Jimmy's office is cramped, messy, and tacky in comparison to the spacious luxurious private room at Akira Lounge. "I have a few appointments I would like to keep," I explain to Jimmy, "some are far out, like a few months from now. It would be great if you could let me keep those appointments. But as of this moment, I would like to quit."
Jimmy looks confuse with his furrow brows, narrow eyes, and lips slightly parted. He says, "You're already prebooked for... the next three months."
"What? By who?"
He shuffles through the stack of papers scattered on his desk. "Jason's friend. I thought that was why you haven't been to work for the last month and a half."
This explains why Jimmy haven't contacted me.
"But... Jason told me his... friend no longer wanted me to be in their private room."
Jimmy goes around his desk and continue his search on the long stack of files and papers sitting on his chair. "He didn't say anything to me. In fact, Jason called me on that last night you worked and told me that you're prebooked for the next four months."
"Four months!"
Jimmy finds the paper and reads from it, "Prebooked until the end of May. I assumed, since his friend hasn't been here for the last month and a half, that was why you haven't shown up. I thought you knew."
"But the tall Russian girl—Alisa..."
"Alisa? What about her?"
I stare at the chipped wood floor, remnants of what this place used to have before they remodeled it into Akira Lounge. "Hmm... is she prebooked with him?"
"No. Jason requested her three times. You were here with them."
"Was she with him the last night he was here?"
He files the paper in his hand into the binder he takes from the stack next to his desk. "No, you were working in the other room, so he didn't book anyone."
"He didn't... where was Alisa?"
"She was in another room with one of her regulars."
"And he didn't ask for her?"
"No, but he asked which room you were in. I accidentally gave him the wrong room number. Then Jason came, so I told him that you've been asking when they would be done."
Did I misunderstand his situation with Alisa?
Jimmy faces me. "When Jason paid, he specifically told me to go tell you that they were leaving right then. So that's when I came to tell you."
"When I was sitting with Eric that last time, Jason's... friend was waiting for me in front of—"
"He was tipsy when he found me. I've never seen him like that—he's always very composed. But he demanded to know where you were and why you didn't rotate into his room. So I explained you were in Eric's room, the whole night. I didn't know he went to Eric's room for you until Jason came and explained to me afterward."
None of this makes any sense.
"Ace, are you two dating?"
"What? Why—"
Jimmy leans against his desk. "Four years, he never booked anyone, and then you came along, and he's booking six to eight ladies. He not only sought you out but prebooked you months in advance. Are you two dating?"
I blink at him then avert my eyes. A part of me wants Mr. Silence to clarify all of this, and a part of me has already closed the door to him.
"Some women get married from working here," Jimmy says, then spreads his fingers in front of me. "A lot of times I tell them not to because you've got the womanizer," he begins listing them on his fingers, "the lonely salaryman, disillusioned married ones, narcissistic executives, along with corrupt politicians and rich playboys, closet romantics, control freaks, insecure beta males, and the sexually repressed—the worst, but not as bad as the righteously religious man who's secretly demented." He runs out of fingers, spreads them again, and continues, "Addicted regulars, the cynical misogynists who are just as bad as the abusers, emotionally detached hedonists, escapists, thrill-seekers... am I forgetting anyone?"
I stare at him blankly then remember to close my mouth, fascinated that he listed every type of man I've encountered in various sex work jobs when I go undercover.
"Hmm..." I make a sound while my brain is loading.
"The thing is, he's not any of them. But he's a type—the hero, always rescuing hostesses. Quite a few girls have fallen in love with him. One girl quit two years ago because he rejected her for months. Four girls fought violently to be in his room half a year ago. I sent one to the ER and two home that night. There were other incidents too. He's a wanted man, but no one's been able to crack him because the man's a walking statue of unreadable emotions. I don't think I've seen him smile or laugh or—"
"Jimmy," I finally remember what I want to ask, "if he already prepaid for me, then ask him if he still expects to see me here."
"Of course, he—"
I touch his arm lightly and say, "Please, Jimmy. Do this for me. I don't want to see him. I... but I don't want to put you in a difficult position."
"Why not? What did he do? Ace, I'll cancel—"
"No, please just ask him for me, Jimmy."
He searches my eyes for a moment then says, "All right." He takes out his phone and texts Jason while holding it out so I can see.
He texts: I understand that you prebooked Ace until May and already paid for her scheduled nights. But, do you expect to see her when your boss comes? She wanted to quit, and I explained the situation to her. But she doesn't want to come in.
We both wait, but no reply comes through.
"I'll forward the reply to you. But Ace, if you want to quit, I won't stop you."
"Jimmy... I have my feelings, but this is still a business. Since I'm already prebooked... this is now a business transaction that needs to be professionally handled. I can't stop working if I've already taken payment for the next two and a half months."
"I adore you for always being so understanding, Ace."
###
Polyamory Day 2.289K
This diary used to be a record for my PI cases. There are no more cases. But I need to write tonight. Maybe I can repurpose it—use it to process feelings instead of evidence.
Is Mr. Silence prebooking me out of guilt because of the accident? If he has feelings for me, why does he push me away? When I step back—when I stop seeing him through hope and anticipation—the evidence of his infatuation is undeniable. And yet, so is his distance.
I would have been fine if we never saw each other again. I would have been fine if we were only friends. I would have been fine if he wanted me only for sex. I would have accepted that. But this? What is this?
I miss him. More than that, I want to understand him—his thoughts, his actions, his silences. I know I love him, chosen or not. And I choose that love over my desire to have him. So I let the wanting go. I accept the love. I accept the heartbreak.
There are too many unanswered questions. But I have to accept that too.
Now what?
I hope to see him again. But I don't know how to act around him anymore. Because I let him go. Because I still love him. Because my heart is broken. Because I'm moving on. So why does he keep me around?
The logical explanation: guilt. The reasonable reaction: I'll be his hostess. A proper one this time. That's what he booked me for. That's acceptable.
My mind turned him into memory. Sometimes fantasy. Never hope. Now hope creeps in again. Illogical. Dangerous. Predictable. I know it leads to disappointment. I hope anyway. Hope lingers like the sweeping scent of gardenia—sweet, quiet, temporary. Then it's gone, swept away by reality, by heartbreak, by my decision to move on.
Roberto once said that it seemed the sole purpose of my body was to carry my mind around. I thought it was a reasonably valid statement. I didn't know he was mocking me back then.
I wonder what it would be like to communicate through feelings instead of words meant to represent them. When it comes to emotion, language feels like a representative democracy—neither representative nor democratic. The feelings are real. The words are approximations.
Maybe that's why I struggle with the "why." It isn't the feelings that fail me.It's the language. Love is called a battlefield, a game, a dance, a puzzle, a drug, a garden, a storm, a fire, a mirror. No matter the metaphor, there's no winning.
We all lose. With Mr. Silence, I lost first. And completely. Now I gather the pieces and move on.
I miss the days when chess and Go were the only games I played. Love is the most illogical, unreasonable, incomprehensible phenomenon humanity experiences—perhaps any species on any planet.
And I digress.
New goal: repurpose this diary to process feelings.
Ace