"It's like letting a dog piss in the middle of your living room, you know? Sure, I could've let the bouncer take care of him, but then he'd never learn. He'd do it again to some other girl, in some other club, and the cycle would never end."
"I guess you've got a point."
"I swear I need to get out of that place. The money's good, except on Mondays. Can you believe I danced for a solid 45 minutes and only made $25 on Monday? If that were a Friday night, I'd have made $500. My family keeps asking me when I'm going to get a real job—they know what I do, but they pretend like they don't. It's always awkward."
I nod my head in agreement. I can understand where she's coming from. I couldn't even tell my family about it. They still think I'm serving coffee somewhere while I try finding a place to put my Art History degree from Yale to use. But let's be real—serving coffee won't pay NYC rents.
"Anyways, enough about me," she continues. "You're lucky you got out when you did. It was a smart move. Sit in bed all day at talk dirty on the phone. I’m glad one of my girls got out."
"I'm not so sure," I say, shaking my head and looking down at the last bits o
f my pastry. I don't even want to look Yasmine in the eyes, in fear she'll recognize something in me that I haven't even admitted to myself.
"What's that supposed to mean? I thought you were doing great at Simulated Pleasures? Aren't you one of the highest grossing operators?"
"I am, but it's complicated."
"How complicated can it be? You take a call, act as part seductress and part therapist for as long as possible, and get them off. Voila!"
"It's been a crazy last couple of days."
"So what—you have some crazy stalker now calling at all hours of the night? Keep him on the line and rack up those minutes, girl."
"It's not a stalker. I'm falling for one of my clients."
"You can't be serious?"
"Serious as a heart attack."
"Rule number one, never fall for a client, especially not over the phone! Ashley, come on! He can be anyone. You don't know him at all. You've never even seen the guy. He could be an ex-con with a tattooed face for all you know."
"Actually, you're wrong. I do know who he is, and that's the problem."
I watch as she chokes on her champagne. "Now you've lost me. I don't understand."
"Do you remember Arsen from Scorcher's? Intensely blue eyes, hot body, and billion dollar playboy?"
"THE Arsen Hawke? Sure. I mean, who could forget a guy like that? So, where's this going?"
"Well, last night I found out that Arsen is the client. He's the same person. But he's been hiding that from me for weeks. For countless calls, he's been calling my direct phone sex line and masquerading as a 'King Henry.' We were having the most mind-blowing phone sex. I mean, I was supposed to be getting him off, and yet, there he was, making me come so hard every time. It was like he could read my mind. I couldn't get him out of my head. But as this was all happening, I was meeting up with Arsen—dinner, drinks, sex, and I found myself falling in love with him. But then I started pulling away from Arsen when I realized I was falling for a man on the other end of my phone too. It all became so emotionally confusing. It didn't feel right to be falling in love with two separate people."
"Wait a minute. You're in love with Arsen Hawke?" Yasmine asks, eyes wide in disbelief, and seemingly ignoring a good majority of my story.
I nod my head but before I can respond she says, "You and ever other girl in New York City! Come on Ashley, he's the biggest playboy in this city!"
"That's the thing. I think he loves me too—at least that's what he'd said. I've really fallen for him… well, until a few nights ago anyways. Now I don't know what to think."
"What happened last night?" she asks.
I stare off at the happy couples brunching, smiling, drinking their $6 orange juices, as I recall the events of the Boathouse. "That's when everything came crashing to the surface like some horrific car accident. He admitted to me that he was the man calling into my sex line. He said it so casually, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. I can still hear him ask me, 'is it King Henry?' and right as those words left his mouth, it felt like my entire world was shattering. I knew he wasn't lying—he couldn't have possibly known about that caller any other way—and it felt like everything I'd known was a lie."
Yasmine takes a sip of her champagne and pushes her croissant around her plate a bit with the tips of her fake, neon-pink nails. "I don't know… it just sounds so weird, don't you think? The whole notion that you can fall in love with someone just over the phone."
"I don't want to sound cheesy, but until last night, nothing felt weird at all—it all felt like fate, Yas."
"Fine, fine," she says, throwing in the towel to her argument. "So what's the problem? You're being an idiot. That's what I think. Go get Mr. Perfect. You loved him on the phone, and you loved him in real life."
"How can you say that? You make it sound so easy. I was lied to, remember? He knew all along what he was doing."