Watching You Read Free Page A

through her hair, thinking she should have washed it.
    “How old did he sound?”
    “Over eighteen.”
    “Where will you be?”
    “Close.”
    Marnie nods and crosses the pavement, keeping her head down, holding her breath. The doorman ushers her inside, wishing her a good evening. Escorts aren’t welcome in high-class hotels, but are tolerated as long as they dress elegantly and don’t solicit in the foyer or the bar. There are protocols. Don’t linger. If the lifts aren’t obvious, keep walking and give the impression that you know where you’re going. Quinn told her these things, along with the other rules: get the money first; keep your phone close; no bondage unless the client is getting tied up; extra time, extra money.
    On the third floor, she studies the numbers. Pausing outside the door, she tries to relax, telling herself she can do this. She knocks lightly with just a knuckle. The door opens immediately.
    She smiles demurely. “Hello, I’m Marnella.”
    The client is in his late forties with a narrow face and a strangely old-fashioned hairstyle, parted on the right. Barefoot, he’s wearing casual clothes.
    “Owen,” he says uncertainly, opening the door wider.
    Marnie takes off her coat, playing a role now. Quinn had told her to be confident and take charge. Don’t let the client know she’s nervous or new to the game. Owen is trying not to stare. He takes her coat, his hands trembling. He fumbles with a hanger and forgets to close the wardrobe door.
    “Would you like a drink?”
    “Sparkling water.”
    Crouching on his haunches, he opens the mini-bar. She can see the pale skin above his heels, streaked with veins.
    “I can never find the glasses.”
    “On the top shelf,” says Marnie.
    “Ah, yes.” He raises them aloft. “You must know your way around a place like this.”
    “Pardon?”
    “Hotel rooms.”
    “Oh, yes, I’m an expert.”
    “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”
    “I know you didn’t.” She gives him her painted-on smile and sips her drink. “Listen, Owen, before we start I have to collect the money. That’s one of the rules.”
    “Of course.”
    He reaches for his wallet, which is worn smooth and curved by the shape of his backside.
    Marnie feels nauseous. She hates this part. The sex she can make believe is simply sex, but the money turns it into something tawdry, brutish, and ancient. It shouldn’t be a commercial transaction when bodily fluids and hotel rooms are involved. Owen counts out the cash. Marnie crosses the room and slips the bundle of banknotes into her coat pocket. She notices a plastic dry-cleaning bag hanging in the wardrobe.
    Smoothing down the front of her dress, she turns back to Owen, waiting for him to make a start. He gulps his drink and suggests some music, turning on the CD player. It’s an old song. When he looks back, Marnie is undressing.
    “You don’t have to do that.”
    “We only have an hour,” she says.
    “I know, but we could talk a bit.”
    She nods and sits down on the edge of the mattress, feeling self-conscious in her lingerie. Owen sits next to her, a foot distant. He’s a thin man with large hands.
    “I haven’t done this before,” he says. “I’m not saying that I haven’t done this …It’s not like I’m gay or anything…I’m straight. I’ve been with plenty of women. I’m a father, which is why this is difficult for me…seeing you.”
    “Of course,” says Marnie.
    “My mother just died,” he blurts.
    “I’m sorry to hear that. Had she been sick?”
    “For a long while…cancer.”
    Marnie doesn’t want to hear his life story or to compare notes.
    Owen stares at the backs of his hands as though counting the freckles. “I’ve wanted to do this for a long while, but my mother wouldn’t have understood. And she always seemed to know when I was lying to her. It’s not easy caring for someone.”
    “I understand,” says Marnie.
    “Do you?”
    Marnie pats the bed beside her, motioning him to come