Undercover: The Adventures of a Real Life Gigolo - Luke Bradbury

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a good impression.’

      ‘Will do.’

      ‘And I want to hear all about it afterwards. Now, go forth and enjoy yourself.’

      When he called back around ten thirty, Rob was clearly back in the pub. He sounded as if he’d won the Lottery.

      ‘Easiest hundred and fifty quid I ever fucking made,’ he shouted over the bar hubbub.

      ‘Told you you’d be fine,’ I laughed, caught up in his high spirits.

      ‘Nah, you’ll never believe it. She didn’t want to go through with it.’

      ‘No!’ I was gob-smacked.

      ‘You bet. We met at Dunkin Donuts, like you said. Off Piccadilly. And it lasted about forty minutes and we just had a cup of coffee. And that was it. We never even reached the hotel. And she still paid me!’

       The jammy bastard.

      ‘If it’s that fucking easy, send me out to every woman you get,’ he burbled.

      ‘If it’s that fucking easy, Rob, I’ll keep them all to myself.’

      Jenny called the following week. The only call we received. We weren’t about to make a living out of this game just yet. Nor escape my shifts at the café and the pub anytime soon.

      ‘Hello, Luke, it’s Jenny.’

      My mind went blank for a second. Jenny? I’d been so rushed off my feet with the waiting this week I’d almost forgotten about our advert. But then it all flooded back, and I went into receptionist mode straight away.

      ‘Hello, Jenny, it’s lovely to hear from you. Rob told me he enjoyed meeting you last week.’

       Didn’t he just.

      ‘He was very nice.’

      ‘See, I told you I’d give you a pleasant surprise,’ I boasted.

      ‘Yes, thank you. Um…’

      There was an awkward silence. I jumped in feet first. This was a business we were running, after all.

      ‘Is there anything we can do for you? Perhaps you’d like to see him again?’

      When she spoke next, her voice was halting and quiet:

      ‘The thing is, Luke, I’d like to meet you.’

      You fucking bet. Rob’s just made one hundred and fifty quid. Count me in.

      ‘Is that allowed?’

      This time I was ready. But first I had to cover myself so Jenny didn’t start wondering why the last time she called I was just the receptionist.

      ‘Well, Jenny, as it happens, we do have a policy when there’s a run on the boys.’ Like heck we do. ‘We’d hate to leave any of our clients waiting.’

      ‘So we can meet?’ There was a hopeful girlishness to her voice.

      ‘Certainly, Jenny.’

      I began mentally spending the money on some decent jeans, a couple of CDs, and putting something towards the phone bill. The calls back home cost a bomb. And she’d even be paying for the coffee!

      ‘Oh, I’m so glad. Because this time I want to go through with it. I want you to make love to me, Luke.’

      There was a screech of brakes in my head.

       Just my fucking luck.

      ‘When would you like me to visit? And if I could take your address,’ I asked, through gritted teeth I hoped she couldn’t detect.

      I scribbled down her details, said goodbye and hung up.

      Yep, we were officially launched, Mark. Well and truly fucking launched…

       Jenny

       Late August

      I caught my reflection in the tube window opposite but I couldn’t look myself in the eye. I glanced down at my hands, gripped together in my lap to stop them shaking.

      I don’t need this stress in my life. I don’t have to meet Jenny. I could get out at the next stop and go right home again.

      This was it. My Day of Reckoning. My first time of making a go of the escort work and I was damned sure it showed on my face. I bit my lip and forced myself to look up at my fellow travellers, like what I was about to do was the most normal thing in the world.

      I realised I was staring straight at a woman. I’d been so caught up in my thoughts I hadn’t even registered her. I turned my head upwards to view the ad above her head. It told me which number to ring if I wanted to hire some air-con. I slipped a glance back at the girl. She was a couple of years older than me and was engrossed in her copy of Metro. She had dark eyes and smooth shoulder-length brunette hair with a fringe, and was better than average looking. An English rose.

       You could, couldn’t you?

      That was the crux of the matter. I slipped a glance at all of the women on the seats around me and weighed up whether I would shag them or not. And wondered whether any of them looked anything like Jenny.

      The tube drew into Shepherd’s Bush and I got up. I swallowed back my nerves. I didn’t want to think too much about what I was about to do. I turned left out of the station until I reached Jenny’s street.

      The further I followed the curve of Jenny’s road, the seedier the terraced houses became. Her address had all the hallmarks of a cheap multiple occupancy. An unkempt front garden that nobody took any responsibility for. Check. Tatty labels taped next to the doorbells. Yup. Makeshift curtains at some of the windows. You bet. Rob had so had the better deal.

      This was my very last chance to split. I braced myself and pressed Jenny’s doorbell.

      ‘Luke?’ A tinny voice came through the intercom. ‘Come on up.’

      I pushed open the front door, crossed the scuzzy hallway and mounted the stairs two steps at a time while being careful not to slip on the worn floral carpet.

      Jenny was waiting on the first floor at the entrance to her flat. She was dressed in an oversized navy jumper turned back at the cuffs and a calf-length striped cotton skirt.

      ‘Gosh, you’re a good-looking young man,’ she blushed.

      ‘Better than Rob?’ I teased.

      She looked down at her slippered feet. I cursed myself. Maybe she didn’t want to be reminded that she’d done this before and bottled out.

      I was as much trying to relax myself as her. It wasn’t as if Jenny was ugly or anything. But she wore no makeup, and looked as if a harsh life had carved itself into her face. Her hair was short and black with white streaks and her colouring was mixed race, though I couldn’t for the life of me make out where she came from. Yeah, I could do her.

      ‘I liked how you sounded on the phone,’ she said.

      ‘What, startlingly handsome?’

      What made things difficult was that she was closer to my mother’s age—she was in her forties or fifties, I couldn’t be sure which, and that was a whole new ball game altogether. That kind of business hadn’t been in either my or Mark’s head when we’d decided to get into this lark. We thought we’d be inundated with requests from hot young chicks, desperate for no-strings sex, or busy career women without the time for a relationship. I still hoped we would.

      Jenny’s flat was sparsely furnished, aside from piles of unopened boxes. They were everywhere, and getting to the sofa in her living room was like wandering through a

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