Just then Vanessa entered from a bedroom. She was from the Congo, with dark skin and high arching eyebrows. She was wearing a bathrobe and her hair was pulled back straight. She gave the man a quick appraising look, then said “Bonjour” and reached out her hand. He did not take it.

“You looked different in your picture in the ad,” Pleski said.

“My hair was down, not like this.”

“You looked better in the picture.”

“If you like,” she said, “I can let my hair down.”

The man’s phone rang. He answered, “Yeah?” Then, “He’s here already?” Then, “I have an appointment for the next hour. Can’t he wait?” Then, “Shit, okay.”

He rang off and turned back to Vanessa. “It’s going to have to be a quickie. That, plus the deceptive advertising, I think three hundred francs is too much. I think one hundred should do it.”

“No,” said Vanessa. “It’s three hundred. You may leave if you like.”

Pleski considered for a moment. “Fuck it. Let’s go,” he said. Vanessa shrugged and walked into her room. He followed.

Through all this, Ron was sipping a cognac. He was in no hurry and he enjoyed talking to Tania beforehand. There was such a thing as being civilized.

“Unpleasant fellow,” he said. “Do you get many like that?”

“We get many like everything. Some men are aggressive. Some men just want to be hugged. Some like to sit and talk about politics in Bucharest. There is no extra charge for that.” She smiled.

So did Ron. He liked Tania and, through her, he liked Vanessa, who just then yelped from the other room. It might have been nothing more than surprise, or possibly even pleasure, or, more likely, feigned pleasure, but it might have been something else. Ron turned toward the sound. “Is she all right?” he asked.

Tania listened. “If she was in trouble, she would call my name.”

They heard Pleski’s voice through the wall: “It’s my money. I’m the customer. You do what I say. Isn’t that how this works?”

“Should I go in there?” said Ron.

They didn’t hear anything else. “Not unless she says my name,” said Tania.

Vanessa did not. But Ron had already come to a decision. Customers were customers, but he didn’t like being pushed around. He’d had enough of that at school. And he wasn’t a prostitute. He wasn’t going to be treated like one.

Due Diligence

DUE DILIGENCE