Crisis Management

--------------

I actually left work at five on Friday; I don't know if I'd ever done that before. But my boss was encouraging of me doing something for myself--he needed all the work I got done, and that wouldn't happen if I worked myself into the hospital. In fact, he decided to follow my lead and left with me. I might have been better off at work, though, because I was a wreck waiting for 8:00 to come around. I meant to have a leisurely dinner but in my excitement downed it in 20 minutes. I went home to clean my condo, but the housekeeper had been in and there was very little that needed to be done. I had an hour-and-a-half to kill. I switched on the TV for the first time in months and flipped up and down through the sixty channels I had no idea why I still paid for since I never watched them, but nothing could distract me from brooding about what was to come.

When the buzzer finally went off, my hands were shaking as I rose to buzz her in. I opened the door a crack and peeked out so it wouldn't be as obvious that I was watching the elevator door. My heartbeat spiked with every ding, but it seemed like it stopped at 20 other floors before finally she stepped out. I sighed as she walked down the hall, looking at numbers on doors. Her red hair was loose and flowing, and under her long coat I saw bare calves and strappy fuck-me heels. The only thing that kept her from looking like an angel out of a movie as she seemingly glided down the hall was the boom box she carried in her left hand.

I waited until she was about 20 feet away, then opened the door and stepped out. I gulped in awe of the vision of the woman of my fantasies. "Mike?" she asked in a cold, businesslike tone, stepping up her pace to close the distance.

"You must be Tiffany" I croaked, "come on in." I gestured towards the door.

She took one step in and froze. She whirled on me, and accused "where is the party?"

"Oh," I said, taken aback, having forgotten about the lie I'd told the escort service. "Um, the bride called off the wedding, and I thought it was too late to cancel you. I thought maybe some of the guys would show up anyway, but I guess they weren't in the mood to celebrate. Is it a problem if it's just me?"

She sized me up with great suspicion, not answering at first. She knitted her brows for split second, which I think meant she had the feeling of having seen me somewhere before but couldn't place where. Finally she said "it's your money, but don't get any bright ideas. I have mace and I WILL use it."

"Of course," I swallowed. She turned and entered. I followed and closed the door. "Did you need a dressing room or something?" I asked.

"No," she answered. She had put down the stereo at my kitchen table and was already taking off her coat. Underneath she wore one of the bright jewel-tone suits with the short skirt I'd admired whenever I'd seen her in the lobby of the health club. "Where do you want me to go?"

"Oh...over here." I moved the coffee table aside and sat on the couch. She carried over the boom box, placing it on the table, and standing in the space.

"Ready?" she asked coldly. Deena had exuded enticement; she had made all the men in the room want her, from her voice to the way she carried herself, before she ever started to dance. Tiffany gave off a vibe of counting the seconds until she could leave. She stood before me not in a way that got my juices flowing, but like she was standing in line for bread. And yet, in my smitten-ness I could easily overlook these things.

"Uh, sure," I said. I was finding it hard to breathe just with her standing so close to me. She took a step and pressed play with her long, bony finger. I suddenly realized that her fingers were bare--the huge diamond that had always adorned her finger at the gym was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps, like the stage name I was sure she was using, this was something the service had coached her to do. After all, it's hard to create the illusion that the dancer can't wait to have unbelievably nasty sex with you if she's wearing a wedding band.

Tiffany crafted no such illusion anyway. When the music started, she stated to dance, but she clearly wasn't a stripper. She danced like a raver, the difference being that one maximized the pleasure of the dancer, the other maximized that of the observer. Still, it was Brianna/Tiffany, moving that lithe body that I'd admired as it ran hundreds of miles without moving an inch. She unbuttoned her jacket right away, holding her hands to the back of her head and swaying her hips like a disco diva. Then she pumped her hips up and down in a slight arc; she was nice enough to turn around and show how this movement accentuated her ass. She started to go low, low, low as she pumped, lifting her skirt to let her down. Eventually it was up around her waist, and I could marvel at the toned glutes, having fallen almost completely free of her thong, as they pumped in rhythm.

I'd never seen her this close before. Her skin had the fine porcelain tone of most real redheads, with the faint pink blush of life glowing through from beneath. She didn't seem to have very many freckles for how fine her skin was.

She suddenly stood and turned towards me. She looked down in my general direction as she unbuttoned her blouse while shaking her hips in a vaguely salsa style (to music that wasn't even remotely salsa). I looked right at her, but she avoided eye contact with me--I think she was looking at my knees, of all things. When the last button was free, she spun in circles, lifting the blouse off her arms so that it twirled above her. Then she let it fly to the side. She was wearing a lacy black bra with red trim underneath. She demurely crossed her arms to cover her chest, then slowly slid her hands down those tightly toned abs I'd marveled at from afar. She had a small silver hoop in her navel that I had never seen before; maybe she took it out to exercise, or maybe it was new.

She danced around some more and then started working at the zipper at the side of her skirt. She actually came a little closer to me, her side to me, teasing me by playing with the zipper and lowering it a half-inch at a time. It was giving me a raging hard-on. Finally she let the zipper down and pushed the skirt down her lean, shapely legs in a movement that was, well, a lot like touching her toes. It figured that her most stripper-like motions were those that were most similar to exercise.

Now she danced in her lingerie. She would face me for a minute, then turn her back to me for a minute. Her eyes weren't focused on anything; it was like she was dancing in a club of her own imagining. She repeated the low bending dance, now that much more impressive as I could watch her ass the whole way down. When she popped up, she slipped first one strap of her bra from her shoulder, then the other. She maneuvered to free her arms from the straps, but kept it clasped around her torso. It was slipping, though, and I could see a good amount of cleavage as she danced. The space between her breasts seemed to have more prominent freckles, as did the insides of her thighs. Then she turned her back to me, making a big show of releasing the catch on her bra. It came loose, but she kept the bra from falling by pinching it with her arms. She turned back towards me, and used it like a mini curtain, shifting it back and forth while she did too; like a good burlesque, it gave the impression that one could see much more than actually one could. Finally, she stopped, held out her arm and tossed the bra towards me. For a split second before she crossed her arms over her chest again I could see her breasts. They were round and firm, with the finest delicate pink nipples you could imagine. Then tantalizingly they were gone. She turned three quarters away from me, arms still crossed over her chest, peering at me over her shoulder. She looked so much like the classic Betty Grable pinup pose I suspected it must have been intentional. Either way, however, the show seemed to be over.

I started clapping. Self-consciously, she reached to retrieve her bra, covering her breasts with her other arm. She turned her back to quickly put it back on, then quickly pulled on her other clothes. Her eyes showed a sense of relief; I was willing to bet this was her first dance, but she didn't know I knew that. I didn't know if the relief was from the fact that she thought her newbishness wasn't apparent or if it was just because it was over.

I thanked her for coming by and apologized again for not having a bigger audience. The dance out of the way, she was more relaxed, and she started to say it was better that there were fewer people then caught herself. I tipped her a C-note as I showed her out, which surprised her and she was actually civil to me for the first time.

After she left I locked the door behind her, the shut off all the lights, lay down on my couch, and closed my eyes. I then replayed the entire dance in my mind as best I could remember it. I thought back on every curve, every move, every inch that I'd seen of her body. I played it back in my mind, then rewound the tape in my head and started again, over and over and over.

-------------

The sunlight woke me in the morning. I felt a pain in my neck as I straightened; I'd fallen asleep on the couch, and now I'd have a crick in my neck all day. I headed to the shower slowly, lost in thought, then took a leisurely breakfast. Normally, I would have headed in to work, but today was Eric's wedding. But my thoughts weren't on that, they consisted mostly of: so now what? Do I book her again? I mean, anyone could have told you that I didn't get my money's worth, yet to me it had been priceless.

What I remember of the wedding was nice. It was good that I had something else to occupy my day, or I'd have spent the whole day brooding about her. As it was, thoughts and recollections interrupted my perception of the events going on around me, hence my uncertain memories of the event. Back at work on Monday, there was so much to do I didn't have time to think about her again. But when I went to work out at lunchtime, in the place where I'd spent so much time staring at her beauty, thoughts of her were overwhelming. The more I thought about her, the more I fixated on the fact that she wasn't wearing the ring I'd always seen in the gym. I knew I desperately wanted it to mean something, which is why I was trying to so hard convince myself it didn't. Even if it did, my relationship with her was what--her first customer? If anything, that would probably cement my total lack of a shot at her. The one thing I could do, though, was hire her again.

I knew it was weird, but I called the agency again on Wednesday anyway. "Hello...I'd like to hire a dancer for this Friday night."

"Certainly," said the same voice as last week, "any special requests."

"Yes...a new girl, Tiffany, a redhead."

"Just a moment...(pause)...OK, I see her, but you know she's Burlesque-only?"

"Yes that's fine." She proceeded to take down my address and credit card. She must book lots of gigs, it didn't ring a bell that it was the same address to which she'd been sent a week ago. Not so with Tiffany herself. She was due at 8:00, but at 7:30 I got a phone call from a number I didn't recognize. Some people don't answer calls like that, but I get lots of calls from people I do business with at odd hours from numbers I don't recognize, so I just answer it. She was calling to confirm the address.

"Is this Mike?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Hi, this is Tiffany from the City Deluxe Escort Service? Did you order an escort this evening?"

"Yes."

"OK, good I thought I had the wrong address." There was a long pause, before she continued "did you...order an escort last Friday, too?"

"Yes, I'm the same guy. I liked the show so much I wanted an encore. Is there a problem with that?"

Another pause. "I guess not--it's your dime. I'll be there in 20 minutes."

When she arrived, she was wearing a frown. While still in the hall, she told me "I hate to disappoint you, but I've only got one routine. It's going to look exactly the same as last week."

"I'm OK with that," I replied as she breezed past me into my condo. "I said I liked it so much I booked you again, didn't I?"

"Well, I just feel like you're getting gypped by not getting at least a new dance, but truth is I'm kind of new at this..."

"I said its fine...really."

She looked at me, convincing herself that I was indeed fine with her repeating last week's performance. Finally she said, "well, when I realized it was you again I quickly grabbed something else so at least I wouldn't be wearing the same outfit again. Do you have a bathroom where I can change?"

I nodded and showed her to the bathroom. When she came out, she was wearing a white shirt tied at the midriff but a bustier underneath and a basic black miniskirt. Perhaps she had learned something from watching Deena after all. And she still didn't have any rings on her fingers.

She flipped on the music and indeed, it was very much the same routine. Maybe it was because she'd done it before, or maybe because she'd danced for ME before, but she seemed more comfortable this time. She certainly didn't give off as strong of a vibe that she hated what she was doing, and it seemed more natural. The best part was at the end, where this time she held the bra out at arm's length before tossing it in my lap. When she crossed her arms over her chest, she wasn't quite as quick about it either, so instead of getting a split-second look at her marvelous breasts, I got a wonderful topless view for five, maybe ten full seconds. She actually gave a half-smile when I applauded this time, and she didn't even turn around when she put her bra back on, giving me another quick peek at her fine, porcelain breasts.

"I hope that was worth seeing a second time" she said in a voice suggested she doubted it.

"It was to me," I said honestly.

"Well, I guess that's all that matters then."

"Did it...bother you to have...a repeat customer?" I asked tentatively. I could already tell I would want to see her again, perhaps next week already.

She thought for a moment. "No," she said, pausing again, then added, "I guess it's a compliment that you'd pay to see my show again. I guess I just don't understand why you'd think it was worth it."

Because I'm totally smitten with you, I thought. "I just do," is what I said. I tipped her again as she left, and I watched her fine legs recede all the way down the hall to the elevator. I closed the door with a sigh. So close and yet so far.

----------------

All week I resolved to NOT book her for a third week in a row. As each day passed, my resolve eroded in the face of my lust. Thursday I gave up, and found myself calling the agency again.

"Hello," I said, confident now in what I was doing, "I would like to request an escort for Friday night. Specifically, there's a new girl named Tiffany, a redhead. I would like to book her."

"Yes sir," said the same voice, "just a moment." The moment took longer than it had the first two times. "I'm sorry sir, but Tiffany is no longer employed with City Deluxe. But we have lots of other fine redheaded escorts..." she started to rattle off some names and descriptions, but I wasn't hearing any of it. No longer employed with City Deluxe? Once again, the object of my abject desire had, for all intents and purposes, disappeared from the face of the earth."

"Uh...no, thank you, I'm sure you have some lovely ladies, but I really wanted Tiffany," I said absently, mind still reeling. I flipped my phone closed and stared at it. Had she...gone to another agency? Maybe gone to work at a strip club? Not likely, I realized...fact was, even I knew shewasn't a very good stripper--she just had the most amazing body... In my mind I flashed back to her dancing in my living room, flashing me her breasts, the soft skin of her legs as she stood before me, the fine sculpted abs... Every minute of her two visits I replayed in my head. I thought about how she looked when she walked down the hall, about the way she had called me to make sure she hadn't gotten the address wrong...

Called me. SHE HAD CALLED ME! I flipped open my phone with great urgency and started scrolling through the list of calls received. Why the hell hadn't this dawned on me before? There were thirty saved numbers before I found one that said "local call" and was received about 7:50pm on Friday. It didn't show me a number, but it did give me a "call back" option, so that's what I did. I was nervous as a groom as the phone rang--would this be her number? The agency? Who would answer the phone?

It turned out nobody did. I guess whoever it was didn't recognize my number, either. A voicemail message kicked in, saying "You have reached xxx-xxxx. I am unable to take your call right now, but if you leave a message I'll get back to you."

"Uh...yes...uh, Tiffany? This is me, Mike again. Listen, I called the agency because I wanted to book you again for this Friday night, but I was told you don't work for them anymore? Do you work somewhere else now, or are you freelancing maybe? Anyway, I'd love to have you come back for another encore tomorrow. Please call me at xxx-xxxx. Bye." I ended the call, feeling like I'd sounded like a fool--or maybe just that I was one.

I had an important meeting that afternoon, and I was afraid she might call back during it so I set it to vibrate. With 20 minutes left I got a call, and I got all excited--for nothing. It was a stupid vendor that called me every Thursday--I was so focused on Tiffany I'd forgotten all about him. I went home and had a quiet, somber dinner, but the phone would not ring. I tried her number again, got the same voicemail, but didn't leave another message. I had a hard time falling asleep that night, thinking the woman of my dreams was out there somewhere, but I had no idea where.

---------------

3:00 Friday I got a call. I had been putting out fires all day, so I'd been on my phone almost constantly and wasn't even checking who it was when I picked it up.

"Hello" I said tersely.

"Hello, Mike?" I immediately recognized her voice, even though it sounded different, like it was upset about something.

"Oh, hi...Tiffany?" I said, putting down my papers and sitting back in my chair.

"Hi...listen, I got your message, and no, I don't work for City Deluxe. In fact, I'm not working at all right now..."

"Well then, would you consider freelancing? I'd love to have you come by again this week, and I'll pay you the full fee I paid the agency before..."

"I guess I can, I mean it's not like I signed a no-compete clause or something." No-compete clause? She sounded a lot more like a banker than a stripper. Which would have fit with why she would have frequented a mid-town gym at lunch hour. Desperate times call for desperate measures maybe? She continued "but I'm not set up to take credit cards or anything..."

"Not a problem--I'll make sure I can pay in cash. Would that be OK?"

There was silence for a moment as apparently she considered. "Yeah, I guess that's OK. 8:00?"

"That would be great. See you then." I ended the call with leaping heart. One, I was getting my weekly dance after all. And two, I knew for sure I had her number.

As soon as she got off the elevator, though, I could tell something wasn't right. Watching her walk down the hall as always, she carried herself differently. She looked like someone trying hard to keep herself together. She smiled weakly when she came close, trying to hide the feelings inside. Her mascara appeared smudged.

"I've got a little treat for you," she announced with all the resolve she could muster. "But I need to freshen up a bit first."

"Not a problem," I said unevenly, having no clue what to do in this situation. "Take as much time as you like." She smiled again wanly and retreated to my bathroom. I sat down, feeling, well, guilty. She appeared upset; if she were a friend or even an acquaintance I would ask if something was the matter. But my only relationship to her was...I guess you would call it professional. It seemed like the LAST thing she would want, given the signs I had noted indicating her distaste for the work she was doing, is to have customers pry into her private affairs.