Simone #2
“Hmm. I suppose my character does fit in well with what’s required to be an escort. Tenacious, ambitious, perhaps even a little—”
“Don’t you have to be a people person for a role like that?”
Simone threw Remy a sideways glance. “What makes you think I’m not?”
“Oh, I don’t know… just a few interactions here and there…” Remy shrugged playfully. “Not to mention, you hardly ever smile, even at my hilarious jokes.”
“You haven’t told me one yet.”
“See? Right there! Pandering, saying what someone wants to hear, doesn’t seem like your thing.”
“Outside of work it isn’t, and remember, Remy, you hardly know me.
What you do know of me is only what I’ve chosen to show you.
People like to think they have me figured out,” Simone said, reflecting briefly on Cillian, “because of what I do, rather than who I am.” Simone took the time to look pointedly at Remy, as if trying to share a secret.
When Remy failed to latch on, Simone continued.
“People will assume I’m an escort because I had a tough upbringing, yet my childhood was wonderful; they’ll assume I’m extroverted when I’m so clearly not; they’ll conclude that I’m stuck up when I’d rather just mind my own business. ”
“You must get that a lot,” Remy said. “People’s assumptions not matching the reality.”
“Of course.”
“It doesn’t bother you?”
“It does…” Simone shook her head. “Occupational hazard,” she said simply. “Also, I purposefully don’t have many people in my life to constantly correct.”
Remy sighed. “Maybe you can teach me the art of solitude.”
“It isn’t an art form,” Simone said. “It’s a choice you make and then commit to.”
“Why did you make the choice?”
“How did you meet the father of your child?”
“Tit for tat?” Remy nodded. “That’s going to backfire because, clearly, I can’t keep my mouth shut. How did I meet Ishir? Well, you know how they say don’t go food shopping when you’re hungry?”
“Yes, otherwise everything looks good and you start picking up what you don’t necessarily need. Ah, I see. But applying the same adage here—what were you shopping for?”
“Company.” Remy shrugged. “Just someone’s presence.”
“Quite the price to pay.”
Remy rested her hand on her stomach. “You’re not wrong. It seems so silly, but I can’t describe how much the loneliness was weighing me down.”
“You really don’t like time spent alone?”
“On occasion, but it was just too much time alone and the silence kept getting louder. You can’t enjoy your own company all the time, right?”
Simone believed her feelings regarding the matter were moot.
Continuing in her job as an escort was her decision, but like every difficult decision, the consequences were unavoidable.
Once the truth came out, Simone’s choices were to accept the new order of things, or fall apart.
She chose the former. She had a new reality—an emptier, quieter one, but at least she could curate it.
She would keep people at a safe distance, lend equal energy to both her careers, and wait for another day that would again alter her trajectory.
She had already learned that no matter how much future planning she did, sometimes the best approach to life, with all its undeterrable, unforeseeable events, was to plan only for now.
That was how Simone lived.
Some days, she found it effortless to pretend. Other days, when the mask would slip and the weight of her loss was too much to carry, she would get through the week by taking sleeping pills at 5 PM to escape the night, reserving her eventual deterioration for the weekend.
A two-day stretch with no clients or schoolwork meant that she would get out of bed only when the pills allowed and spend the remaining hours in her pajamas, ordering food to her door and staring at the TV with red-wine-stained teeth and blank eyes.
During these days she would watch romantic comedies on loop: cocktail-spilling meet-cutes, a fate-ordained reunion, often on an aesthetic street (bonus points if it was snowing), a slow-burn romance as the characters got to know one another, heated arguments in public or in the rain (another bonus point if both), and the eventual grand gesture before a metaphorical walk into the sunset.
Simone did not understand what itch romantic comedies scratched.
The obvious theory was that deep down she was looking for love, but Simone refused to be so basic.
She thought maybe it had something to do with the reliability of the genre; she knew that every rom-com would end happily.
In action films, the villain often promised to return; in horror films, people kept getting murdered, and in mysteries, Simone always guessed whodunit.
So maybe it was not the love, but the guaranteed happy ending.
And for Simone, on days like those, such endings felt few and far between.
Simone would watch these characters gormlessly until it was time for bed. By Monday morning, her mind had reprogrammed to run on survival mode, and she would return to being effortlessly alone.
It was at the tail end of one of these episodes when Simone had received a reminder for Grace and Gabrielle’s book event and had decided to tell Remy about it.
“It isn’t just me all of the time,” Simone finally answered Remy.
“I interact with people. There’s Clyde who owns New Beacon Books.
I see him every Sunday. I go out to dinner and attend book events and…
people tend to be there, too. After a long day with young kids, my social battery is drained, so I’ve found these interactions to be sufficient.
” Simone gazed upon Remy. “But surely you could make friends easily if you truly desired it; there are so many people in this city who crave the same thing you do.”
Remy shook her head. “It’s harder than you think.”
“With anything, practice is key.”
“So long as the other participant is actively willing.”
“Of course,” Simone said. “That should be applied to everything.”
Both women were aware they’d been standing outside Charing Cross station for at least ten minutes but neither had wanted to admit they were in no rush to end their conversation.
“Simone, you do see the irony, right?” Remy asked. “You telling me how easy it is to make friends, when attempting to do that with you has been extremely difficult?”
Simone pulled her head back. “You genuinely want to be my friend? Why?”
Remy shrugged. “I like you. I appreciate your honesty. I think you’re funny and inspiring. Really, why wouldn’t I want to be your friend? Unless you have more skeletons in your closet you’re afraid I’ll find?”
Simone considered this. For a very long time, she had naturally resisted making new friends because she had Jenni.
Since falling out with her family, actively not making friends became imperative because Simone didn’t want them to discover what she did, and risk being rejected all over again.
However, Remy now knew her secret and seemed to have no issue with it; Simone almost couldn’t believe that her reaction, once the news had settled, was mild at most. With Remy, at least, Simone’s closet was officially skeleton-free.
“This is… strange,” Simone said. “I’ve never made a friend like this before.”
Remy smiled sadly. “I never thought I would need to.”
Voice notes
Remy
I really enjoyed last night. Sex worker revelation knee-jerk reaction aside, of course. I still cringe whenever I think about it, if it makes you feel better. Thanks for inviting me. Okay, bye.
Simone
Remy, last night was a fiasco of epic proportions. I enjoyed it, too. Sex worker revelation knee-jerk reaction aside. I don’t partake in the act of schadenfreude so your cringing doesn’t make me feel better, but I don’t feel bad so you’re forgiven.
Simone
Also, I haven’t sent a voice note in a very long time. I hope I’m doing it right.
Remy
You may or may not be in luck. I now prefer to message exclusively via voice notes. I’m officially too lazy to type words out. I get enough of that at work.