Dani in the City pt. 2: Networking
The alarm. Fuck.
So tired. That rotten stuff kept me awake most of the night. The sun is streaming through the blinds like a laser and it hurts to open my eyes even a crack. My hand hovers over the snooze button, but it's already ten and the day is getting away from me.
I have to meet Bianca at her place at noon to talk her through this job we are both booked for tonight. Most of the time I handle my own clients, but I also do some regular work with Bianca's madam, Antonia. Antonia's agency services a lot of high-rollers and they specialize in private corporate events all over Silicon Valley. Tonight will be my third one of these parties, but Bianca has never done this type of work before and she's nervous.
Bianca's new to the city, and a few years younger than me. Antonia asked me to take her under my wing and we've kind of gotten close these past few months.
I prop myself up on my elbows and a needle of pain skewers my temples. I've had worse hangovers, but this one means business. Have to just deal with it, I tell myself. But first I need to kick Mike out.
I reach a foot across the bed and prod my client's naked back. "Wake up, mister. When I get out of the bathroom I'd appreciate it if you were up and dressed." Mike grunts and rolls onto his front.
"I need water."
"Plenty in the faucet. Fifteen minutes, I'm not kidding." I roll off the bed, pick up Mike's jeans from the floor, and toss them on the bed beside him. "Your shirt's still in the den."
In the bathroom I drink two glasses of water, brush my teeth, and check myself over in the mirror. My face is a little puffy and I look wasted, but no hickeys or bite-marks to cover up. My hair is fucked, but I'll deal with that later at Bianca's. I apply a little SPF30 moisturizer then take my pill and sit on the toilet.
After peeing I wipe myself and notice I'm a little sore down there. Angling a make-up mirror between my legs, I see the inside of my butt cheeks are chafed from Mike's beard. Cursing, I stand up gingerly and pull on my robe.
When I get out of the bathroom, Mike is dressed and fiddling with the coffee machine in the kitchen.
"How d'you get this to work?"
"There's a switch on the side. I take mine black, but there's milk in the fridge." I take a few bites out of an apple from the fruit bowl and go into the bedroom to get dressed.
"I still need to pay you. Cash, right?" Mike calls through the door.
"It's up to you. I can swipe a credit card with my phone. That's what most people do here." I shout back, dressing myself in a yellow sundress and a white baseball cap. I pack my party clothes into an overnight bag: a little black dress, a small purse, three sets of underwear, and a pair of kitten heels. "Don't worry about your Visa statements, it'll show up as something innocuous."
"Well, that's not exactly a problem anymore." Mike hands me a cup of coffee as I exit the bedroom. "Wife and I separated a few months back."
I take a sip of coffee. This news raises faint alarm bells. I like clients with wives — more predictable and less likely to decide they're in love with me. Why is he getting into his personal shit? It's none of my business. I'm pissed that he even mentioned it, but I feel obliged to say something. "Oh. Is that good news or bad?"
"It's good. It's great. Things weren't working for a long time. It's the right move."
His insistence seems overblown. I don't buy it. And now he's staring at me with a dumb grin on his face. "Hey listen, I know you're busy, but are you sure you don't have time to eat? I passed a cute place a block or two down the street last night. Let me buy you breakfast?"
Uh-oh. It's time to put the brakes on this, and fast. "You know, I'm going to pass." I reach over and pluck the half-full cup of coffee from his hands. "I really have to get going, so how about you settle up." It's a bitchy move, shutting him down like that, but necessary. I had a client turn puppy-dog on me before and it wasn't pretty.
"Oh, of course. Sorry." Mike looks stung. He fumbles in his wallet and counts out the notes. I make a point of recounting the cash, then hold the door open for him. It's kind of sad watching him bundle his stuff into the messenger bag. "Take care."
"You too." I close the door.
I stand at the window and watch Mike get in his car and pull out onto the avenue. Not until his car is completely out of sight do I text Bianca to say that I'm on my way and then call up an Uber.
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"I can't believe I'm letting you do this to me, Bee." I say.
I'm sitting on the edge of the couch in Bianca's cramped downtown apartment while she kneels between my knees, smearing what looks and feels like honey over my lower legs with a wooden spatula. There's a fragrant smell of lemons in the air and some quiet R&B music plays on a portable speaker balanced on a basket of unfolded laundry.
"No girl, what I can't believe is how you let yourself get like this. You got hairs down here like two inches long." I feel a sting as she plucks one out between her French-polished nails. "Oh my gosh, look at this one Miss Dani. Shame on you. You think you can get away with this because you're half-Asian, but I am telling you that you cannot. When did you last shave?"
"The last time I did one of these jobs. Maybe two months ago?" I shrug.
Bianca gasps. "If I didn't shave my legs for two months I'd look like a monkey. Portuguese blood, you know — we're so hairy, my sisters and me. You would think I was wearing furry pants."
I snort with laughter at the image. "That would be so adorable, you should totally do it."
But Bianca is already adorable: she's maybe five-two, at least six inches shorter than me, and classically cute with plump, pouty lips and huge eyes. Her body is petite, small-breasted, and slim in the waist, but with the most gorgeous little bubble butt that pokes out just right. She's twenty-three but passes for a teen and leverages her youthful looks into a pretty impressive regular client base for a girl who's been working the city less than six months.
Bianca pulls a latex glove from a box, stretches it and lets it go with a thwack, then eases a hand inside. "OK I'm gonna pull this stuff off now. But relax, sugaring don't hurt as bad as wax. You're gonna be smooth and nice and none of that shaving rash that makes you look like you got some kind of disease or something."
