Pretending to be real

A Story by chimetime

Writing Prompt: You hire a female prostitute, tell her to meet you at a fancy restaurant, and ask her to pretend to be your colleague from the bank. Hire a male prostitute, and tell him the same thin

I arrived early for the comedy, just a table away from the theatrics. Today's comedy: two professional fuckers pretending to be the Wall Street fuckers they themselves f**k. Lindsey thought she was meeting me and helping me practice human interaction outside of sex and passive-aggressive ladder climbing. Tom thought I was a female practicing having a dick when you don't have a dick WHEN interacting with dicks.

Lindsey arrived early, dressed in a typical Wall Street powersuit. Her hair was tied behind her back, and her makeup tactfully done - an air of sensual, but skilled. She placed herself at the table, ordered a manhattan and the soup.

Minutes later, Tom arrive. I've never had Tom's service nor even seen him in real life, but I imagine his usual attire was that of a Chippendale dancer. I had sent Lindsey a picture of Tom so they could actually meet each other. She beckoned to Tom with a wave, and Tom followed suit.

Lindsey begins, "Hello Tom".

"So glad you could join me for dinner after work, Lindsey. Sorry I'm late."

"It's no problem. I've already ordered. Go order first."

"What did you order?"

She ends, "the soup".

Tom takes a few minutes to order. He calls the waiter, gives his order, and then gives the menu away.

He locks eyes with Lindsey, the eyes of a provider. "I've ordered us a few drinks and desserts. For myself, a steak. Don't worry about the drinks and desserts, on me."

Upon hearing this order, I wince. Making 6 figures on wall street does not matter if you buy a 3 figure steak.

"Ahh...why... thank you Tom." replies Lindsey. She is clearly wondering if she should accept the gesture. Her prostitute and acting senses conflicting, the dichotomy of being a taker vs a maker.

She chooses maker.

"Actually, let's split those drinks and desserts. Colleagues share."

Tom raises his brow. A moment later, he replies "No problem.". Again, he seems to think every penis on Wall Street acts like a king.

Lindsey attempts to break the awkwardness. "How was work today?".

"It was good. Clients were good".

Lindsey reviews, "ahh...I see. That's good."

I close my eyes and sip my glass of wine: acting this bad is just plain sad.

Silence comes, both unsure of what to say and unsure about their accidental current roles as chauvinist Wall Street penis and disrespected financial princess. It's like a couple of singers and actors forgetting their lines.

Tom awkwardly breaks the awkwardness.

"Lindsey, I'm sorry if I offended you. I thought I was supposed to buy women items. I've always thought that was the character of men on Wall Street. Mad Men, Wolf of Wall Street. Big mistake on my part, I didn't study the culture enough."

"Tom, it's okay. I was trying to act like I didn't care about it, but it's the 21st century. And a woman on wall street - actually woman everywhere - should speak without caring about money or perception. At least, that's what I think the culture is..."

"Urgh, it's so hard to be a person. Like, even when I'm in my actual element, I have to act a certain way."

"I agree. It seems guys who aren't studs don't do so well in that culture. At the same time, young and hot dominate my day to day."

"Can't even be real even when you got the basics?"

"Well…". Lindsey pauses, now needing to think about not breaking character, but also not losing character.

She continues, "the clients see my skirt first and my work second. They send me to impress clients because of my body".

Tom replies, "I see. And they send me to the other clients because my image."

"Which is?"

"Handsome hero"

"Ahhhh….".

The silence comes back. Ironically, my work involves mathematics rather than meetings. I suppose that without knowledge of the nitty gritty, they had to resort to the experience, if not the details, of what they know: prostitution.

Lindsey breaks this time. "Do you like the work?"

Tom looks to the side and then looks around the surrounding restaurant. "I like the money. Do…. YOU like the work?"

"...I also like the money"

"So money makes it allright?" Tom poses.

"I suppose. Money makes it allright." She stares down at her suit.

She extends, "yeah. I'll give everything as long as they pay me. The acting, the time, the whatever, money makes it allright."

Tom nods and reinforces.

"Yeah. Same boat. The ship treats me well so I'll keep going. We're in a good place for years to come."

"Yeah…everything at everytime."

The lull comes back. However, the two stare at each other as if looking at a mirror. The actors are no longer acting.

They call for a check, and leave without finishing the food; the drinks and dessert untouched. I myself finish my drink. Putting my phone on the table, I begin typing: "2 Weeks Notice".