CHAPTER TWO
Bridget
Signing up with Gold Medallion was a mistake because it’s been a week, but my date with Robert still hasn’t materialized. And it isn’t for lack of trying. The day after I booked the escort, I was immediately on the phone with an employee of the service.
“Hello,” I said tentatively. “I booked an escort last night, and I wanted to cancel?”
In the gray light of morning, my idea had gone from bad to worse, so I was trying to remedy the action. But the woman had unfortunate news.
“I’m so sorry,” she said regretfully. “But there are no refunds on this site. Didn’t you read the Terms and Condition?”
I swallowed, trying not to lose my temper.
“You mean all that fine print that that made my vision blur? The stuff that went on for paragraphs and paragraphs with no end?”
But my sarcasm was lost on her.
“Yep!” she chirped happily. “All of our customers agree to void their right to a refund as soon as they enter our site. Why, did something go wrong?” she asked, her voice suddenly concerned. “We’re the best service in the city, and your satisfaction is our number one priority.”
I rolled my eyes.
“No, it’s not that anything’s gone wrong, I just want to cancel,” I said insistently. “Is there some way to do that?”
“I’m sorry, but no,” the woman repeated again, her voice sympathetic. “But maybe I can help you in some other way. My name is Lindy. Who were you booked with?”
“Robert,” I said in a short voice. “I just made the booking last night. In fact, it was only six hours ago.”
Because after entering my credit card number, I returned to my novel, but despite the steamy text, couldn’t keep my eyes open. I fell asleep on the couch in my clothes, and woke up mere hours later feeling gross and crusty, my dress all wrinkled. I stretched a little while holding the phone to my ear.
“Do you see it?” I asked with a big yawn. “It should be there. The site took my credit card.”
“Hold please,” the woman said pleasantly before disappearing. Elevator music filled my ears.
Hmm, this was weird. Was she checking on something in the system? Talking with her supervisor? It was about seven a.m. on Friday morning, and I had to give Gold Medallion credit for even picking up.
But the hold became longer and longer and longer until I was tapping my foot impatiently while fuming into the phone. I swear, I listened Boy George’s Do You Really Want to Hurt Me and the Pet Shop Boys’ Go West in full before Lindy finally came back on.
“I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to call you back about your booking. Can I get your number please?”
I was dumbfounded.
“Why, what’s wrong?” I asked. “And you have my number already. I entered it in last night.”
Some more keys clacked away.
“Oh that’s right,” she said cheerily. “Sorry, my bad. But yes, we’ll get back to you about this one, Ms. Martin. I apologize for the wait.”
And with that, the receiver clicked off. I was stunned. Was there something about my profile that was a trigger? I could see why they wanted to vet any potential clients, but at the same time, the money had already been paid. That should be the most important thing, right?
Unfortunately, there was no time to mull things over because I had to get to work. Another day at the Star Gazette beckoned, and I wouldn’t be able to pay my rent if I played hooky one more time.
Sighing, I rolled off the couch and into the shower, the hot water waking me up a little. I sudsed my hair and considered giving Gold Medallion another call later in the day, but then decided against it. After all, they should be calling me. They were now in possession of my money, and I should be treated as a VIP client.
But my phone didn’t ring that afternoon, nor the day after. And when I called over the weekend, another woman picked up who seemed to have no idea what I was talking about.
“I spoke with Lindy last time?” I asked in an agitated voice. “By the way, here’s my confirmation number.”
The receptionist listened and took the number down, tapping it into her keyboard. But just like before, she disappeared for a while, putting me on hold. This time, I listened to Cyndi Lauper’s Girls Just Wanna Have Fun and Madonna’s Material Girl. Odd. Why didn’t they play some elevator music, or at least some recent Top 40 hits? Seems that Gold Medallion was stuck in the eighties when it came to their taste in music.
And when the woman came back on, she was less than helpful.
“I’m sorry but your order is still processing,” she said regretfully. “Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime?”
This time, I was furious.
“What do you mean, still processing?” I said in a tight voice. “What’s going on?”
The woman clucked with sympathy.
“Management has certain policies and procedures that must be followed for new clients,” she said, “and your order is still being processed. We’ll be in touch once your order goes through.”
“Wait,” I said huffily. “What does that mean? How can my order still be in process? What is there to process exactly? You already took my credit card.”
“Unfortunately, I’m not at liberty to say,” replied the woman smoothly. “But Ms. Martin, please rest assured that your order is of the highest priority to us. Management is aware of your request and is working to expedite it on all levels.”
Wow, that was a bunch of PR-speak if I’d ever heard any. Management is aware of your request? Expediting my order? I was “high priority”? Yeah, right. But again, I hung up, frustrated and confused. Because what could I do? It’d only been a few days, and maybe these things did take a while to go through. Maybe Robert was in the North Pole right now talking with penguins, and they couldn’t reach him via satellite phone. Who knew?
So it’s been a week now, and there’s been no progress on my alleged date. If it ever happens. I’m stuck here editing articles about goofy celebrities who do wacky things while sitting in my tiny eight by eight cubicle. The walls are beige, the carpet is beige, and even my computer is beige. I’m stuck in a sea of all beige, and my vision’s going blurry as I read another item about the “Most Shocking Divorce of 2018” or “Did He or Didn’t He Cheat?” Oh god. I desperately want to be relieved of this life, but how? I already took dramatic steps, and yet Gold Medallion isn’t coming through.
But after ten days passed, I finally got a call on my cell. Oddly, the number was from an unidentified caller and I almost hit skip on my phone. After all, as a single woman in NYC, I don’t pick up calls from numbers I don’t recognize. But after staring at my phone as it rang, on impulse I seized the handheld and picked up.
“Hello,” was my surly greeting. “This is Bridget.”
The voice on the other line was smooth and polite despite the rude way I answered.
“Hello, Ms. Martin. This is Brianne. I’m an agent at Gold Medallion and we’re here to confirm your date with Robert.”
“Um yes,” I said, lowering my voice and looking around. Of course, the walls to my cube prevented anyone from seeing me, but I was aware that my co-workers could still hear my voice. “I’m sorry, could you wait a moment? Give me a chance to go outside.”
And with that, I ducked out of the building, going down ten stories until I was out on Park Avenue on a drizzly gray day.
“Hi,” I said, cupping the phone to my mouth. “I’m back. Sorry about that.”
“Oh no problem,” the woman said smoothly. “Like I said, my name is Brianne and I’m here to set up your date with … um, Robert.”
Okay. This was good news. At this point, I was happy to hear about any progress at all.
“Great,” I said, standing up straight with sudden verve. “I’m free this weekend.”
The woman laughed a little.
“Yes, but Mr. Half is currently out the country, and won’t be back until February. Are you available either February 6 or February 22?”
I squinted, confused. This guy was only available four weeks from now, and only two days at that?
“I’m sorry, but I have to check my calendar,” I said. Of course, I knew that I had nothing planned. Who does so far ahead of time? I stood there, breathing heavily and tapping my foot for a few seconds before saying, “Yes, those dates work. I’m available.”
“Perfect,” said Brianne smoothly, although I suspected she knew I’d been fibbing all along. “We’ll be in touch with the details. But please have a cocktail dress and heels ready. Robert is very particular about that.”
And without saying goodbye, the woman clicked off. I stared at the phone in my hand. What in the world? This was so crazy. I was the client after all, not him. I should be able to show up in grungy sweats and my hair in a ponytail if I wanted. It was his job to pleasure me, and not the other way around. So why these demands about a cocktail dress and heels? And why was it taking so long to even book a date with this man?
Suddenly, my heart plummeted because the answer was obvious. Robert was clearly a highly sought-after male escort, and he probably had women stacked back to back in his calendar. See? The voice in my head went. You can’t get ahead of yourself. This is a business transaction, nothing else. You booked it on a whim, and that’s all it is. A flight of fancy that has no meaning.
Resolutely, I sighed again before making my way back to my cube. Because I’d already invested so much: my time, my money, and my emotions. And now that I’d managed to secure a date with the gorgeous Adonis, it was too late to back out … nor did I want to.