From Soup to Nuts
Liz checked the rear view in the full-length mirror while she adjusted her skintight, blue, spandex dress. “Do you think this dress is too short?” she asked. Zoe glanced at Liz and replied, “Honey, that dress is so short I can see your IUD.” “Not if I keep my legs together, Liz replied. “Honey, you haven’t kept your legs together since you were twelve. Why start now?” Zoe shot back. Liz scrunched her nose and asked, “Why are you being so mean to me?” “You’re not on the streets anymore. Agencies like higher caliber, classy women,” said Zoe, a veteran of the agency that Liz recently joined. “So? I can do that,” replied Liz. Liz’s cell phone rang and she picked it up after glancing at the caller ID.
“Hello Steve”
“Liz, I have a job for you this weekend. We have a wealthy client coming in town tonight. He’s the CEO of a multibillion-dollar company. All our classy high-end types are booked for this weekend. We do not want to lose this client and there are a lot of other agencies competing for his business. I know you don’t have a lot of experience with this type of client, and I don’t want to throw you in the deep end of the pool, but do you think you can handle it?”
“It depends. How much money are we talking about?”
“You would clear $2,000 for the weekend plus tips, and I hear he is a big tipper if you make him happy.”
“I can do it then.”
“I know I sent Zoe to your home to prepare you. Listen and learn. If you mess this up you are out. Understand?”
“Yes, I do. I won’t disappoint you. Good bye.”
Liz hung up and turned to Zoe. “Apparently Mr. Big is coming to town and I’m the entertainment,” she said. “Who is it? Zoe asked. “I didn't get the name, but he’s the CEO of a major company,” Liz replied. Zoe gave a knowing nod. “Come on. We have some work to do,” she said as she walked to the closet and opened the sliding door. She flipped through the dresses on the hangers until she came to a black cocktail dress. She pulled out the bottom of the dress and looked it over. “You can’t go wrong with black. It’s not too short; It looks like It may be just above the knee, and the neckline is low enough to be alluring, without revealing too much. Try it on,” she commanded.
Liz retreated to the bathroom, put on the dress, fixed her hair, and put on a necklace and a shot of perfume. She returned to the bedroom and did a pirouette. “Excellent,” exclaimed Zoe. So much better than what you had on before. Next, we have to work on how to act and a high-end restaurant. There is a lot to learn about how to interact with the Matre D, sommelier, and waiter. Of course, the safest thing to do is to order whatever he does.”
Liz got to the prearranged meeting place a half hour early. She didn’t want Dave AKA Mr. Big to have to wait for her. So, she showed up at the entrance to Le Bernardin on W. 51st Street in her black cocktail dress and 6-inch heels on the lookout for a middle aged, tall thin man with wavy brown hair wearing a gray trench coat. At the agreed-on time, a man fitting that description approached her. “Are you Liz?” he asked. When she nodded, he kissed her hand and said, “I’m delighted to meet you. You are even more beautiful than Steve described.”
The waiter quickly filled their glasses with Perrier soon after they arrived at their table. “May I take your order now monsieur?” asked the waiter with the pencil thin mustache and thick French accent. Mr. Big ordered entirely in French. Liz could barely read the menu in the dim candlelit room and she didn’t bring her glasses. It wouldn’t have helped anyway as the menu appeared only written in French. When the waiter turned his attention to her, she looked up and said, “I will have the same thing as him, thank you.” When the waiter left, Mr. Big asked Liz where she went to school. “Umm, PS 140 in the Bronx,” she answered. Mr. Big smiled and said, “No, I meant college.” Liz swallowed hard. Zoe never prepped her on what should say about her educational background or which topics she should be prepared to discuss. No, it was all about how a proper lady should sit, and how to hold a knife and fork, and what sort of wine to order. Should she just make up a college? No, she decided; After all, he may know the college and ask details that she couldn’t possibly answer. After a long pause, Liz stammered, “Um, Er. I went to beautician school for a couple of semesters after I got my GED. Never graduated though. I could do hair and makeup, but could never pass the written exams.” Mr. Big seemed to force as smile but Liz could tell he was not pleased. Just then the waiter broke the awkward silence by bringing plates of what he called escargot. “Ew, these look like snails”, she said as she scrunched her face and averted her eyes. “Yes, escargot is French for snails,” he said. “They are delicious. Won’t you try some?” “No, I don’t do snails,” she retorted. “These French people are crazy. They’ll eat anything. I’ll just wait for the soup.” There was a long period of silence until the waiter finally brought bowls of a thick, beige colored soup. Finally, something that looked like it was meant to be eaten. Liz took a big gulp and nearly gagged, spitting out some of the soup on to the table. She turned around in anger and shouted at the waiter. “Excuse me, waiter. This soup is cold. Who serves cold soup in a fancy restaurant like this?” The waiter quickly returned to the table. “Madam, this is vichyssoise soup. It is supposed to be served cold.” Liz raised her voice as people in surrounded tables started to stare. “No!” she shouted. “Soup is not supposed to be served cold. Everyone knows that. What’s wrong with you people!” Mr. Big’s face turned beet red as the waiter picked up her bowl and offered to heat it up. But it was too late. Liz’s Latin blood was boiling. “Dios Mio. I’m just a Puerto Rican girl from the Bronx, but I know lousy food when I taste it. The soup is totally bland. Heating it up won’t make it better. You know, I’ve had it. I’m finished pretending. Mr. Big, find yourself some other whore to screw. I’m out of here.” With that, she turned over the table causing the dishes and bowls to go flying. She tried to storm out, but the staff had blocked the doors. In minutes the police were summoned and they came with sirens blaring. One officer handcuffed Liz’s hands behind her back and took her into the squad car. The other officer approached Mr. Big with a notepad. “Who is she?” the officer asked. “I don’t know her name. She came from an escort agency and said her name is Liz. She works for Elite Escorts. What's going to happen to her?” “We are taking her to Bellevue for a psychiatric exam,” the officer replied. Mr. Big cleaned off his formerly immaculate suit with a napkin, paid the bill, and left, blending into the darkness of the night.
“Hello Steve”
“Liz, I have a job for you this weekend. We have a wealthy client coming in town tonight. He’s the CEO of a multibillion-dollar company. All our classy high-end types are booked for this weekend. We do not want to lose this client and there are a lot of other agencies competing for his business. I know you don’t have a lot of experience with this type of client, and I don’t want to throw you in the deep end of the pool, but do you think you can handle it?”
“It depends. How much money are we talking about?”
“You would clear $2,000 for the weekend plus tips, and I hear he is a big tipper if you make him happy.”
“I can do it then.”
“I know I sent Zoe to your home to prepare you. Listen and learn. If you mess this up you are out. Understand?”
“Yes, I do. I won’t disappoint you. Good bye.”
Liz hung up and turned to Zoe. “Apparently Mr. Big is coming to town and I’m the entertainment,” she said. “Who is it? Zoe asked. “I didn't get the name, but he’s the CEO of a major company,” Liz replied. Zoe gave a knowing nod. “Come on. We have some work to do,” she said as she walked to the closet and opened the sliding door. She flipped through the dresses on the hangers until she came to a black cocktail dress. She pulled out the bottom of the dress and looked it over. “You can’t go wrong with black. It’s not too short; It looks like It may be just above the knee, and the neckline is low enough to be alluring, without revealing too much. Try it on,” she commanded.
Liz retreated to the bathroom, put on the dress, fixed her hair, and put on a necklace and a shot of perfume. She returned to the bedroom and did a pirouette. “Excellent,” exclaimed Zoe. So much better than what you had on before. Next, we have to work on how to act and a high-end restaurant. There is a lot to learn about how to interact with the Matre D, sommelier, and waiter. Of course, the safest thing to do is to order whatever he does.”
Liz got to the prearranged meeting place a half hour early. She didn’t want Dave AKA Mr. Big to have to wait for her. So, she showed up at the entrance to Le Bernardin on W. 51st Street in her black cocktail dress and 6-inch heels on the lookout for a middle aged, tall thin man with wavy brown hair wearing a gray trench coat. At the agreed-on time, a man fitting that description approached her. “Are you Liz?” he asked. When she nodded, he kissed her hand and said, “I’m delighted to meet you. You are even more beautiful than Steve described.”
The waiter quickly filled their glasses with Perrier soon after they arrived at their table. “May I take your order now monsieur?” asked the waiter with the pencil thin mustache and thick French accent. Mr. Big ordered entirely in French. Liz could barely read the menu in the dim candlelit room and she didn’t bring her glasses. It wouldn’t have helped anyway as the menu appeared only written in French. When the waiter turned his attention to her, she looked up and said, “I will have the same thing as him, thank you.” When the waiter left, Mr. Big asked Liz where she went to school. “Umm, PS 140 in the Bronx,” she answered. Mr. Big smiled and said, “No, I meant college.” Liz swallowed hard. Zoe never prepped her on what should say about her educational background or which topics she should be prepared to discuss. No, it was all about how a proper lady should sit, and how to hold a knife and fork, and what sort of wine to order. Should she just make up a college? No, she decided; After all, he may know the college and ask details that she couldn’t possibly answer. After a long pause, Liz stammered, “Um, Er. I went to beautician school for a couple of semesters after I got my GED. Never graduated though. I could do hair and makeup, but could never pass the written exams.” Mr. Big seemed to force as smile but Liz could tell he was not pleased. Just then the waiter broke the awkward silence by bringing plates of what he called escargot. “Ew, these look like snails”, she said as she scrunched her face and averted her eyes. “Yes, escargot is French for snails,” he said. “They are delicious. Won’t you try some?” “No, I don’t do snails,” she retorted. “These French people are crazy. They’ll eat anything. I’ll just wait for the soup.” There was a long period of silence until the waiter finally brought bowls of a thick, beige colored soup. Finally, something that looked like it was meant to be eaten. Liz took a big gulp and nearly gagged, spitting out some of the soup on to the table. She turned around in anger and shouted at the waiter. “Excuse me, waiter. This soup is cold. Who serves cold soup in a fancy restaurant like this?” The waiter quickly returned to the table. “Madam, this is vichyssoise soup. It is supposed to be served cold.” Liz raised her voice as people in surrounded tables started to stare. “No!” she shouted. “Soup is not supposed to be served cold. Everyone knows that. What’s wrong with you people!” Mr. Big’s face turned beet red as the waiter picked up her bowl and offered to heat it up. But it was too late. Liz’s Latin blood was boiling. “Dios Mio. I’m just a Puerto Rican girl from the Bronx, but I know lousy food when I taste it. The soup is totally bland. Heating it up won’t make it better. You know, I’ve had it. I’m finished pretending. Mr. Big, find yourself some other whore to screw. I’m out of here.” With that, she turned over the table causing the dishes and bowls to go flying. She tried to storm out, but the staff had blocked the doors. In minutes the police were summoned and they came with sirens blaring. One officer handcuffed Liz’s hands behind her back and took her into the squad car. The other officer approached Mr. Big with a notepad. “Who is she?” the officer asked. “I don’t know her name. She came from an escort agency and said her name is Liz. She works for Elite Escorts. What's going to happen to her?” “We are taking her to Bellevue for a psychiatric exam,” the officer replied. Mr. Big cleaned off his formerly immaculate suit with a napkin, paid the bill, and left, blending into the darkness of the night.
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