It had been a year since the coin toss.
Anna opened the door and stepped into the room. For a second bedroom it was surprisingly good-sized, and like the rest of the apartment, recently redecorated. She went to the window and looked over her shoulder, imagining a bed there and perhaps a desk over there. Of course, had it been for her own use she would have expected even more space and another bathroom at least. But this apartment was not for her.
She felt a flutter of excitement. It could be the perfect first-buy for her property portfolio. A well-priced property on a block with a good reputation.
In the kitchen, the real estate agent—immaculately suited in cream bouclé—was jotting on a notepad.
“I do like it,” Anna admitted, standing in the middle of the small dining space.
She was rewarded with a dazzling, thousand-watt smile.
“It’s a lovely apartment,” the woman agreed, placing her ballpoint down decisively.
Realising she was about to get the full sales pitch, Anna took a couple of steps forward, sweeping a hand around to indicate the rear wall and the lack of cupboards, and the narrow working space on either side of the stove.
“The layout’s good, but this part of the kitchen is badly designed.”
The glossy, cyclamen pink smile didn’t waver.
“I’d agree with you, except that no one cooks these days. And why would they, when there are so many decent restaurants nearby?”
Anna was treated to a subtle we’re-all-girls-together look. “Not only that, there’s a really good grocer on the corner, so why bother storing food? Just pick up what you need on the way home.”
The argument had merit, and Anna found herself nodding. It was not unlike the way she lived, since her own cupboards often contained little more than a couple of bottles of fine Champagne and a few basic supplies.
She wandered back into the living area again. Accessed by a single set of sliding doors, the small balcony could be considered a feature, although the view was hardly breath-taking. Then again, this was the heart of the towering metropolis, and so what should anyone expect?
The bathroom was a positive, having both a tub and a shower. It also contained a washing machine and drier, neatly hidden behind sliding doors.
Was the place big enough for two to share comfortably? Or did that matter? In the end, wouldn’t it come down to the rent she was asking?
“I’m interested,” she said upon returning.
“I don’t think you can go wrong.” The woman could not have been more ingratiating. “As I said earlier, it’s not been on the market long, and we’re expecting a number of enquiries.”
Anna had no intention of being intimidated.
“That’s understandable. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Stepping out of the lift, she paused for a moment and cast an eye around the foyer. Not overly spacious, but the tiled floor was clean, and someone took pride in the careful tending of the planters.
She would make an offer first thing in the morning.
The late morning sun matched her mood—bright and optimistic. Hesitating on the building’s step she glanced over the road. The inner city park opposite seemed a popular oasis for locals. Since she wasn’t expected anywhere, Anna waited for a lull in the traffic and made her way over.
It was a welcoming swathe of green, enhanced by specimen trees and formal beds of crimson dianthus and blue salvia. A little farther ahead on the dappled path, a group of mothers were pushing strollers and chatting. Others—Anna guessed employees from nearby insurance and international accounting firms—were reclining on benches or stretched out on the grass.
She stopped to take off her jacket. There was a time, not that long ago, when she too had spent meal breaks relaxing in the sunshine.
Back then her father had praised her ambition.
A senior lending specialist, and not just at branch level, but at the city headquarters. Of course it’s early days, but I think she’ll go far in banking. She’s got the right temperament.
Except she hadn’t gone far.
Micro-management and policy she considered inflexible were two reasons. The third was personal, for unknown to her employers or anyone else, Anna had been heavily in debt.
No different from plenty of others back then, she’d regularly maxed out her credit and store cards. There had been little to worry about. In fact she prided herself on using the accounts to her advantage—spending and then repaying in full each month and so avoiding the exorbitant interest charges.
But everything changed when the economy faltered and the cost of living skyrocketed. Forced to cut back in order to keep on top of other bills, she applied for a higher credit limit. The relief was short-lived, and within months she was once again finding it hard to manage both debt repayment and the more essential rental and utility bills. That was if she were to eat or have any kind of life at all.
She was sick of being broke only days after her salary went into her account. She might still have coped if it weren’t for the terse and demanding letters arriving regularly. Declaring herself bankrupt was out of the question. It would have killed her career and with it any chance of a future.
The obvious solution was a part-time job. But they weren’t easy to come by, and she had strong competition. Even those offering menial positions were being choosy.
Without slowing her pace, Anna returned the smile of an elderly gentleman sitting on a wooden park bench. At his feet, a gang of urban blue-grey pigeons was pecking in a frenzy at the remnants of a loaf of bread.
She recognised the flirtatious gleam in the man’s rheumy eyes and knew he had mistaken her smart outfit and positive body language for the trappings of a high-flying executive. If he only knew!
The decision to become an escort, a high-class call girl, had not been easy, but once made, her plan had been simple. Allocate three nights a week to the role and pay off her debts as quickly as possible. Then walk away from the whole sordid business and get her life back on track. No one need ever know.
It might have happened too, had she not found the work a little less arduous than she’d imagined and the extra money a little too enticing.
She’d quit the bank a year later and let it be known that not only was she prepared to give more time to the agency providing her with bookings, but for a higher fee she would be a little more flexible in what she would do for her clients. Looking for long-term security, she had decided to invest in a rental property and was focused on saving the required deposit.
Even so, she had no intention of continuing in the sex industry any longer than necessary. Another six months or so should do it. A year at most.
Then she would be free.