Miriam and I have been friends for a long time. We share a flat in central New York, in a neighbourhood that is just slightly out of my budget and these days Mariam could probably could afford a lot nicer, but she never complains.
In fact, Miriam hardly ever complains really. The only things that drive her nuts are New York smog (because she read somewhere it will wreck her skin), New York commutes (because she never gets where she is going fast enough and New York men (because they never seem that interested in what is going on in her head and just want a beautiful girl to hang on their arms).
It was about a year ago when Miriam told me what was going on in her head. She had met me outside my office in Canary Wharf since she had no where else to go after she had been fired from her job as a PA. Again.
Miriam always cried on my shoulders when things went wrong and I didn’t expect this time to be any different, but I was wrong.
Somewhere in the routine of being hired purely because of how she looked and being fired because she just does not have whatever it takes to go to an office day in and day out, Miriam had stumbled on a plan.
She would get her beauty sleep by day and work for a New York escort agency by night.
What could I have said? Should I have confessed my undying love there and then? Should I have told her that my Canary Wharf job paid more than enough to keep both her and me in designer shoes?
Of course not.
So we got a new routine
Every morning, I’d join the rest of New York’s commuters and within 15 minutes I was away for at least 10 hours from my warm flat and a warmer Miriam sleeping in the room beside mine.
By evening I would come home to find her dressed in yet another gorgeous frock, running around like a madwoman, searching for the Louboutin that matched the one in her hand.
In between these frantic moments she would find time to tell me about the Kevins’, Adams’, Davids’ and Roberts’. This pretentious New York worker and that working class husband who might pass each other in the street and would think they have nothing in common. Without knowing it though, what would bond them is that they walked into Miriam’s New York escort agency and chose her because she was one of the most beautiful women they had ever seen.
Recently, Miriam has been talking only about a repeat customer called Mark. She says a lot, without saying too much, if you know what I mean. All she will admit to is that she met him through the New York escort service, he also works in Canary Wharf and actually, he is a lovely guy, in spite of what I might think because of the way they met.
I can tell she is in love with him and I can also tell it is only a matter of time before she decides that it is time to hand up her New York escort heels and to play the role of wifey for a while in some posh New York flat.
Sometimes I wonder if I should have told Mariam ages ago that I love her.