The girl noticed Ben sitting on the bed and took this as her cue. She sat down beside him and kicked her feet out, one by one, like a little girl bored in church. “You should know that it’s my first time,” she said.

“Excuse me?”

“This,” she said, gesturing around the hotel room. “It’s my first time.”

“You don’t mean you’re a virgin.”

“Oh, God no,” she said, and laughed. “I mean my first time for money. I don’t want to use the p word. I don’t think that’s what’s going on here. Do you?”

Ben wanted to ask how it was any different, but he realized he also did not want to think of it in those terms. “Of course it’s not the same thing,” he said. “You’re obviously a nice person. A good person.”

“I don’t mean that exactly,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s not like I was advertising. Walking the streets or whatever. Freddy approached me. He asked and I said yes. He’s actually doing me a sort of favor.”

“You knew him before?”

She was looking at her feet, which she held out into the air before her. Little flecks of pink nail polish remained on her big toes only. “Our parents used to play tennis together.” She looked at Ben, to see if he understood. “My parents won’t give me anything because I had a little incident in school—so now I’m on my own. I don’t have any job experience, so it’s been hard finding anything that pays decent. Right now I’m at a smoothie place. I can’t buy the shampoo I like. I can’t eat the food I’m used to. It’s been hard for me—do you understand?”

Ben nodded and thought: My prostitute is a snob.

“So how does this work?” She let her legs drop down beside the bed. “Do you make a move or do I?”

His heart quickened and suddenly he was warm. He realized he should take off his coat, lest he sweat through his shirt and onto the lining. As he did, the girl took off her shoes and pulled her hair into a ponytail, revealing a pair of big pink ears covered in tiny hoop earrings. He wanted to know if the jewelry bothered her when she slept, but it was not the type of thing one asked a girl like her.

“Do you mind if I turn the lights off?” she asked, but stood up to go to the switch before he could answer. It was on her way to the switch that Ben noticed the stain on her dress.

“Your dress,” he said, and then wasn’t sure how to politely put it.

“What about it?” She looked down and inspected her front.

“I think you may have, you know—” he motioned toward her, and it was then that she understood she was to consider the back of her dress, where a red stain had formed. Japanese flag, Ben thought, but he didn’t dare say it.