Scandalous (7 page)

'I don't want to know about your life.'

I'm fuming with irritation. Who does he think he is
criticising other people when he hasn't got things exactly
straight in his own head? I'm not saying anything more.
I thought being a prostitute would just be a mechanical
thing but here he is delving inside my head.

'Please tell me that with me you're combining a
necessity with pleasure?' Joe says gently.

We've reached the pinnacle of absurdity now. I try to
find something in his eyes or his tone of voice, some
indication that he doesn't believe what he's just said for
one moment. Not a bit of it. He really thinks I'm doing
all this, not just for the money, but because – deep down
– I actually like it. In his deranged mind, a woman can't
give herself just for money, there has to be another
reason. And, still in his deranged mind, I'm sure he
enjoys thinking he's not as ugly as all that. Is it really that
difficult for an old man whose own wife no longer wants
him to acknowledge that my only motivation is financial?

So I don't say anything; I don't even feel angry any
more, just a bit thrown. Then he goes back to his dance
across my body with his hands, still touching my chest,
breasts and stomach. The touch of his skin burns me,
upsets me, but I don't let it show. He doesn't go lower
down my body, my genitals are still virgin to his hands
– a relief in the midst of my despair.

'Next time I'll bring you something. You'll like it,
you'll see.'

Joe's already planning to see me again. Once again, I
don't say anything, I can't exactly scream that that's out
of the question.

'It's OK, you can get dressed again, it's time.'

Freedom, it's three o'clock! It's over. Very punctually,
he gets up.

He rummages in his briefcase while I hastily get
dressed.

'I'm really very pleased, you know,' he says, going
back to his flattery. 'This first meeting's been fantastic.
I've really enjoyed it. You're gorgeous, I wasn't expecting
someone like you. And on top of that you're sensitive
and pleasant, which I really like. All right, you had some
reservations at the beginning, but I can be shy too. It'll
go better in future, you'll see.'

He hands me an envelope and, right there in front of
him, without even checking whether custom or good
manners mean I should wait till I'm outside, I admire my
booty. It's not a hundred euros that Joe's given me, as I
was expecting, but two hundred and fifty! Two one-hundred
euro notes and one fifty. I've never seen a
one-hundred euro note before. My only concern about all
this money is how I'm going to produce a one-hundred
euro note from my pocket without arousing suspicion. I
never spend that much; fives are more my usual fare.

'We'll see each other on the internet. But if you see me
on MSN don't try talking to me, it's often my wife
logging on in my name.'

With that we go down in the same lift that brought us
up. The policemen are no longer at reception but, right
now, I couldn't really care. I'm walking on air, my newly
acquired money has given me wings. For now I'm in the
clear, in one hour I've earned enough to deal with some
bills that have been hounding me.

A whopping great 250 euros just to look at me – I
really took him for a ride. What a mug, and to think he
reckons we'll be seeing each other again. Never, it's over,
once and just once. I'm worried he'll realise he's been
had so I hurry off, just in case. I'm also keen to get away
from that hotel and forget everything about it as soon as
possible.

I'm feeling so relieved it's all over that I'm not really
thinking about anything else. I haven't yet grasped that
crafty old Joe manipulated me with his flattery and kind
words, and knows exactly what he's doing.

All I can think about is this money which is now mine
and will mean I can breathe for a while. I'll find a
different solution next time. I pat my jeans pocket with
its life-saving envelope and smile. Yup, just once, I smile
in triumph.

12 December 2006

I
DON'T FEEL LIKE
going straight to work after my
meeting with Joe. I've got half an hour to spare so I
call some friends and head for my favourite café, the one
in the city centre run by my friend Paul.

When we meet up I smile normally. Nothing on my
face betrays what I was doing half an hour ago. We joke
about things – exactly what I need to stop me thinking
about what's just happened. After a good hour checking
up on all the latest gossip, the time's come to settle the
bill.

'Look, girls, I'm really sorry, but I haven't got enough
to pay for my coffee. Do you think you could pay for
me? I'll pay you back soon, I promise.'

I honestly can't produce my one-hundred euro note
here, or even the fifty. They wouldn't understand, given
I never have any money. They know me well and know
I often can't pay my way. They pick up the till receipt
without a word, splitting the bill between the two of
them.

'No problem, Laura. It'll be your round next time,'
one of them says, laughing.

She probably doesn't believe it. Most of the time I'm
so skint I can't even pay for my own coffee. I often ask
friends to come over to the apartment rather than
meeting in a bistro, so that I don't have to beg. Still,
when I get my wages, I invite them all out for a drink,
just the one, but it evens things out financially.

Do they suspect something today? I'm trying my
hardest to be me: happy and open. Things have been
really tough recently but I've never admitted that to
them. When they come to the apartment they ask
whether I've got anything to eat and I joke about not
having time to do the shopping.

Despite all the trouble I've gone to disguising my
precarious situation, my friends are no fools. They may
not gauge how bad it is, but can still see I'm struggling.
They've been paying for my coffees for a long time now
– they don't even notice any more. It still makes me feel
awkward, though, but this time is worse, there's a heavy
feeling inside me, laden with guilt. I've got the money in
my pocket. I've got enough to pay for countless rounds
with what I've just earned.

In the evening I meet Manu in a bar but don't order a
drink for myself. I watch him finish his pint.

'How are you, gorgeous? What's your day been like?'

'Pff, just another day, nothing special.'

My arse! It's been anything but just another day but I
can't exactly see myself confiding in him: 'Look, I'm fine,
I've had a pretty normal day. Before work I let an old
bugger I'd never met before fiddle with me. And the best
bit is he paid me 250 euros. And all so I can give you
money for the rent and bills while you smoke and offer
everyone else drinks. Not bad, don't you think?'

When he seems satisfied with his blood-alcohol levels,
we head back to our little 'love nest'. He makes me laugh
on the way home, telling me silly stories. Manu's always
more fun when he's got a few drinks inside him, in fact
I think I prefer him like that.

We walk into the apartment in silence; the euphoria of
the evening and of getting on well together is over. We
get ready for bed like a couple who've been married
twenty years. Given what he was like when we left the
bar, I could try to turn him on a bit this evening. I do
contemplate it, just for a minute.

Manu and I don't have sex very often: he can't always,
as they say, rise to the occasion. I suppose it can happen
to any couple that's together for a few years, and most
like to think it will only be temporary. But it's beginning
to feel like a long time to me and my DIY efforts are a
bit boring. Unless he comes looking for it I gave up trying
a while ago now. I've always been someone you could
generously describe as 'eager', but I don't want him any
more. I've been worried about this and have even spoken
to my gynaecologist but she reassured me, saying this
sort of thing often happens if you feel the other person
no longer wants you. Bull's eye! What with his semierections
and my vaginal dryness, we make a right pair.
Like most people, I like sex and see it as an essential part
of a relationship; so it's hardly surprising that ours is in
such a bad way. I've got to the point where I just want
him to fuck me. Before today. Because now I've realised
I'll never want him again.

What's really odd is he doesn't seem particularly
bothered about it. The only things he's been interested in
these last few months seem to be going out with his
friends and his course at uni. Although we haven't
admitted it to ourselves, our relationship is in its death
throes. We've accepted it, uncomplaining, because we
know we can't actually do anything about it. When love
disappears it's very difficult to rekindle it, even if you
keep on and on trying.

So this evening, watching the pair of us brushing our
teeth in silence in the bathroom mirror, I understand that
this situation can't go on. Our relationship is a complete
farce. Is it because of what happened this afternoon?
That definitely had a catalytic effect, but the tension's
been just below the surface for a while.

Is he going to talk to me, say anything at all? I feel
deep inside me that, if he doesn't say anything, if he
doesn't suspect what I've been through today, it will be
hard for me to accept. It would mean he definitely
doesn't know me the way he once did, because he used
to know the minute something was wrong. I need his
shoulders, and his arms to protect me and help me
forget, just for this evening.

I slip between the sheets in bed. The silence weighs on
me so heavily. Not this evening, Manu, please, I beg you
not to ignore me this evening, take me in your arms. He
gets into bed beside me without even looking at me. He
seems ready to get into what has become our usual
sleeping position: with our backs to each other. I have to
face full on the fact I've been refusing to see for months:
our relationship's over.

Now that he's lying down and even after he's closed
his eyes, I still hope he might start talking. I take the
plunge: 'Goodnight.'

'Mm,' he answers sleepily.

Yup, goodnight, Manu. Goodbye.

13 December 2006

T
HE SHRILL SOUND
of the alarm clock wrenches me
out of my deep sleep. I couldn't get to sleep last
night, tossing and turning in bed as I went over what had
happened during the day. I got up and smoked millions
of cigarettes in the kitchen. I even tried to work on my
Italian civilisation essay – unsuccessfully. My mind was
too busy. It was only at about five o'clock in the
morning, by which time I was really exhausted, that my
eyes closed of their own accord.

Manu's still asleep. I gaze silently at his naked back
turned away from me. I switch off the alarm and
suddenly remember. Yesterday. The nightmare. The
nightmares.

Since last night I know it's all over with Manu. Our
relationship – which was a model of passion and
friendship in the beginning – has gradually gone up in
smoke and I haven't been able to do anything about it. I
feel lonely getting up this morning, lonely facing my
soul-destroying day. I'll always remember 12 December
2006 when my life changed so much.

But I've already run out of time to think. I need to get
up and go to uni. There's only one thing I want: to bury
myself in bed and cry. But that's not an option –
I know that now. I'm going to have to carry on getting
up every day. I'm going to have to live with the weight
of that day on my shoulders. Right now I hate myself.
Even in my pyjamas, hidden under all that fabric, I feel
as if my body is tainted and exposed for all to see. I feel
as if the horrible thing I've done is seeping from every
pore, that no one can help noticing the ugliness radiating
from me. I feel horribly dirty. Would it be even worse if
Joe had had me completely?

I stumble to my feet. My body feels impossibly heavy.
In the bathroom I let the water flow over me for quarter
of an hour. At first I don't even move then I take a
sponge and rub my skin as hard as I can. I inflict so much
punishment on it that it starts going red. I couldn't give
a stuff, I can't help myself. I want to get rid of all this
crud and pretend yesterday never happened. I lost
everything yesterday: Manu and my self-respect. For 250
euros.

I'm having to hurry now, not wanting to be late for
the Métro. The real world is catching up with me so I
don't even have time to feel sorry for myself because I
need to get to uni. But how's this going to work? I know
I won't be able to concentrate or listen or actually say
anything. There are voices in my head which keep on and
on telling me I'm just a prostitute. I've sold my body for
money. I gave myself to a stranger for cash while my
boyfriend was in lectures. I'm worthless and dirty, and it
feels like I will be for the rest of my life.

I get dressed gently and quietly, and close the door of
the apartment on my relationship with Manu. I'll never
have that innocence in me now when I look at him. I
haven't just cheated on him, it goes beyond that. I've
cheated on myself, prostituted myself. The word rasps in
my throat as I say it. But it just keeps coming back
because that really is what happened.

There's a frost this morning. I walk quickly to avoid
the icy wind and, maybe, because the speed might
deaden my whirring thoughts. I feel a failure, ashamed,
I haven't even got the strength to cry.

The journey to uni doesn't help much. When you sit
down in the Métro you start thinking, going over things
in your mind. Even if you don't want to, you have to
think – about yourself, about life, about what you are. I
sit there thinking, without even realising it, without
meaning to. I feel as if everyone can tell what I did
yesterday just by looking at me. I can feel myself
blushing and bury my face in the big scarf round my
neck.

Even if I stay with Manu I'm sure he'd work out what
I've done sooner or later. My sin weighs too heavily on
my mind for it not to show on the outside. I'm tired from
my short night but I know I won't even be able to snooze
today. All that hard work wasn't enough, I'm now going
to have to pay for my mistake for the rest of my life with
this constant thinking.

I come out of the Métro with my head in a whirl, my
life's in a far worse state than before. There's one thing
I'm sure of: my studies can be my refuge. Apart from
them, Manu was the only thing worth putting my energy
into, worth giving myself to. Now that that's all over I
can't just let myself go. I've got to get a grip on my life
again. I've done something wrong, but I've promised
myself it will never happen again. And here's the proof:
once was enough to make me lose the boy I loved. No,
I'll never do it again.