The Call Girl And The Businessman Ch 05

Author's Note: This chapter is written with appreciation to all my readers. Thank you for your support. It has been a wonderful experience, and I write with a passion I had not known before. To the best of my ability, I hope that there are no grammatical errors or spelling mistakes. Feel free to give your comments on my story. It is so nice to be able to engage with readers this way :)

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Chapter 5 - The Miracle Which You See

As I made my way to the comforts of home, I saw sunlight beckon the world. The anticipation of brightness, about to touch the darkest hiding places of the ground, filled my heart with closure. The spirit within me whispered, softly acknowledging that I had done what I had set to do, which was to help him. And help him I did. The greatest hurdle had been crossed. I just needed to accompany him for one month now, catering specifically to his emotional well-being. I understood that my own volatile emotions would in due course be restored to its natural, disinterested state.

I saw that nature all around me was re-emerging from the safe haven of slumber. Dawn brought forth dew which gently glazed the many facets of nature. A raw and sharp scent; one which was fresh and grassy permeated my nostrils. It had a coaxing effect on me; calming me down by virtue of its very freshness. Everything in existence which imbued freshness sedated me. They were of purity, and if one were pure; the universe was with you. Cleanliness was next to Godliness, was that not upheld by the tenets of Christianity? Not a whit of purity lay in me yet somehow I did feel its essence within my reach. And I did feel the presence of God, if only for this fleeting moment of time.

I felt my mind relax while I took in the scent of dawn in the entirety for all it could offer. Early morning came in so gradually that I did not notice its transition from darkness to an empyreal radiance. I made no haste, and along the path less travelled, I leaned against a sturdy willow, catching whiffs of its balmy damp bark against my now unruly hair. I had no care of how I looked now. I was not playing any conscious role apart from being my very flawed self.

I closed my eyes for a few moments to regain my full composure, and I felt my body slowly loosen up to a wonderful state of repose. I was in a moment of time where I felt a marvellous nothingness. There all thoughts were banished. In an awareness of being aware; I was in a peaceful sojourn where no thoughts penetrated my mind. In the moments which followed, I felt heavily languid. So much in serendipity leaning against the sturdy willow, as graceful as her leaves were, swaying against the pleasant midsummer breeze.

It was then he rose; out of my innermost tranquillity- of that nothingness which had been borne of a peaceful mind. Cutting across my peaceful sojourn, his likeness and his form appeared out of nowhere into the depths of my closed eyes, as if he rose from the embers of ashes. His eyes were neither piercing me, nor were they antagonizing me in any way. He embodied the quality of just being there, rooted in my sacredness of my innermost sanctum.

I trembled at his likeness appearing unexpectedly in this manner. He should not be privy to this moment. Immediately I opened my eyes, blinking a few times for the rising sun had blinded my view, piercing through the layered cascades of the sturdy willow.

I thought ironically that Mr. Boardmann, the "uniquely-natured" client, embodied the sun which raged fire and danger. I had always exercised caution when I was with him. As soon as I had him figured out, I would write out his profile type in my notebook. His profile type would top the scale of difficult clients because he was the undisputed best in this category. Despite this, his unpredictability made it hard to know the extent of his characteristic traits. I had to be more patient and wait it out for a bit. To be objective, more facts were needed before I could do a write-up about clients of this nature in my notebook. I was a stickler for convention. Every being, however complex, belonged to a system of rules.

Belatedly I realised how quickly full light had emerged from darkness, sharply filtering through the landscape. Life was but a series of darkness and light. I looked as far out as I could the sea, now a beautifully lit orange silk with gold glitters, reflecting the sun. Iridescent white crests were rolling in to shore with gentle ripples. The waves, in shades of blue, seemed to change their intensity of colour at every rise and fall of their undulating swell. They brushed ashore with a quick velocity, followed by an unhurried backwash of spume and foam. I felt as calm as I could be. I was reassured that I had done right by him.

The long stalks of dune grass were swaying gracefully with the flow of the wind, neither hurrying its course nor resisting the wind's encroachment against its veins. From a distance they were almost like dark strips of flapping feathers. When I walked closer, I saw dew; pure and luminous, trailing down their furry crowns right to the edges of stalks. I thought of the impermanence of dew succumbing to the ground. I felt mixed emotions. Had I done right by him?

Observed by none but the morning skies, I carried on skipping home. Alas the initial euphoria of playing a modern day fairy godmother was gradually dissipating like dew, descending onto earth into nothing, as if it had never existed. I had wanted to help him, and I did. Yet he had wanted me to be honest with him, and I had gone to great lengths to prove to him that I was worthy of his trust. Steadily but surely, guilt was seeping through my veins and feelings of dishonesty was rearing its ugly head.

From the depths of my heart I did not regret my decision to help him, but I also did not want him to kick up a fuss over what I had done. He had affected me quite enough. I was absolutely certain that if he were not depressive and troubled, he would have made no distinction between me and the other call girls. Apart from a quick fix, it was unthinkable to be saddled with one. I was as disposable as his next linen handkerchief, and he had a cupboard full of them. My body was an object to be utilized; who I was; did not even materialize into the equation.

When he was his normal self again, he would definitely be a different man. In a better state of mind and no longer under medication, he could practically have any woman at his feet. I thought that socialites and pretty It girls would suit him best. They moved in the same social circles and were good for his business network. He owned multi-million dollar companies. He was an eligible bachelor possessing the physique of an athlete; all tall and lean. In this increasingly materialistic and fashionable world, these were attractive factors for companionship.

I came to the conclusion that it was selfish of me to think only about how guilty and dishonest I felt. My feelings were immaterial to the larger things at stake- his peace of mind, his company and his life. Especially his dear life. He should never ever make an attempt at his life again, if I could help it. His life had to be on track. I just had to see him through until he no longer relied on medication, and then finally our relationship would disintegrate naturally in a pleasant way. Hopefully that would be within the period of a month- the exact same duration that he had requested for my company. I could make no better wish than that. I tapped on my moonstone and squeezed it hard. As always, its icy coldness gave me an indication of a much wanted acquiescence.

The less he knew about what had transpired a few hours ago, the better it was for both our sakes. He need not know and would never hear it from me. To be honest, I had wanted our relationship to be in a friendly, detached manner; the way one would speak to a stranger in a plane, knowing that you would probably never see him again for the rest of your life. Knowing that the odds of meeting him again were next to zero, I was free of attachments. A stranger in the plane should be like a client; inconsequential, just barely there to constitute a pleasant memory.

I went to bed at eight in the morning with these circuitous thoughts and ended up dreaming about them in some disjointed manner. I woke up late in the afternoon when the sun was shining at its peak. Although I slept for a full eight hours, my sleep was fitful and naturally I woke up tired and feeling a tad melancholic.

An hour into my late brunch, tiredness and melancholia finally gave way to a surrender. I felt a lightness course over my body, but mingled with a sense of fear that I would be found out for what I did for him. He would then be mad at me. I was pretty sure that I could not do anything right when it came to him. Or perhaps he would be delighted that I tried to help him. Maybe he would scorn me because I wrote a terrible proposal. These alternate scenarios kept playing out in my head. I could not predict his reaction as I knew that much- his volatile emotions made no standard answers.

Recalling the highly-emotional night with a clear mind, it was almost as if I had acted on Dutch courage, except that I had drunk only water. I should have taken the Pinot Noir. If anything needed blaming, I could have blamed the bottle. Its pungent scent had always thrown my senses off balance.

I did not think of what would happen after I sent the proposal out to the shareholders. If the proposal was a bad one, I would have made it worse for him. Perhaps it was better if it were never written in the first place. Would he also have been mad at me for invading his personal space and doing things behind his back and without his consent? Had the proposal been good anyway or bad (it did not matter), would he have found out that it was I who had written it?

I was banking in on the fact that he would never find out. If he did not think too much about the finer parts of e-mail workings, I believed that this illusion could pull off. From our conversations, I gathered that he only went to office late in the mornings. There was no way to know that an e-mail was set to be sent from a sender's inbox at a specific time in the future. The first thing I did upon waking up was to rush to my laptop to check on whether an e-mail could be traced back to the time it was set to be sent, and the answer was no. E-mail applications only retain the time the e-mail was sent, and not the time it was set to be sent.

As befitting my highly sensitive senses, I became increasingly paranoid. I hoped that I had covered myself well by my cluelessness. I was a call girl. One would not expect me to write a business proposal. Therefore I could not have done it. Or I was not there when the e-mail was sent at ten in the morning. Either way, I could not have done it. These logic statements kept rewinding in my mind like a mantra until I managed to muddle myself up with a twisted proposition.

The proposal was clueless and the call girl did it at ten.

That did it for me. It was too much to handle. I was going crackers.

I tried to calm my nerves by taking a run down the boulevard to the library. I had a meeting with Cherie today. She wanted to further discuss the organization of the event. I had skipped the ten kilometres home feeling mostly calm and light, and now I ran back another five kilometres to the library, feeling the exact opposite. That was nearly a half-marathon in a day, and on normal occasions, I would have given myself a pat on the back. So much stamina you have, if not strength, Lila!

Cherie brewed me a strong infusion of bergamot tea which I devoured like liquor. I wanted to drown in sorrow, but that was not exactly true for my heart was beating like explosive clockwork on a countdown to the unmasking of fraudulent practices. The red wine would have come in handy here but the library catered only to the pathetic teetotaller, and that was me. Where were the Carbernet Souvignon and the Pinot Noir when you needed them?

Maybe that was why Penelope stressed on liqour when I entertained clients. The true reason was not to appear classy but rather to mask insecurity or its subtle cues.

"Are you very thirsty today or is my tea that good?" Cherie asked me.

"Both." I said, with an apologetic smile, suddenly realising that I was a tea-holic and that I never paid for tea.

Initially I was like any other paying customer. I had however time to spare and seeing that Cherie was alone, I offered to help her place the returned books on their respective shelves and assisted with book reservations. Since then, every cup of tea was on the house.

Cherie made me three cups of hot, brewed tea within the hour. We discussed different genres of music to cater to the diverse preferences of the audience. We had classical, contemporary, jazz and also pieces from musicals. After we had chosen the songs to fit each genre, Cherie felt that the concert was lacking that special something.

"It's missing a good pianist." I said, mumbling under my breath.

I was not in a very cheerful mood, and was self-depreciating, just like the man whom I did not want to think of.

Cherie ignored what I said.

"It's that personal touch! You have to engage the audience. Talk to them. Tell them about the pieces you are going to play." She said.

"I'm not much of a conversationalist." I said, but I knew this was not quite true.

That is because the man whom I did not want to think of told me so.

"It's going to be perfect!" Cherie said, gushing in excitement.

"Did you not hear what I just said?" I asked.

"I did." She said, smiling from ear to ear.

Cherie was becoming just as unpredictable as the man whom...No, I must stop thinking about him!

"Then how on earth is it going to be perfect?" I asked.

"You did not say that you weren't going to do it, did you?" She answered, before adding, "As long as you try to say something, it will be fine."

"I'll chase them away." I said, ruefully.

"You're funny." She said.

I was not trying to be funny but anyhow that was it. After that, I was on autopilot mode. Cherie did most of the talking. My mind was much too far away for my liking. I was thinking, but not of the concert. I was thinking of ...never mind, I simply refuse to give in to that.

On the other hand, I had never seen Cherie look so animated before, and I felt her excitement. I did not know her very well, except that she lived with her elderly parents, was in her thirties, was unattached and that she loved books. A self-professed nerd - that was how she had described herself. Our friendship blossomed slowly in the past three years since I moved here and became a call girl. I was upfront with her. I told her that I worked for an escort agency and worked mostly nights. That was why I had time to go to the library in the afternoons. Cherie knew about my job and she did not judge. Maybe her loneliness had paved way for her to be friendly towards me. It was difficult for many people to accept me for what I did. I felt that it was important, because who I was, was also part of what I did.

Cherie said that her employer at the city council requested that the concert be fixed on the birthday of the mayor which was declared a public holiday in the suburbs and the city. The mayor was pleased with the plans to raise funds to keep the library open. He wanted to close down the library because he thought that it was becoming a white elephant. It was a financial loss to maintain as regular clientele was at a minimum. The mayor thought that the event would make the library popular again. In fact, if the piano gala concert was a success, he wanted the library to double up as a concert hall as well. Serving a dual function meant that the library was self-sufficient in its own upkeep. For him, it was one matter less to worry about.

I thought that it was a really good idea for I have grown fond of my afternoons at the library and also spending time with Cherie. She was my closest friend besides Penelope. I did have other friends at my modern dance class at the fancy sports school uptown along the boulevard, but I felt more comfortable with Cherie because I had told her the truth about myself. Apart from my erratic senses, I had a nerdy streak in me, I guess. I never told her though, because opening up was something I never did. So, it was no offence to the man which whom I had finally resigned myself to thinking about.

The sports school friends had thought me a rich man's significant other with lots of time and money to spare. Because we had started off on a lie (on my part, I had lied), they would ask me about how my partner was doing, and I would always answer that he was a workaholic, and that his work required him to travel outside the country. Then they did not ask anymore. They figured out that I was lonely and did not want to distress me. I then asked about their partners. Their eyes would light up when they talked about their beloved. I felt happy listening to the tones of their voices. Their words were like music to my ears. What they said I did not pay attention to. Only the rise and fall of their voices- this uplifting lilt of their voices had never sounded more melodious to my ears. One of them had said that we could double date, but I had always given the same excuse, namely that the ever busy beloved was out of the country.

I had a fulfilling afternoon. Woken from autopilot mode, I was forced to concentrate and work my brain out with Cherie. Discussing the logistics of the concert diverted my attention away from him finally.

Night time came pretty quickly. I made my way to Mr. Boardmann straight from the library. At the restroom in the lobby, I changed into another flowy cotton dress, applied my makeup and did my hair.

He greeted me with his formal handshake. Each time his grasp seemed harder than the previous one. I wondered how much harder he could go with his grasp before he shattered my fingers. Today all youth and vigour had returned to his face. He looked amazingly ecstatic. His fingers were curled into excruciatingly tight fists, barely holding in his excitement to tell me what had transpired.

His eyes pierced mine like a thunderous bolt of lightning. He was bringing in jigsaw pieces of himseIf right into my very eyes. I only had yet to solve the puzzle. I felt a now known, but sudden rupture streak through me. His soaring passion was reflected in the lushness of his eyes; they shone like gold and glittered like blazing comet tail lights. As I witnessed with my very own eyes, I saw that his joy was the fuel which kept those dark pupils of his expressive and strikingly vivid.

He was happy. He felt joy. That was all that mattered, was it not? He was smiling ever so broadly and he looked ten years younger. His face had a fresh glow; he radiated an inner radiance which shone from his being; it was unmistakably hope which engulfed him for the better.

I was wholly amazed and somewhat overwhelmed by his total transformation. I had felt for him since the first time I saw his face; now I felt his joy sweep into my heart like the gushing waves, empowering me as it had done for him. I felt my joy rise like the sun; shining in all directions. But inwardly I glowed like the moon; feeling pride for my one secret deed must have done him good.

"You're not going to believe this, Lila." He began excitedly, as soon as he closed the door.

Although the reality of what happened had not really sunk in, he was careful not to say it out too abruptly to me, least should he frighten me. I saw that he practiced restraint when he walked to the kitchenette to get me a glass of water, and one for himself too.

I kept quiet, in awe of this self-restraint. For my part, I tried to look as clueless as possible.