Here is a story to match my mood.
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She took a quick shower and put on his favorite brown and black bra and matching panties. She splashed both sides of her breasts with fake Eternity. The doorbell rang when she was getting into her black gown. "Two short, three long. Him all right," she murmured and opened the door.
He lurched in. His beady eyes blood shot, breath full of cheap whiskey, faded brown hair over the furrowed forehead and shriveled tie half way across his polyester shirt. He whistled a Kishor Kumar tune from sweet sixties.
"Get me a drink." He handed over his briefcase and sat down.
She massaged his neck and asked in a small voice: "Hard day out there?
"As hard as it can get."
She poured a dose of whisky for him and sat down on the easy chair in front of him.
He gulped his drink in one swift tilt and looked around the dice-size room. A cheap plaster statue of Jesus was added to the small table by the door. He smiled and sprawled his fat self on the tattered sofa.
He lit a Charminar. His thoughts floated on the tired traffic noises.
"Women are either bitchy or witchy. What type are you?" He asked.
"That is some question. I am not bitchy, that makes me witchy."
"It figures. You scare me."
"Why do I scare you? I don’t get it." The woman smiled.
"I feel like I am playing in your hands." His voice was getting drowsy.
"I never try to-"
"That’s it. You make a soft putty out of me without really trying."
"I can’t argue with a drunk." She playfully punched his shoulder and removed his tie, then led him into her bed-size bedroom.
He put his head in her lap and stretched across the bed. She fingered his dry hair and pouted.
"Not tonight dear," he closed his eyes.
"It’s okay."
She patted his hairy chest as he started snoring. She carefully lifted his head and inserted a small pillow underneath. She kissed his feverish temple, turned on her side, and fell asleep in a moment.
Early afternoon noises penetrated her sleep. Instinctively, she reached for him before opening her eyes. He was gone.
His forgotten toothbrush and razor rested on the sink. She went to the door to get her milk pouch and noticed a folded paper tucked under the ashtray. She read the note: Please don’t do a lip-to-lip kiss with anyone else. Five hundred rupees were stapled to the perfumed note.
She kissed the note and stuffed the money in her purse. "Back to work," she mumbled and fought her tears.
She hated to do last minute errands before the business begun. She checked the wooden cabinet in her bathroom for scented soaps, Dettol and towels. She always kept condoms, silk ropes, handcuffs, and things in a handy plastic box. And one strip of Viagra in her tiny fridge for special customers.
"How cleverly I have separated my love and my work life!" She smiled and prepared for the night ahead.
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