“The coffee maker is on the top shelf, help yourself in the morning,” she said with a faint smile. Her eyes were shut. He looked around awhile till his eyes adapted to the eerie darkness of the room. The kitchen counter shone a hazy silver film over it. “The money is on the table,” she added sleepily. He had made love to her four times. She had paid him a total of $645 for his services – pretty steep price for an earnest desire.
“Order some breakfast from the Ryes if you may,” she continued woozily.
His general inquisitiveness of this particular client had still not been fulfilled. The questions weighed down with unceasing exertion. He should have asked her earlier to excuse him for the night, for he wasn’t in the habit of sleeping over with business deals.
After seven years, hundreds of women and thousands of stories; he was still fascinated by the womankind. It never got redundant for him, though at times he still mistrusted his own ability of going through recurrent particulars of women with the same composure. They ventured on trusting him with their sagas on such short personal acquaintances. And he never faltered. He advocated their needs, condoned their foolishness and quenched their desire. It wasn’t just part of his job.
His mind wandered to his present affair. How she had asked of him not to lose control; how she wanted him just to please her and himself acquire no satisfaction whatsoever from their wild endeavor. He wondered if she could be classified with those women whose frightful solitude had threatened them, and they had come out of their preserved shell into the novel arms of a stranger. He tried to recall what she had said when he had flatly asked her, “so what happened?”
“The former, the latter. Loved the former. Met the latter. Forgot the former. Latter left. Former Left”
He was rather amused by the brevity and had not bothered about it till now. He sighed. His nervous irritability surfaced as he started fidgeting in the bed. He needed to know her story.