Chapter 7
End of the Night
Sasha Ramirez
Leo—probably not his real name—had told me a client wanted a hot chick on his arm for a business dinner. The pay was a hundred and fifty dollars minus his thirty-five percent. I had leaped at the opportunity to make that much in a single night. I was still working myself up the ladder after being at the escort agency for almost a year because I would not perform sexual services. The top girls at the agency made as much as eight hundred to a grand in one outing; this included my roommate, Renee, but I had given the “only good company” caveat.
The business dinner had fallen through, and Umberto, clearly taken by my looks, had insisted we go somewhere fun rather than let a beautiful night go to waste. I had ended up in the VIP area of a club, a dimly lit room above the dance floor that was closed off with clear glass. A lot of girls milled about in outfits that revealed too much skin. I knew most of them would kill to take my place tonight and that thought caused me to feel more unease. The man on the couch next to ours had been stealing glances at me. He had three girls on his arm and obviously did not seem satisfied. Tired of his lewd glances and growing more irritated with Bert's insistent fingers, I locked eyes with him in a deadpan stare that wiped the sly grin from his face, and he turned away uncomfortably.
By the time we were through with our meal, Bert was slurring and guffawing at his loud, meaningless jokes. I had forced myself to enjoy my plate of ravioli; the sauce had been surprisingly good, washed down with two more glasses of wine to numb my discomfort. Bert, in his eager-to-please manner, had ordered another plate to go for me, without my permission. They served ice cream for dessert. My host, who had switched from beer, was just shining off his third bottle of wine. He had taken off his suit jacket so he could stretch out better on the couch. His head was beginning to loll, like he was about to doze off. I cursed silently to myself and contemplated whether to leave or haul his 200-pound meat sack out of the club without breaking a bone or two.
"Bert? Bert! We should go. I'll call for the bill." I stopped a waitress in her tracks and asked her to get it. I patted Bert down—he was beginning to snore—searching for his wallet. I found it and opened it to find a slim wad of hundred-dollar bills. I paid, then I asked for his car to be brought around and his driver sent up. Between us, we dragged him out of the club and stuffed him into the car.
Bert drooled while his head leaned on the passenger window and occasionally knocked against it. I opened his wallet again and took out two hundred-dollar bills, the amount I thought I deserved for the night’s work.
I tapped the driver to get his attention.
"Hi, so I'm guessing this had happened before. Is there a hotel where he can spend the night? I don't think his wife would let him inside in this state," I suggested. I didn't know why I bothered. On some level it was born out of concern for the poor woman who was unfortunate enough to be married to him.
"Yes, ma'am. The Acordia. It's a couple blocks away. I take him, don't worry." He looked at me through the rearview mirror with a mixture of surprise and respect. He had a heavy Italian accent that made him punctuate each word with a brief pause, unlike his boss. Bert spoke with a learned American accent but had certain inflections that exposed it was not his first language. "Where are you headed?"
"Just drop me off on the next street, if you don't mind. I'll find my way."
"You know, most girls don't bother with him like that. You’re different," he said, maintaining eye contact through the rearview mirror. "Berto, my boss, you know. He usually good with alcohol, hold his own. I think you so beautiful he overdrink to impress. One time I wait outside the club till 4am, the club is empty by now but he no show. So, I go to find him. The girl he came with? She beautiful, red hair like you. Anyways, she gone. Clean out his wallet and just leave him on the chair."
"Oh," I responded hesitantly. I could not think of anything to say, reluctant to have a conversation. I fussed with the hem of the red dress I had borrowed from Renee for the evening. It complimented my figure and set a lovely contrast with my hair. Bert had gushed over it.
"Well, when he sobers up, tell him I had a lovely time," I said and smiled wanly. The car veered into another street. "Here's my stop. Good night."
"Good night, ma'am," he replied.
I alighted, and he drove off. Bert was sleeping soundly in the back seat. I shook myself again in relief as I went over the events of the evening. I knew I would find a red imprint where he had massaged my thighs. Despite it all, I was grateful I could send a substantial check back home. Emilio, my brother, had run off, and mom was left by herself. I knew how much she depended on the regular checks from me, too weakened by sickness to find any work. I tried to take care of her as best as the situation allowed. This meant working late hours for the escort agency, meeting sleazy rich men whose only source of confidence was their fat bank accounts and long-distance calls that cost a fortune.
The cab I boarded pulled to a stop in front of my apartment. I had never been so excited to get home.
