At what point are you just... talking, and at what point are you making love? How do you know? Is there a boundary there that is demarcated, beyond which you have crossed a line?
Miriam thought about that afterwards. The route she had travelled from heterosexual, faithful companion to... what? Her current status? What was that? The route had been so easy. Painless. Pleasure.
It could be argued that Michael had set her up. She supposed there was some merit in that view. But she could have withdrawn at any time – Chenise had made that clear. Chenise... the name lingered on the tongue, and Miriam smiled to herself as the plane jolted into the beginning of it's slow taxi to the runway.
It was also true that the events of the evening were going to remain confidential. Whatever happened between Miriam and Chenise would stay with them. Miriam could not deny her own freedom of choice, her...culpability.
Miriam closed her eyes, contemplated the previous evening's events. She had spent the day at the exhibition, attending a handful of relevant discussions. She had been there for three days, though, and her thinking was as focused on packing her suitcase for the trip back home, as it was on anything else. She left early, in fact, to slip back into her hotel room and unwind. The idea of getting out of her business suit, the slightly-too-tight pumps, and into a steaming bath seemed irresistible.
And so she was more than slightly taken-aback when she entered her hotel room to find Chenise waiting for her.
Chenise.
How to describe her? Not quite slim; voluptuous, in fact. Miriam smiled quietly to herself. Of course, that was the point. Chenise had the body that filled out clothing, gave it definition. Full breasts. Sensual lips. Warm, laughing, darting brown eyes. Rich, jet black hair falling naturally across her shoulders. A total lack of guile in her expression. No innocence, though.
The hotel room had a small alcove at the window, a two-seater and two single chairs looking out onto the garden. At first, Miriam didn't see Chenise at all. She walked in, dropped the exhibition paraphernalia on the table, kicked off her shoes and turned to slip into the bathroom for a quick leak. At that point she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, and realised that Chenise was sitting on the two-seater, wine glass in hand, contemplating her with a smile.
Miriam's first response was mild shock and embarrassment; it took a moment for her to realise that she could not have walked into the wrong room – she had used a card key to gain access. She stopped, unsure what to say, but Chenise pre-empted her. "It's OK – Michael sent me." Miriam still stood immobile, until Chenise laughed. "Go take your pee, hon. I'll be here when you get back."
First things first, then. But as Miriam relieved herself, she pondered who this was. She came out of the bathroom momentarily and walked over to the alcove, not sure how to proceed.
She began with the obvious introduction, holding out her hand cautiously. "Hello – I'm Miriam."
"Hello. My name is Chenise. I am sorry that I took the liberty of opening a wine, but Michael said that it would be fine."
"Michael?" Miriam was puzzled. Michael was three hour's flight away, at home.
"Yes. I need to explain I suppose". Chenise suddenly laughed. She wasn't as young as she appeared at first – probably mid-twenties. Her laughter spoke of a self-assurance that seemed rare. "I poured you a wine as well, by the way. I hope you don't mind."
Miriam shook her head, then took a seat facing this strange woman, in a strange town, waiting for an explanation.
"Hmm. This can be difficult, I suppose", began Chenise. "I should start at the beginning, I suppose." She paused. "Firstly, Michael and I have never met. I have only spoken to him on the telephone. He gave me all your details earlier today."
"Lucky you", responded Miriam. "That's more than he did for me."
"I know." Chenise leaned forward and placed one cool hand against Miriam's arm. "Don't be cross with him, ok?" She uncrossed long legs as she leaned back. Her eyes never left Miriam's. "I work for an agency, ok? We look after people who are... away from home. Men, usually. Occasionally, women."
The words hung in the air between them for a long time. Chenise seemed to be watching for a response. Eventually Miriam snapped out: "You mean you're a hooker? How does Michael know you?"
Chenise took a slow, elegant sip from the wineglass. "Not directly. He was given the agency's number, as far as I know. Anyway – I have never met him, as I said."
"So Michael hired a... " Miriam seemed to have difficulty finding the word... "a WOMAN for me? You must be sadly mistaken, Chenise. I don't sleep around, and certainly not with a woman!"
"Well..." Chenise pursed her lips philosophically. "I can't say much about you, or about Michael's thinking. I can only say this." Chenise leaned forward to refill her glass from the, still, almost full wine bottle, then looked directly into Miriam's eyes. She clearly had no shame. "I'm paid for. For the whole night. I'm yours. To finish this wine and then vamoose, or to polish your shoes, or to give you a neck massage, or to jut spend some time talking, to help you pack... or... to... do... more." She looked at Miriam through a fringe that had falling across deep brown eyes. "What happens between us stays between us. Just you... and... me." She sipped her wine achingly slowly, then tilted her head to one side and smiled. "You ever had anyone who's only function is to do what you want them to do, to show you what you want to see, to say what you want to hear, to touch what you want them to touch, to... lick... what you want them to lick...?"
