Page 104 of Back Room Host

“Don’t bail on me,” he added.

“I won’t. I’ll just surf through job listings for a bit. I’ve slept more than enough, God knows,” I said, shaking my head after a while. “It’s unbelievable how crappy my year has started.”

“It’ll get better. And promise me you’ll call your former chef.”

I wasn’t feeling up to it at all, and I had already postponed it from yesterday to today. Keller had promised to help me, but after enduring many setbacks in my life, I found it hard to trust people who offered empty words of comfort without genuine intent. I dreaded crawling to him as a beggar, but to satisfy Noé, I just nodded. That was enough to finally get him out the door.

Alone again in a stranger’s apartment, the familiarity of the situation provided some reassurance. Despite the surreal feeling of being in Noé’s new home, I wished him success from the bottom of my heart. Like me, he had endured so much to reach this point.

A nagging feeling washed over me, and I shut my eyes. Was enduring happiness forever out of reach for me? It seemed inconsequential what I might do in the future. Leaving the escort behind would take years anyway. While my industry highly valued discretion, these shadows were not easily shaken off. Even if I managed to make my surroundings forget who I was; I would never forget. The incident from last Friday had burned itself into me and left another notch in my long list of nightmarish encounters. I was repeatedly awakened from sleepby dreams where I’d see a guy in front of me, and I was sure I recognized him from somewhere.

As my thoughts inevitably circled back to Luca, a familiar ache tightened in my chest. With each passing day, the longing for him grew stronger, an insatiable craving akin to withdrawal from a potent drug. A heavy melancholy settled upon me, growing heavier by the moment.

I hadn’t missed the fact that Luca had messaged me, and not just once. I had no idea what the answers to all his questions were. The messages only added to the chaos in my head.

I wanted Luca. But I couldn’t have him. Not only because I convinced myself that I had violated my own rules—he wasn’t even a paying customer—but rather because I couldn’t manage to get over myself.

During the time at his place, he somehow managed to gain my trust. And in the end, it turned out he had only done that for his project. Even if he had described the facts differently, for me, this was reality. The whole story reminded me once again that I couldn’t trust anyone. Although it had nothing to do with what happened on Friday, the recent event retrospectively seemed like a bad omen confirming everything.

But I just couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Standing at the window, I gazed at the sky. Golden spears of sunlight pierced through the dense clouds. Inspired, I grabbed my phone and captured a few shots using a nature photography app. The sound of keys turning in the apartment door interrupted my reverie. Glancing at the clock, I realized it was already five o'clock.

“Hello!” Alex said, taking off his jacket as he headed to the dining table. He unpacked his bag and set down his laptop and camera. “How are you?”

“Good,” I replied, sitting down on the couch. “And you? How was work?”

“Busy.” He went into the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

I opened my contacts list and scrolled to Peter Keller, my former trainer. For a while, I looked at his name and remembered our last encounter. After I returned the key to him and picked up my certificate, an unpleasant scene had unfolded. Maybe he just wanted to comfort me, but when he touched my arm, I panicked and pushed him away.

Shit …

I rubbed my eyes and massaged my forehead. Clearly, I hadn’t left a good last impression. But before that, he had insisted that he would help me as a reference. All I had to do was call him and ask if he could recommend two or three restaurants where I could apply.

“What are you doing?” Alex suddenly asked. He sat at the dining table behind his laptop and peered at me as if he had been watching me the whole time.

I sighed. “The feeble attempt to call my former chef.”

“Why? Do you want to go back there?” he asked, staring at me intently. There was something in his eyes that I couldn’t interpret. As if he wanted something from me, but not in a deceitful way. Still, I became suspicious.

“I’m not the office type of guy. In the kitchen, I find solace in movement, in the ability to engage my hands and express a form of creativity. Regardless of personal desires, securing an apprenticeship is a necessity. Otherwise, I’ll never get away from escorting.”

“Okay, listen …” Alex stood up and approached me. He stopped halfway and placed his palm over his mouth, as though carefully considering his next words. The way he stood there, with a strand of hair falling on his forehead—now I saw it too. He had a resemblance to Clark Kent, or at least the hot actor who played Superman.

“I don’t mean to intrude,” he continued. “But I’ve observed two things about you: you have a passion for photography, and you’re actively seeking employment.”

“Yeah?” My response was more of a question, an expression of my increasing nervousness.

“Why don’t you show me some photos you’ve taken?”

My suspicion took over. “Why?”

“Trust me.”

My gaze became grim.

Alex laughed and sat down next to me on the couch. “You know, when I first met you, back at the rock night at Exil, I had no idea who you were.”

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