2 The battered soul

"I want to make your experience an enjoyable one. I would like to please you, Mr. Boardmann." I said, feeling out of sorts.

"How do you propose to please my battered soul?" He asked.

He lifted his head and I saw his upturned chin in a rather flattering angle, despite the odd, orangey lighting. Although I was not looking directly into his eyes, I had a wayward view of them. In his countenance rose a harsh agitation. Perhaps he did not like me or forgotten that he had liked me when I had stroked his head into sleep like a baby.

"However you would like to be pleased. If you had wanted me to stay, I would have stayed. I regret that I did not know you wanted me to sleep in with you. I was afraid that I would mess up your routine." I said now.

"How are you feeling, Lila?" He asked me.

He almost drawled out his words. It was an unrelated question. It was as if he was trying to fish out something from me. It must have been his curiosity about me.

"I am fine, Mr. Boardmann." I said.

"You look a little pale. You seem uncomfortable with me. Do I frighten you?" He asked.

"No." I said, looking straight ahead of us.

I might as well look him in the eyes now. Perhaps I had stared away for too long. Yet my head would not turn towards him.

I saw the skyscraper night view as was reflected by the glass panels. I took a sip of the red wine.

"If you are not as nervous as you say you are, why were you twitching your hair with your fingers, almost pulling them?" He asked.

I muttered something inaudible. Drat. I did not realise that I was playing with my hair in the most unfashionable way.

"What did you say?" He asked.

"I apologize, it's unbecoming of me. It's an old habit of mine." I said.

"I sense a docile tact in you. Is that part of your agency's standard practice or are you generally self-depreciating and compliant?" He asked.

It was the strangest question I had ever been put to so far by a client. Forget the non-standard questions. This was just off the scale.

How could I answer a question to which I did not even know the answer myself? This was a grey area to me. My work and personality were merged into one. I could not tell apart where work started and personality ended. The question was relevant for soul-searching, not for pre-sex banter.

The essence of what he asked sent a shiver to my spine, causing me to turn unconsciously towards him.

"Why do you remain silent?" He asked, lowering his head sideways so that he could have a full view of my face.

His voice was now lower, and a notch softer. Our glasses of red wine had remained untouched for some time.

"Would you like more wine?" I asked, aware of his warm breath on my cheeks.

He shook his head.

"You're trying to divert my attention." He said.

"I do not understand your question. I am not as well-learned as you are. I am only a call girl, not like you. I am here to give you pleasure, nothing more. You question me like I'm supposed to have answers for everything which I don't." I said.

I expected him to get mad like he did yesterday when he found out that I knew where he stayed beforehand.

"Lila, I was merely asking if you feel compelled to act in a certain way because of your agency's standard practice; or that if you act the way you do because that comes naturally. I am only asking because I would like you to feel as comfortable as possible when you're here with me. I want you to be able to talk freely to me without imposed restrictions or inhibitions on your part or your agency's." He answered.

He was not mad at all, but it was not quite a relief for me.

"I want you as you; just the way you are. I want you to be spontaneous with me; to say what comes naturally to that mind of yours." He said.

He sounded really kind, and I sensed something amiss. It made me tremble from an uneasiness I did not quite understand. I knew he was going to be difficult, and I could handle brash behaviour better than I could behaviour that was armed with kindness.