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It was two in the afternoon, and Daniel was still nursing a bad hangover on the couch. She’d silenced her phone ages ago, but it vibrated insistently on the side table, no doubt yet another angry phone call from her agent, or another publisher cutting ties, or another weird TikTok edit.
The vitriol was nothing new, Daniel had experienced pushback against her “crass and unfriendly” demeanor for decades. You don’t get good as a journalist by being nice. But the level of attention she was receiving was truly unprecedented. It was beyond viral, apparently to millions of people she was either “the new lesbian icon” or the embodiment of Satan himself. Daniel didn’t fully remember half the things she said in that speech, but after watching a fan recording that was trending on youtube, she decided she would stand by everything. The world is run by billionaire pedophiles and you only call people terrorists if they fight back against your settler colonial projects, where was the lie?
Idly, Daniel reached for her phone, swiped away every notification without reading, and checked her email for any word back from the conference organizers. She just needed to know if there would still be a paycheck in her bank account, they’d already signed a contract, after all.
No word from them, but at the top of the page there was a new unread message with subject line: “Elite Escort - Appointment with Armand de Romanus confirmed. Exclusive video introduction included.”
“Humph,” Daniel made a noise, finding herself begrudgingly intrigued despite the obvious spam. “Surprised this didn’t get filtered out by that spam removal thing. What the hell is this?”
She clicked, and was then bombarded with perhaps the most beautiful young woman Daniel had ever seen, seated elegantly in a embedded video frame with an email body styled with a pretentious, minimalist typeface and thin golden embellishments. It read, “Dear Ms. Danielle Molloy. Thank you for booking with Armand de Romanus, courtesy of Elite Escort, Ltd. She is looking forward to spending time with you from this Saturday, March 11 5PM to Sunday, March 12 12PM. Please call our customer service if you have any questions.”
Then, a highlighted message that read, “The lovely Armand has recorded an exclusive video introduction for you in advance of your meeting. Please enjoy.”
Daniel’s finger hovered above the play button. Was this going to infect her phone with some virus? But the dark-haired woman staring at her with big doe eyes had such a soft, welcoming expression, like she was begging to be clicked on. Daniel considered. If this was an elaborate prank, at least she’d know what Armand's voice sounded like.
“Hello Ms. Molloy,” a voice smooth as honey broadcasted from her speakers. Daniel felt a burst of warmth go straight down her spine to her crotch. Fuck. “My name is Armand de Romanus, but you may call me Armand. I’m quite looking forward to being your date this weekend to your ex-husband’s charity gala for, what was it,” she looked down at a leather-bound notebook on her lap, “ah yes, global injustices. Such a specific and worthwhile cause.”
Daniel couldn’t help it, she let out a loud snort of laughter.
“I’ve taken the liberty of looking up the dress code and have selected appropriate attire for us,” Okay how the hell did she do that? Daniel was pretty sure it was a private invite, “Your garments should arrive at your address by tomorrow afternoon. Might I also suggest jewelry with silver tones, and a scent with woody notes? If you are one partial to cologne.”
No, she wasn’t, but she was interested in whatever the hell kind of perfume Armand would be wearing.
“On the day of the event, I will arrive in a vehicle at your address at five in the evening, and we will proceed to the venue together. No need to arrange separate transportation.”
And that was another thing, how the hell did Armand know her address?
“If there is anything specific I can prepare to make the evening more enjoyable for you, say, for example, understanding any insecurities that his darling new paramour has,” Armand said all this with an innocent gleam in her eyes and an elegant little shrug of her shoulders, “I do hope you’ll let me know. In the mean time, my contact information is attached to this electronic letter. Please take care, Ms. Molloy.”
The video ended. And then, silence.
Okay, that was weird. Daniel wasn’t going to lie, this Armand escort was smoking hot, if not a bit strange, her voice was hypnotic, which was both sexy and concerning, and the whole thing definitely felt like normal junk mail right up to the point where Armand starting getting hyper-specific about the date logistics, then it started to feel rather dangerous.
And after nearly fifty years in the game, let it be known that Danielle Molloy couldn’t say no to danger.
Daniel did some clicking around from the email and found an account on the Elite Escort website in her name, with all her personal details listed in a request made yesterday night for a gala date. Daniel frowned. Did she actually make this yesterday night when she got black-out drunk, and just forgot about it? Apparently so, otherwise how would Armand know so much?
Without thinking about it, Daniel watched Armand’s video two more times (for information gathering, she insisted), and found herself lost in details that she hadn’t noticed before, like the way Armand's black curls framed her cheekbones, and the pretty way she gestured with her hands when she spoke.
To hell with it. If this was a prank, it was a pretty good one, but not one that Daniel wanted to worry about for now. She’d better just chug some electrolytes and call it a day.
The next day, as promised, the doorbell rang with a courier carrying a suit-shaped bag. Daniel frowned at the bag after signing. It looked expensive.
“Holy shit,” she swore as she unzipped its contents. It was a full Armani suit with a corresponding dark blue silk shirt, and complete with black leather shoes and a fresh microfiber cloth for her glasses. She felt the suit. It was high-quality stuff. This was getting ridiculous.
Furiously, she rooted through her phone until she found Armand’s phone number and hit call. After a few rings, Daniel got an answer. “Hello?”
“Yep. This Armand from Elite Escort?” Daniel asked, even though she knew who it was. She watched that video five more times, she knew what that voice sounded like.
“Why yes, this is Armand speaking. And who, may I ask -“
“Cut the crap, I think you know,” Daniel interrupted. “Look, I gotta be honest, this whole setup is cute and all, but what do you want? Did you buy me these designer clothes to prove you have access to my bank account? Are you trying to blackmail me? Just tell me what’s going on so I can figure out if I should block you or sue you.”
On the other end, she could hear Armand chuckle. “Ah, Ms. Molloy, I take it? I can assure you, there is no nefarious scheme here. I am simply trying to ensure we are both appropriately dressed for the gala.”
“And that’s the funny part,” Daniel said, “I don’t remember booking you, or any escort for that matter. You know that I can’t afford you, right? I’m about to be publicly canceled on a massive scale, highly doubt that’ll bring any paychecks in. And you seem expensive.”
“I am so flattered you think so.”
“Your profile didn’t even list your rate. Are you booking hourly or what? This is practically a 24-hour date.”
“Nineteen hours, to be exact,” Armand said lightly. “And no, my website profile does not list my rates. But rest assured, compensation has been taken care of. You won the lottery, Ms. Molloy. Every year, members of Elite Escort have the option of donating our time to our 501C3 charity fund. This is my good deed and my tax write-off for the year.”
“…Yeah, that sounds like the fakest thing I’ve ever heard.” Seriously, hooker charity? In all her years, Daniel’s never met a sex worker who would do this kind of work for free.
“Believe what you like, Ms. Molloy.”
“You have my home address and my shoe size, you can call me Daniel at this point, you stalker.”
“Daniel,” Armand practically purred, and damn but that voice was really putting Daniel in trouble, because she could practically feel herself losing the resolve to fight. “I do find it so fascinating that you go by the more masculine pronunciation of your given name. Quite charming, actually. It suits you.”
“Thanks,” Daniel grumbled.
“Have you tried on the clothes yet?”
“…No. Not yet.”
Armand launched into an enthusiastic explanation of the fabric and weave type and where exactly it was sourced in Italy, during which Daniel tried on the blazer for the hell of it and decided yeah, she actually did like the fit. “Well, what are you wearing, then?”
“Ah, so does that mean you’re agreeable to our night together?” Armand sounded like the cat that got the cream, she was so smug.
“Yeah, mostly so I can chase you off my doorstep with a baseball bat when I find out how much of a catfish you are,” Daniel said. “You’re probably, what, some creepy weirdo living in your mom’s basement making AI videos of female escorts to lure in dumb divorcés, am I right? Got your phone mic hooked up to garage band or something?”
“We can switch to video call if you’d like,” Armand suggested, “if you doubt my identity. Would that ease your suspicions, Daniel?”
Daniel thought back to all the times she watched Armand’s ridiculous introduction video last night and this morning, and thought better of it, because even if she was some AI-generated manifestation of her wet dreams, Daniel didn’t know what kind of person she’d turn into if faced with Armand’s pretty face on a private video call.
“Yeah, no thanks,” she said shortly. “I’ll see you Saturday, and you’ll see my baseball bat.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
Armand was, in fact, not AI-generated.
And if she was, then she was the most advanced video hologram projection that Daniel had ever seen, because she stood outside leaning gracefully against a sleek black car, all long limbs and coquettish little smile. Armand wore a gorgeous silk dress that matched Daniel’s shirt, the high collar teasing just a glimpse of her collarbone and seeming quite modest if not for the long slit revealing the better part of her left leg. A fur stole lay loose by her elbows, giving her the appearance of a modern-day monarch or old money socialite. Her beautiful eyes glowed with a dark, almost orange glimmer.
Daniel walked up to her, realizing with Armand’s heels, the escort was taller than her. This made her little smile seem even more patronizing, but not any less sexy, unfortunately.
“Good afternoon, Daniel.”
“So you’re Armand,” Daniel frowned. “How old are you, exactly?”
“Quite forward, aren’t you?”
“Because you look like you’re a college student,” Daniel continued, eyeing her, “But you dress and talk like you’re way older.”
It was strange. Armand’s face was even lovelier in person, void of any of the lines and wrinkles that come with aging, so she couldn’t be that much older than twenty-five, but everything about her demeanor reminded Daniel more of her own peers. The “elder” population. Hell, sometimes Armand sounded even older. Daniel could remember trying to convince her own father not to call it the “electric mail” and just call it email.
“Perhaps we can add this to the list of things we learn about each other,” Armand turned to face the car. “Shall we?”
The car is roomy, comfortable, but not overly extravagant. There was a divider between the front and back seat so Daniel couldn't see who the driver is, but they do seem to be going in the right direction, so the alarm bells weren't ringing off quite yet.
Armand offered Daniel some champagne, but she declined.
“No thanks, sweetheart,” she shook her head, “I had a terrible time drinking this week, and I’m in a stranger’s car. No offense.”
“Ah yes, your keynote,” Armand smiled. She seemed delighted, like it was a fond memory for her.
“You saw that?” That question was probably unnecessary. Nearly everyone on the internet had seen Daniel’s unhinged tirade against the establishment.
“Of course,” she said. “I found it riveting. Your command of the audience was quite spectacular.”
“Yeah, that’s one way to put it,” Daniel snorted, then sighed, looking out the window. “My career’s pretty much fucked. If I have any hopes of retiring, the only job prospects I’m looking at are out of the country, and even then they’d just use me as a puppet for their own anti-American propaganda campaigns. I don’t see myself moving to Russia or China anytime soon.”
Armand shifted in her seat, tilting her gaze to study Daniel. “And have you not thought of branching out of journalism?”
“At my age? Yeah right. Besides, being a journalist is pretty much the only thing I’m good at,” Daniel shrugged. “Even though the whole industry’s fucked too. You know they tried to basically write my keynote for me? Emailed me a whole goddamn script.”
“How considerate of them. I’m guessing you didn’t use it?”
“Hell no! If you’re going to put me on stage, I’ll use my own fucking words, not yours. If I want to tell you the truth, which is the point of journalism by the way, what a shocker, then I’ll tell you it’s all fucked up. No one is actually a journalist these days, we’re all just chess pieces being used to push corporate interests and fascist lies.”
“How pessimistic of you.”
“Someone’s gotta say it,” Daniel shrugged. “Course, maybe I shouldn’t have shit-talked my ex in the same speech, since the bitter ex-wife schtick kind of negates everything I said.”
“Does it, now? And how would it negate anything?”
“Oh you know,” Daniel sighed. How cliché of her, venting all her problems to an escort. Maybe Armand should be getting paid for this. “No one takes women seriously, much less dykes, much less bitter old dykes twice-divorced. Now everyone’s going to think I’m jealous of him and that’s why I’m such a raging bitch. Which, hell, maybe I am.”
Armand let out a little scoff. Daniel paused in feeling sorry for herself to take a good look at Armand. Her face no longer looked so pristine and presentable. Her brow was furrowed, her eyes gleamed in a strange way. It seemed like her mask was slipping. “You have such insightful things to say, yet you surrender to an instinct to self-efface almost immediately. One would think your pursuit of journalistic integrity is on the basis of some moral high-ground, but it’s not, is it?”
Now this was starting to get interesting. So Armand wasn’t just a pretty face after all. “I don’t know, you tell me, princess.”
“I believe you do look down on others who can easily be bought into lying, or covering up the truth, or looking the other way in favor of appeasing the status quo,” Armand continued, eyes wide, as if piercing into Daniel’s soul, “Not because you find it morally repugnant, but because you are selfish and believe you are entitled to the truth. And if someone dares call themself a journalist, why shouldn’t they do the same? You won’t stop asking questions simply because you know the real story is hiding somewhere, if for nothing else but to satisfy your burning curiosity with the world and all its ugliness.”
Well, shit. No one’s phrased it like that before, but that did hit uncomfortably close to home.
“How much do you actually care about the common people, I wonder,” Armand continued, “the ones most affected by these corporate interests that you so openly disdain? Your portfolio of work, while suggestive of left-leaning political interests, is really nothing more than a thrill-seeking ride. A vanity project that just so happens to be politically relevant in today’s age of embarrassingly low media literacy. It’s no wonder you’re so brilliant, the bar is so low.”
Daniel smiled despite herself. Who the hell was this mystery escort? Why did it sound like she’d read Daniel’s entire life’s work and viewed it with both deep admiration and open disdain? And why was that really working for her? “You really know how to make a girl feel special, don’t you?”
“I am an appreciator of greatness. You ought to be grateful,” Armand said haughtily, to which Daniel laughed.
They spent the rest of the ride, about half an hour on the freeway, chatting about how to cause the biggest ruckus possible at the gala. Even though she was probably being actively kidnapped, Daniel was having a pretty good time. At this point, she could rule out that Armand was going for identity theft or any type of money-motivated crime, she seemed rich in her own right. Blackmail, murder, also unlikely.
Honestly, Daniel thought as they exited the car and Armand made a show of fixing Daniel’s collar before they climbed the marble steps of the venue, she was probably most in danger of being trapped as a house pet for a bored, wealthy heiress looking for entertainment. Not the worst way to end up, all things considered.
“Surprised you didn’t give me a tie to wear,” Daniel commented. “You seem to really know your stuff with menswear. Is this escort business all just a front so you can fawn over old dykes? You perv.”
“Don’t question my good taste,” Armand snipped in return, with all the brattiness of an annoyed girlfriend. “And a tie would not fit your image.”
“No? And what image is that?”
They arrived at the gala hall, where more than a dozen people in suits and ballgowns were trying their best not to make eye contact as they whispered furiously about human-garbage-can Danielle Molloy walking in with a beautiful, mysterious, much younger lady on her arm. Armand cozied herself up at Daniel’s side, making sure to show off her exposed leg to the crowd.
“The image of someone who does not have to put any effort at all into having beautiful women throw themselves at you,” Armand smirked. “Don’t be modest, you know they're all thinking it.”
Daniel honestly couldn't imagine a better mid-to-late-life crisis for herself, because attending the gala with Armand was perhaps the best date night of her life.
For starters, the art gallery had some of the most expensive and visually perplexing pieces Daniel had ever seen, and Armand wasted almost no time putting her surprisingly vast knowledge of art brokerage to use. When a particularly smug man started to brag to his friends about purchasing a certain piece, Armand went up to it and said with a forlorn sigh, “Oh Daniel, it’s such a pity that they let cheap counterfeits proliferate in the market like this. Just look at the signature here, only a fool would think this isn’t a fake.”
Whenever someone came to shake Daniel’s hand and cast a judgmental look or remark about Armand’s age, she would smile and greet them with a question that quickly devolved into a shockingly personal investigation of all their greatest failures. Whenever someone attempted to make a joke about Daniel’s very public, very drunk crash-out, Armand somehow managed to turn it around to make the other person look like an asshole. It was actually very impressive.
Daniel was also very well-fed. Curious, how whenever she had an errant thought of, “I could really go for one of those mini burgers right now,” or “Do they have any more of those ham and fig things?” the server carrying the desired plate would somehow just magically appear in front of them, sometimes power-walking through the crowd to get to Daniel.
She glanced at Armand, who was still nibbling at the same spoonful of caviar-topped deviled egg she was from fifteen minutes ago. “You should eat more if you want, you know. Don’t want you getting any skinnier, you look like a strong gust of wind could knock you over.”
“How utterly maternal of you,” Armand remarked. Then, she swallowed the whole spoonful and grimaced, as if she’d taken a particularly nasty shot.
“Maternal, right. Like my daughters don’t hate my guts,” Daniel sighed. “I’d make a joke about how you’re practically young enough to be my granddaughter, but something tells me you’re into that type of thing.”
It was true. Daniel had spent the better part of the last two hours trying to figure out what Armand’s deal was, because pretty young women like her usually only went for old chuds like Daniel if they were getting paid. Or, perhaps, to fulfill a sordid sadomasochistic fantasy of meeting an older dyke at a leather bar. But by the coy looks that Armand would occasionally throw her way and how Armand insisted on smoothing her hair or fixing her jacket whenever she thought Daniel was looking frazzled, Daniel was beginning to reconcile with the absurd idea that maybe, Armand just liked her.
And she liked Armand, quite a lot actually. Daniel was never one to date so much younger, but she was having a hard time not imagining how easily Armand could slip out of her dress so that she was nothing more than flowing black hair, big eyes, and bare skin, using her posh little accent to boss Daniel around.
Unfortunately, it was then Daniel saw her ex-husband, and was rudely awakened from her fantasy.
“Ah, there he is,” Daniel sighed. Armand followed Daniel’s line of vision, eyes bright and curious. Her ex-husband Alan was arguing with a stressed looking man in a suit who was perhaps his assistant or lawyer. He was pointedly ignoring Daniel’s gaze, while his girlfriend stood by his side openly glaring daggers at Armand.
“Oh dear,” Armand said. “Shall we make an introduction? I’m dying to meet him in the flesh.”
“Well, it’s complicated, because I’m mostly here to sign some paperwork,” Daniel said. “We opened a trust when we divorced for our daughters, and now it’s mixed up with this charity account thing...I don’t wanna get into it, it’s just stupid financial stuff. But I might need to ditch you for a little while with the girlfriend while we meet with the lawyer.”
“Say no more,” Armand smiled. “Socializing is my specialty. I look forward to meeting this new girlfriend I’ve heard so much about, I’m sure we will have much in common.”
As Daniel suspected, Armand was completely fine fending for herself, but she wanted to get the paperwork over with as soon as possible, so she speed-signed her way out of there. She and Alan exchanged some stiff, small-talk questions while they walked down the long hallway to and from the smaller boardroom for signing. At some point, Alan asked how Daniel met the lady she was with tonight, his casual tone a light cover for what must be burning curiosity, to which Daniel just shrugged. Honestly, she still wasn’t quite sure herself.
When they returned to the main hall, Daniel wrapped a hand around Armand’s small waist and gave a little tug. “Come on, let’s get outta here.”
“But- !” Armand protested, clearly looking like she was enjoying herself. The girlfriend, who Daniel would later learn was named Brandy and was a masters student in journalism, which felt kind of strange and uncomfortable, looked like she was on the verge of tears.
“Babe, please. These people are about to give me a migraine.”
And that’s how they ended up riding the subway uptown, the air blissfully smelling of asphalt and stale piss instead of over-priced event candles.
Armand’s hand rested on Daniel’s leg. It was kind of hard to miss, she was tapping Daniel’s knee incessantly with surprisingly sharp fingernails (though Daniel suspected vampire claws were simply the style amongst the younger crowds these days). She seemed stressed. Daniel leaned over to bump her with her shoulder. “You okay?”
“Perfectly fine,” Armand said stiffly.
“Liar,” Daniel chuckled. “C’mon, what’s the matter?”
Armand pointedly ignored Daniel’s gaze as she stared out the subway car windows. When she spoke, her voice felt cold. “I had simply planned to stay at the gala for another hour, and then take a car back to your neighborhood, and perhaps find a local bar for a night-cap. I can see you’re eager to end the night prematurely. Is my presence so unentertaining to you?”
Daniel blinked. Waited for Armand to say she was just joking, which she didn’t. And then burst out into laughter. “Oh jeez, you’re a riot,” she said, not caring that she just woke up at least two other passengers from their nap. “If you wanted to hang out more you could’ve just said, sweetheart. But don’t worry. You’re coming with me. I wanna see how much more weird shit comes out of your mouth.”
They stopped by Daniel’s favorite late night pizza joint first. Daniel didn’t have much room for more than a slice, and Armand continued to treat food like it was covered in toxic waste, so they quickly moved a few blocks down to an arcade.
“This place is cool because they still got the good stuff,” Daniel nodded at the arcade games that were probably older than Armand and looked like they would fall apart any minute, “but they also got these cool new games that surprisingly don’t suck.”
“Oooh,” Armand let out a noise of wonder as Daniel led her to the Pacman console. The bright colors and flashing lights seemed to light up her face. “So I’m to move this steering device around in order to eat all the little ghouls, for I’m so very hungry, is that right?”
“You got it, sweetheart.”
They made quite a sight, an old butch in a full suit and her much younger lady companion in a silk dress and fur stole, playing arcade games with a room full of teenagers. When Armand ran out of tokens, Daniel was about to offer to get them more, but then an attendant somehow appeared out of nowhere with his hand held out for Armand’s credit card.
“How many tokens would you recommend if I wanted to beat the game?” Armand asked, eyes focused on the maze.
“Four hundred, ma’am.”
“Good. Charge it.”
“Excuse me, what?” Daniel said, appalled.
She did eventually manage to pull Armand away from Pacman when she dangled the concept of first-person shooter games and race-car driving in front of her like a carrot. Armand insisted on examining the plastic gun with a somewhat medical curiosity, and then experimented with standing at different distances to see if the screen would still pick up on the gunshots.
“How does it know where I am, if it’s not real?” She mused.
“These are the questions we ask ourselves at night,” Daniel nodded, amused.
Before they used up all their tokens, Armand asked for Daniel to get her a stuffed animal from the claw machine, to which Daniel at first refused because she’d always been terrible at those, and they were a scam anyway. But she figured why not entertain this little monster.
“Which one you want?” Daniel asked.
Armand studied the goods in front of her and then, with a wry little smirk, pointed to the cute little stuffed Dracula doll in the corner. “I’ll take the young vampire.”
Almost to make a point, Daniel steered the claw over the mini Dracula and made a pathetic attempt at grabbing it with a claw. Dracula dangled at the tips precariously until it flopped back into the pit of stuffed animals.
But then, almost as if moved by a strong gravitational force, it shot up straight into the grasp of the claws. Actually, Daniel could’ve sworn the claws opened and closed again, which they never do once you’ve hit the button. Eyebrows raised, she looked over at Armand, who was staring at the lever with utmost concentration.
“Okay,” Daniel said, “you need to tell me. How are you doing that?”
“Doing what?” Armand asked innocently, reaching down to pat some imaginary dust off her little Dracula.
“Moving objects with your eyes. That’s what I just saw, or is it not?”
“Daniel, don’t be silly. You caught this wonderful little doll with your own hands.”
“Uh huh, funny. My hands have been in my pocket ever since I pressed that button. So someone was moving that claw, and it sure as hell wasn’t me.”
Armand tilted her head, face unreadable. Illuminated by the bright LED’s of the arcade, her beautiful face looked as cold and untouchable as ever. If Daniel were paying better attention to her surroundings, then she might notice that time seemed to completely stop around them, and everyone else at the arcade stood frozen mid-air. But Daniel only had eyes for Armand. Equal parts suspicious and aroused, Daniel found herself staring at Armand’s smiling lips.
“Oh Daniel,” Armand sighed, bringing a cold hand up to caress Daniel’s cheek. “You shouldn’t ask questions that you have no business knowing. Ask me something you know I’ll say yes to."
Unable to believe how dumb she was, Daniel nodded obediently, dumbly, feeling completely hypnotized as she asked, “Can I kiss you?” and was engulfed with the intoxicating feeling of Armand’s lips on hers. Armand’s body pressed up against hers, her hands coming up to bury themselves in Daniel’s silver hair - these were the last things Daniel remembered before Armand whispered, “rest,” in her ear, and then everything went black.