Meeting

Knock, knock.

"Coming", he said but kept messaging for a few minutes.

When he finished, he put his cellphone in his pocket, got up from the sofa and walked to the door.

"Who is it?"

"Escort service", said a voice on the other side of the door.

"Ok. Just a minute", he entered the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. He took a comb from his pocket and fixed his hair. He put the comb back in his pocket, fixed his tie and got out the bathroom. He opened the door, and on the other side was a women of twenty-something (or thirty-something, like him, but there was no way of knowing that). She was a blonde (just as he ordered) with black eyes and pale skin; her face was refined, even though she was using too much makeup; her lips were dry and thin, and she was flat-chested, but her legs weren't too bad.

"Hi", she said.

"Come on in", he let her in and stood behind her.

She looked at the room: there was a bathroom with a shower (but no jacuzzi), a closet, a tantra sofa, a bed, a mirror in the wall and another in the ceiling, and a night table with a whisky bottle (not included with the room), two glasses and a bucket of ice.

She turned at him.

"Well… What can I do for you?"

"First", he went to the night table and filled the glasses with ice and whisky, "here", he offered her one of the glasses.

"Thanks, but I don't drink at work."

"Just relax."

"I'm already here. You don't need to convince me."

"Just take it."

She looked at him. He smiled at her in an increasingly irritated way.

She dind't have more of a choice, so she took the glass.

"Let's toast", he gently tapped his glass in hers and started drinking.

She pretended to drink.

He left his empty glass on the floor and got closer to her. He looked at her and stroke her hair with both of his hands.

She looked back at him.

"Now let's get to work", he put his hand over her head and started pushing her down.

She was trying to remember something.

He put her in front of his crotch. She unzipped his pants and remembered something. She looked up and asked him:

"Pérez?"

He (Pérez) got away from her and zipped his pants.

"Yes, it's you", she stood up and got near him. "Wow. You really have changed: I barely recognized you."

Pérez gave one step backward.

"What?", she asked. "Don't you recognize me? I look still the same; I just bleached my hair. I didn't want to, but you know… You gotta think about the clients, right?

Pérez did everything he could to remember her: he thought about his working partners, his wife's friends, his lovers, the girls at the strip club, but she wasn't one of them. So, who was she? The guys at the escort agency told him they will send him a girl called Krystal, but, looking at her closely, she looked like:

"Andrea?", now he remebered her. They had been classmates in high school.

"The same one. But sit down; you already paid for all of this."

Pérez felt his sweat running behind his clothes; he could only think about all his classmates who worked in the same business as him (although most of them were his subordinates, a few were his superiors), and who befriended his wife.

"How much?" he asked.

Andrea looked at him puzzled.

"How much? You already paid."

"No. How much for you to keep your mouth shut about me being here with you."

"Look, Pérez, I don't care about that."

"No. You don't know what I had to do to be where I am right now."

"And you still came down here. But that's on you, so stop giving me this crap, 'cause I wasn't going to spill the beans, but I can do it just to fuck you over. You fuck with me, I fuck with you. That easy. I don't fuck around. You may see me thin and weak, but I can kick your ass right now, you fuck. So, how's it gonna be? Will you fuck with me or will you shut your fucking mouth?"

Pérez didn't say anything.

"Look how easy it is? We didn't come here to fuck us over, so you'd better sit down, relax and here", Andrea offered him her whisky. "Just relax."

Pérez took the glass. He sat at the edge of the bed and drank.

Andrea layed face-up on the sofa. She took a cigarette from her purse and lit it. She puffed on her cigarette and exhaled longly.

"And you, who did you hang out with?"

"What?"

"Who did you hang put with?"

"In high school? With Daniel and Fabián."

"Ah, yeah. Daniel was very quiet. He always seemed very weird. Hey, it's true he pissed his pants in kindergarten?"

"No, that was Gustavo. I didn't spoke to him that much."

"Oh, cool. And Fabián was Sylvia's boyfriend, right?"

"At senior year."

"I didn't like senior year. Yeah, we had prom, a trip to Cancún and the awards we organized (I won the prettiest girl of the generation), but everything was so sad: everyone kept saying high school was over, and they'll gonna miss me (even though that wasn't true), and they only thought about college and the application exams. Nobody cared about high school anymore. Even at class: we barely did anything 'cause the teachers didn't care either.

"That's why I liked sophomore year more. At freshman year we barely knew each other, but at sophomore we did whatever we wanted, we went to the club (you never were there, right?), we did tons of parties at my place or at Memo's, and there were more and more couples. I remember Chepo, Yuca, Santi, Pepe, Rubén, Fede, Rodolfo and Paco asked me out at some time, but I only dated Adrián. And I didn't like him that much. He was only mine 'cause Mariana wanted him, and I always hated that bitch. Fucking whore.

"But anyway", Andrea dropped her cigarette and got up, "we fuck or what?" she took off her shirt, her pants and her sneakers. She didn't took off her underwear 'cause she didn't have any.

Pérez looked at her. Her skin was pale and soft, her breast were tiny but cute, her ass was round and firm, her tighs were smooth and hard. But she had a big scar on all her belly.

"Now you'll get naked or what? Don't you wanna fuck me? 'Cause that's why I came here.

Pérez got up. Andrea didn't seem like she'll tell anyone about him (besides, who will believe what a whore says?), and the idea of fucking the prettiest girl of his generation didn't sound so bad, after all, so he took off his coat, his tie, his watch, his ring, his shirt, his shoes, his pants, his undershirt, his necklace with a golden cross and his trouzers.

Andrea looked at him. That way, naked, he looked like anyone.

A so did she.