Taxi to Paris Read online

  She raised her eyebrows. If she did that one more time, I'd have to kiss her, even if I had to pay for it!

  "Everybody wants to know that. I'm sure you're no exception." She looked out the window. "Almost every time I'm with a new client, she asks the same question."

  I stiffened. I didn't actually want to be a "new client." And I didn't feel like one, either.

  She looked at me indifferently. "You really don't want to know?" I shook my head. "Well, I don't suppose it makes any difference. I never answer the question."

  I could tell that she wanted to be rid of me. She began to get restless. Any minute now, the fastest way to get me to leave would occur to her. And here it came already!

  "So, did you get what you expected?" She looked at me very professionally. I almost expected her to add, "Will there be anything else, ma'am?"

  I had to smile to myself. Instinctively - or perhaps completely rehearsed - she had chosen the topic which would, under normal circumstances, scare me off the fastest. But what were "normal circumstances" in a relationship with her? This whole evening and the entire night up to this point could not be compared with anything in my experience.

  And this woman was not going to get rid of me so easily.

  She became impatient. "Were you satisfied?" She gave me a scrutinizing look. "Or did I do something wrong?" My silence made her nervous. "I know it didn't all go like you had imagined it would." She made a remorseful face. She was good at it! I bet most women melted right down when she pulled this one. She grabbed an appointment calendar from the nightstand. "We can make an appointment that's convenient for you, and you can tell me what you didn't like." She unfastened the black leather band and flipped through the pages.

  This was truly unbelievable - she was offering me an improvement!

  "What are you afraid of?" I asked.

  She froze. Her eyes told me, more clearly than her reaction or any words could, that I had hit a sore spot. She retreated back to her own mental terrain in order to steady herself.

  "Should we not make an appointment, then?" she asked, leafing aimlessly through the calendar. She turned to face me once more. Her eyes had this I-have-no-idea-what-you-want look now. They reminded me of the big luxury cars with wiper/washers on the headlights. One moment dirtied - one wipe, and they were clear again.

  Now she smiled knowingly. "If you have a reason to complain, that's bad publicity. And bad publicity is bad for business."

  I was reminded of a conversation I'd had recently with a car salesman. He'd presented himself in much the same way. In that case, though, he'd wanted to sell me a car and not his body.

  "You can call me." She pulled out a card.

  "Oh, no!" I groaned. "Don't give me your business card now, too!"

  She laughed, pleased. It seemed authentic. "I knew you'd hate that," she said. She took a pencil and wrote something on the card, then handed it to me. It was an elegant, white, handmade card, completely empty except for the large, curving letters in the middle. No name, no address, just the numbers. That was really the extreme in discretion.

  I looked at her. Tiny laugh lines crinkled at the corners of her eyes. "Business cards are not typical in my line of work," she explained, even more amused. "Sorry to disappoint you."

  There we sat, two naked women in one bed who had just slept together, as if we were sitting together having coffee at an upscale café.

  "Would you like some more sugar?"

  "Oh, no, I'd rather have another small orgasm. But not too strong; I'm having my hair done this afternoon." The scene occurred to me, surreal.

  I had no more reason to stay, much as I didn't want to admit it. But I wanted to see her again. How could I do that? As her client? Never! Did I have the slightest chance, then? I kept looking down at the card in my hand. Slowly, I was growing uncomfortable in this bed. And it could have been so comfortable. Fall asleep together, wake up together, a little cuddling, a little sex... I felt the tingling begin again.

  She watched me. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. No, I decided, she'd never do that. And I needed to get out of here as quickly as possible.

  She continued to scrutinize me. Before I could think of my next move, she said, "I'm going to take a shower now. Would you rather go first...?" Her polite, professional, obliging manner hid it badly: this was my final dismissal. I shook my head mutely, without looking at her. She rose. I watched her go. That graceful walk - I relished every one of her movements.

  When she had shut the door behind her, I leapt out of the bed. I dressed quickly. At the door, I spun around one last time. I heard water running and looked back on the bed. I wasn't going to forget this night anytime soon.

  Chapter 2

  My office was waiting for me at eight o'clock the next morning, as always. "Project Manager" was under my name on the door, together with the names of my two male colleagues. We were the so-called "project leader pool." My work was a bigger part of my life than I often wanted to admit. I didn't feel right when I was away from it for any length of time, like for vacation or sick leave. After that, I was usually really happy to get back behind my desk again. And often, work alone had gotten me through my personal crises.

  "Where on earth should I start? Look at all this!" My colleague Mark let out his usual lament as soon as he saw me. I smiled involuntarily. Even though I had next to nothing to do with my colleagues on a personal level, I couldn't help but like them. This made working together a lot easier.

  "Oh, Mark, you're not the only one with a lot to do. We're all up to our eyeballs in work." My answer met his expectations, just like the rest of my normal behavior. This was our daily ritual. He was only half listening to me, just like I would half ignore or automatically answer his usual running commentary on the day. This gave us a sense of belonging together, and didn't distract us too much. Professionally, we were busy with two completely different projects, such that we rarely had a substantive conversation.

  My other colleague came through the door in his usual quiet manner and saw me. "Good morning," he said, which I knew had to be the beginning of a business conversation. I wasn't disappointed. "Have you seen what I left on your desk yet?" I turned around and saw his report lying on top of the mountain of other paperwork on my desk. I shook my head.

  "No, I haven't. I just got here myself." I went over to the desk and flipped quickly through the pages. "You adapted the plan, like we discussed yesterday?"

  He nodded. "And I made the changes you wanted to the draft. I think that will shorten your project by as much as 200 manhours. That you'll see in the project plan. I printed a copy of the new version."

  "Okay." I smiled at him a bit absent-mindedly, as my gaze had already shifted to the next paper that had lain under his. My thoughts wandered on to alternative proposals and solutions. I was in work mode.

  Throughout the day, work proved an effective distraction from the previous night's experiences. The evening, on the other hand, was only torture. Wherever I looked, I saw her face. Her eyes, the way they'd flashed at me, and sometimes her hands, the way they ... try not to think about it! I longed for her, I could not forget her. My body felt like an addict going through withdrawal. I wouldn't have been surprised if someone had tried to sell me some dope on my way home. In love with a hooker - wonderful!

  I'd planned our next encounter so nicely. In a couple of weeks, I'd go for a walk through town. Coincidentally, I'd run into her. We'd greet each other cordially, share a banana split in an ice cream shop, chat about our common experiences - Remember the incredible sex we had that night? - and make another coffee date. A really nice, uncomplicated friendship. Well, I could toss that to the breeze! In a couple of weeks, I'd be dead!

  I'd hardly slept that last night, even after I'd gotten home. With the intensity of my work that day, I hadn't noticed that my appetite had also fallen off considerably - but now it registered that I hadn't even gone with my colleagues for our usual lunch together. No food, no sleep - how long could a pe
rson live like this? In the insane hope of meeting her "coincidentally" this evening already, I left at five o'clock to run aimlessly through the streets. I ate the banana split as well - even fate must be given an opportunity.

  When the sun went down, I gave up. At home in bed, I tossed restlessly. It seemed like I'd only just shut my eyes, but suddenly it was morning. I made coffee, drank it, made more coffee, and drank it too. My nerves thanked me with uncontrollable shaking. Since the day before yesterday, I'd had nothing but the banana split to eat. I picked up the phone and called in sick. In this condition, I'd never get any work done. I didn't want to go into town; that would induce me to go looking for her again. So I paced in my apartment like a caged wild tiger: from the balcony to the window, from the window to the balcony.

  I looked at the clock. It was eight o'clock in the morning. Much too early to call someone like her. I held out until nine. Then I got out the card with her phone number. At a quarter after nine, I called her. She was probably still asleep, with long nights like those... She answered with the number. She sounded wide awake. I announced myself with my name, somewhat less wide awake.

  "Yes?" she said, expectantly.

  "I'd like to ..." What should I say now? "Can I...?" I didn't want to make an appointment with her, at least not officially.

  "You want to come over?" she asked quietly.

  "Yes." That was the hardest part. I exhaled heavily.

  "When?" she asked, in the same quiet tone.

  Preferably right now! But of course I couldn't say it like that. "Today?" I asked for that reason, trying to imitate her tone of voice. But she could do it much better.

  "Yes, that's fine. At eleven o'clock?" She awaited my answer.

  "Actually, I was heading into town just now..."

  "No," she declined firmly. "I don't have time before that."

  That meant she probably had a customer with her, or was waiting for one! Can one be jealous over a prostitute? I could! To be able to answer, I swallowed the lump in my throat. With a halfway normal voice - so, at least, I hoped - I said, "Good, then. Eleven o'clock."

  She hung up. Without a word. She was definitely not alone! My imagination tortured me with scenes of her room. While she was talking to me, perhaps another woman had undressed her, caressed her, and kissed her. But wouldn't I have noticed that? Her voice had sounded so calm. That doesn't mean anything! She's a whore; she doesn't feel anything during... Really? I remembered it much differently!

  The minute hand on the clock seemed to be counting hours instead. Every time I looked up, it seemed hardly to have moved at all. I changed clothes at least five times, although there weren't all that many possible combinations in my closet. Shirts and pants in different varieties. I didn't have any skirts or dresses. First the jeans seemed too casual, then the pleated pants too formal. The plaid flannel shirt was too rustic and the silk too sensitive to sweat spots.

  What do you think this is that you're going to? Really, now! You act as if you were headed for some sort of rendezvous. Oh, yeah? I couldn't decide how I should categorize this meeting. I seemed to behave myself as if before a romantic rendezvous, and I felt like it as well, but my head was right: it was no such thing. This was an appointment for paid sex.

  Finally, it was quarter to eleven. She wouldn't particularly like it if I got there too early, and she lived right around the corner from me. So I waited another five minutes. When I arrived at her door, it was one minute before eleven. I rang the doorbell. For one brief, horrible moment, I thought she'd stood me up and wasn't home. Then I heard footsteps. What if that was another customer that she was saying goodbye to? No, she wouldn't do that! Or would she?

  The door opened. It was she. She held the door open and stepped aside. "Come in," she said.

  I walked in past her. A heavy perfume struck me. She seemed even taller than the last time. No wonder, with the spike heels she was wearing! She was obviously dressed for her clients. She wore a black leather miniskirt, shoes that made her almost four inches taller, and a leather vest, under which she appeared to have nothing else on. The outfit wasn't definitively that of a prostitute. Lots of women went out dressed like this, but I could picture how the woman who must've just been here had found these clothes exciting, how she'd unbuttoned the vest...

  She took a few steps - she could actually walk in those shoes! - and gestured to the sofa. "Take a seat and have something to drink." She smiled. "I think you'd like it better if I changed my clothes."

  I watched her disappear through a door off to the left. I realized that, until now, I'd assumed that this was a one-room apartment. That was because the bed was in here. But of course - that was professionally necessary. She had a bedroom in which she really slept - alone.

  What would her change of clothes bring to light? A see-through negligee and garters? What did she think I was expecting? I had clearly made this appointment as a client, and she would treat me as such. To hell with that! But what else could I have done?

  The door opened and she came back into the room. I'd guessed wrong about the negligee - she wore a floor-length white robe, something that every good housewife might have in her closet, if not in such luxurious silk as this one.

  She looked at me. "Didn't you find anything?" At first, I didn't know what she meant. Then I noticed she was looking in the direction of the bar.

  "I don't drink much," I said quickly.

  She smiled and walked over to the bar. "Neither do I, but I have nonalcoholic things, too." She poured something into a glass, came over to the sofa, and stood in front of me. "Would you like to try some?" She offered me the glass. I looked up at her. I wanted to try something entirely different! She saw that I didn't want any and took a drink herself. Then she set the glass on the coffee table and sat down next to me on the sofa. She crossed her legs. Her robe slid open a bit.

  I saw her long legs. They were naked. The robe didn't reveal anything indecent, but I assumed that she wasn't wearing anything underneath it. My mouth went dry. I wanted her so badly, I could've torn the cloth from her body. I reached for the glass and took a long drink. It was apple juice. I had to smile. My first time - at least officially - with a hooker, and I was drinking apple juice!

  She sat there, calmly, and smiled at me. It was the smile she'd put on the last time to show me how well she could do her job. It was a friendly, almost loving smile. If it weren't for the heat building inside my body, I might've imagined her as an old friend. I wanted to touch her so badly I could already feel the softness of her skin on my fingertips. But I didn't want to be a client!

  She noticed that I wasn't getting down to business., as it were. "Do you like music?" she asked.

  Oh, no, that too! Some kind of sleazy mood music. But why not? That was, after all, what I was here for. I had to agree. "Yes." I didn't manage any more.

  She stood up and went over to a small stereo. She put in a CD, pressed the play button, and turned around. The Four Seasons. I'm sure I looked quite dumbfounded. "I believe you like classical," she said, "but I can put something else on, if you'd rather." She stayed there, waiting for my answer.

  "No, no - that's exactly right. I like Vivaldi." Even if she'd put on heavy metal, I probably couldn't have contradicted her, but in this case it was actually true.

  She came back over and sat down next to me. So now we'd have the great seduction scene. But she did nothing of the sort. She just sat there. I stared at her legs, which she'd crossed again. The president of the garden club couldn't have looked better bred. Just a breath of luxury and eroticism. I felt compelled - I simply had to ask her. "Do you have..." my voice cracked. I tried it again. "Are you wearing anything under that?"

  This seemed to cheer her up. Visibly amused, she remarked, "No. What would be the point of that?"

  I sat there, paralyzed. It was a game. She drew me in, behaved in an unmistakably seductive manner, and invited me to seduce her. But with how many women had she done this before me? That doesn't matter, you're enjoying it!
Yes, I like it, but I'd like it even more if she'd just do it for me, if she were seductive for me alone. You'll never have a woman like this for yourself. Even if she weren't a hooker. She's too beautiful for that.

  My dark thoughts must've been apparent. When I looked at her, a shadow fell over her face and replaced the look of amusement.

  "Should I undress?" She reached for her belt.

  "No, please don't." I raised my hand. I couldn't stand it, this look. This waiting for instructions.

  She looked at me. "Would you like to...?" She nodded toward the bed.

  Oh, yes, I wanted to - and how I wanted to! But not like this, not in this professional manner. And how much time did we have? Perhaps we should clear up that point to start. I cleared my throat. "How long...?"

  She laughed out loud. She sounded relieved. "Oh, you're worried about the time!" She leaned over me and laid her hand, as if by coincidence, on my thigh. Her touch ran through me like lightning. Her face came closer. "You needn't think about that for a moment." She spoke very softly. She nuzzled her cheek against mine. Her hand moved higher up my thigh. She whispered in my ear, "I have lots of time for you. A client canceled." I threw myself back against the arm of the sofa. There it was again!

  "My God!" She jumped up and shoved her hands in the pockets of her silk bathrobe. "Don't do that!" Her eyes flashed in my direction. "That's just how it is! You know what I am!" She spun around on her heels, stared in the opposite direction, then turned to face me once more. "And you're my client today, no?"

  I sat on my hands and rocked back and forth. "Yes, I know."

  She looked at me a bit more gently. She came to the sofa, propped a knee up on it, and took my head in her hands. "Would it help if I told you that I really like you?" She looked me right in the eyes.

  I nodded mutely. I swallowed. "You don't say that to...?"

  "No, I don't say that to everyone." She laughed mockingly. "I really don't." She still held my face between her hands. "So, I like you." She gave me a little kiss on the left cheek. "I really like you." The same on the right. Now she laughed seductively. "I even like you a lot." She plunged me into a boiling volcanic sea with her sensuous whispers. Then she let herself sink forward and kissed me. She could kiss unbelievably well, and as by our first meeting, she set me completely on fire this time.