Fictional Interlude: The Specialist

Regular readers know that once per month I publish a little tale about a heroic whore; if you like this one you might also enjoy the others linked here.

Wanda checked her makeup, hair and watch; the client would be there in about 15 minutes.  That really wasn’t time to do much of anything other than catch up on the news, and though that meant ink on her hands she could wash them quickly enough; one advantage to her clientele was that they tended to be either punctual to a fault, or extremely late.  Since the latter circumstances occurred about every fourth date or so, Wanda never scheduled more than one appointment in a given night; she could never get used to the worry when they were late, but the pay was excellent and she really felt she was performing a vital service not merely to her gentlemen, but also to society at large.  Besides, she never got tired of their stories.

The newspaper lay untouched and unread on the table as her mind wandered back a few years to that night she had her first special customer; it was a warm night like this one and she had the French doors open so she could enjoy her spectacular view of the skyline.  Even on an expensive call girl’s income a high-rise penthouse would have been a strain on the budget, but the building’s owner was one of her patrons and it amused him to trade rent for services.  At first she had been wary that he might demand too much of her per week or attempt to take other unwelcome liberties, but he was very busy and couldn’t afford the time even if he had been that sort of man…which as it turned out he wasn’t.

It had been a quiet night; her only scheduled appointment had cancelled due to a last-minute change of plans, and since she knew he’d make it good later she was just enjoying a drink on the terrace while listening to her transistor radio.  Absolutely nothing could have prepared her for the abrupt appearance of a well-known public figure on a private rooftop forty-five floors above the street, and had she been the panicky type she would surely have screamed.  Her immediate reaction was to assume her landlord had finally decided to violate her privacy in order to play out some sort of ridiculous fantasy, but as soon as her visitor started to speak she knew he was the real McCoy.

“I apologize for this unforgivably rude intrusion, Miss Danton, but I’m in need of help and a friend of mine spoke very highly of you.”

Wanda was speechless for a moment; “What kind of help could someone like you possibly need from someone like me?”

“The same sort as any other man, Miss.  More so, in fact; there aren’t many people I can trust, and women…”

“You’re wary that women might want to be with you because of your celebrity rather than because of who you are as a person.”

He seemed visibly relieved.  “Yes, that’s it exactly.  But I still have the same needs as any other man, and you have a reputation for discretion.”

She smiled.  “Your visit does me honor, even if your approach is a bit unorthodox.  Would you like a drink?”

And that was how it started.  After that first night he phoned for appointments like everyone else, always booked multiple hours and paid twice her normal rate so she would leave her calendar clear for the evening just in case he was held up by an “unexpected business meeting.”  He laughed every time she referred to his delays thus, but he appreciated the fact that she treated their arrangement just that nonchalantly.  Inside, Wanda still felt a strange mixture of excitement and fear whenever he arrived for a date, but she never let her face show anything more than the pleasure any other call girl would show at the arrival of a favored client.  Certainly, he could’ve visited any girl incognito, but he seemed to need to be able to unburden himself about the unusual pressures of his life to someone who would listen without judging and give him simple human tenderness without the expectation of some sort of spectacular performance in return.

It went on that way for the better part of a year, then one night he asked if she minded if he referred her to a friend.  “I don’t mind at all,” she said, “but may I ask if your friend is in the same line of work?”

He smiled.  “Yes, he’s noticed I was much more relaxed in the past few months and asked the cause.  And since he is a friend I couldn’t very well deny him the opportunity to get to know you as I have.”

One referral led to another, and by the time another year had come and gone Wanda had decided to specialize.  With rare exception, she had referred all of her regular customers elsewhere and now catered specifically to her exclusive, appreciative and generous “special” clientele.  Except for their shared commitment to the cause which united them, they were as different from one another as any other men, so her work never became boring; even their means of payment varied considerably from plain cash to gold or jewels or deposits into her Swiss bank account.  Since it was rare that one wished to visit her in the daytime she became a night owl herself and it was not at all unusual that dawn found her just kissing her evening’s visitor goodbye.  Some were easy to please, some difficult; some were men of few words, and others wanted to talk for hours.  But she considered all of them good customers, and wouldn’t have wanted to lose a one of them; that was why she worried so when they were late.  Though it had never yet happened, she knew it was inevitable that one night an overdue date would never arrive, and then she would have to endure the weary hours until the morning newspaper or news broadcast told her of his fate along with the rest of the city.

It was all worth it; though nobody outside a very select group knew the part she played, that didn’t matter one bit.  She knew, and they knew, and that was enough.  And as that thought crossed her mind, she heard a soft whoosh on her terrace and went out to meet her date, kissing him hello as his powerful arms encircled her and his cape billowed about her in the evening breeze.