1
SILAS
Three Years Ago
This isn’t my first time at the Plaza hotel, and I doubt it will be my last. It’s cliché as a choice for a meeting like this, and always fails to capture a mood, but it’s a favorite of rich tourists, and the staff here don’t ask questions.
Upon seeing and recognizing me, the aging concierge hands over the passkey to the elevator. My boss, agent, pimp—whatever you want to call her—arranges all of this in advance. I nod my thanks and make my way to the small bank of ancient elevators. Checking my phone to confirm the room number, I press the button for the tenth floor. As the ride commences, I run a hand over my clean-shaven jaw, check the knot on my silk tie, and tug at my sleeves to let the cufflinks show.
One couple remains on the elevator when the doors open on ten. I step out into the carpeted hallway, and the smell of the place hits me. It’s not bad, just—old. The Plaza is an homage to its own origins. If there have been updates, they’re specificallydesigned to look un-updated. It reminds me ofThe Shining. Old fashioned carpet, scroll furniture, gilt-framed art, and the color scheme—primarily beige and white—does nothing but depress me. And, if I’m honest, creeps me out.
When I get to 1008, I knock lightly on the door, though the Do Not Disturb sign is already out. In the moments where I wait for it to open, all the usual nerves flare. Will he be old? Will he be gross? Will he be kind or cruel? Will he tip well for services not already agreed upon?
He’s already paid two grand for six-hours with me, but à la carte services are billed on the back end.
The knob turns, and I release my held breath, forcing a pleasant expression onto my face and allowing my shoulders to relax before I lay eyes on him.
Whatever I was expecting, he’s a surprise. I’d guess he’s not much older than me. He’s white and classically handsome with good bone structure and a sharp, clean-shaven jawline. He’s my height, my build—if slightly softer—and he’s got nice eyes. Bright green, sparkling eyes that make it hard to believe he’s unkind.
His small grin is fraught with nerves, his hello more a breath than a word. The brief I got from Katia indicated that his experience with men is limited—her impression wasverylimited. I zone in on a small mole on his right cheekbone, a beauty mark, and it’s then I realize he’s also familiar. Not that I think I’ve met him, but maybe I’ve seen him around.
“Silas,” I say, holding out a hand for him to shake.
“Graham,” he says.
He slides his palm into mine and shakes my hand.
“You’re better looking in real life,” he says, also breathlessly.
“Thank you.”
“Your bone structure…” He shuts himself up, shakes his head, and steps out of the way. “Please come in. Thank you for being on time.”
I step into the King suite, the ugly carpet soft beneath myItalian leather soles. Katia has provided me with an entire wardrobe curated to meet any request. Tonight, the request was business formal. As one of her top five escorts, Katia takes care that I represent her and her business well. As one of only threegaymale escorts, she spoils me.
“Is Silas your real name?” he asks, shutting the door.
“Is Graham yours?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah, Silas is my real name.”
“I like it,” he blurts. “And mine’s Graham. For real.”
His last name isn’t my business, so I don’t press.
Looking around the room, I notice the table by the window is set with a bottle of wine, a bottle of water, and two covered dishes.
I’ve learned over the two plus years I’ve been doing this job to go with the flow. If a client wants a date, I’ll provide conversation and light flirting.
If they want a lap dance, I have one that never fails. If they wanttodance, I’m able to lead or follow, and I know all the classic ballroom steps. I also know the club moves if it’s that kind of night, which I doubt this is given the cufflinks.
This looks like a date.
“I don’t know whether you drink when you’re working or…” He trails off.
“I’ll have a glass of wine,” I tell him. Just one. There’s a fee to get me drunk, which I’ll have to be forthcoming about if that’s what he wants.