The Call Girl and the Businessman

Author's Note: A big thank you to my readers for your support and encouragement. My story almost comes to an end now. Feel free to let me know what you think.

A big hug to the man in my life. Ik hou zoveel van jou.

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Chapter 9 - The Past, Present and Future Before My Eyes

I did not hear from him again. It was hardly shocking news to me. I was probably his greatest nightmare and if I were him, I would most certainly not want to be associate myself with this idiotic wreck. She was a call girl but she refused to sleep with him. I only brought onto him more frustration, annoyance and confusion. I was no good for him anymore. My utility value was now exhausted. My task was done though.

It would have been much better if we could have parted on good terms. His irascible temper at me was understandable given that I had not been professional in my clandestine arrangement with him. All arrangements with call girls were clandestine, were they not? Nobody in their right mind would want to brag about spending a night with one.

After I was done with crying my heart out, I could finally feel nothing but dispassion at how my tumultuous relationship with him had started. I knew there was something lurking beneath those strange wolfish eyes the moment he set his gaze upon me. His eyes bore a disturbing intensity which had caused me to shudder; causing me to feel out of myself. That very invasive gaze was the start of it all. It was the very moment that I was unearthed by him. I was no longer Lila, the sensual and sexy call girl, but a lesser version of myself. I had second thoughts; and these were about fleeing there and then from the restaurant. It had terribly dim lighting; so reminiscent of Van Gogh's scene from The Potato Eaters.

He would not have been out of place as a figure from the painting. Alas, I was so taken by his abrupt mannerisms. His rough, curt manner of speaking bore so much feigned indifference towards me that I could not but feel that there was something amiss in this man; and definitely there was more than which he let me see. He hid something which painfully tugged at my heartstrings. Ever since that moment, I had secretly carried a torch for him; hoping to reignite this passion for life and to cure him of his deficiencies. These were hardly my responsibilities to start off with but I had borne them like a boulder over my shoulder.

I knew that he would mean nothing but trouble. The rational mind was never wrong. I should have fled for my own sake. In those tense days which followed, he had not been able to conjure up the standard questions I was so used to hearing. He had not wanted my body. He had never even given me the decent opportunity to strip for him. Our conversations, while as distant and indifferent as could be; harboured emotionally wrought undertones. Still I failed to properly take it as a warning sign to leave despite pondering over it in my idiotic scholarly way. He must have realised it too because he had rather compelled me to leave for good and not come back. Yet I would not bulge for I had carried this torch for him and I was playing with its flame. I would not be put off by the flame even when it had gradually singed me. I was attracted to trouble.

My fault lay in my own ambitiousness. I was absolutely sure that I could rise to the occasion. I had grown overconfident of my seductive capabilities. I thought that I would have him enamoured by my femininity. Worst of all, I insisted in knowing better about who he was and what he wanted. He could not be more accurate when he said that I had judged him. Judge him I did, and I was more than ashamed of my self-righteous behaviour.

Penelope had meant well but I had disregarded her advice. My desire to heal him meant that I had to open up my heart as well, even though at that time I was wholly unaware of his bourgeoning effect on me. I pictured myself going into a stranger's room. In the beginning, the room was spacious enough, giving me unfettered space to take him as I perceived him to be. As he wormed up his way into my heart, the room began to shrink and although I had tried to flee, the scent which was him still surrounded me wherever I went; whenever I thought about it. And thought about him I did. He was the scent of my life.

I thought of him as one whole. I thought not only of his voice but the words he had uttered to me; not only of his warm hands; but how they had touched me tenderly; his feelings, not only of his anger and violence, but also his vulnerability; his chest, not only how I felt a desire in me; but also of a desire I had provoked in him. I thought of how he had tenderly held me in his arms while I sobbed my heart out. I thought of how he had kissed my maimed back till I shed tears. I thought...I would not go on. I was getting obsessed about him, was I not? Something had triggered those thoughts about him. It must have been my shame over my less than professional conduct. What he thought about me I dared not think anymore.

During the day, I was able to circumvent thinking about him by keeping occupied with my piano playing. Yet those haunting, beautiful eyes always pierced me during the lonely hours of the night. He came to me at night in my dreams. His image obstructed my sleep. In those dreams, I saw him looking at me from a distance. Those piercing but perceptive eyes had the power to shrink me. Eventually I was but a breath of air; in an inconsequential plane of existence. Then as he made a move to grasp the nothingness I had become; my dream abruptly ended and I woke up in cold sweat.

I felt that I was going crazy. I was thrown into the abyss of no return. I found myself using his very words to describe my situation. I felt so strongly for him and about him. My heart pounded erratically when, like a ghost, he appeared in my mind. I yearned for him.

I had never felt such extreme distress before. I could not show my distress to the world. I would not talk to Penelope because she had advised against my actions. I would not talk to Cherie because she represented a whole different world of idealism and simplicity. I did not want to get her mixed up into it.

I tried to solve my own aching heart problem. I tried to go deep inside the crypts of my heart; as rationally as I could to see what the matter was with me. Why did I think about him? I gathered that besides shame, I had felt extreme guilt for not being able to give him sex. So I thought that I should find ways to minimize my guilt.

I came up with a professional solution. I informed Penelope about his business trip and that to be fair, he should be reimbursed because he spent only a week with me. Penelope said that business was business. Everything was paid in advance and there can be no reimbursements unless I wanted to reimburse him personally. And I did, because I felt that this was the least that I could do after our last disastrous night. The money did not matter to me. Money never did equate into the reason why I embarked into this line of work. Yet ironically it was quick and easy money, much more than one would make holding a regular office job.

Penelope had given me his bank account details and I had transferred back everything which he had incurred to hire me from day one because I felt really bad about the whole situation. Lawyers would have called it a total rescission of the contract. It was as though our contractual arrangement had never transpired at all. It put us all back to square one, that is we had never known each other at all, similar to turning back time to stop the incident from happening. Therefore I wanted to go back to the position I was in prior to meeting Mr. Boardmann and that also meant not thinking about him anymore.

A little voice in my heart told me that he might just call once his plane touched down in Bangkok. Maybe he needed me to help him with some translations. After all, I was Thai and my English was pretty fluent, being the perfectionist that I was. But I thought that he must have been too annoyed with me to want contact again. Furthermore he must have had his own interpreters. He did not have the means to contact me anyway even if he had wanted to. He did not have my phone number nor did I have his due to the privacy and confidentiality protocols of the escort agency. These protocols were there to protect the call girl rather than the client. Although I had not experienced stalker clients, I have heard from colleagues in the industry that they were the worst possible types.

To console myself out of my misery, I told myself that he had a blast of a time with Fiona. You see, she had a special skill. She knew how to belly-dance and she could flex abdomen muscles I did not know even existed. In fact she could gyrate her body in a most sensuous way. Once in jest, I asked her to show me how she seduced her clients, and she did show me those sensuous moves combined with her nimbleness and flexibility. And I was supposed to be the exotic one, if only in skin tone. Fiona was a fair-skinned beauty and it was a great contrast that she had mastered the Middle Eastern dance form of seduction. I was sure that Mr. Boardmann would at least commend me on my choice of replacement. Maybe he was not as angry as I thought he would be.

Throughout my youth, I had found immense satisfaction in working on standard rules for every occasion. Immature as I was, I gathered that since I had these rules personalized to suit my own under-privileged circumstances, they should have been able to withstand prying eyes and the individual scepticism of the questioner. Most importantly, these standard codes of conduct and answers were true to me. I would speak only to reveal as little as possible about my past. It would be skimmed over; I liked to imagine rocks skimming on the surface of water before sinking into the depths of the ocean.

When I became more intellectual through education, I gathered, first and foremost, that education was the way out of poverty. Secondly, I gathered that since I had started out with an ugly past, I needed a cover story so that I would appear to fit in; if not in the proper sense. The years of falling victim had gradually borne forth in me a need to protect myself from all kinds of people. I started ruminating on how to devise better rules for myself by observing legal and philosophical principles. The chain of causation was one of the principles I used often.

The wise said that time would heal all wounds, but what if the wounds evolved over time into something else? Was it also considered healing? The pain which had caused me great suffering became my strength. I felt stronger in spite of it. It was difficult for me to articulate it in words. There was no chain of causation which I could systematically apply to my feelings to determine how and why it happened. All that I was sure of was that it always led back to Mr. Boardmann. He had triggered everything in me; from my heart to my feelings about life. Had he not appeared in my life, I would still be the old, confident me, in a colourless but functioning world. In hindsight, it was not that bad. At least I was functioning, even at the borders of societal norms.

Being ever inquisitive, I went a step further. I questioned not only my rules as I had done previously but the principles behind my rules. If the method for determining a rule was flawed, then the whole system was flawed. Had I not known him, I would be sane. Had I had known him, I would lose my mind. I pondered over these statements. I wondered if I could simply put all blame on him. Was there a direct link between what he did and how I reacted? Were my actions proportionate to what he did? Determining the direct link and the issue of proportionality was a behemoth task for me. I knew I could not possibly be judge and arbiter at the same time. I could not help the irony of a smile which escaped my lips. I was well aware that had this been a court case, I would have to recuse myself as judge because I had personal knowledge of the disputed facts. Furthermore I was already bias and prejudiced towards both myself and Mr. Boardmann.

I was aware of the fallacy of my circuitous thoughts because I was bound to go through same scenarios over again with different reasonings. So for the next three weeks, I attempted hard to concentrate on practicing my recital pieces and nothing else. I willed myself to the extreme to forget about him. I was doing a lousy job at that but I played considerably much until I got used to the sound of my own playing and of the occasional visitors placing seats beside the piano in the grand hall to watch me play. I would often get compliments and this increased my self-confidence when it came to my music-making skills. Cherie and I looked forward to the event and I did want to see it succeed. At least I can excel in one part of my life if not others.

I admitted googling him online. There was a brief article on a business website which stated that Matthias Boardmann, the infamous business tycoon who attempted suicide a year ago, was currently restructuring the South East Asian offices. However that was about it. Everything seemed to be kept under wraps.

I did however confide in Penelope and Cherie that my arrangement with Mr. Boardmann did not end well, but I could not bring myself to say to them that I was unable to sleep with him. I could not tell Penelope because the job implied that I should, and for Cherie, it felt awkward. Penelope was not as sympathetic as Cherie was; she said that she had known all along but she had given me a big bear hug anyway. Cherie was more reticent in her body language. She looked at me with empathy, nodded and gave me sachets of bergamot tea to bring home to brew for myself.

One glaring fact I omitted from the both of them was that I thought about him so much. I had missed him like crazy. I blushed when I thought of how he kissed me on my cheeks. I smiled when I recalled our playful conversations, and I felt warmth inside of me; so much warmth. Therefore his presence into my life had not been wholly bad. I had felt that affection and I was going to bottle it up for as long as I could in my memory. Every time life brought me down, I would open up that bottle again and feel the warmth; and inhale his musky saturation.

Now I could see the world gradually awaken in vivid colour before my very eyes. I saw not only beauty and joy wherever I went; I also saw how the hideous could turn into beauty, and how joy could turn into sorrow. I was already a changed woman. I could never be the same again. Working with Cherie and the city council employees, I observed opposite spectrums of characteristics during my interactions with them. I had volunteered for a heavy workload to keep myself occupied.

Finally after a long and excruciating three weeks, the piano gala concert finally came into fruition. After the hustle and bustle of preparation was over and done with, Cherie and I, along with a few other employees from the city council, could only wait and anticipate on whether the event would be success or otherwise. I was quite the introvert and did not feel like mingling with the crowd. When the first batches of audience started streaming in, I made my way behind the thick velvet drapes which functioned as a pre-podium. I could watch people unobserved from here.

From its inconspicuous vantage point, in solitude I watched the increasing flow of people fill into the grand hall. I calmly observed how quickly my beloved place of books was filled to its maximum capacity. I thought of how relieved Cherie must be that the expected crowd did turn up. I had been rather wary of a low turnout due to the weather. A weather warning had been issued earlier this afternoon. There was to be a storm tonight.

It was overcast and windy now by the boulevard. The looming storm was expected to reach its height sometime around midnight. The rather quiet atmosphere now was like the calm before the storm. It was a matter of time before the Northern Wind would shake everything up.

My perception of the musky saturation in the atmosphere could not be wrong when it was so obvious to my bare eyes and as strong as the scent in the air. For a brief moment, caught unguarded, his likeness drifted into my mind; as coaxing as the scent he represented. I sensed his presence around me. It enveloped me like dew. I felt its volatile tenderness and my spirit violently filled with a longing affection for him. If only I could see him again, I would tell him how sorry I was that it had not ended well between us. I sighed as I brought my arms around my heart.

I saw the skies getting darker by the minute. Even though I was inside, I saw and heard the hustle of the willow branches being swayed about by the wind. I thought of the herons which had still nested under those willows. I wondered when they would make their migratory journey to warmer climates. I could gaze outwards to the sea from the windows. I saw how the waves; initially gentle, had now risen thrice its height and was now slamming against the rocks.

I had stood eclipsed by the darkness because I had omitted to turn on the light near the window. I was not out to be cost efficient, but rather I wanted to watch unencumbered as the fancily dressed people made their entrance. I had always been an observer. It was as though I was not really participating in the event but there instead to make observations for my standard notebooks, as if my life depended on it. The darkness of the room enveloped me with a sense of calmness that I would be alright. I was doing this for a good cause and after my performance was over, nothing would be expected of me again. I could go back into the shadows of darkness and revel in my solitary sanctuary. Darkness and nothingness were synonymous. They demanded nothing of me.

The audience came in winter coats and shawls although we had not quite reached winter, technically. I caught a wisp of autumn's ravenous chill in the air. I had worn an empire silhouette dress; the colour of dark champagne. Sleeveless with a plunging necklace, my moonstone necklace stood out very clearly against my skin. The dress had a fitted bodice just below my breasts and it created the illusion that I was taller than I was. This was what I liked best actually. I wanted to look tall and willowy because I was short and petite.

I had a pale chiffon shawl which I wrapped around my body. Despite the dress being all flowy and long, I felt cold. The chill was sharp and it stung against my bare skin. Dresses like these were never made for weather endurance. I also had satin gloves fitted with lace right up to my elbow. Come to think of it, I looked like a character from Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, except that I was Asian and would not fit in anyway. Who was I trying to kid?

From behind the drapes, I took fleeting glances at the audience. Peeking through the narrow gap in the velvet curtains, I saw how dressed up they were in their evening attire. The men looked impeccable in their suits while their equally fashionable companions wore evening gowns. I was amazed at how grand this event had turned into. The mayor's office had done a spectacular job in promoting a small-time concert as a high society fundraising event.

Cherie and I had shopped together at the boulevard and we chose evening gowns ourselves, because according to her, we had to look, act and dress the part of host and pianist. I had merely smiled. What if looking the part was all an elaborate hoax? I was not a professional pianist. As recent as a month ago, I had to be forced to the piano. But Cherie said that I was an undiscovered talent, and just maybe tonight there would be talent scouts around. The least I could do was to play the last song well, otherwise...

She had coyly smiled.