“He’s fucking someone who works for him.” She tells me and rolls her eyes. “He has this perfect wife at home, and he’s fucking someone else. Who does that?”
I watch her as she shakes her head with a look of disgust.
“You don’t like him much, do you?” I say.
“What’s to like?”
“Right,” I say.
“You can’t say anything about what I told you. It will get me in trouble, probably fired, and then I’d…” She fades out as her expression turns serious.
“You wouldn’t be able to see her again,” I finish for her.
“Yeah,” she says softly. “How’d you know?”
“Because I understand,” I admit.
“Your girl?”
“She’s not really mine, though, is she?”
“No, she’s not,” she says.
“Do you wish yours was really yours?” I ask.
“I don’t know if we’d fit outside these walls. We don’t just have sex – I know that much – but she’s a wealthy, older, married, established woman, and I’m a Ph. D student who worked sex parties to pay off my student loans and keep myself from going into massive debt before I’ve even earned my degree.”
“Worked?” I ask, noticing the use of past tense.
“Yes, I’m all paid up. Working these events for two years did that for me. Now, I work them for two reasons: I don’t have to have another job, which means I can finish up my dissertation faster, and because she’s here.”
I nod at her just as the front door opens and two women enter. I don’t pay attention to them since I don’t recognize them, but I check the clock on the wall, and it’s eleven on the dot.
“They’ll be here soon,” I say.
“And we get five hours,” she replies, standing up. “Make the most of them if you can.”
She sounds almost defeated as she walks to the foyer where she stands there, waiting. It’s not long before her member enters and smiles wide at her.
“I’ve missed you,” the woman says and wraps her arm around the escort whose name I still don’t know.
“I’ve missed you,” the escort replies. “Shall we?”
“Let’s,” she says, taking her hand.
I stand and watch them walk up the stairs together, hand in hand. The music starts. It’s two after eleven, and I worry that maybe she’s not able to make it, after all. I see my friends walk in. They nod at me and head straight up the stairs to find a room. I nod back.
“Hey stranger,” she says.
I turn a little and find her standing in front of me.
“I was worried you might not come,” I reply.
“I told you I’d be here,” she says, taking my hand.
“You’re just late.”
“Sorry, I got stuck at home with some work stuff to take care of.”