Trust

I met Paul on an Escort booking one evening which was timely, helping me come to terms with the choices I had made regarding men.

I wandered into the hotel lobby, looking out for him.

“Hello, you must be Jewel.”

Paul’s voice was smooth. His eyes hovered over my dress; a long, silvery blue jersey Roberto Cavalli matched with silver Gary Castles shoes.

I smiled, pleased he liked what he saw and loving the power this gave me.

“You look lovely.”

“Thank you. Paul.” Reaching out my hand, he took it, squeezing briefly.

“Let’s make our way shall we? Aria. We have a 7pm if that’s ok with you?”

“Yes that’s fine,” I answered, anticipating the marvellous food.

Sherri had informed me that Paul was a man in his 50’s, a busy International Pilot who stopped over in Sydney once a month. Lucky for me, the girl he usually saw was away. We fell into a nice pace walking side by side making small talk.

Once seated and perusing the menu, he suggested I choose the drinks.

“I see you have a good palate for wines,” he said, acknowledging my lingering on the expensive list handed to me separately.

“Hmm, yes I do love a good wine, although I don’t drink much these days, but if I do, it has to be worth it.”

I was so pleased this was the truth. It felt so rewarding being able to dine out and stay focussed on conversation and food rather than pre-empting an uncontrollable thirst. Deciding on the scallops for entree, I chose the crisp Chablis as accompaniment.

“So Paul, tell me. What’s it like being a pilot travelling the world, dining in the best restaurants?”

I could see he wasn’t the partying type.

“Hmm, yes busy. Way too busy in fact. I travel too much. Spend too little time with people that matter.” He looked down at the menu again, calling over the Sommelier. “So, what shall we choose to drink with our main?”

After ordering our mains and the wine, gazing out through the large window in front of us, the Harbour Bridge lights were dazzling. Watching him carefully, I asked him to elaborate on his earlier comment.

“You were saying that you travel too much.” I started cautiously, observing his eyes for a reaction. He seemed relaxed so I continued. “Do you have family somewhere?”

There. It was out. I had asked a more personal question. The timing seemed right; usually I didn’t go anywhere near such a topic – especially on the first ‘date’.

He leaned back more pensive this time and suddenly I wasn’t so sure my personal approach was a good idea. My studies were making me curious, wondering more about why we humans were here on Earth and what the point to life was. I had stopped caring about my life until now. There seemed to be an undercurrent of energy at play, like a cord connecting me with these people who were asking the same questions.

Staring, waiting for Paul to speak, I pondered the human condition caustically. What was it that drove our need to pursue orderly, egocentric goals in order to feel like we have achieved something in this world? Why did these men choose such a lifestyle; to pay for company when I would think it much more pleasurable to enjoy the freedom of being alone, away from the chaos of their lives? Then again, I was fast becoming aware that my own desire for reclusiveness reflected a dire need for introspection and personal growth. Not everyone was so deep, nor did many of these men seek to evolve via the musings of an Escort. They craved basic comforts like sex and food, that’s all, and maybe this was enough. Could it be?

“I do have children yes. Two. Back in New Zealand,” he told me, clasping his hands on the table.

His look was still rather pensive, which didn’t seem right given that most people happily boast about their kids.

“Oh that’s lovely, Paul. Children are beautiful,” I spoke earnestly, sensing that he was more open to maternal repertoire, knowing children were a topic closely aligned with the dull ache I masked.

“Yes they are indeed. But I don’t get to see them as much as I would like to at the moment.”

It was a subdued man before me so, taking another sip of my Dutch courage I asked another potent question.

“What about your wife, she must miss you too; or, unless you’re divorced?”

“She died,” he stated, looking at me pleasantly with no flicker of emotion. It was difficult for me not to flinch, but I was adept at being neutral.

“Oh sorry.” My voice was direct. “That must have been very difficult for you all.”

The room seemed to grow colder as I sat there comprehending his words.

“Yes. But my wife’s sister is a wonderful woman. She takes care of the kids and they’ve been managing well for quite a few years now,” he continued.

It seemed as if he was very much suited to offering such commentary whenever called upon to recollect a story and repeat it over and over again. “My wife was killed when she stepped out of the driver’s side of her car.