BZZZZT. BZZZZT.
Those two short, clipped vibrations cut through the air like a gunshot. And I freeze, my brain focusing to determine where the noise is coming from. I look around the room, trying to figure out where it’s coming from, and then it hits me. That sound. That glorious, cruel, teasing little sound is the one I set just for my emails.
"Shit—!" I shout, launching off the couch with so much enthusiasm that I catch the corner of the coffee table with my toe. Pain explodes through my foot as my body falls forward. My arms shoot out instinctively, catching me just in time to avoid my face colliding with the floor.
The hardwood isn’t merciful, and my wrists scream in pain. Add that to my throbbing toe, and my pride curls up inside me and dies a quiet death somewhere near the baseboards. I scramble upright with the frantic energy of a man possessed and hobble toward the door like a war-wounded soldier on a mission. I need to know who that email is from. If it isn’t from Foxy’s, then I’m done. I’m going out back, digging a hole and covering myself in it.
I snatch my phone off the table, ripping the charging cord from the wall along with it. My fingers move with precision, gliding over the icons until I find the one for my email and open it.
The top message. I close my eyes, squinting them tightly together, sending a silent prayer to Nana that when I open them I’m not imagining what I’m seeing.
My eyes flutter open hesitantly, like they already know what’s waiting might disappear the moment I try to confirm it. Holding my breath, I swipe up with my thumb, removing the home screen and displaying my email once again. And it’s still there. My heart flips. Literally, flips. Like a fish out of water, flailing and gasping.
Subject: New Booking—URGENT RESPONSE NEEDED
One message. A single line visible in the preview, and already it’s making my eyes go wide. Clicking on it, I open it up, ready for all the details. I skim over everything quickly, and I nearly faint in shock.
A laugh roars from my mouth, wild and shaky. Relief? Disbelief? Almost like a strange high that comes from toe-stubbing, face-saving, wrist killing, heart-pounding anticipation.
Finally, someone wants me. The idea that I can save my home is becoming a reality.
I scan the email again. Slower this time as I make my way back into the living room, somehow doing it injury free.
Two days! She wants me for two days. One is for tomorrow and it’s for three hours, which is the minimum time you can book someone for. And the other is Saturday for the full eight hours for a wedding. Apparently, the meeting tomorrow is at noon at Sunrise Cafe on Main Street. It’s merely to go over details and provide the dress code. Seems I’m going on a revenge date. Somehow that makes me perk up and grin broadly as curiosity takes over. I’d been hoping my first date was a man, but this will work. And it still leaves my night open to book another date.
“Fuck yeah!” I shout as my mind starts working through the math. Eleven hours worth of dating at five hundred an hour is five thousand five hundred. But that’s not what I’ll get because I still have to deduct Foxy’s cut for renting myself out. After her twenty-five percent, I’ll have a little over four thousand. Not a bad takeaway for a few hours and a nice chunk out of the twenty-three thousand owed in back taxes.
I flip over to my texts and send Scout a message.
Me: Hey man. Just making sure you’re okay and to let you know I’m here. You don’t need to respond, but I got my first date. Thanks for helping me out. I appreciate it so much.
Not even a minute passes before he answers.
Scout: It’s going. And congrats, man. The first of many and one step closer.
Me: I’m here if you need me.
He doesn’t answer. But I don’t expect him to.
My mood suddenly is on the upside, and I don’t plan to let it fall back down into darkness again.
I flip back to the email and quickly accept the date. Both of them. Now I just need to sit back and wait for the others to flow in.
The next day, I show up at the coffee shop a little earlier and even splurge on a Caramel Macchiato with almond milk and make it a venti. My eyes glaze over the dessert case and I quickly decide to get an orange-strawberry muffin as well. Might as well treat myself now that I’m a working man. Turns out being a professional plus-one is hard work.
Once I have my drink and snack, I look around the shop and find a table in the corner. One where I can have my back to the wall and a perfect view of the door, so that I can see who’s coming in.
I have a picture so I know what my date, Andrea, looks like. She’s a pretty woman. Not in an overly gorgeous way, but more like the girl next door. Jet black hair and the darkest brown eyes I’ve seen. She looks to be in her late twenties or early thirties and has a warm smile. A part of me is curious why she even needs to hire a date and who would break up with her. Could she be a hateful bitch with a rude attitude?
My wait isn’t long when I see her open the door and step inside. She looks around anxiously before her eyes land on me. She raises her hand, giving an awkward wave before heading my way, folder in hand.
“Bradley?”
I stand and shake her hand. “I am, and you must be Andrea. Would you like something to drink?” I know technically that any costs that are incurred during the date are covered by the person hiring me, but I can’t help but to offer to purchase it for her. Call it how I was raised.
“No thank you,” she says softly. “Your picture doesn’t do you justice,” she adds.
“I can say the same for you. Please have a seat.” I gesture toward the chair in front of me and she sits down, while I return to mine. I might not have been nervous before, but suddenly, now that she’s here, I am.
