‘Okay,’ Jake said, while leaving the room and the house soon after.
I was staring at the wall, tired, spent. Andrew gave me a hug. I knelt and cried. I sobbed, loudly, angrily.
‘We won’t be able to do this for much longer, Andrew,’ I said, detaching myself.
‘Leo…’
‘I’m going to bed.’
Soon I’d lose that too.
It had been an overall shit week. The store was getting busier and busier, with more and more douchebags trying to buy expensive crap for their unloved ones and demanding the impossible on a daily basis. Moreover, I worked really hard to make sure I’d be scouting the whole of London for horny men who looked like Quasimodo and needed to pay to ever experience the touch of another human being. My next victim was called Phil, and he was a CFO of a company in the States. The man sent quite a few disclaimers on his physical shape. He was apparently obese, but also very tall. His photo was a typical work portrait, with a dashing suit and combed hair. Yes, the guy had hair, which made for a nice change. He was in London for business and only free for a few days. According to him, he enjoyed the company of ‘young’ Englishmen for dinner. A dinner I was going to be paid £250 for. No mention of sex or any odd kink, so this was going to turn out to be an incredibly easy job.
I was walking toward the entrance of the Waldorf Hotel in Covent Garden when I realised how tired I was from work and all the emotional bullshit I had faced in the previous couple of days. I was still mad at Dominic for his insensitive judging. I was mad at Jake for both screwing me and ruining my evening with Duncan. I was mad at Andrew for leaving me for New York and overall I was mad at the world for making my brain not produce enough happy goo. It was nearing Christmas time and everyone walking around me were seemingly glad and cheery. When would I get to do a happy dance about something?
I looked at my phone to check the time, and I noticed a text from Abigail, asking for the deposit for the engagement party in Ibiza. My heart started racing. It was time to part with some of the money I had made being a hooker and rip the plaster off. As soon as I was about to get to my banking app, Duncan texted me.
‘When are we getting together for another drink?’
And then for a second I forgot how mad I was at everyone. I even cracked a little smile. I couldn’t wait to see him again. I loved my group of friends, but sometimes it was hard to complain about the same things over and over to them. I did not appreciate Sara’s look when I’d vocalise my hatred for my job, but at the same time not apply for anything else. She was a doer, while I was a fuck-my-lifer.
I put my phone back in my pocket and realised I was standing at the entrance of the hotel. Phil was waiting in front of the main door, hands in his pockets and a big American smile that greeted me with an enthusiastic ‘hello’ and a big bear hug. He was huge. He was about 6’4’ and probably weighed twenty-four stone, but his mannerisms made him incredibly cute and cuddly.
‘Hello, sir,’ I said. ‘Nice to finally see you.’
‘Pleasure is mine,’ he said, in a bubbly American accent. ‘Would you like to get inside? It’s freezing.’
‘In your room?’ I asked, perplexed.
‘Oh, no,’ he cackled. ‘To the restaurant. It’s really nice there.’
‘Of course.’
A porter opened the door for us and we both walked in, with me going first. The entrance hall was magnificent. Marble floors, accents of gold just about everywhere. Huge vases on top of Greek-style columns brimming with flowers cascading their leaves over them. Everyone working at the hotel looked distinct and elegant, and for a second I truly felt like I was entering Buckingham Palace albeit severely underdressed. Phil was wearing a grey suit. The jacket fit him perfectly, probably made to measure considering how big he was, but the trousers were slightly ill fitting, like most of the ‘slacks’ in America. They were a straight fit, falling over the slightly square-toed black shoes he was wearing. It was like the States were about a decade behind when it came to skinny or slim fit. Overall, he looked dashing. His hair was perfectly styled, and his face looked freshly shaven. I, on the other hand, hadn’t even trimmed my beard or washed my hair. It was parted in the middle and fell over the two sides of my face, an homage to the esteemed teenage actors of the 90s, I thought. Honestly, I was just too lazy to go get it cut, and I had to make it work somehow. My chunky brown boots were making noise on the shiny marble floors. I felt out of place, but Phil walked beside me, continuously smiling at me and making sure I was at ease.
‘Is it your first time here?’ he asked.
I was unsure whether he was being serious or not. But I had been here before. I’d came to the hotel for one of Sara’s work parties. I’d snuck into most parties that had an open bar and a gift bag.
‘I have once, I think,’ I replied. ‘Although I haven’t had the pleasure to dine here with a CFO yet.’
‘Oh, please.’ He started laughing. He was loud, but not obnoxious.
We were seated at a corner table. The napkins were made of cotton and a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket was waiting for us. A bunch of English roses were placed in the middle of the table.
‘I actually don’t drink, but I absolutely want you to have some champagne or wine if you want,’ he declared, while laying his napkin on his lap.
I wasn’t sure if it was some sort of test or trap. But there was no way I was going to say no to a bottle of champagne standing right in front of me. That’d just be rude.
‘You don’t like drinking?’ I asked, while the waiter was filling up my glass.
‘My mom was an alcoholic. So, I never really liked it, I guess.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘That’s fine. There are worse things about her. She’s a republican.’
‘Oh, I’d take alcoholic any day then.’ I giggled, soon realising it may have been an ill joke.
He smiled, so hopefully he didn’t take offense.
‘My father was a drug addict,’ I said.
‘That must have been tough,’ he commented.
‘My mother would drive past him unconscious on the street, on our way to school.’
‘I’m sorry, Leo.’
‘It’s okay. He’s dead now.’
I looked into his eyes and realised I was dragging down the mood of the evening. He didn’t give a fuck about my family history. He was paying me for a damn good time.
‘Let’s pick some food! I am famished,’ I exclaimed.
‘What do you feel like eating this evening?’
I quickly glimpsed at the menu for a vegan option, but unfortunately it was the kind of place where I’d have to combine different things to make a dish. I hated being that person.
‘Not too sure,’ I said. ‘I just need to ask for a bit of guidance.’ I tried to grab the waiter’s attention, and he swiftly came to our table.
‘Are you ready to order, sir?’ he asked.
Ha ha. Sir.
I tried to speak with a low tone, as I didn’t want to put a spotlight on myself while I desperately tried to get a course that wasn’t 100 percent potatoes.
‘Would it be possible to make the vegetarian pasta vegan? Maybe doing without the cream?’