Over the next week, I found myself becoming irritated with practically everything. Work was annoying, the subway was frustrating. I watched people a lot that week. Observed the misery and pretense around me; it was everywhere. It probably wasn’t really everywhere, but it’s all I could see. Every conversation seemed mundane, and I continued finding less and less pleasure with each passing day. On Thursday, I was set to meet a friend of mine for drinks after work and couldn’t come up with any reasonable excuse not to go; it had been planned for weeks.

When I walked into the bar, I took note of the old feel of it. More of a whiskey bar, it was warm and cozy, with couches and overstuffed old-fashioned chairs placed about the room. The bar itself was quite small, but its carved wooden front was ornate and striking. The entire room smelled of polish, but not in a way that was off-putting at all; in fact, it was rather pleasant, mixed with the slight scent of high-end alcohol. Whether anyone agreed with me or not, there was a distinct difference between whiskey you could purchase at Duane Reade on any street corner in the city and the type they served you at a place like this. It had an almost floral aroma that gave me the first smile I’d felt all week.

As I glanced around the room looking for Brian, I spotted him on his cell phone in the back corner, already enjoying what looked like two fingers, neat. He must have sensed me, because he looked up and raised his glass in my direction.

“How are you, buddy?” He stood and gave me a bro hug.

“Doing well. Things are great. You?” I lied.

“That’s clearly a lie.” His expression turned somber. “Have a seat, my friend. Let’s get drunk over whatever it is.” He used his glass to point to the chair across from him, and then flagged down a server.

“Ah, you do know me, Brian,” I sighed.

“We’ve been friends since elementary school. Of course I fucking know you. So, what’s got you down? Lady troubles?” he teased.

“Nah, that’s kind of a non-existent thing at this point. Honestly, these city girls are so superficial, man. Like, they have zero substance. I’m so sick of all the ostentatious attitude, with no character to back it up.”

“Well, I feel you there. You’ve always been more a philosopher when it came to that.” He took a sip of his drink thoughtfully, as if he had a secret to tell and he was waiting for the right moment.

“I suppose that may be true, but there’s got to be more to life than making money and buying shit, to show people we don’t care about. Please tell me there is.” The server brought me whatever Brian was drinking, and I took a rather large gulp immediately. As the liquor warmed my throat, I began to relax. I'd started to feel what was the beginning of a panic attack.

“First of all, you need to calm the fuck down. You look like you’re about to have a stroke.” He set his glass down. “Maybe you need to come take a weekend off at our house in the Hamptons or something. A vacation would probably do you some good.”

While that may be true, spending a long weekend at a beach house in what was becoming winter sounded like a recipe for a nervous breakdown more than anything. “I appreciate that, and maybe I’ll take you up on it at some point. I guess I just need to get over the idea that there’s more.”

“More what, exactly?” He continued to almost smirk.

“I don’t know. Just more. More happiness. More passion in the day to day. More something other than stuff.” I paused to collect my thoughts. “You’re right. I have always been sort of a philosopher, but let’s be real here. Is being married better? Are you truly happy every day? I wonder if it’s that I don’t have someone sometimes. But then, other times, all I can think is that I’d be settling if I chose one of these twenty-somethings and started making a bunch of babies with them.

“It’s not that I don’t want to be with someone; I think I do. But right now, I just can’t see it. And truthfully, I’m not even sure that’s what would fix my shit attitude. All I see lately is how miserable people are, living their mundane lives of buying shit to show other people that they don’t even like.”

“You need a new circle,” he said matter-of-factly.

“A new circle. You mean new friends?” I teased.

“Funny. But sort of. You need a new group to associate with. People that are already successful. People who have found the things you’re looking for. So you can model them. You’re almost always the smartest guy in a room. You know what that means?”

“That I’m bored constantly?”

“Well, maybe, but it means you’re in the wrong fucking room.”

“Interesting. Go on.” He had my attention.

“You’re not an idiot, and frankly I’m surprised you haven’t figured this out yourself. If you’re the smartest person in the room, how are you growing? You’re not. It’s that simple. If you’re not growing, you’re dying. And you, my friend, appear to be wilting away.” He finished his drink in one gulp, and motioned for the young man waiting on us to bring two more.

Stepping up my game, I finished mine, and thought about what he was saying. “So, what would you suggest? I look for a new job?”

Laughing at me, he shook his head. “Thank you,” he said to the server, when he brought our fresh drinks. I had never really been much of a drinker, and was already feeling the effects of whatever expensive libation we were having, but took it anyway. Turning his attention back to me, he scanned my face carefully before continuing, “What if I told you that there was a way for you to get paid to join a new circle?”

“What the hell are you talking about? Is this a business scam you’re running?”

“No! Nothing of the sort. Listen to me, and hear what I’m saying.” He turned serious. “What if I told you that you could sign up for a service, that matches people like you—people that have their shit together, people with beautiful minds—with other like-minded people.”

“Do you mean, like matchmaking?” My skepticism had to be evident. He was off his rocker.

“Well, it’s not exactly matchmaking. It can be, if that’s what you want. It’s a client to employee match though, and it is guaranteed that you will find some companionship with someone that has mutual goals and interests, but also has the ability to raise you up into a new circle of society, in some ways.”

“What is this cult?” I teased, trying to lighten his serious tone.

“It’s not a cult. It’s called Infidelity. And I think it’s exactly what you’re looking for.”

“Infidelity? That doesn’t sound very reputable.”

“Oh it’s reputable. And it’s fucking exclusive. In fact, it’s incredibly elite, and I’m only telling you about it because you need a recommendation to interview, and I’m offering mine.”

“So, you’ve participated in this?”

“I have. Do you remember that year I was with that girl from Brown?”

“Yeah, Stacy? She was nice, and wicked smart.”

“Well, I paid for her to be my companion that year. I was trying to look like less of a college boy who stumbled on a pile of money, and I wanted to have a companion, that was essentially my girlfriend and, for all intents and purposes, was my girlfriend. She was paid handsomely to play the part, and we were matched on compatibility. We were a fantastic match; in fact, and we were a real couple in every way for that year.”

“So, what really happened when it ended, if you were so ‘compatible’?” I finger-quoted the word compatible.

“My goals changed. What I wanted changed. She was looking for a new circle, much like you are now, and at the time, that worked for me. As time went on, I realized that I wanted to have kids, and I wanted the house in the suburbs and shit. When I signed on, I didn’t, so at the end of our contract, we parted ways. Very amicably. She didn’t want those things, so we didn’t renew our contract, and I left Infidelity. Later that year, I met Melanie.”

Melanie was Brian’s wife. She was from a great family, had her own money, but was more than happy giving up her career to be Brian’s wife, which, ultimately, turned out to be what he wanted. Not that he would have ever held anyone back. I truly think Melanie always wanted to be a mom, and she was already an amazing mom to their three-year-old son, David.

“So, you think that a year of companionship, we’ll call it, would change my perspective?”

“I don’t know if it would change your perspective, but I think it’s the kind of remodeling your temperament could use. You would be the employee, so you would have to agree to the terms of whatever the woman paying the bills would want. That might mean moving in with her. It might mean simply being her companion to events. It might mean fucking her a couple times a week too.”

“Whoa, are you serious?”

“Oh come on, don’t get all high and mighty with me. This is a service that matches you with someone on a level you could never pay for. This is elite. This isn’t some online dating service. I assure you that whomever they match you with, you’re gonna want to fuck.”

I ran my hands through my thick hair, ruminating over everything he’d said. A year of companionship. With a stranger? It seemed preposterous, but I also thought that he and Stacy were a real couple. I mean, it sounded like they were, but didn’t exactly start out that way. I couldn’t wrap my brain around the concept. But, it had to be better than doing absolutely nothing, or more of the same.

“I’m intrigued. I’m not convinced, though. How do I get started, or get more information, or whatever it is that I do?”

“I’ll make an appointment, and we will go see Karen Flores. She’s the boss lady that handles interviews, placement, and matches. She can go over some of the details with you, and you’ll need me as a reference. I left in good standing, and the only way to participate is with a referral from a client, or former client, or employee. In this case, you would be the employee, not the client. The client would hire you to be whatever it is they’re looking for, and it’s completely at your discretion whether or not you agree to the terms. But, once you do agree, you are wholly committed for one year.”

“One year,” I repeated. “One year is not a very long time when you think about it.”

“No, it’s not. And I’m telling you, bro. You’re gonna be hot for whoever it is they match you with. Mark my fucking words. The spring in your step is gonna be back in no time.”

“Alright, fuck it. Let’s do it.”