3 I felt like a prism

I faced him blankly. The truth was I really did not know and it hurt. I had understood his question perfectly the first time; but to cover up my ignorance, I had played dumb. It dawned to me that I was messed up here. I had to look for my own standard answer.

He was observing me. It made me nervous. I had taken centre stage before, but I was never this nervous.

'"The truth is I've never thought about it before. All I know is that I am able to do my job well by catering to the agency's standard practice and the client's needs. It has never ever gotten me into any trouble. It's all part of the job." I said.

The uneasiness I felt spiralled into frustration. I was mad at him for making me think about myself from varying spectrums. I felt like a prism. I was splayed into different angels and colours. I knew the past three years had been somewhat volatile; not that the clients were physically violent or abusive as they were in the past; rather it was my feelings which played havoc with me. Like sunlight dancing through a prism, its angles always changes. I could not get a grip on any one of them long enough to comprehend them. And for better or worse, I did not try.

I did not know if he was waiting for me to speak more. If so, he could be really patient if he wanted to. I thought of how bad-tempered he was yesterday because I could not catch him up on the streets. Thinking it was too long a silence to be considered courteous conversation, I broke the silence.

"Standard practice is that we call girls should be accommodating to our clients, but only as far as we are willing to go. Both parties should only engage in sexual acts if their feelings are mutual. There is no rule that sex should take place, although it is expected." I said.

I added, "We did not have sex because you did not want to."

Then he asked gently, "And yourself? What do you think about all these rules?"

"I follow them?" I answered.

I felt that the whole conversation was a tautology- the chicken and egg argument. Which comes first?

"Well, pretend that you're at a job interview. What would you say to the interviewer when asked to describe yourself?" He asked.

Since the only words which came to my head prior to that were messed up and lost, I had to rack my head up.

"Punctual, efficient, listen to instructions. I guess that's being compliant." I said, smiling a little when I came to this realization.

I had my standard answer now which was not controversial at all. No one would bat an eyelid here.

"Thank you for answering my questions." He said in a professional voice, as though we were in the midst of an interview.

"Go on. Ask me any question you like. It is only fair that you ask me something in return; otherwise I would feel like a big bully." He said.

I had none. Could it be due to my compliant nature or because I had no clue what to ask him? I did not judge him or formed an opinion about him. He was a bottomless pit of enigma to me.

He was not surprised that I did not answer.

"Come on. Is there not anything you are curious about about me?" He asked.

"I only want to know what you want to tell me, Mr. Boardmann. It is not in my nature to pry for information." I said.

He grunted incoherently. He was irritated with me. He quickly rose from beside me to the settee opposite. Now he faced me directly.

"That's better. Now I can see you instead of staring out at my damn office." He said, concentrating his attention exclusively on my face.

Because I felt uncomfortable, my gaze skittered everywhere except on him, but eventually I looked him at the spaces between his eyes. The ridge of his sharp nose.