8

July 2015

Vickey

The first time she saw Alex was when she went to his office for a business meeting. Alex, back then, was the editor-in-chief of the men’s magazine, Esquire, and the company that Vickey was working for, the official distributor for the Swiss watch firm Patek Philippe, wanted to buy some ads.
It was by no means the first meeting of its kind in her life, you could even say it was routine. Vickey had never been a dedicated careerist, but she liked to work and knew her job well. The main thing, however, was that people liked her, and from childhood her beautiful face, framed by blonde locks, and her tender gaze, with those huge grey eyes, had delighted people and won her sympathy.
On that excellent September morning, opening the glass door into Alex’s office in the recently renovated loft that the highly successful editorial team rented, Vickey wasn’t nervous at all. She was a confident young professional. All the more so as in this deal she was playing the part of an eccentric buyer, and Alex was playing the part of a keen-to-please seller. But she should have been nervous!
It was a car crash. A minute earlier, everything had seemed under control: you’ve got plans for your life and the future, you have confidence in your strengths, you’re used to trusting yourself. And then, in an instant, there’s a flash, there’s a scraping of metal, and you’re no longer in possession of yourself, your body no longer listens to you, your heart is in the hands of another, and your life now depends on him.
“It’s a great pleasure to finally meet you, Viktoria,” said Alex, shaking the hand she held out to him. “I have to admit to being stunned – you’re a beauty!”
His fingers touched her fingers, she could feel their warmth and strength, her palm fitted into his perfectly, she sensed that she didn’t have the strength to pull it back out. She raised her eyes and met his gaze, her pupils dilated, a flash…
Sunlight flooded through the room. Entranced, she took in his faultlessly white shirt, two buttons casually undone. His shimmering, beautiful mane of blond hair, the charming wrinkles around his eyes, the way he smiled, his unbearably long eyelashes, and the amber of his eyes.
He offered her a coffee and made it himself. She took a sip, the taste was heavenly, and she tried to pay him a compliment.
“The secret’s in the drop of Bailey’s,” smiled Alex.
Heavens, the way he smiled!
She felt her way to the sofa, sat on it, and smiled back at him, almost helplessly.
She heard his velvety voice… “We’d like to offer your company a sponsorship role in our special project. We’re doing a piece about the history of how businesses developed in the 1990s and the early 2000s, a change in eras, as it were. We’re going to interview the founder of Revolut, the banking app and other members of the IT establishment, as well as famous restaurateurs in London, and, of course, many more successful entrepreneurs. You can take part in the selection of those being interviewed. And, of course, we can put a photo session together for our subjects wearing ‘your’ watches.”
“Sounds interesting,” said Vickey, and it really was a stunning idea, perfect for the company’s image.
“Then take a look at our campaign plan,” continued Alex, sitting down with his notebook open next to her, slightly touching her shoulder. She leant forward to look at the screen. Their faces were very close, she could hear his breathing and sense the heat of his body. The minutes passed as they studied the document open in front of them.
She heard a voice in her head: “Run from him! Save yourself!” Instead, however, she summoned up all her strength of will, and said:
“I liked your project from the first time I heard about it. Your proposal matches all our needs. I think I can talk our management into signing a contract this Friday. Will that work for you?”
“Yes, that’s perfect, but you know what would be even better?” Alex stared right at her, his eyes laughing. “If you’d agree to go on a date with me.” He continued before she had a chance to react: “Will you?”
“Today or Friday?” she asked, at a loss, although her answer was already clear to both of them.

9

July 2016

Alex

Alex woke up early in the morning at Arthur’s house in Chelsea, one of most expensive neighborhoods in London.
Arthur was the son of some major entrepreneurs who lived between three countries: Russia, Spain and Canada. The house in Chelsea was left entirely to Arthur, and the high dark-green fence prevented any curious onlookers from seeing the insane parties that this thirty-year old, the only child of rich parents, would throw.
Chelsea. Home to the great and the good of London and beyond. The cream of Britain’s capital and, indeed, the world.
Alex woke up in one of the countless bedrooms of this vast house - architecturally a tad dated but still breathtakingly expensive thanks to its location and the names of its neighbors.
A naked blonde was lying next to Alex. Alex wasn’t surprised at the fact that a naked girl he didn’t know was lying in bed with him. It wasn’t a rarity.
The girl opened her eyes and looked at Alex.
“Hello!” said Alex.
“Hello!” the girl answered, absolutely calm.
“Who are you?” asked Alex.
“A prostitute,” she answered quite simply.
“Got it,” said Alex. “I …” Alex started speaking without even knowing what he wanted to find out. His headache after the previous night’s drinking bout was making its presence felt.
“I didn’t go home because it was late and they said I could stay,” the girl said quietly. “There weren’t any spare beds, and you looked like the most fun,” she smiled to him.
Alex chuckled.
“And the food was great here yesterday,” she continued. Then she fell into thought, before continuing: “I think…”
Alex smiled. The pain in his head was getting worse. He tried to gather his strength, trying to recall how this girl ended up in his bed. In the meantime, the girl was still lying in the bed with him, and brazenly looking him over.
“Have you got a girlfriend, handsome?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” said Alex. “I think so.”
The girl got up. It turned out she was just in panties, though she was entirely unembarrassed by Alex’s presence.
“I can see your breasts,” said Alex. “By the way, they’re beautiful.”
The girl didn’t pay any attention to the compliment.
“You really don’t remember anything?” she asked.
Alex felt a chill inside. He couldn’t remember if he’d had any condoms with him.
“Did we have sex?” he asked, fear building up in his chest.
“No,” said the girl. “You were smashed. Or running on autopilot,” she said, laughing again.
“Yes,” sighed Alex in relief.
“You tried to slap me on my ass,” said the prostitute.
“I’m sorry,” said Alex.
“It’s ok,” she replied. “I gave you a slap too.”
“Really…,” said Alex.
“Yes,” said the girl. “As a rule, those who slap others, deep in their soul, dream of being slapped. I think you enjoyed it.”
“I can’t tell you anything about that,” smiled Alex.
The girl looked at him with interest.
“You don’t give a shit about anything, or that’s just the impression that you like to give?” she asked, looking him over.
“I think I don’t give a shit,” he replied.
“You’re not like any of my clients from Chelsea or Kensington,” she said seriously. She pondered something, and then continued. “You know, once in Kensington, I got booked by a father and his son at the same time. They were totally out of their minds. There was nothing you could do that would astonish them. Kids who know nothing about life, by the age of seventeen they’ve seen the entire world, they don’t want to study, they don’t want to fuck, they don’t want anything. The dads are doing business and have their secretaries, the forty-year-old moms who are always going to fitness and pumping themselves full of silicon until they look like Barbie dolls. And the kids just getting by on their own, they’ve got tired faces by the age of seventeen and hollow eyes – they smoke weed like they’re cigarettes.”
“Not bad,” smirked Alex. He knew that world at least as well as the chatty prostitute.
“I stayed the night at a client’s in Chelsea once, and had breakfast with the housekeeper in the kitchen,” the girl continued. “She told me that the nanny was offended by the master of the house treating her badly, and as revenge, when they were away, she’d let the six-year-old kid do anything he wanted. She didn’t give a damn. She didn’t teach him anything, didn’t make him clean up – didn’t do anything.”
“Where’s the vengeance in that?” asked Alex.
“Well,” said the prostitute. “He’ll grow up to be rude, lazy, he won’t be prepared to do anything, and his family will have it tough when he gets to seventeen when he doesn’t want to study, doesn’t want to go to university, doesn’t want to work at daddy’s business. She’s making sure he doesn’t give a fuck about anything, right?! It’s a refined form of vengeance.”
The prostitute fell silent and looked Alex over again, evaluating him.
“Her vocabulary’s not bad for a prostitute,” thought Alex.
“But you don’t seem to be like the others from Chelsea.”
“I’m not from Chelsea,” said Alex.
The girl looked at Alex with genuine interest.
“Where’re you from?” she asked.
“The suburbs…” Alex replied.
“I’m from Edinburgh,” said the girl. “I studied at literature at St. Catherine’s in Cambridge. In the third year I realized that I didn’t want to do that for the rest of my life, but I didn’t want to go back to my rainy town.” She looked at Alex. “Are you interested?”
“Very,” replied Alex.
The girl smiled.
Still dressed in just her panties, she went up to the table and poured herself a drink from an open bottle of Moët.
“Then came the standard story,” she continued. “A girlfriend got me into the hostessing business, and there were presents, parties, and we were on our way. After that, it’s hard to work for a pittance a month next to some sweaty Steve from somewhere out in sticks,” she smiled.
“That’s true,” said Alex quietly.
“True,” she said, “one summer I earned some money at the faculty. I was checking the first-year students’ work and all that bullshit. I nearly went nuts. I asked myself: Is this it?!? For my whole fucking life? It was much easier to become an elite prostitute for a while.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” said Alex. “I also trade myself. It’s just I trade my mind, rather than my body.”
“You’re funny.” The girl laughed again. “To be honest, I’d become a porn star, like Sandy, from my hometown. She’s just amazing, I’d fuck her at least once out of curiosity.” She smiled, dreaming. “I’d definitely earn more.” She took a sip from the champagne. “I’m saving up for an apartment. And it’d be interesting to be filmed in a porn movie.” She fell into thought. “But I don’t want some sweet neighbor living on the other side of the stairway to show my parents some nice shots of their only daughter swallowing the cock of some bushy-tailed Austrian guy. Their mentality is from the 1950s.”
Alex laughed.
“It’d kill them,” she continued. “Really – Mum would be swinging from the rafters.” The girl fell silent. Alex got up from the bed and started getting dressed.
“Tell me about her,” the prostitute asked unexpectedly.
“About whom?”
“About your girl.”
“She’s amazing,” said Alex.
“And that’s it?”
“Yes, that’s it.”
The girl poured another glass of champagne and brought it over to Alex. Alex took a few gulps and nodded his appreciation to the girl.
“Have you talked to her about that?” asked the prostitute.
“About what?”
“About you not being certain that you’ve got a girlfriend.”
“Of course,” answered Alex.
“And?”
Alex couldn’t get used to this strange conversation with a person who, it seemed, was a complete stranger.
“She said that she wondered how long we could cause each other pain,” he said. “That we love one another. But our life together is full of limits and deceptions. And it’s all because of me.”
The girl looked attentively at Alex.
“She says she knows that I’ll leave soon. And she’ll feel devastated,” he continued. “But we want one another. What’s all this about?”
“Sometimes people do stupid things. Especially when they really love one another,” she said with sadness.
“She says: ‘I feel like such an idiot. I want to run away and hide and cry,” continued Alex. “Sometimes she asks: ‘You know what that’s like? Do you know?!?” I’m ashamed, and I don’t know what to do, to be honest,” said Alex. “I leave. But then she finds me again, and we go through all that again.”
Alex wiped his hand across his face. This strange morning, the standard hangover, the prostitute cropping up out of the blue in his bed, a former student of a prestigious university no less – all this led to him being frank with a stranger.
“I’m really hurting,” he said. “I don’t know. Attachment is a trap, and when you try and get out of it you feel pain and you suffer losses. I suffered a lot of the time.”
“Maybe it’s all because of the London rhythm,” she asked. “You know, I like London. Really. It’s an incredible place. But this city is full of shit. Sometimes it seems like all the saints came together and shat on this place.”
“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s down to the city. It’s down to us.” He fell silent, and then added: “Fate can’t fit into the puzzle the way it should.”
“Fate isn’t being difficult. It’s just suffering from depression,” the girl smiled. Alex felt a chill passing over his body.
They were silent for a while.
The girl got up again and poured them some champagne.
“I read some wise words that have helped calm me down so I can go on in life,” she said, deep in thought.
“What were they?” asked Alex. He’d already got dressed and was waiting for the conversation to end so that he could say bye and go home.
“Some people are like our mirrors,” said the girl. “They surround us and let us understand who we are. So every reflection helps me to come to terms with myself.” She fell silent, then added, “It’s important to understand that. Otherwise, you could be putting your neck in the noose. Maybe your girlfriend has been given to you from above for something? So that you’ll understand something?!?”
“I don’t know,” said Alex. “There’s too much dragging me back.”
Alex looked at the girl with interest.
“Everybody’s got a past,” she continued. “The question is, how do you live with it. Do you put it aside, sometimes looking at it from a distance, as it were, in order to understand if you’ve improved. If you’ve become a better person…” She paused again, as if giving Alex time to think over her words. “Or do you carry that past on your back like a complete fuck-up?”
“What do you mean a fuck-up?” repeated Alex, and smiled.
“That’s right,” the girl said, stretching out the words.
Alex was silent for a while, and then said:
“Maybe you’re right. Honestly, I haven’t talked with anyone like this in a long time.” He looked at her, engaged. “Thank you.”
The girl, who had been dressed in nothing more than panties this whole time, started to get dressed.
“She doesn’t want to be the first to break it off?” she asked.
“No, she doesn’t.”
“You’re a clever boy, Alex,” said the prostitute.
“I’m not so sure,” he replied.
The girl looked at him attentively.
“Do you want me?” she asked suddenly.
Alex looked at her.
“Probably. But not today,” he replied.
The girl bit her finger.
“If I give you my number, will you come to me?” asked the prostitute. “But for money this time?”
“No,” Alex replied immediately.
He felt a chill again.