Friends With A Prostitute

Chapter 1

Cynthia could hardly avoid smiling. As a mother of toddlers with a part-time job, walking like this through the city's streets had become a rare occurrence for her. She had a backpack on her, and inside the backpack was her beloved Canon camera. It had been so long since she had practiced her passion for photography, but she still remembered clearly how it felt to have the camera in her hands, to play with the light and the shadows and to capture splendid moments in time.

She was standing at a corner, thinking of the best way to capture the next image when a woman's voice behind her said, "You should take some from the top of the hill. The city looks beautiful up there."

"Oh really? Just up the road?" she replied

"Yeah, right there. I can show you if you like."

"Sure! Sounds lovely!" And she began walking up the hill with the woman. The woman wore a maxi skirt and a long-sleeved V-neck. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail. She walked with elegant strides and her voice, when she spoke, had a warm tone to it.

At the top of the hill, looking down at the at the rainbow of cars and people, the woman said, "I love the diversity in this city. We have so many people from different parts of the world here. And there's just the right amount of hustle and bustle going on. It's neither overcrowded nor empty. Magnificent, isn't it?"

"Yeah. And we have so much culture going on." Cynthia replied, "Did you see that play at the theater last week? Lonely Stars?"

"Yes, yes! I loved it! It's was so brilliantly done. That girl Claire is a really good actor. And she's only 17. Can you believe it?"

"She is talented, yes. Thando couldn't have picked anyone better to carry the concept of the play. Isn't it so true that you can be a world-famous singer with millions of fans and still feel lonely?"

Glancing at Cynthia and then back at the city, the woman said, "I think it's ridiculous that we expect any different. Just because someone is famous doesn't mean they stop being human and having human feelings. It's not fair to think of them as superhumans the way we do, you know."

"Right!" Cynthia exclaimed in a rather raised pitch. She had been having the same thought about celebrities not too long ago. "Fame doesn't magically take away people's ability to feel nervous, sad, or lonely."

"And at the same time, it doesn't take away their right to make mistakes and to be wrong. The way we judge them for the smallest of mistakes, it's like we think we're saints ourselves."

"These young stars could literally step on the pavement the wrong way and the whole world would go crazy calling them washed out." Realizing that the sunset was reflected splendidly on the windows of the city's buildings, Cynthia started opening her backpack to retrieve her camera.

"But you know, I think the same way we shouldn't judge them for the smallest mistakes, we should assume that everything they do is right. Because on the other end of the spectrum, you find these fangirls who think everything their star does is right. So, you have people judging their every move and people praising their every move. Both are unfair, wouldn't you say?"

Drawing up the camera to eye level and capturing a landscape of the sunset, Cynthia replied, "I mean you shouldn't say, 'I'm doing this because famous person so-and-so did it too.' Just because your favorite star did something, doesn't mean it's right."

"Treat them like humans. If you can make mistakes, they can make mistakes too. If you can be wrong, they can be wrong too."

Cynthia could see blue arches of the cathedral, which against the orange of the setting sun, looked divine. The white theater that had been the source of such rich conversation with the woman, seemed to be built just for the setting sun. The windows of the hotels and the malls sparkled as if made of diamonds. The yellow taxis, taking tired workers back home to their families promised to capture the life of the sun even after it had set. The city looked beautiful.

She continued to talk with the woman about the culture of the city, and occasionally asked her opinion on the snaps she had taken. She let the woman show her all the spots where she could capture a different beauty of the city. She seemed to have forgotten that she had met the woman only a short while ago, and they chatted as if long-time friends.

But eventually, the dusk prompted them to go back down the hill and find their way home. As they made their way back, Cynthia wished she could ask for overtime with the sun, make it stay around a little longer. She didn't want to have to part ways with this woman.

"You didn't tell me your name," she said to the woman.

"Stacy. Yours?"

"Cynthia. Do you come here often?"

"Sometimes. I love to watch the sunset before my night work."

"Oh, you work night shifts?"

"I work at night sometimes, yeah."

Cynthia wanted to know where this woman worked at least. She wanted to have a way of finding this woman again. Anything to make their paths cross one more time. She debated with herself whether it would be too nosy to ask too about the woman's personal life. But she asked anyway, "So where do you work?"

"I'm a prostitute. I work mostly in hotels. I don't like to go to my client's homes. But I do sometimes."

Did she just say prostitute? Cynthia thought she must have heard it wrong. "I'm sorry, what? You said you work as a..."

"I'm a prostitute. A sex worker. I get paid to give people a good time."

"Oh"

The woman suddenly laughed loudly, "Goodness! They all have that reaction when I tell them. Anyway, see you around Cynthia. I have a client waiting for me at Hilton."

And just like that, the woman turned a corner and left Cynthia alone at the curb. She stood there for a minute, stunned. Then she walked home slowly and pensively.