7

As soon as she hangs up, Surely goes to work googling, facebooking, and tweeting on her iPad, collecting all the information she can about the client, verifying she is who she says she is, finding out what she looks like.  By the time she is done, one side of the recipe card is full of Surely's crib notes about the character and needs of the client.  The other side holds contact info and a passport sized photo of the client.

This she curls enough to fit into an old pneumatic mail tube cylinder, and with a hyperbaric fffthoomp! It is on its way to some other part of the building. 

Which, of course, I can’t describe.

6

"And the fee?" asks the woman a little anxiously.

Surely smile to herself.  "There is no fee for this service, though donations in cash or in kind are appreciated.  Almost always, something of value changes hands."

5

There are other questions Surely asks:  Occupation? Do you smoke?  What brand?  Drink?  What brand? Other drugs? Allergies? Favorite foods? Favorite movies? Favorite Books?  Favorite websites?  Do you have pets?  What kind?  The pet’s name? A country you would visit if you could? etc. Once past these, she moves on to more practical things:

"A place where you would feel comfortable meeting?  Any places where you absolutely must not?"

"What is your full name?  And how would you like to be addressed?"

"Do you understand that you are giving yourself permission to engage in acts that in your ordinary life you might otherwise feel uncomfortable pursuing?"

"Do you, by answering yes, sign a waver indemnifying The Gentleman against responsibility for subsequent effects on your relationships with others?"

"Do you realize your decision to engage this service is an act of personal empowerment through consensual overpowerment?"

"Do you understand that The Gentleman provides his service only once per client?  And that there are no repeat customers?"

"Good.  Then let’s find a bracket of dates from midnight to midnight, for a duration of no less than two days and no longer than one week, during which, at any moment, your mystery assignation may occur."

4

At the top of the recipe card, Surely jots #978.  That’s right, GR has adjusted the moods of almost 1,000 women since he started his service.

“What is your age?”

“Forty-one.”

Honest.  “Are you Single? Married? Separated? Divorced?  Widowed? Engaged? Recently estranged? On the rebound? Other?”

“Single. Never married. Between relationships at the moment.”

“Have you ever had an affair outside a primary relationship?” 

“I went around a boyfriend in college.”

“With male or female?”

“Both.”

“Are you a virgin?”

“Not technically.”

Anorgasmia, primary. “Trouble with orgasm?”

“Yes.  How’d you know?”

“A hunch.  You’ve never had one?"

“No!  I mean yes!  That's why ...”

“Don’t worry.  You’re not alone, and it is fixable.  Do you know that 10% of all American women have this problem?”

“No.”

“Are you on anti-depressants of any kind?

“No.”

“Drink?  How much?”

“Occasional glass of wine.”

“Birth control?”

“Pill.”

“Prescription drugs?”

“Only that.”

“Smoke?”

“No.  Yuck.”

“Any handicaps, diabetes, MS, or other conditions?”

“No.”

“Did you ever hurt yourself down there, say, riding a boy’s bicycle?”

“You mean traumatize nerve endings?  No.”

“Do you consider yourself attractive?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

“Yes.”

"Did you like your lover physically?”

“God, yes.  He was a rower.”

“Did he treat you well?”

“He was young and still learning in the sex department, but a gentleman.  He had a nice tongue, if that’s what you mean. He didn’t mind using it.”

“Good.  So you’re beyond plain vanilla.  Toys?”

“I've tried them. Our Bodies, Ourselves, a hand mirror, all that. I know where the little man in the boat lives.”

“Your parents. Were they strict?”

“Not really.”

“Uptight?  Prudish?  Unhappy in their marriage?”

“They were pretty unhappy before the crash.”

“Crash?”

“I was driving.  I had my learner’s permit.  They were arguing bitterly, Mom in back, Dad in front. The light turned green and I pulled out.  A delivery truck ran the yellow. Plowed into the passenger side.  I got broken ankles and ribs, a few cuts.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.”

“Who’d you live with afterwards?”

“My grandmother on my father's side.”

"Was she strict? Fire and brimstone? Churchy?”

“She was Christian Scientist.”

“Did she ever withhold medical help when you were sick, or tell you it was your fault?”

“My ankles took awhile to heal.  These “practitioners” kept coming around to pray with me and argue my "bad thoughts" away.  They said a failure of faith caused my ankles to hurt, and that I had impure thoughts.”

“Did you like boys then?”

“I had a crush.”

“But that ended?”

“He got tired of coming around.  I don't blame him.  After the practitioners left one day, my grandmother made me walk before I was ready.  Let's say it set me back. I had to stay in bed for another 2 months.  I still have a limp.”

“Do you think she was angry at you?"

“She probably was. I was the driver and I survived.”

“Did you try to work this out with her?”

“No.  She passed away shortly after I went off to college.”

"Are you OK?"

"It wasn't my fault.  I know that."

“Any sexual traumas? Rape? Abuse?”

“Nothing other than the usual forgetting to knock and finding mom in bed with a man not your father.”

“Your father.  You mean your father.”

“Yes, mine.”

“That’s not so usual.”

“Oh.  Say, this is starting to sound like a therapy session.”

“Is it? What did your father look like?”

The questioning continued for another 30 minutes ….

3

Sometimes there’s an embarrassed click, then silence. More often, there’s a preparatory inhalation or sigh.  Already, Surely is jotting her deduction of background noise: Private residence.

“Um, I’ve called to speak to GR?”

“I’m sorry, but The Gentleman must remain unavailable until you’ve made yourself available.  Would you like to see if we can make this happen?”

“I think so.  Sure.”

“Good." Hesitant, but game. "Then may I suggest that if you aren’t already sitting in comfortable clothes,  you pour yourself a glass of white wine and snuggle in.  This could take a while.  I’ll wait.”

“No. That’s fine.  I’m ready.”

For the rest of the interview, Surely’s voice is like warm honey. “I’m going to ask you a series of questions. Please understand that this is your only chance to enroll.  If you hang up or are too uncomfortable to continue, your application will be terminated and future calls will not be answered. You may respond to the questions in any way that pleases you, but remember: the truth usually gets the best results.  Do feel free to elaborate as much as you’d like, and to go back and correct yourself if you’ve made a mistake.  OK?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now let’s begin.”

2

His receptionist calls herself Miss Surely.  Like Cindy Sherman, her clothing, makeup and hairstyle change so regularly and radically, there’s no point describing her, and I’m not allowed to anyway.  No parody, no femme fatale, and no Moneypenny either, she's is a chameleonic study in the feminine standards of all eras, with a soothing, confident, maternal voice.  The kind you’d want to hear if you were lost.

When hairstyle permits, she wears an old-fashioned telephone operator’s headset on her head.  But usually, when the black, Bakelite, rotary dial telephone rings, she slips her iPad into her purse and places an easily destroyed, digitally untraceable recipe card on the otherwise bare desk before her.  By the 4th ring, she's unclipped her pendant pen from the chain around her neck, adjusted her cat eye reading glasses, and plucked the handset from its cradle.

"Good morning (or evening).  How may I help you?"

1

Utterly anonymous, like Batman or the artist Banksy, the person I am only allowed to call GR or The Gentleman would never kiss and tell.  There is no website, no blog, no email, no spam. Only an untraceable number on a monogrammed blue card.

At Your Service

xxx xxx-xxxx

GR

When you dial, the voice at the other end is a woman's.