Red Paint

A slender hand slipped into a patent black handbag, searching through tissues, loose change and receipts until soft fingers clasped around a tiny glass bottle. Simona sat at a dressing table facing her reflection in a mirror, adorned in fairy lights and smiled to herself as she unscrewed the lid of her bright red nail polish. It was the first step in her getting ready process; a lick of quick-dry polish on her long fingernails before applying primer, foundation and layers of blush, pearlescent eye-shadow, heavy black eye-liner and long-lasting mascara. And then another coat.

Simona hummed a tune to herself, some pop song that always got stuck in her head when she went through her beauty routine. She waited a minute for the next application of polish to dry admiring her glamourous reflection, and carefully took her glittery fake eye lashes out of their container and smoothed them across her lids. Wrapped in a pink satin dressing-gown embroidered with tiny red blossoms Simona felt at ease. In front of the mirror with her face perfectly highlighted, she felt as striking as the red on her fingernails. She’d take it off later, probably early in the morning or after her beauty sleep, but as she twinkled her fingers in front of her, she felt like a million dollars. The red polish only came out on the special nights. The men lapped it up.

The rose-coloured satin dropped to the floor, showing a long thin body, narrow shoulders and hips. Despite her petite frame, her silk underpants were always a snug fit, and she never quite filled the cups of the matching bra. She brushed her hand slowly along the rack of clothes as a test to see what would best go with the colour of her nails. It was a ritual of hers, but she always chose the same colour to match. She pulled down a gold-sequin mini-dress, strapless of course (she had the shoulders for it, after all) and stepped into it. It was her favourite dress on the rack; the old faithful. It hugged her middle to accentuate what little curves she had. She stood with her hands on her hips and a close-lipped smile as she admired herself from all angles in the full length mirror between dress racks. She strapped the red stiletto heels to her long, slender feet and smoothed on red lipstick to match. Fluffing her hair and picking up her stocked gold purse - nail-polish and remover, lipstick and tissues - she turned off the light and walked out the door.

The night was warm for this time of year. Simona didn’t usually bother with coats as she never expected to be outside for long. She stalked the pavement as if it was a catwalk, other women on the street scowled at her, some muttering under their breath and other, rougher women hurling profanities as she passed. She was more beautiful than the others, had more class and maturity. She took that walk with pride with her chin up (after all, double chins don’t discriminate) and a few blocks a man in a green suit was holding a door open for her, tipping his hat as she entered.

Simona was met with a gust of warm air as she entered the yellow light of the posh hotel. The walls were faint cream, with ornate gold lamps lining the entrance hall. She walked straight ahead to the ladies room. A quick check of her hair and touch-up of her lipstick was required before going into the martini bar. She was right on time, but decided to wait a few minutes in the ladies’ room so not to seem too eager. A woman had to maintain a level of hard-to-get, even if she had the upper hand, as Simona always did. The men she saw treated her with respect, showered her with expensive gifts and always tipped well. But she was ever the professional, and very good at her job.

She walked through the double doors into the dimly-lit bar, a gentelman’s spot full of oak and rich leather furniture, crystal liquor decanters filled with top-shelf scotch rested on the corner of the bar. As requested, she waited, perched, on a bar stool at the far end, close to the window. The man she was meeting was very particular with his instructions. He wanted an independent woman that wasn’t afraid to play naughty or nice, someone that could sense his desires and change the atmosphere without being told what to do. Simona was an expert. She knew how to give people what they wanted most, it came to her like a sixth-sense. A well placed sigh – or hand – was as important as her perfect appearance, ruby-red nails, plump lips and flowing hair. She had manicured her technique as a lover as well as she had prepared her exterior.

A short, dark haired man walked into the room, looked around, more to see if there would be many witnesses, before setting his gaze on her. This must be him, she thought. She stood up as he approached at least a few inches taller than him, and bent her neck down to kiss his cheek. “Hello there, I’m Simona,” she said in a low, seductive voice. “Hi, yeah. Umm. Barry. Look, I haven’t done this before so, ah-,” he said with a squeak, as he shoved a firmly-packed envelope into her hand. “That’s okay, would you like a drink, to relax?” she suggested. She knew that first-timers were always difficult. Barry seemed like he could be easily lead, but he was aloof and avoided her eyes.

“Let’s just go, I’ve got a time limit, right? Can we just go to the room?” he asked, tugging on his collar. Beads of sweat formed along his receeding hair line. She turned up the charm she was already oozing with and linking her arm in his lead him out into the foyer, and into an elevator. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. She took his clammy hand in hers and he recoiled as if he has a shock. “I don’t want to do that. Let’s just get to the room and then you can do what I’ve paid you for.” Simona was starting to think Barry hadn’t made the decision to hire a woman for a few hours himself. He seemed against most of her subtle advances, hints of affection. She liked her clients to feel like they were special, the only one (unless they requested otherwise). “Just relax, this is going to be fun,” she cooed as the stepped out of the elevator. She stroked the lapels of his blazer softly. “I like your nail polish,” he replied, with nervous laughter.

After a short walk down a narrow hallway, Simona and her edgy client found the room; a basic bed-television-bathroom deal with a small balcony. He had obviously gone for the cheaper option, since Simona’s service came at a premium fee. He loosened his tie, and ripped off his blazer. Simona stood behind him, reaching around to undo his buttons. Despite them being the opposite of a woman’s shirt, she had had enough practice in unbuttoning a man’s shirt and didn’t fumble. She ran her fingers through thick, curly chest hair and kissed the nape of his neck. Barry’s confidence was growing with his desire to have her, and he turned around and threw her on the bed. He lifted her legs and took down her red silk underpants before she finished saying “Wait!” It had sometimes been a bit confronting for men to go straight down there, she has found, even though this is what they’ve paid for.

His distorted face turned bright red in a second, he forced her legs closed and turned away in disgust. “You’re not a bloody woman, you’re a thing!” he said. “You fraud! You fucking liar!” His fists were clenched and his knuckles white; Simona pulled her underwear back up and her dress back down. “I thought you knew,” she offered. “It says on my website…A lot of men think it’s just as good.” She stood up and put a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down. “Give me my money back, you dirty freak! I didn’t pay for – for – whatever the hell you are!” He lunged at her, knocking her hand away from his shoulder and gripping her shoulders. He was stronger than he looked, and Simona began to get frightened. She worked independently; there was no pimp or madame for her to call to send in reinforcements. Sure the hotel staff knew who she was, but they turned a blind-eye to this sort of rendezvous. He pushed her and she landed with her arm, in an attempt to break her fall, twisted behind her back. He stormed out of the room onto the balcony and lit up a cigarette.

She reached for her purse and took out the envelope, placing it on the bedside table. Water filled her dark eyes as she went to turn the door handle. “Wait!” Barry barked from the balcony. “Come out here, give me my money back. Don’t you sneak out you bitch!” She took heavy steps to the table and picked up the envelope, walked outside and, standing a little too close for comfort in the small space, handed it to him. He grabbed her wrist. “No one makes a fool out of me,” he said, as he shoved his free hand between her legs. He pushed her against the balcony rail. “What the hell is this anyway? Why the fuck didn’t you say anything on the phone? People like you should be put on a leash,” he said, with a shower of his spit clouding her face. “Let me go! You’ve got your money. I just want to go home!” Barry withdrew his hand and scowled at her. She had tears running down her cheeks and he punched her in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her.

It wasn’t the first time Simona had a rough client, and she could defend herself. She forced herself up and, with the hidden strength in her nimble body and with her hands on her shoulders pushed him back against the door. With a grapple for power, the small man lost the upper hand and Simona had him bent over backwards on the balcony. A vein in his forehead pulsed as he tried to push this would-be defenseless date off. “I’m leaving!” she said, her whole body trembling. “Let me go, let me go!” She loosened her hold on Barry’s shoulders and stood upright, but his ego was too bruised to let her go easily. He jumped up and made to grab her throat, but sensing his increasing rage she shoved him with all her might. With the flash of a second he was gone. His shoes disappeared behind the balcony in a blur, and she heard a cracking thud moments after.

She stood frozen to the spot for what seemed like an eternity. The sun was rising over the other tall buildings in the distance before she walked back into the room. She was almost calm; slightly rattled. If a client ever got rough it was either part of the foreplay or easily controlled. Her confusion was exhausting. She needed to clear her head before she decided whether to run, or front up to the law. But for that moment, she just sat on the bed and picked up her purse, taking out the nail-polish remover, a tissue, and began erasing the night’s work.