Rosie By Name

Sometimes I wondered how I'd managed to end up working for an escort agency. I mean lucky or what? Here I was, the queen bee of ‘Rosie by Name Escort Services’ and the girl everyone came to first. I liked to ensure every client left the front door with a smile on their face. Not because I was one of our professionals myself. Oh no, all our girls were very high-class and most had other careers: models, actresses, weather girls, Avon ladies and such like. Me? I was nothing special to look at but my voice was my fortune. Deep and husky with an enticing hint of honey and laughter, it soothed the strained consciences and heavy wallets of all the callers we received. I liked to tell myself that because of my voice on the end of the telephone, many young men—and several older ones who should have known better—had been given that extra little push into sampling our delights. Reception work had always been my vocation and if it wasn't the Dorchester or the Savoy, well what did it matter? I was sure our business provided just as much happiness as those places.
So I was enjoying life very much, doing my job, chatting with the girls and arranging their many appointments. Sometimes, the big boss (no pun intended), Mr Marsfield, would pop by to check on our progress and his profits, and we'd all straighten our backs and hold in our stomachs until he was gone. He could be stern on occasions, although he'd never bothered me. Not, that is, until one gloomy September night when he came into the office with a rather different proposition in mind.
“You feeling on top form, young Rosie?” he asked, sweeping into reception on a tide of Pagan Man and cigar smoke.
He always called me Rosie, to fit in with the business image, although my real name was Alison.
“Yes, Mr Marsfield.” I nodded, putting an extra twist of honey into my voice as I knew it gave him a thrill. “And how are you?”
“Very well, my dear. Very well indeed.”
Whilst I took a call, he perched on the edge of my desk and hummed to himself. When I finished, I looked up at him, smiled and waited. You never rushed the boss.
“Rosie.” He leaned towards me and I could smell the crème de menthe on his breath.
“Yes, sir?”
“How would you like to do a little job for me? Something different from the usual.”