orlando? My name’s Stacey. That’s right. I wondered if you’d like to meet?’

  16

  Stacey

  How did I find myself here again? Oh, that’s it, I remember now. I couldn’t say no to my boss. I was perched on the bottom rung of the journalism ladder, glass ceiling shining above me and the climb tempting.

  I also wanted to move on from thoughts of yummy escorts and flashes of the best sex of my life, cementing my new status as a single woman firing out sexual sparks and rainbows. But sitting opposite Orlando at a noodle bar in Soho, I could see the sparks were flickers and the plan to move on was never going to happen with the guy who’d met me straight from work, still wearing his lab coat.

  ‘So, Anna tells me you’re a pharmacist?’

  ‘That’s right,’ he replied, taking a spoon and fork and setting it alongside his chopsticks.

  ‘What does that involve, exactly?’

  ‘I administer prescriptions.’

  He took a sip of his freshly pressed apple juice. I knew it was fresh because he’d insisted on it. Really insisted. He’d only just got back from the counter where he watched them do it himself, just to be sure.

  ‘Oh. Interesting,’ I replied.

  Orlando was making this hard work.

  ‘You’re a journalist, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Silence had never been so mortifying.

  ‘Must be an exciting job,’ he said, holding his glass up to the light inspecting it, running his finger along the rim like it was the new habitat for a trillion diseases. ‘All those breaking news stories.’

  ‘I don’t work for a news publication. I work for Upfront.’

  ‘That ridiculous women’s magazine?’

  ‘No,’ I replied, narrowing my eyes. ‘It isn’t ridiculous, but I do work
for Upfront.’

  ‘Anna is the editor of that rag? I’m really surprised.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ I whispered, looking around to see who overheard and could join in my astonishment. ‘I’m sorry, but you’re incredibly rude.’ My gaze settled on a guy who kind of looked familiar. A broad expanse of back, a ripple of forearm, and as he turned…the brightest smile in the room.

  ‘Oh, crap.’ I shielded myself with my hand, tapping a waiter on the arm. ‘Hi, we’re ready for the bill now. Would you mind bringing it over? Quickly. Thanks.’

  ‘We haven’t even eaten yet,’ Orlando said. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘Listen.’ I leant in and lowered my voice, still covering myself behind my hand. ‘I’m sure you’re a lovely guy but you’ve just described the publication I work for—the one I love and feel privileged to be part of—as a rag.’

  ‘I’m sorry if I offended you,’ he protested. ‘I was just…surprised that you worked for a magazine that favours talk of sex.’

  He said it like it was a dirty word, or a nasty smell he couldn’t shake from underneath his nose. Images of Matt from Saturday night came back to me, his face as he came, the pure exhilaration and enjoyment of two bodies merging together. It was the total opposite of the screwed-up face Orlando was offering me now.

  ‘That’s not OK,’ I replied, shaking off the sex memory shivers. ‘To ridicule my place of work and—’ I stopped myself, and took another look at his troubled face. ‘You know, sex is perfectly natural, Orlando. It should be enjoyed and celebrated not sneered at.’ He pushed up his glasses and blushed. ‘I hope you meet someone who can take that look off your face. Someone you can indulge in and they want that too, more than anything.’

  He held up his hands, looking slightly alarmed, and sniffed his way through an awkward laugh. ‘Fair enough.’

  I turned around and Matt was sitting a few rows behind me. A jolt passed through my body, my stomach flipping and tipping when our eyes met. His face registered shock, then shock turned to a smile, one of those gorgeous ones. Who was I kidding? They were all like that. He lifted his hand to wave before running it through his beard, slightly longer now but just as trim. I remembered the feel of it against my neck, the tiny flutters and the tremendous shudders that followed.