Simone and I went to a French restaurant we both know and love. Nothing too fancy, but it is the kind of place where one keeps their voice down. She looked stunning -- tight black dress, just enough cleavage to be alluring and not slutty. We both ordered some red wine to start, and given the nature of the conversation, I'd say we both needed it.
"Why are you leaving now?" she said. "I mean, all of a sudden, you're just gone. Back at Christmas, you said you didn't want to leave escorting at all."
I set down my glass and pondered which question to answer first. Finally, I said, "It's a good opportunity. One that I didn't have back at Christmas. It was all so sudden... and I just said yes."
"But don't you care about what you have down here?"
"Of course I do," I said. "And I certainly care about you. But Simone..."
"What?"
"I just don't want to end up like some of the escorts we both know. The ones who are a little too told to be in the business, but don't have any other skills or interests. They can't leave."
Simone nodded, took another sip of wine. Our appetizer arrived and we nibbled silently for a moment before I continued. I was careful to keep my voice down, less we invite the rest of the restaurant to learn about the oh-so-complicated lives of sex workers.
(Not that they wouldn't be interested, but you know...)
"I never stopped loving [what I studied at university]. And thanks to the freelance work I did, I had a big portfolio to show the firm. They were impressed -- impressed enough to bring me on full-time."
"I guess what I'm saying is, I don't appreciate you leaving me," Simone said.
"I know. I'm sorry. It's a lot to dump on you -- developing our relationship only to have me leave so soon. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to see me at all, but this is the way it has to be."
"Because it's not like I can just pick up and follow you."
I shook my head. "No, that's not what I'm asking. Well, not now, anyway. I mean, of course I'd love to still have you in my life..."
Folks, when I'm nervous, I began to ramble and/or stutter. Perhaps that's because I'm nervous so rarely, that I just don't know how to compensate for it. A client never really made me nervous, nor has my agent or any other business associate. Simone, however, is enough to make my heart race. That's why she's so incredible.
"Julian, shut up," she said.
I laughed. Our main courses arrived, and the both us changed the subject to lighter fare. She has some travel plans for summer, whereas I'm still in the process of apartment hunting. I may in fact get a roommate, but only if I can trust the person completely. I'm not one for psychos -- especially not the kind of psychos in and around New York City.
"Take out an ad in the paper," Simone suggested. "Even if you do get a nut case, I bet you can turn the story into a screenplay and make yourself a boatload of money."
"Ever the opportunist," I teased. "No, I'm hoping to find some Wall Street workaholic, or maybe a lawyer. You know, someone who works such long hours I'll never actually see them."
Dinner ended, as did dessert. And while I'm leaving Miami soon, and should know better than to continue to be attached to Simone, I went back to her apartment. Into her bed. Into her arms. Into her...
Well, you get the idea.
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