1. Remy
Forty minutes is all it takes for my day to go from pleasant to devastating. My Chanel skirt that I'd saved for this particular occasion was now ripped at the knees. Three thousand dollars shouldn't be this easy to taint but even money couldn't buy me luck.
I had an early appointment today, so I woke up at six, went for a jog and almost got run over by this entitled prick in his Land Rover, grabbed my morning coffee and spilt half of it on myself in front of an immersed crowd at the cafe. If I had more eyes on myself, I would turn to stone faster than Medusa could make me.
And if it wasn't already inconvenient for me, my client decided to switch our meeting location at the last minute, to a restaurant on the opposite side of the city.
He said it was 'to test my determination', whatever it meant. If I didn't actually enjoy each day with my job or grieved over the pay it got me, I wouldn't have been in the business for four years.
"Could you get me to Travellers in ten minutes?"
"But it takes thirty without traffic." The cab driver reasoned.
"I'll pay you double if you do." I tempted him with the one thing humanity fueled on.
Something gleamed in his eyes and he accelerated the cab at the speed of sound. Annoyed remarks from the other drivers in traffic tried to stop him but he drove past them as my knight on a shiny, black and yellow horse.
I sat back in the backseat and wiped the fringe of what was a beautiful skirt, my joy when I bought it seeped out through its ends as my handkerchief in hand slid through it.
"You took quite a fall there." He commented, keeping his eyes on the road. His cab was one of the many I needed to catch to make it on time even if I tripped and fell on my knees.
"I would've missed your company if I didn't." I joked and he smiled. If he was older than forty it didn't show. Amiability reigned on his features as we conversed. The lines near his eyes made an appearance every time I made him smile and I loved getting them out of people. Humor came in many forms and I accepted them all.
My urgency to be on time slipped my mind and would've wandered had a message not disrupted me.
Damien: How much longer do I wait before you abort the meeting?
Me: I'm in the lounge. A couple more minutes before you get to meet me. :)
My fingers said I was in the lounge when the vessel of my damned soul actually resided on the backseat of Dave's cab.
"Not very considerate to change locations that late. Why didn't you postpone it for later? Even now it's going to take five more minutes." Dave asked as his eyes searched for my attention through the mirror.
"If it takes five minutes, let's grab a casket on the way, for me." His head tilted at my reply. "Seriously, this is an important client and not accepting his claims wouldn't set a good name for me. Especially when I've yet to hear his case."
"Are you a lawyer?"
"No."
He paused, waiting for me to answer his question about my occupation. Just because I loved it, didn't mean it was appreciated by society but I replied with every ounce of pride in me.
"I'm a contractual associate for those who opt for a personal companion in tasks resembling a marital union."
He stared in confusion and I didn't blame him. Elaborated truths were more convincing than menial lies.
"What?" He blinked his eyes furiously.
The cab slowed down in front of the huge building of The Travellers Stay and I exited before it completely stopped.
"Thank you for getting me on time, Dave." I waved at him before he could interpret what I did for a living.
The revolving doors unveiled a grandeur palace instead of the hotel it promised. Pale marble, pretty faces and scent of extravagance clouded my intention of getting to the restaurant.
After enquiring about it, I entered the elevator and made it to the seventh floor. I wasn't financially unfulfilled but this was on a different level. These people lived to parade their generation's worth of hard work on those who barely made it by, but who could blame them. Had I been in their position I'd live each day recklessly and on the brink of collapse, so it made me grateful to be who I am.
As I made it on the floor, the elevator doors unveiled well-known paintings, pillars of marble, tables spatially placed for its visitor to engrave every detail of the room, glossy windows with a blue tint that embellished the cellular leather of those enriched with the highlighted sunlight through it.
A glimpse of brown hair caught my eyes. I walked towards it to confirm my suspicion. And it came in the form of a lean, tall, nonchalant man sitting next to a gleaming window, his eyes glued to his phone. The rays of sunlight reflected against his skin and bounced into the retinas of countless women seeking a peek at him. The brown in his hair didn't compete with the red on his cheeks, assuming from anger rather than anything else. I made my way next to his seat with a defensive look on my face but I didn't sit.
"Damien Channing?" I asked even though I knew it was him. I'd recognize that charming face in any corner of the world no matter how enraged it got.
"Who are you?" His fingers reached his ears to remove the airpods from it. My attire wasn't very demure at the moment so it made sense he didn't recognize the woman he waited for, for minutes. Patches of mud and a rip made itself comfortable on the clothing at the side of my knees, my hair was half frazzled, half wet with sweat but my smile and the determination in my eyes made it to the depth of his.
"It couldn't be but, are you Remone D'Angelo?"
His brows narrowed and I heard his silent prayer that he was mistaken.
"In the flesh but call me Remy." My smile grew wider as he laughed. The warm sound settled deep in my soul, reaching every inch of it.
"Are you serious? Oh you are?" His hands reached his forehead as he tried to register who I was.
"I apologize for taking more of your time than asked for, but shall we get into it?" I slipped into my professional mode.
"No. No. No. First I want you to tell me what happened. There's no way you're Remone D'Angelo. I asked for an elegant, orderly wife not for this trash of a human." He flicked his finger towards me.
I understood his concern but he didn't have to be demeaning.
"I adjust according to the needs of my clients. However I might appear to you at the moment has nothing to do with my capabilities." I maintained the work mode even though my neck cried out from the strain as I stared down at him. I stood out in this environment, literally and metaphorically. The gazes of curious guests from the adjacent tables didn't make my day better but I stood unaffected.
"Just sit for now." He grumbled and I complied.
Sitting on his level gave me a better glimpse of his model-like features.
"Explain what happened."
"Do you really want me to tell you about my day? We haven't even finalized the arrangement and you're already trying to play your part?" Snarky Remy tried to unleash amidst this meeting but I controlled her.
"Sure, let's talk about that first." He waited for me to continue.
"What are you looking for in a wife and if it requires me to do anything against the terms or illegal I'll back out with the full pay."
"I can work with that, but didn't you already read what I asked for on the website?"
"I did but hearing it from you would make it more clear as to what you want from me. So please, what are you looking for in a wife?"
He sighed before answering.
"Honestly it's a little embarrassing coming to an online service for a wife. Not that I lack feminine attention in my life but the women I interact with are not marriage material if you understand."
My silence gave him the signal to keep talking.
"My parents want me to settle down, against my principles. I want to travel, explore myself, the people, the food, live life for what it has to offer, not what my parents want me to do. They've lived their lives, it's time for them to be content with the one they've been given."
I didn't require a reason from my clients behind their hunt for a wife but listening to their problems and their ideologies seemed to relish a part of myself that many didn't understand.
His golden brown eyes never left mine for the entirety of his words.
"Last year I told my entire family I have a girlfriend and now they want me to get married to her. Except, surprise, surprise it was a lie and I need you to play the role. The marriage is going to be three months from now and I need a prim, sophisticated fiancée. We will be married for a year until I get promoted from associate to the CEO of my father's architecture company. You would definitely have to meet with my family a couple times prior to the marriage. How does four times a week sound to you?"
"Would we be coaxed into generating an heir during the marriage?"
"No. This marriage is the only thing they are getting out of me and a child would be a liability more than anything else."
I pulled out a notepad from my bag and started writing the necessary details.
"Quite the professional aren't we?" His smooth voice settled on my tympanum.
"Let's make it three times a week. Monday, Wednesday and Saturday. Anytime of the day with the timing and place agreed by both parties at least four days prior."
I leaned forward with my eyes fixated on his.
"Pull anything like today during our arrangement and you'll face dire consequences." I remarked on his sudden change in our plans.
"I won't, mudskipper. This was an emergency and a mistake on my part. However, that doesn't warranty tardiness or whatever you hoped to achieve today." He retaliated and before I could nod in agreement, a word pierced my brain.
"What did you just call me?"
He directed his vision on my knees, the patch of distinct color on my skirt reasoned my new nickname.
"No nicknames, grizzly and tell me more about your fiancée." I uttered. His wide eyes sent a tinge of pleasure coursing through my veins. Our glare was interrupted by a waitress who set two cups of coffee in front of us. Damian saw the perplexed expression coating my face and relieved it with his words.
"I thought you'd need this to recharge, considering my wife was late for our meeting." He drawled and resisted the urge to wince.
"Too soon for that. But go on, tell me what you want." I lifted the cup to my mouth. Caffeine and comfort demolished any barriers my work mode self had created. The warm liquid assuaged any annoyance I had fostered.
"My mother's a Harvard alumni and my sister graduated from Yale as a cardiologist two years ago. The women in my family have been driven and accomplished for generations, it would only make sense for me to marry a lawyer working at one of the best law firms." He nodded his head to refer to the aforementioned lawyer.
"Do you use your real name for this or…"
"Depends who you want me to be. A lawyer mirroring your parent's expectations so much that it freaks you out too or a hard working, self dependent, but moderately fun and laid back fiancée."
"The former undoubtedly." He sipped his coffee.
"Alright you can use your name, all that's left now is deciding how much your talent is worth."
Three weeks and he was still deciding the worth of my abilities, alone.
I'd just returned from one of my other client's visits and I was exhausted. As I laid on my couch, the smell of eggs I made in the morning made me hungry. I had a night out planned with my friends later, but a little food prior wouldn't hurt. Albeit the client's visit was in a restaurant with his mother, I hardly ate during work.
Call me a bride for rent or a contractual wife, I loved every bit of it. As a criminology graduate from Penn, the lack of career opportunities wasn't my issue. I needed something more adventurous, more risky in my life. We only live once and I wanted to experience more with what little we have.
This situation was supposed to last for a year but I couldn't quit. Not when the joy of goodwill and aid to others provided a gratifying pride to my heart. At the start I did receive some creepy and inappropriate requests, from those who didn't grasp the difference between me and the services of a brothel. But when the genuine people rolled in, their quests seemed much more fulfilling.
Most of them were typical men who'd want to escape from the clutches of marriage their parents needed more than themselves. Some needed help getting rid of a toxic ex lover or a companion to experience what marriage would feel like. Some craved attention, while others craved longing and the tangible notion of love. I couldn't reciprocate it, not because I was incapable of it, but rather it would complicate things unnecessarily.
The job was also the reason behind the lack of a boyfriend in my life. Not that anyone had caught my eye in the last couple years but the thought stalled in my head.
The client I'd just met, Quin Matthews, needed someone to persuade his mother he wasn't gay. Hailing from a highly conservative and controlling family, his tale of coming out was never released. As a thirteen year old, he was expected to be intrigued by rockets, business, football not how alluring James from next door was.
Today was the last time I'd work with him. We got divorced at a courthouse and ate lunch at a diner after. His mother seemed heartbroken but it was nothing compared to her horror when she would find out her son was going to elope to New Zealand with his boyfriend in a week.
Not that she'd ever find out, but she brought it to herself.
Nothing beats the tranquility of a hot shower after a tiring day. I made another batch of a sunny side up and settled on my couch to devour it. The runny yolk in my mouth cleansed all toxicity and fatigue the universe had mustered against my plea. The soft velvet of my couch brushed my skin, leaving marks of encouragement all over it.
As the last bite entered my mouth, my phone rang to remind me of my importance in the caller's life. At least their patience waited until the eggs were ensconced in my stomach.
"Hello?"
"Hey, it's Damien."
I paused, registering the voice and name in my brain.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I was thinking we should meet again, to discuss the first date? Text me your address and I'll pick you up in two hours."
He sounded anxious and overly confident at the same time.
"Today's not working for me, I have a prior arrangement. How does the 23rd work for you, it's a Friday."
"Busy with another date?"
"I'm not obligated to answer your question. So does the 23rd work for you?"
Privacy between the clients and myself protected me from any unforeseen incident. Usually they understood, but some were unnecessarily persistent. Being a wife in name didn't mean they'd have complete subscription to my personal life.
"Alright, I'll check my schedule and let you know. But in the meantime you should work on your conversation skills. Give me something to work with, mudskipper. I get you want the satisfaction of being unbothered but indulge me. Lie for all I know. Who cares?"
His carefree and persuasive nature almost made me ignore that weird nickname he had for me. Walk in with mud on the hem of your skirt one time and you end up as a mudskipper.
"Do you want to go extinct, grizzly? I decide how much I want to reveal about myself and you'll take whatever I give. Got it? I don't lie, not about something so trivial."
His contagious laughter left me smiling. Its smooth edges enveloped me in my living room.
"This is appreciable too, I guess. I'll let you get busy now. Talk to you later."
"Alright."
His voice imprinted on my subconscious as I hung up. I didn't get attached to clients and still had no plans to, but something about his voice stuck with me.
And the joy I felt had nothing to do with the remnants of the sunny side up on my plate.