In This Town

Chapter Two: How?

So, now that I've established a little bit of the why, more reasons will appear later, I presume, you will probably want me to tell you how. I mean, how does one become a so-called high class call girl in a little Podunk town in Southern Oregon? Well, first off, the town here is inconsequential, meaning I could live anywhere with this specific job I chose. (Isn't that everyone's dream-job, to work anywhere that is, they want with all the advantages therein?) Unlike the misconception of the sex-worker life, I chose this for myself and I enjoy it more than any other job I've ever worked or thought of doing. I make my own hours, have my freedom for the most part, live independent, and through my clients have time to travel extensively and see so much of life I never dreamed was out there.

Who wouldn't want that, right?

So, that's one thing, but how?

Well, as I said, I had just returned home after graduating college, that is the parents house. I was supposed to, then, figure out what I wanted to do after those fairly successful and event-filled years, whether go on to more schooling or find a satisfying and socially acceptable job of which my parents could gloat over to their friends at cocktail parties and such. But, the thought of that mediocrity bored me to tears, seeing an endless life of monotony awaiting me in the days to come. No, I told myself, I couldn't do that.

So, after endlessly scanning Craigslist and other employment websites, I found myself downtown one day, feeling dejected, after spending my few remaining dollars on a cup of coffee, trying to scribble my thoughts in my journal, when in walked Connie. Connie was an old “friend” from high school, rather a frenemy of sorts. The one who claimed to be my best friend forever in junior high only to be the boyfriend snatching girl in the tenth grade. My boyfriend, that is. Ever since, I've kept her at arms length.

She was all gush and phony friendliness, always in her endless pursuit to get on my good side again. I kid you not, I've always felt a little “single white female” coming from her, as if truly my life is to be vied for and even envied.

“So,” Connie began. “What are you up to these days?”

Trying to avert my eyes in an unsuccessful attempt to excuse myself from this conversation, I replied,

“Looking for work.”

When I didn't offer anymore, Connie continued, unabated in her attempts to fish for more information, by blurting out,

“I've been life-modeling.”

“What?” I asked, confused but also trying to hide my curiosity and, yes, amusement at this thought.

“I pose nude at the community college,” she continued, thrilled that I had taken the bait. “Its on-call, so not consistent but still its loads of fun.”

“I see,” I replied. With that, an idea flashed into my mind for my immediate escape and also a potential means of employment. Without hesitation, I said, “Connie, I just remembered my mom wants me back at home to help with a dinner party she's throwing tonight, got to run.”

And, before she could say another word, I was off, with my go-cup of coffee in hand, I dashed to my little Honda Civic and quickly headed out of town to the community college.

As I passed the old familiar sights and the new buildings that had sprouted up in recent years, I reflected back on my former years, fresh out of high school, as a student in the community college world. I recalled to mind, without hesitation, the times of Joe.

Who was Joe? Well, in all honesty, he was my drama teacher. My second year at the college I had enrolled in a year long acting sequence. (I thought of pursuing the stage until my dad straightened me out with the need to pursue a serious and viable career option.) Joe was my teacher in acting one of my first semester. After the class had ended, we randomly ran into each other down town at the library, talked, went out for Chinese food, and ended up rolling around in bed together at a cheap motel. And, when I say 'rolling around', I mean 'fucking', of course.

The relationship continued somewhat frequently, as in when he could get away from the wife, throughout the rest of the year. I enrolled in classes not taught by him. After I headed off north to college, the relationship sort of fizzled out. Since I had barely thought of him and now wondered what had ever happened to him.

I pulled into the visitor parking lot at the college and headed towards the art department. Upon entering, I addressed the lady at the front desk and told her I was interested in being a life model. She gave me the information of the head of the art department to contact as well as a job application. With glee, I filled it out and handed it back to her. This was, as of that moment, the first job I was actually excited about.

Upon finishing, I wondered over, half intentionally and half mindlessly, over to the theatre building for old times sake. I entered the old familiar stage where we had both classes and our plays, where I took the stage as Nina from the Seagull, for instance, and took a seat in the back row. I stared ahead and let the memories fly before me. Closing my eyes, I embraced them as they washed over me. A door opened behind me and someone entered the auditorium. I could hear their feet pounding down the steps towards the stage and then heard them busying themselves about the room, possibly a teacher prepping for their next class. I opened my eyes and was shocked to see Joe, as if I'd fallen back into time or as if he'd materialized before me because of my thoughts. I gasped and he looked up at me, stunned.

“Anna?” he said, shocked, amused, and gruffly. I nodded, unable to speak. “How the heck are ya?”

He grinned and I felt a twinge of satisfaction rolling down my stomach and into my nether regions. He still had it, he could still pull me after all this time.

“Good.”

“Home from college?”

“No, just graduated in June,” I replied. “Looking for work, thinking about the life modeling gig.”

“Oh, good gig,” he smiled up at me. I felt the pull increase. “I've got some leads if interested.”

He kept smiling and looking at me. The pull was unbearable. I got up and crossed down to him. He came forward and wrapped his arms around me, then stepped back. For a moment, standing in front of each other, playing the pure platonic game, others would assume we were merely displaying the old teacher runs into former student routine but the eyes gave it away. They were hungry.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“A bit,” I responded.

“I know this great Chinese restaurant,” he winked. I gulped. We'd gone to a Chinese restaurant on our first “date”, right before the cheap motel incident.

Without hesitation, I breathed, “Yeah, all right.”

We headed to my car and made pleasantries, him mostly telling me about the different changes the college had made, the new buildings, new faculty, those that had retired. I barely listened as his hand kept 'absentmindedly' brushing mine or my side, and with each time, I felt my breath quicken.

We got in my car and headed downtown toward the favorite Chinese place we'd frequented years before. As we made our way, we asked each other the obligatory questions that had been hanging in the air, hoping for answers satisfactory to our cause.

“Boyfriend?” he began.

“Not right now,” I replied. After a moment, I asked, “Married?”

He replied, after a moment, “Separated.”

“How's the family, the kids?” I asked again.

“All right,” was all he would give me.

We entered the old familiar Chinese place and took a table in the back, amused once again at the cheap decorations that donned the walls and seemed to signify the Chinese culture.

We ordered, ate with eyes meeting, and remembered old inside jokes, namely, 'cartoons', code word for, you got it, sex.

After leaving the restaurant, (he paid, of course), without thinking I handed him the keys and he steered the car down town towards the riverfront. Confused as this was not the usual route, I looked puzzled.

“I'm looking after a friend's riverfront property while he's out of town for a bit,” he explained.

“Convenient,” I mused. He smiled over at me. The town gave away to the opulent homes of the riverfront. We pulled into a clapboard two story and sat in the car for a moment. He turned to me, ran his finger across my cheek, twirled my hair, and whispered,

“So good to see you, Anna!”

I looked up at him, beckoning him towards me. He leaned in, I gasped anxiously, and bit my lip. He cupped my face and pressed his lips against mine. That old familiar kiss was as delicious as I had remembered. He pulled away and opened the door. I followed him towards the front door. He opened it and led me towards the near by staircase. Taking my hand, he led me up towards the guest bedroom. Then, he turned me towards him and kissed me, dragging his hands down my back and around. I returned in like fashion. Soon, we were passionately undressing as we fell against the bed, hungrily devouring each other sexually.

Afterwards, I lay in his arms with his fingers running through my hair. It was getting late and I knew I had to break away. I looked at him, with the after-glow of love-making still afresh on my face, and smiled.

“Yes,” he smiled back. “I would like to see you again too.”

I sighed to myself, relieved. I had never been able to resist this guy.

“I should get going now,” he continued. I clinched inside, our visits always seemed so short. And, I wondered wordlessly, was he really separated or was that just code for don't ask, don't tell in adultery speak?

We dressed and smoothed out the bedsheets and headed out the door. He drove back to his car at the college, traded phone numbers and other contact information, and just before we were ready to leave. He handed me a wad of cash. I didn't think much about it, thinking it was help with gas or just a loan. Probably a wad of twenties leading up to about a hundred bucks, no biggie, that's gas for a week. I stuck in absentmindedly in my purse. He kissed me, got out of the car, and I crossed in front. He placed his hands on my arms and stroked them.

“We'll see each other soon,” he began. “That I can be sure.”

I smiled. “Its been fun reconnecting,” I replied.

Then, he was off and I was making my way back home.

When I opened the door, my mom called to me, wondering where I'd been.

“Job-hunting,” I responded, without thinking, which was what I had set out to do.

“Any leads?” she said, appearing around the corner of the staircase I was about to ascend to my bedroom, holding a gin and tonic, half full, in her hand, her eyes already glazed a bit and her body tottering.

“Yeah, I think so,” I headed up the stairs to my bedroom, grabbed my laptop and sat on my bed, opening it. I placed my purse beside me and kicked off my shoes. As the Internet started up, I pulled out the money he called me and began counting it.

Wait a minute, this was not just $100. I counted again...$500!!! What was this about?

The Internet was up and I clicked over to Gmail, grabbed his information. I recalled in past times that email was the best way to get a hold of him, in case, well...in case we were caught.

I typed in his email, putting in the subject “RE: Loan?”, then filled in the message with: “Do I need to pay you interest?”

Then, I waited, not patiently. A message chimed in: “Let's talk tomorrow. Coffee? Ten am, Downtown Grounds.”

“Sure,” I typed back. “See you then, ;).” Then, I picked up the wad of cash and deliciously started counting the money again, feeling no hint of the societal obligation of degradation or dirty feeling a woman should feel after receiving such an amount for the act we had committed.