Carlene

“Wow, is that your husband?” the girl sitting next to me on the plane asks as she retrieves my phone I’d just fumbled to the floor. Why couldn’t it have been at the lock screen with the picture of the flower? Passing it to me, she adds with a smile, “Why isn’t he travelling with you? No way I’d let a hot guy like that out of my sight if he was mine.”

My nerves twist in my stomach. Again. “No, he’s not my husband.” I take my phone from her and quickly slip it back into the seat pocket. He’s most definitely not my husband.

“Boyfriend?”

The man on my other side shifts in his sleep, elbowing me as he moves. Screw the cost, next time I’m flying first class. And that’s something I never thought I’d do. Not when my husband and I were drowning financially just a little while ago.

I shake my head. “Not my boyfriend either.”

I’ve been sitting next to her for the last eleven hours of this horrifically long flight and this is the first conversation we’ve had. I’m ready for it to be over, but she keeps on. It seems she’s reached the end of her movie marathon.

“Okay, I’m dying to know now—who is he? And why are you carrying his photo around?”

This is the difference between generations. I’d put her at about twenty, which is half my age and almost the same age as my twin son and daughter. Where I’d never think to ask such a personal question of a stranger, my kids wouldn’t hesitate. And yet, I find myself trying to give her an answer. My manners never fail me.

“He’s ah…well, it’s kind of hard to explain…” My voice drifts off as I stumble over my words.

Besides not even wanting to try to explain who he is, I haven’t slept a wink on this flight, and being tired doesn’t help me sort through my thoughts. Nor my feelings. And they’re all over the place with this trip. Two weeks in California for this Aussie who never goes anywhere or does anything remotely exciting has me both excited and worried. I’m the woman who can count on one hand the number of times she’s flown. And I’ve never left Australia before. This trip is out of character for me. I always choose the safe options in life. But hell, it’s time for me to broaden my horizons and live a little. Especially now that I have more money than I know what to do with. Still, that doesn’t make this adventure any less nerve-wracking.

The guy to my right saves me from the awkward conversation I can’t escape. He wakes up and breaks wind before hurling himself out of the chair and lurching down the aisle to the toilet.

“Oh God, he’s disgusting,” the girl says, staring after him with a scowl. “And the fact we’ll probably have to use that same toilet makes me shudder.”

“He’s certainly a charmer.” I give a shudder. If being on a long haul flight isn’t enough sitting next to him is just the awful icing on a very ordinary cake.

This flight hasn’t been the best—not that I’m any judge. The entertainment system crashed, as did most of the toilets. Add to that the repulsive habits of the man next to me and the general noisiness of the other people, and it’s certainly been an experience I’m not keen to repeat.

I’ve been concerned I won’t love travelling, so I kept this trip to two weeks in case I don’t. This part of the journey has my mind in overdrive thinking that perhaps I was right to be worried. Then again, it could be Anton causing that.

Oh God.

Why did I agree to him?

The escort who will be waiting for me at LAX.

The man in the photo.

What if I hate him?

I off-handedly mentioned I didn’t want to travel alone, and the next thing I knew, I had an escort booked courtesy of my twenty-one-year-old daughter, Chelsea. She’s a total firecracker. The type of kid that grabs life by the throat and wrings every last drop out of it. She and her twin brother Jackson nagged me about this trip for long enough that I eventually gave in and agreed to it. They’re a force to be reckoned with individually— particularly Chels—but together they’re formidable.

“So you have to tell me. Is he picking you up when we get to LAX?”

Oh God, she’s back to that again and if she’s anything like Chelsea, she won’t give up until she has an answer.

“Yes, he’s a friend and he will be picking me up.”

Well the practical part of me is sure hoping he’s going to pick me up. The girly woman part is torn between not knowing what’s for the best.

What the devil am I thinking? Who does this sort of crazy shit? Certainly not me, a no-nonsense woman from outback Australia. I can run an outback property the size of a small country with twenty thousand head of cattle, but travelling overseas by myself is something entirely different.

My palms start to sweat again, and I wonder for about the millionth time in the last eleven hours if I’m making a huge mistake.

But it’s time to make a change. Shake up the meaningless existence my life has become since that fateful day I lost my husband eighteen months ago.

“So how did you two meet?”

Oh no! She’s not going to give up.

“Umm, we met online.” It’s not like I’m about to come out and say I’m meeting an escort!

“Wow. There’s hope for me yet. I’ve tried Tinder but that just bummed. Where did you find him?”

Bugger! Pandora’s box is well and truly open. I guess chatting with her makes the time go quicker.

“Ahh. I didn’t really find him. My daughter, who I’m guessing is about your age, did. My husband was killed in a car accident about eighteen months ago and my kids thought it was time I started dating again.” Most of that’s the truth. Phillip is dead and the kids have been pushing me to get back out there. I might have told a little white lie about where Chels found the escort.

“I’m so sorry to hear that. It must have been so hard.”

“Thank you.” I can actually say that now without feeling as if a knife has been taken to my gut, let alone the feeling of fighting the tears.

“Did you and your husband travel a lot?”

“No. This is actually my first trip overseas.”

“Really?” She seems totally shocked by this. “I’ve been to twenty-three different countries already. Travelling is awesome. Did your husband not like travelling?”

Twenty-three countries. What the devil? The kid is barely out of diapers.

Phillip hated anything unless it related directly to Colanara, our cattle station. The one that just about sent us bankrupt and was a massive wedge in our marriage the last couple of years before he passed.

“We owned a very large cattle station, in outback Queensland. Running it and seeing to our herds of cattle was very much a 24x7 responsibility.”

Her face screws up a little in distaste. “I’m not into country stuff. Total city girl. My parents took me to Alice Springs once. Worst week of my life, ever. Dust, dust and more dust.” That about summed up living in the outback to a large degree. “Tell me you moved? You don’t get a haircut like that out there.”

She gestures to my bob cut, with perfect highlights. No, I definitely didn’t get a haircut like this, ten hours out of Brisbane in the middle of nowhere.

“When my husband died, I sold the property and moved to the southern Gold Coast.” And didn’t I cop some filthy looks and comments from the locals! People I thought were friends, now think I’m a cold-hearted bitch for selling up. I chose to survive, I couldn’t cope with the banks breathing down my back any longer. The fact, my husband died just made them more vicious.

The only sensible option was to sell Colanara, to the Coal Seam Gas miners for an obscene amount of money. It was that or foreclosure. Phillip is probably still turning in his grave, furious at me, and I honestly don’t care. My instinct to survive was stronger than any emotional connection to the land where I’d lived with him for twenty years. He’s gone, and I’m left to pick up the pieces and start my life over.

“The Goldie is awesome. I love getting down there when I can.”

Now it’s my chance to ask the questions. “You live in Brisbane?”

“Yep. I’m at uni there. Studying psychology. I’m heading to LA to see my dad. He moved here a couple of years back when he married his latest wife.” She shrugs it off as if it’s nothing. “That would be wife number six I think. I’ve lost count but it does mean I get to travel a lot to see him. He never marries anyone from Australia.”

I try not to look too shocked. Six marriages!

That whole topic is just too much for me to touch.

“My kids are like you. City slickers. Both go to uni in Brisbane. They’re doing medicine. They’ll graduate in a couple of years.” Both my kids hated Colanara from the moment they got a taste of the big city when we packed them off to boarding school at age twelve. It was the hardest day of my life, and that includes the day I lost my husband. Leaving my kids at school the first time had been tougher. That said it all in my mind.

Then she starts almost jumping in her chair. “I probably know them. I hang out with a bunch of med students. Do you have a picture?”

Panic hits me. It’s one thing to pass a little time chatting. I don’t need this girl to become a lifelong friend.

I make a show of flicking through my photos buying time when the man from beside me finally returns and pushes his way into the window seat.

Before my new young friend has a chance to badger me again, the captain comes over the PA announcing our descent into LA and the preparations for landing. She jumps up and starts packing away all her electronic equipment, her request for a photo forgotten in the frenzy to end this flight.

As I’m closing out my phone, I can’t resist one last look at the text Chels sent me as I boarded the plane.

Mum, stop stressing. I know you are! You’re going to have an awesome time. Enjoy Anton. He’s so sexy ;) and it’s okay to take a walk on the wild side! (In case you need me to be specific—it’s okay to dine from the full-service menu). In fact, Jackson and I encourage it. You’re not doing anything wrong. Dad’s gone and if he was any type of man at all, he would have wanted you to be happy.

Enjoy yourself, be happy and have fun. (I’d say be safe…but it’s you I’m talking about here, so that’s a given!) Love Chels <3 <3

Oh Chels! I love you, my crazy bold daughter. When I mentioned not wanting to travel alone, she took control with consummate ease and got the ball rolling. The next thing I know, I’m emailing and Facetiming with Perfect Gentlemen, the escort agency she approached on my behalf.

Thinking of that conversation still brings a smile to my face. Talking about sex is nothing to her. It’s as if she’s talking to me about what we’re going to eat for dinner.

Her text reveals so much. It speaks of the disdain both kids felt toward Phillip at the end. He managed to isolate both of them by his coldness and his lack of understanding about their choice of careers over the last few years.

I grab my overnight bag and try to discretely tidy up before I get off the plane.

By the time we land, butterflies are two-stepping in my stomach, and I know they won’t stop until I meet Anton and settle into the trip.

What I wouldn’t give for a shower right now!

I feel grimy and revolting. My preference would be to meet Anton freshly showered with wrinkle-free clothes—I hope he understands.

When I began corresponding with Perfect Gentlemen, they’d been surprisingly professional and didn’t seem sleazy at all. Then, after I met Anton over the web, I finally made up my mind to go ahead with this crazy adventure. He seems very nice, charming and now, I’m secretly looking forward to spending time with him…as well as seeing a whole heap of places I’ve only ever seen on television or on the web.

This is my dream holiday, and I’m determined to enjoy it.

My thoughts are broken when the chatty girl, wishes me a good trip with a very overt wink and embarrassment washes over me. I manage to politely wish her a lovely visit with her father.

Eventually, I file out of the plane with four hundred and fifty fellow weary travelers. Approaching customs is concerning. I’ve seen so many customs television shows in Australia, and I know how strict we are back home. The slightest little thing can land you in crazy hot water with the customs department. They don’t have a sense of humor.

It’s quite funny, now that I think about it. The customs and immigration process is really like a giant cattle round-up. We’re being run through the human version of the cattle crush. Instead of having my ear tag checked, I’m having my passport verified.

I’m big on trying to see the funny side of something. Sometimes, you just have to, in order to get by. It’s a lesson you learn early living in the outback. You either learn to laugh or you will cry at every little adverse thing. And wow, there are a lot of adverse things to test your survival skills.

The immigration process all happens surprisingly quickly, and a few moments later, the imposing black man at the booth gives me the whitest, toothiest smile I’ve ever seen and a “have a pleasant stay ma’am.”

Then it hits me. Through those doors in front of me, there’s a man waiting, and I don’t know him from Adam. Part of me is terrified, and an equal part is excited beyond memory.

I’m on my own crazy adventure, and it’s all my doing.

Rome

“How are you doing with the last of those invoices, Roxie?” I ask, walking through the door, into the downstairs area of my house. For convenience, I’ve converted a good part of the lower level into an office space to run my business, Perfect Gentlemen.

“Just about done, Rome, thanks for the help—not.”

I can relax. I shouldn’t have been worried. I know better.

Most of the time, I just say stuff like that because I feel like stirring her up a little. Reality is, I don’t need to worry—Rox has it covered.

Roxie is my personal assistant; efficient is just one of her many qualities. She might bitch and whine about it, but a better person I won’t find or trust. Another thing I don’t have to worry about with Roxie is loyalty. She’s one hundred percent loyal to me, and as far as I’m concerned, I can cope with her idiosyncrasies and sometimes grumpy demeanor. I’ll take loyalty any day, and in this business, I need someone I know has my back—each day, every day.

We’ve been through the fires of Hell together, and she’s been with me every step of the way as I built this company. Actually, we built it together, but she won’t hear of it.

“Is everything set for today’s dates?”

“Yep. Twenty-three booked, organized, and invoiced. I think the guys are all ready.” She glances up at me, looking a little frazzled from the accounting program she’s using.

Her attention turns back to her computer screen. “Ah, I almost forgot, Anton rang. He wants you to call him.”

That’s strange. Anton usually calls my cell phone direct.

“Did he say why he didn’t call me?”

She shrugs. “I think he said he couldn’t get a hold of you.” Probably, I ducked out for a couple of hours to hit the gym and then interview a potential gentleman to add to my roster of talent. When I check my phone, there’s no missed call from Anton.

I’m starting to get worried. He has a two-week assignment booked, starting later this afternoon I think. The gig is worth fifty grand to Perfect Gentlemen, of which Anton will get more than half.

“Have the funds come through from Anton’s client?”

“Yep, funds cleared yesterday. Paid in full, exactly as the payment slip she emailed said.”

“Thanks.”

I pull up Anton’s number on my phone and press the call button.

It’s just about to go to voicemail when he answers.

“Hey, Anton. Rome here.”

“Hey, man.”

“What’s up? Rox said you were looking for me.”

There’s a long pause on the phone, and my stomach roils. This isn’t going to be good.

“Um…Rome, I’ve got a problem. I busted up my knee shooting some hoops with the guys, and I’m on crutches, knee in a brace for at least the next week.”

A week!

“Fuck, Anton! When did you do this?”

Again, another pause…Anton is trying to figure out whether to tell me the truth or lie to soften the blow, I figure.

“Ah, last night.”

“I thought you had a date last night?”

“I did.”

“Well, then how the hell did you manage to bang up your knee shooting hoops?”

“I banged up my knee a couple of hours before I was due to meet her. I toughed it out and got through. It was only a two-hour date. Just a fish-bowl dinner to make an ex-husband jealous.” Internally, we refer to a date that entails the client showing us off, as a fish-bowl date. The whole purpose is for them to use us to make some sort of statement. Basically, we are there to be handsome, attentive, and to make someone else jealous. Generally, it’s a cinch to pull off.

“Everything go okay?”

“She seemed to be happy with the outcome. Wants to book me for later in the month. Although, I think that one will be more of a full-service date, if she gets her nerve up. Probably an overnighter.”

A full-service date includes sex with the client, although we never refer to it as sex. That’s why we use the term “full service.” I run a company which is one hundred percent escorts only. Sex is up to the client and the individual gentleman. They are all consenting adults, after all. Full service could easily be a date with all the luxurious trimmings if we are ever asked.

Back to the problem at hand.

“So, are you telling me you’re out for the client from Australia?”

There’s a long pause. “I could really use the coin, but the doctor said I have to stay off it for at least a week. I’m hoping no ligament damage or it will be longer.”

“Fuck,” I mutter. How can I sort this out? It’s a two-week assignment for Christ’s sake.

“Sorry, Rome.”

“Yeah, thanks for that,” I replied with sarcasm dripping. Anton is a good guy. He’s been with me almost from the start, and he’s normally one hundred percent reliable. We can bust each other’s balls a little.

“Any chance you can reschedule her for a week later?”

“Just a second.” I put my phone on the desk and move over to the counter running down the side of the room. I’ve got a horrible feeling she’s already on a plane, but I need to check. Our system is set up so each gentleman has their own file box with a schedule, travel documents, and anything else they’ll need for their dates.

In most cases, we look after all the bookings and travel arrangements for our staff and these sort of assignments. The clients pay extra for us to organize. Most women feel uncomfortable picking up the bill when there’s a man at the table when they’re on a “date.” Just a little thing like that can take them out of the moment, the experience.

It’s also for security purposes, and we make a cut on bookings from the travel brokers. The gentlemen all use assumed names to protect their own privacy—we take privacy very seriously. It isn’t easy to book airlines tickets and other accommodation requirements without appropriate identification. That’s why if we do it, the problem goes away. I also insist on handling the logistics because this is the best way to prevent things from getting screwed up and for ensuring venues for dates went well and are appropriate.

Occasionally, when we have a long-term client, we relax our rules, but not when it’s a virgin client. Inside joke, for a first-time client of ours.

I pull out the paperwork for this assignment and plop down in my plush leather chair. One look at the coversheet and all my fears are confirmed. Shit!

“Nope, Anton. Her plane lands in four hours, and you’re expected to pick her up in a brand new shiny Mustang. Guess that’s not happening.”

“Umm, can’t actually drive, Rome.”

My brain clicks into overdrive…I need to solve this problem. I ignore Anton on the phone for a few seconds, and I glance at the client notes section. Mmm, seems she’s the cautious type, not a lot of experience with men. Is looking for a travel companion. Forty years old—widow.

I know the type well.

Looks like she had a couple of Facetime sessions with Anton as well. Not our normal deal, but it isn’t out of the question when the client is paying a big chunk for our services; travel expenses are on top of the scheduled fee, of course. The lady has a right to know who she’s buying for a couple of weeks, particularly when she’s coming from the other side of the world.

“What’s she like, Anton? How do you think she’d take a substitute?” I’m wracking my brain for quick options.

“She seems like a really nice lady. Down to earth, but not exactly comfortable with this whole setup. I get the impression this whole trip is a very big deal for her. She told me at least three times, she really wants to travel but doesn’t want to do it alone.”

I glance over at the massive scheduling board above the counter. “I can probably free up Rhett, Coby, or Saxon. Who do you think she’d go for?” The guys are good at figuring out who a woman will work with. It’s their job, and they’re the epitome of educated and professional. I demand it. Plus, I won’t hire them if they aren’t.

Anton is silent on the other end for a few seconds, which worries me. “Umm Rome, it’s the age thing. All these guys are late twenties. She specifically told me she picked me because I was older. I don’t think she’d be comfortable.”

“Fuck!” I curse in frustration.

“She’s not very worldly. Lived in the outback or something for years. I’m imagining Crocodile Dundee for some reason. This is her first trip overseas. I really think you need one of the older guys. Ideally, not less than thirty-five.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. It just gets better and better.

I can easily reassign one of the three guys I mentioned before. However, from what Anton tells me, and I trust his opinion, it would be a mistake.

I won’t risk the reputation of my company on an unhappy client. It will only mean a refund and a freebie anyway. Better to get it right from the get-go, particularly for such a long assignment.

I’m the only gentleman remotely available who fits the bill. We’re booked solid with a couple of conventions in town. Older guys are hard to get on the roster and really popular with the business ladies. Good thing I’ve been keeping up my gym sessions, eating right, and looking after my thirty-eight-year-old self. I’m at the age where I’m old enough to be mature but still young enough that I’m expected to be ripped within an inch of my life.

I let out a deep, frustrated sigh. It’s the only thing I can do. Looks like I’m back in the game, and I have four hours to get my shit sorted out for the next two weeks. Awesome!

I take a deep breath and try to check my frustration at the next two weeks of my life suddenly being rearranged.

“Okay, need you to do something for me, buddy.”

“Sure, Rome. What?”

“I need you to record a quick video message for her to apologize for not making her assignment and to introduce me. I’ll take this one myself.”

“Done. I’ll do it now and shoot it off to you. Anything else?” Oh yeah, he sure is helpful now I’m covering his ass! At the end of the day, it’s my company and reputation, but the guys also know they have to take responsibility for meeting commitments. It’s what they get paid the big bucks for.

“Yeah, there is. What’s the tone of the assignment?”

“She says she’s looking for a travel companion. But reading between the lines, she’s looking for the boyfriend experience, which I told Roxie to book after having the calls with her. She hasn’t outwardly said she’s looking for full service, but I got the impression it wasn’t off the table if she was comfortable.”

Just great. I expected it. It’s part of the gig—particularly a two week one, costing fifty grand for the privilege of having a companion at her beck and call.

If the woman wants sex, we’re a sure thing. Doesn’t mean I’m excited by it or looking forward to it. I have a part to play, and I’ll excel at it. That’s what makes me the best in the business and the reason we have so much repeat and referral cliental. We are that good at playing the part and coming through with the goods.

One of the reasons I took myself off the frontline six months ago was because I’m so over fucking random women. Yeah, they’re clients, and the vast majority are really nice. I respect them, and I enjoy making them happy. There’s something intrinsically right about making someone else happy, giving them pleasure and seeing them smile—knowing I’ve put it there. I do get a huge kick out of that. But to be on the frontline, I lose a little piece of me each time. Sure, I can compartmentalize it, and I do. Eventually though, I’ve reached a stage where the whole deal has become a commodity.

And yeah, it is.

I get it.

Hell, I’ve made my living from it for a lot of years.

Nobody understands it better than me.

That isn’t it, though.

It doesn’t need to be cheap, and the difference between the service my company provides and everyone else is the little things, the connection with the lady. We genuinely go out of our way to make every client feel like she is the most important and beautiful woman in the world.

That is important to me.

Scratch that. It’s essential to me.

I’ve been down this path before—felt this way before. It was a whole other life. I recognize the signs, though. I’m in danger of becoming that guy once again. The guy I vowed to leave behind. Practically, I’ve also really needed to step back to better manage the business; it’s growing fast.

This means I don’t have time to take on clients. My regulars have been unhappy but understand I need to do this. Some have moved on to other gentlemen and some have just taken the memories and stepped back from the game.

I’ve almost gotten myself to a headspace I’m happy with. I’m exploring another side of me, and I like this me and the path I’m on. Now, I have no choice but to switch gears and become Rome, the escort, rather than the balanced and responsible business man.

“Right,” I finally say in a tight voice. Better pack all the essentials. Not that I won’t provide what she wants, I’d just hoped the next time I’d be putting my talents to use, it would be for the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

Yeah, it’s a joke, an escort who hasn’t had sex in six months. I really hope it’s just like riding a bike. It’s been a long dry spell, and I really haven’t missed the sex. God knows, I’ve had boatloads of it for the previous ten years.

“You’ll be fine, she was nice to talk to. I was actually looking forward to the trip. She seemed to be low maintenance.”

“Cool. I hope you’re right.” The last thing I want is to have to spend time with an uptight, high maintenance drama queen. It’s all part of the deal, and we get our fair share. Two weeks is a long time to be attentive and the perfect boyfriend for, if she’s hard work.

“I’ll get onto the video.”

“Yeah, do that. I need to jet. I’ve got a mountain of stuff to get through in under two hours. Traffic will be a bitch into LAX, and I don’t want to be late.”

“Good luck, Rome. Thanks for saving my ass on this one, bud.”

“It’s fine, just don’t make a habit of it. Make sure you let Roxie know as soon as you’re able to be back in the game. Bookings are through the roof.”

“Count on it.”

And I can. Anton is a good guy. He just has a truck load of baggage that takes cold hard cash to sort out. While this isn’t the business for everyone, if you’re a fit, the money is amazing.

Guess it’s time go and work some, for a change.