A Different Kind of Work | Short Story

Everyone has a day job in one way or another. Some people work in offices or restaurants. Other people work shifts in bars or in shops. Tabitha Thwaites had a day job like everyone else. It just involved taking her clothes off instead of working behind a desk. Although, sometimes it involved working on top of one.

‘You shouldn’t have booked me, Simon – I’m doing a stand-up gig tonight.’ Tabitha pulled the phone away from her ear to check the time. ‘Okay, I’ll fit it in – but it better be a quick one. Remember what happened last time you promised me a fast getaway.’ She picked up the pace as she walked down the high street, her black patent heels clicking faster and faster on the cobblestones.

Tabitha’s phone buzzed against her ear and she pulled it away to check the text. ‘Is that the address? Tell him I’ll meet him on the bench down the street. I’ll be there in ten – do I need any props? Ah, sexy secretary – I can do that, easy. I’ve got a book and a pair of glasses in my bag.’

Tabitha continued walking until she reached the end of the main road and then turned the corner and carried on for a quarter of a mile, entering a modest housing estate. Crossing over the road, she rested her phone between her ear and her shoulder and pulled a book from her bag.

She turned the book over in her hand to check the title in response to the man on the phone. ‘Um, it’s called ‘Please Miss, We’re Boys’.  It’s quite good actually. I’ve got to go – he’s coming.’ She ended the call and dropped the phone into her open handbag. Tabitha sat on the bench, crossed one leg over the other and opened the book to a random page. The client approached a moment later.

‘They’re always nervous’, she thought to herself.  ‘He looks like he needs a drink. Maybe I should suggest one? No – don’t be ridiculous, Tabitha. It’s the middle of the day. Not exactly the best idea I’ve had all day. Me in a bar is a bad idea. Then again, tequila…’ She snapped back into reality when she noticed the man shifting on the spot as if he was desperate for a wee. ‘Yep, nervous.’ She smiled to herself and then at him, her eyes unwillingly glancing at the zip on his trousers, which was slowly bending out of shape.

‘Hi there.’ She smiled, this time looking at his face. He was tanned, deeply, as if he travelled a lot. He was in a tailored blue suit and brown leather shoes. Nothing about him screamed sexually inexperienced. Nothing about him screamed sex god either, though.

‘Ahem, yes. Hello. Are you – the uh? I mean, hi.’ The man nervously stuck his hand out in front of him to shake her hand, but in doing so he knocked the sunglasses out of his jacket pocket.

‘Nice to meet you Scott – I’m Tabitha.’ Tabitha smiled and shook his hand in return. She let her grip weaken so he could pull back, and she slipped her hand into her plum-coloured coat pocket. ‘Shall we go?’

‘Oh, um, yes, follow me.’ He gestured back toward the way he had just come, so they started to work. ‘Uh, how does this well um, work?’ Scott tried to sneak a glance at Tabitha as they strolled, but stumbled over a broken paving slab.

‘No business during business hours, Scott. That’s my motto.’ Scott gave her a puzzled look, so she clarified, ‘Whatever price you worked out with Simon, send it to him on PayPal – he’s a pimp for the 21st century. I don’t deal with the money, Simon says I’m too conspicuous-looking to be trusted not to get caught.’

‘Too conspicuous?’ Scott asked, innocently, but the penny seemed to drop as he asked.

‘Now, where’s home for you, eh? Anywhere near here?’ Tabitha asked, trying to change the subject. She could feel him looking at her, but where most men went straight for the cleavage, Scott seemed to be staring at her auburn hair, longing to touch it. But his hands stayed firmly in his pockets.

‘Uh, it’s a-across the street and around the corner.’

‘No, silly. I meant where are you from.’

‘Oh, still across the street. It’s the house I grew up in.’ He swept a pale hand through a wavy blonde fringe, eyes fixed to the floor.

‘Really?’

‘Don’t worry – I’m not a kid or anything! My parents shipped off to Spain a few years ago and let me live there. I bought them out last year.’

‘Look at you, a dashing boy in a sharp suit, owning your own house and everything.’ She teased but was inwardly impressed. Tabitha had worked two, sometimes three jobs at a time since she was sixteen and all she could afford was a boxy flat above the chip shop. It smelled of salt and grease, but at least dinner was always a few steps away. The fishmonger’s twenty-something son was sweet on her, so if she timed it right – dinner was on the house.

‘I should tell you, Scott – I’m on a bit of a time frame today, you see I’ve got another job-’

‘Another client?’ He interrupted, clearly bothered by the premise.

They turned a corner onto a street lined with bare trees, the leaves flooding the floor with oranges, reds and yellows. Tabitha loved the autumn the most, cosy jumpers and hot chocolate and early nights with a good book.

‘Uh, not exactly.’ She usually didn’t talk to clients about her gigs, but she fancied this one, so she broke her rule.  ‘I do stand-up.’

‘Are you funny?’

‘You know, I have no idea. People laugh when I speak – I’m just not sure whether it’s with me or at me.’ She walked through the oak door he held open for her and immediately felt out of her depth. ‘He could afford so much better than me,’ she thought.

‘This is a beautiful house, Scott. Props on the decorating. Oh, I love those stairs.’ She took off her coat. ‘Hand carved?’

‘Sorry?’

‘The bannisters?’ She pointed to the stairs. They were intricately carved designs on oak wood, matching the woodwork in the rest of the house.

‘Oh-oh yes. Took me three weeks. My parents hadn’t decorated this place since the Fifties. I ripped it all out and started again. God, you should have seen the Artex ceilings.’ He looked at Tabitha and then at the top of the stairs, expecting her to head straight for the bedroom. And to his credit, that was usually how she did things.

‘Let’s go to the kitchen first and have a nice cup of coffee before we start?’ She spotted the kitchen through an open door and half-walked half-jogged towards it.   She heard Scott dutifully follow her to the back of the house and felt him watching her again as she found her way around the kitchen. This time, his gaze had finally found her rack.

Tabitha had been up half the night writing material for tonight’s gig and was then kept up for the rest of it by drunk punters in the chip shop below her bedroom. Caffeine was needed before she could him a thorough going over.

She figured out the coffee machine and made herself a mocha, and Scott a black coffee upon pestering him for his preferred poison of choice. But both coffees end up un-drank and cold. Tabitha had turned around to give him his coffee to find him in a grey button-up shirt, and black trousers that were just a little bit too long for him. He’d kicked off his shoes and revealed expensive-but-hilarious Days of the Week socks. She was a sucker for a vulnerable guy. Tabitha often wondered if that was due to her pathological need to fix things, or if there just happened to be a correlation between vulnerability and cuteness.

‘Damn, I was really looking forward to this coffee.’ She joked, fake-pouting and looking mournfully at the glass mug in her hand as she placed it on the side.

‘I’ll make you another one after?’ Scott had seemingly gained some confidence now they were behind closed doors and, two strides later was pressed up against Tabitha, backing her against the counter. A drawer handle jabbed her in the hip, making her jump a bit but she didn’t care. She grabbed him by the collar and planted a kiss on his lips, and another, and another until they were seamless. They stumbled through the halls, crashing into chairs and walls and doors, tripping up the stairs until – still with their eyes mostly closed – they found the bedroom.

Several hours later when the sun had started to set, Tabitha finally got her first cup of coffee of the day. She had put her coat on as a makeshift dressing gown, her dress was somewhere upstairs and she was too lazy to go and find it.

As she sipped at the hot coffee, Tabitha glanced around the kitchen and admired the view. The beautiful wallpaper, the incredibly expensive-looking stove, and a vintage wall clock hung on the wall, the sparkling worktops. Tabitha’s eyes darted back towards the clock and panic-stricken dropped her mug in the nearby sink and went in search for her shoes. She was due on stage in twenty minutes. Tabitha called goodbye to Scott, who had disappeared for a shower, and rushed out of the door.

It was only as she approached the bar where her gig was that she realized she was missing something very important. Clothes. A perfect picture of her dress draped across Scott’s bannister flashed through her mind and she swore loud enough to startle a passer-by. She looked around desperately for somewhere to buy a new outfit, but everything was closed. It was too late to go home, and just as she contemplated calling in sick, she was spotted by Jack. Jack was the barman/events manager for the bar, and he was not quick to forgive a cancelled gig. Tabitha already owed him too many favours for times where she had been late before. She was all out of favours now.

Her chin practically digging into her chest, Tabitha waved her way past Jack and entered the bar through the back entrance, pulling the belt of her coat tighter and tighter and she walked.

‘Y’alright, Tabs? You look a bit pale,’ Jack drawled in a South-American accent, stamping out a cigarette and following her down the side of the bar.

‘Cold.’ She grumbled and tugged the back door open, barely holding it long enough for Jack to come in behind her. Tabitha rushed to the dressing room after muttering an excuse to Jack about needing to get ready. ‘Get ready?’ she thought, ‘I’m half-naked and about to go on stage and tell jokes, how the fuck am I supposed to get ready for that?’

A few minutes later, after a waitress had dropped by with her usual Jack Daniels and coke, and a few hyperventilating breaths, Tabitha heard her call to come on stage. Her feet had to carry her because the rest of Tabitha just wanted to curl up into a ball of embarrassment and die in the corner. Somehow, she made it onto the stage and found the microphone in the blaring bright stage lights. She usually disliked not being able to see the audience, but tonight it seemed like a blessing in disguise. The weak welcoming applause died down, and her cue to start being funny reared its ugly head. Her set vanished from her head, all jokes wiped from her memory – even the knock-knock ones she had learned as a child.

Tabitha took a deep breath and went for it.

‘True story for ya tonight, ladies and gentlemen – and if you don’t laugh me off the stage, I will personally give you all a refund. Won’t I, Jack?’ She gestured to Jack, who was propped up against the bar, polishing a glass. He looked shocked to be caught not working, but he laughed and nodded all the same. Tabitha slid her hands further up the microphone stand and clung to it for dear life.

‘Okay, so I don’t usually admit to this on stage – because you never know who’s in the audience, although I can guarantee my folks aren’t here tonight, thank fuck – but just this once, I’ll hold my hands up and admit it. I’m a sex worker.’ She paused and let it sink in. ‘I must be a pretty shit one if I have to tell jokes to pay the rent, but hey – whoring pays for my phone bill and weekly food shop.’ Tabitha paused as the audience laughed. It was a mostly male laugh by the deep tone. She understood why – women didn’t like hearing about prostitutes, it made them feel used and cheap. It was something she morally toyed with, but she wasn’t lying when she said it paid the bills.

‘So usually, my liaisons with clients are pretty dull – the odd banker with a fetish for lace, some unsuspecting grooms on stag nights – sorry, ladies!’ That got a couple more laughs, so she relaxed a little. ‘But today went a little differently. Wanna hear how?’ She waited as they cheered her on, and then continued her story, taking another deep breath.

‘Today, I met a real cutie. The kind of gent I rarely come across – polite, a homeowner, and quite the newbie to the solicitation game. Ladies, he did not need to pay for it – if you know what I mean. I would have spun his plates for free, let me tell you.’ Another laugh, louder and spattered with groans. One laugh stood out a little more than the others, although she couldn’t figure out why.

‘We had fun, him and me. Didn’t even get to drink my coffee – and it looked a good’un too – a fancy one from a coffee machine in his lush kitchen. A whirlwind romance, guys. I could have happily wandered around that house for hours. See ladies, he’s got cash too! Honestly, a real keeper. But I can’t date all the cute clients – how would I pay my bills, eh?’ Another big laugh. She was building up to the punch line. Tabitha glanced up at the stage timing lights – an invention of Jack’s. There are three green lights at the back of the bar – three lights, fifteen-minute sets. She was already down one light, but Tabitha had no intention of reaching the third one.

‘Anyway, like I was saying, today went a bit wrong, you see. I was so busy with my new lush client – I only went and forgot I was supposed to be coming here! And I just couldn’t bear the thought of all you lovely people sat here un-entertained, now could I?’ Tabitha grinned at them, and let go of the microphone stand as she stepped back a little.

‘Trouble is, I left something at his in the rush to come to see you all.’ She stopped and waited, knowing her crowd, waiting for something specific. Then it happened, a man sat in the front row called out and asked what it was.

‘I only went and left my clothes!’ She pulled open her coat like a flasher and let the laughter wash over her. As her bright red bra and panties were on display to fifty or so people, she went as red as her underwear. And then the laugh that had stuck out before, decided to speak.

‘I thought you might be needing this’, said the voice, cutting through the laughter.

Tabitha looked for the source of the voice, and with the crowd, discovered Scott stood at the back of the room, holding her dress in the air as if he was the guy at the end of The Breakfast Club, punching his hand in the air when he kissed the popular girl.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve got to go and get dressed… and then undressed again’, she winked at the audience and held back a giggle. ‘Goodnight, folks.’ Tabitha gave them a big wave and proudly sauntered down the side-stage steps towards Scott.

‘I guess you’ll be wanting your dress back then?’ Scott smirked.

‘Keep it.’

– 

Thanks for reading! If you would like to see more of Tabitha, please let me know in the comments, or give this a Like! 

Let It Snow – John Green, Maureen Johnson, and Lauren Myracle| A YEAR IN BOOKS

Title: Let It Snow

Authors: John Green, Maureen Johnson, and Lauren Myracle

I don’t usually reach for festive books – let alone romance novels – but the combination of a cute cover and John Green’s name caught me initially. And then I started reading, and the book reeled me in all by itself.

As the book came out in 2008 – I am very late to the game with this one – I doubt you need an in-depth summary of the plot, so I’ll give you a brief one.

Let It Snow follows the story of Gracetown, a small American town in the middle of nowhere. It’s Christmas Eve and love – and the worse snowstorm for fifty years – is in the air.

The book is written in three parts, one part per author, and they take us on a journey through Gracetown as the snow takes its toll on cars, cheerleaders, and relationships.

All the characters in the novel are individual and brilliant in their own right, but my favourite pair had to be Stuart and Jubilee. They are the beautiful result of kindness from a stranger and a derailed train (a train whose passengers make quite the effect on Christmas Eve).

Stuart is a heartbroken, sweet, brotherly guy who opens his home to Jubilee on Christmas Eve when she bravely ventures away from the train in search of warmth. His over-bearing but harmless, Jewish mother is determined to get the two of them together and makes it her personal mission in life to do so.

Jubilee has found herself alone on Christmas Eve after her parents are charmingly arrested in a brawl at a Flobie House sale, and she gets sent to California to spend the holidays with her grandparents.

But then, as her day gets worse and she ends up in a Waffle House full of cheerleaders in an attempt to escape the broken-down train, a handsome stranger invites her home for Christmas.

I could spend hours talking about this book – and I probably will to my S.O (feel sorry for him!), but you would probably get bored of hearing about it, so I’ll make my point.

Let It Snow is a charming, witty, off-beat Christmas romance novel, that shows that every story has another side, that every loner, weirdo and shy teen deserves love, and that Christmas Eve is the kind of day where magic can happen – even in a snowstorm.

Star Rating: *****

Sunday Morning | Humour Poetry

Kick-about

with empty cans,

avoid the kebab (on your right!)

Ignore the mess in front of the corner shop

don’t even think about going near vodka today…

Vision’s feeling a bit shit, can’t tell if it’s my head or not

Feeling my brain shrinking quickly – the flashbacks start,

oh god, did we do that, go there, again? ‘Sorry’ text sent!

But morning’s come, and we’ve made it to bed.

Let’s cuddle up before the hangover sets in

and sugar candy coat the night before.

Thank god it’s Sunday morning:

eat your bacon and shut up!

Zzzz

Countdown To Christmas: Day 9 [Humourous Poem]

Sorry I’ve left today’s countdown post so late but I found the new McBusted album on Spotify.

ANYWAY – Christmas is only 2 weeks away and everyone’s getting excited about all the wonderful presents waiting to be opened. SO I thought I’d write you a funny poem about Christmas Day:

Glitter-wrapped gifts

under a store bought tree

kids waiting for the big day

knowing Santa is on his way

parents wishing the holidays  would never end

because they don’t want to work again

students grappling for the last piece of meat

because they haven’t eaten for 12 weeks

but finally Christmas Day comes around

the men head for a drink

women cry into the kitchen sink

the stuffing’s burnt

and your aunt hates peas

the cat has hidden the tinsel from the bloody tree

Granddad Jerry found the booze again

and now he’s sleeping in the den

but by the time the turkey’s done

everyone’s had their bit of fun

so it’s time to sit with the family

and pretend the food isn’t making you queasy. 

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year

now somebody pass me a goddamn beer!

The Italian and The Writer

I’ve decided to start writing a blog about the strange and wonderful things me and my housemate get up to.

Here’s a hint: I’m The Writer, Lara’s The Italian…

Entry one: Acting

Last week, in the midst of a conversation about Lara’s short film, we decided to look at some plays we had and test my acting skills.

As a writer, I am typically uncomfortable with speaking out loud. I’m not talking about day-to-day conversation: I mean reading out loud or getting on stage. So when Lara first asked  me to star in her film, I wasn’t overjoyed.

So, Lara comes back downstairs with my favourite play/film of all time: “The History Boys”. I immediately claimed Dakin’s lines, who wouldn’t?

We started with something simple: a conversation between Mrs Lintott and Hector. It went OK.

Then we sprang for “A Street Car Named Desire”, which Lara is obsessed with. Me – not so much. That didn’t go so well.

After the quick realization that I had no idea what was going on in the play, we agreed to switch back to The History Boys. That’s when it got funny.

You see, we had chosen the one and only French scene in the entire play. And neither of us speak French, fluently anyway.

In the middle of a French prostitute scene, our housemate Jai walks into the room. Not the best timing…

That’s all for now!

Meet my new housemate and fellow blogger….

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Meet my new housemate and fellow blogger....

Me and my housemate, Lara, bought a cuddly duck today, and we are both #Whovians, therefore, the duck is called… DUCTOR!

Mrs Ductor will be blogging over the next few weeks about her adventures when we aren’t around!