As I sat in my hotel room in Baltimore on a Friday deciding whether to call the escort service whose name had surreptitiously been given to me by a business associate, I had no idea what was in store for the future, near or long term. All I knew was that I had just gotten off the phone with my Chicago P. I. who confirmed what I had suspected for more than a month. My wife Jennifer was cheating on me. I had immediately gone to a local bank and withdrawn $4000 in cash.
It was only 4:00 p. m., I had concluded my business early and actually could have gotten a flight back to Chicago from BWI airport that night, but I needed time to think – and maybe get laid. They say that your life flashes before your eyes when you are about to die, or are having a near-death experience. I can believe it since my life flashed before my eyes then.
There are many things irrelevant to this story that definitely passed through my mind as I lay on my hotel suite bed, looking at the ceiling but not really seeing it – instead seeing a motion picture of my past. The things relevant to this story were:
–When I was ten my father impressing upon me the need to get a good education since he didn't think that my older brother or sister was up to the challenge of taking over the large business that he was CEO of, and which extended family members owned all of the stock in. He was pinning his hopes on me being competent by the time that I was twenty one to start working there with the idea that I would eventually take over. I promised him that I would.
–Meeting my wife Jennifer in college fourteen years ago when I was nineteen and she was twenty. Although it was not love at first sight it didn't take more than a month for me to fall for the tall leggy blond with the crooked smile, dancing green eyes, and big tits. Although we got busy fucking soon after we met, it took about six months before I believed that Jennifer had fallen for me too; even at nineteen I knew from experience that females treated males with money differently (aka insincerely) if they had even a touch of gold-digger in them. Since Jennifer knew who Ryan Carlington was – the Carlington name screamed megabucks in the Eastern half of the U. S. – I had to be careful.
–The happiness I felt the day that I got married about thirteen years ago, having already graduated college at twenty years of age with a degree in business administration and eager to start my married and business lives at the same time. How Jennifer raised sex to a new level during our honeymoon on Aruba, and how good life had initially been in the northern Virginia suburb of Washington, D. C. where we bought a house.
–The perhaps even greater joy I felt when my son Robbie was born eleven years ago, and my daughter Julie ten years ago.
–How hard I had to work, I believed successfully, over the last thirteen years to get Jennifer to adopt a low-key lifestyle so that we weren't stuck with only "high society" friends (most of whom I knew from the experiences my parents had were shallow as a small pond in Arizona in August), but could interface with "normal" people who didn't know about our rich financial situation.
–Having my character tested starting four years ago when I went to parent-teacher day for Robbie's second grade class and saw Brenda Robbins, his then twenty four year old teacher. How I had such difficulty first trying to figure out why I was so intensely attracted to Brenda – she wasn't classically beautiful, and 90% of hetero males likely would think that Jennifer was better looking – and how my twenty nine year-old ass could initially be turned into a tongue-tied teenager in her presence.
–My continuing difficulties in dealing with Brenda when Jennifer befriended her and she and her worthless-jerk-of-a-husband Barry visited our house often, and we participated in several activities with them – or at least Brenda when Barry couldn't be bothered since he was working on one get-rich scam or another.
–My business success in the family business when I led its second largest division to new higher levels of economic success than had been considered possible when I joined Carlington Industries, and my decision to accept the job of director of the largest division of Carlington Industries – headquartered in Chicago – two years ago.
–Losing touch with Brenda after initial concerns that Barry was causing her great difficulties, but ultimately thinking that losing touch with her was a good thing since I had never gotten over my infatuation with Brenda and I never wanted to act on it.
–How the first eighteen months in the Chicago area seemed to go ever-so-smoothly, and then how my relationship with Jennifer seemed to gradually disintegrate until I became more and more certain over the last six weeks that she was having both a physical and emotional affair with someone in our community.
–How I couldn't remember for certain the last time that Jennifer and I had anything but perfunctory sex, let alone the basically phenomenal sex that had characterized our first twelve-plus years of marriage.
All of these thoughts, plus many others not relevant here, passed through my brain dozens of times before I snapped into a sitting position and saw that the bedside clock radio said 5:14 p. m. I was always known for making quick decisions from the time that I was in High School until now at thirty three years old and the successful director of Carlington Industries' largest division. So I made one then.
I called the escort service, described the look of the woman that I would like to visit me for $1500 worth of overnight companionship, ate a quick dinner, called my kids before their dinner, allegedly in a rush when I got through talking to them so that I could only talk to Jennifer for a few minutes, and then showered and shaved getting ready for my prized companion for the night.
*************
Imagine my shock – in a real life is stranger-than-fiction moment – when I answered the knock on the door at 8:00 p. m. and there stood Brenda Robbins, except for a few worry lines in her face looking as good as the last time I had seen her about two years ago. We exchanged the trite surprised exclamations of "Brenda?" "Ryan?" before reality truly hit.
I saw tears forming in Brenda's eyes and also saw that she was about to bolt when she whined "There must be some mistake," and tried to take off. I regained my composure sufficiently quickly enough to grab her wrist and say "Don't go – we need to have a serious talk."
While Brenda was reluctant, she really didn't have any choice since I'm almost a foot taller and ninety pounds heavier than her five foot four inch, 115 pound self and I was determined to find out what caused her to appear at my door after I called an escort service. A bolt of realization hit me as I pulled her into my hotel suite and closed the door; as the physical appearance of the woman I had asked the escort service to send I had unconsciously described Brenda to a T.
As I stared into Brenda's red-with-embarrassment face, certain that mine was just as flushed, I knew that I had to quickly to put her at ease.
"Brenda, I'm not asking you to stay for sex; however, I'll pay your service just the same. Please stay here since there are a number of things we need to talk about; please!"
Her reply was a weak "OK."
We sat next to each other on the larger of the two couches in my suite ante-room. "Let me start by why I called an escort service. Then I'm going to want you to tell me why you're working for one."
Brenda nodded her head in assent, apparently trying to count the loops on the carpet rather than looking me in the eye, however.
"I've never, ever, used an escort service before. I was going to tonight for two reasons – I haven't had a decent sexual experience with Jennifer for months, and I'm as angry as I have ever been since I had confirmed today – just hours ago, in fact – that she's been cheating on me likely for the last two months. I don't know what the future holds for our relationship, but things are going to get really bad between Jennifer and me before they get better – if they ever do."
I was surprised by Brenda's response after a delay of a few seconds as she finally made eye contact, her big brown doe-like eyes wide open. "I hate to say this, but I often wondered if she'd cheat on you."
"Why do you say that?" I quickly queried.
"I...I...I'd rather not elaborate," she stammered. "Please can we leave it at that for now?"
"OK," I responded, "but only if you tell me why you're working as an escort.
Brenda cried a little; I wiped her tears off with a washcloth from the large ornate bathroom in my suite, and then held her hands. "I won't judge you, and everything is in the strictest confidence. I'll never, ever tell another soul without your permission," I said in my most earnest voice possible.
"OK," she sniffled, and then told her story.
While the tale was long and complicated, the salient facts that I needed to consider before making a decision on what to do were relatively simple.
While Brenda was still a second grade teacher in Northern Virginia, for the last four months she had also worked as an escort, only in hotels in Baltimore. Baltimore was far enough away from Northern Virginia that it wasn't likely that anyone in a hotel there would know her, but close enough so that she could drive up in sixty-ninety minutes. I was to be her sixth customer, and the second overnight one.
She was working as an escort only to pay off Barry's gambling debts with some bad people. Barry had gotten into more and more debt since I had moved to Chicago, and started illegal gambling. She wanted out of the marriage, but the gamblers made it clear that they were holding both she and Barry responsible for the debt. It was on the order of $48,000. Barry knew she was working as a call girl, but had no qualms about it if it could keep him from having his legs broken.
After she told her story she cried and cried, laying on my shoulder and soaking my shirt. Her consistent refrain was that she hated working as a call girl, Barry, and her entire situation. After half an hour of her soul-wrenching sobs, she finally had no more tears. I told her that I'd help her.
"But how can you help, Ryan?" she earnestly asked.
"You've never been privy to it, but I'm loaded – as in rich. There is no reason to have money unless you can use it for good to help those that you love," I replied, staring into her eyes. "Oh shit – I told her that I loved her," I suddenly realized – but I didn't let that stop me, I was on a roll.
"Not only am I rich, but the security team of the Washington, D. C. division of the company that I work for has some truly bad asses working for it – and I used to be their upper management boss, always treated them well, and they like me. Why don't you go home, and leave everything to me. I'll have everything settled by tomorrow night this time," I promised her.
"Really?" she must have asked a dozen times. Each time I responded "Really!"
