Love or Lust

ONE

FLASHING strobe lights. Loud but carefully selected  dance music that fills the whole place. Bodies swaying rhythmically, mingling against one another. Red cups hand in the air, and bottles of wine, beers and other spirits, line the tables.

Despite the air conditioners hanging high on the walls, the warmth of the club envelopes me; a sharp contrast to the cool weather outside. I go straight to the bar and order a glass of martini. I need liquid courage to prepare for the night ahead.

As my drink is being prepped before me, I use the opportunity to really take in the interior of one of the high end clubs in Upper East Side of New York.

The first floor of the club is large and spacious. The bar is a large set up on the left side of the wall, an array of bottles illuminated on display as the bartenders attend to customers. A celebrity DJ is set up on a high stage dishing out music to a very eager crowd, cushioned seats are arranged along the edges and sides of the club, with round tables in between them, leaving the middle of the club - which serves as the dance floor bare for bodies to mingle.

At opposite ends the room, two staircases are each manned by a guard and red velvet ropes to prevent anyone from going upstairs; which I believe is the VIP area. At the upper end of both staircase, the banisters fuse into one, and I can see some people upstairs leanings on them as they watch the party downstairs. Instead of the flashing colored lights that give the downstairs a disco feel, the VIP is illuminated by dim red lights, giving the atmosphere a brighter but cooler feel.

The ping of my phone distracts me looking around, and with my heartbeat drumming, I open the message app on my phone, calming my nerves with a long drag of my cocktail. The text is from my Natasha, who doubles as my friend and one of my many part time employers.

"Are you there already?"

"Yes. I'm nervous as hell."

"He's going to smell your nervousness from a mile away. Just relax and be confident. Take a drink to calm yourself, and be ready for when he calls you in. I trust you."

"Yes ma'am. Fingers crossed." I reply in mock salutation and close the app.

Natasha is an escort, and an experienced one at that. I got to know about her when she employed me to clean her apartment in Midtown Manhattan. She was really tired one morning and didn't come out of bed which was unusual, so although it wasn't part of my job description, I made her some chicken noodle soup and joked about her being a night owl when I served her meal.

While she ate, she confided in me about being an escort, which was the reason why she mostly worked at night. I was a bit shocked and she made fun of my naivety. She also admitted that it wasn't how the media made it to be. It wasn't always about sex, sometimes it was purely to accompany someone to an event, and sometimes she agreed to have sexual activities with whom she was escorting, especially if they're crazy hot. The ball was solely in her court. We began talking to each other more frequently after that day, and later became friends. She was like the older sister I never had.

About a week ago, I was cleaning her bathroom when I heard her over the phone mention to her friend that she needed someone to step in for her for a job. She had come down with a bacterial infection, and was on antibiotics so she needed to stay in and rest for a few days. The price of the job actually drew my attention. $3000 cash was enough to pay my rent and still have a lot left. Then I'd be able to buy actual groceries and stop eating leftovers from the previous days. I'd also be able to pay back some of the debt my deadbeat dad racked up. His sins were currently looming over me and I was paying the price for them.