mabelwinthrop-blog

[mabelwinthrop-blog]

One thing Mabel missed about being a low-class prostitute was the efficiency. Now she was an escort, expected to have some modicum of class, and was forced to deal with dates and parties and events. She was supposed to be a discreet companion, a pretty accessory on someone else’s arm, and it was dreadfully boring. Mabel had little patience for playing at romance, but it’s what some of the clients wanted. 

Sitting at a table with the older gentleman in front her, Mabel managed to keep up that shy, innocent smile that made him pay such an exorbitant amount, giggling at his jokes and looking away when he touched her. It was a degrading routine, especially at thirty years old, but Mabel continued on. At least the food was passable. 

Then he reached under the table. It started out innocent, just rubbing her knee, so Mabel just pretended to enjoy it. Then his hand slid up, feeling under her skirt, fingers reaching into her folds. Mabel jerked on instinct, taking a deep breath and steadying herself. She decided to play the innocent act. 

“We can’t-we can’t do that here,” she said, smiling shyly, but the man just pressed on. Mabel dropped the act, her face seeming to age ten years as she grew icily serious. 

“It’s against our prenegotiated terms,” she said steadily. “Nothing in public. If you wish to continue this, we should go back to our hotel room.”

He brushed her off, and Mabel’s jaw tightened. Her eyes scanned the room, seeing Elkins. While some people would have recognized him as a senator, she knew her idiotic client would not. 

“See that man over there? He works for the agency. I can call him over right now and have him take care of this. Do you really want your client privileges to be suspended?” The client pressed on, and Mabel got up, walking over as nonchalantly as possible, sitting down at the table. She leaned in. 

“That man over there is harassing me,” she murmured quietly, nodding to her client. “Would you mind giving him a little glare, scaring him off? Idiot like this just needs the suggestion that something could go wrong.” Indeed, the client was visibly nervous, contemplating whether or not to take off.  

▐ ❛ open.

When dining in dark, exclusive, establishment-dominated dens grew repetitive, Warren found himself at a trendy spot just far enough from the Hill to be tolerable. His wife, who cultivated a dual image as a sweet grandmother and fashion-forward philanthropist, could be found there during daylight hours with the money bags she meant to shake down. A dollar for this senator’s campaign, a dollar for her latest interest, a dollar for the poor children with no clean water and dead parents. As with most things, he trusted her judgement that the strange lighting, weird menu items, and new age ambiance were somehow worth it.

At the very least, he liked to sit at her favorite table and think of how different but similar their days were. She was back in North Carolina more often than he was, usually at their house in Raleigh where she could easily harass the state representatives as well as their adult children. He ordered the most foreign sounding thing on the menu because it’s what she would do. It’s so worldly, darling! Of course.

This particular evening, he sat at their table alone; it was beautifully situated, easily one of the best in the whole restaurant, with a pleasant view to the left. For now, it had been converted into a work desk, strew with papers and folders. His phone sat buzzing every few minutes, alerting him to an overwhelming flurry of texts and emails and social media notifications. So often was the phone in his assistant’s hands that he had little idea how to check most of the alerts.

He was trying to make out a message when a voice disrupted his concentration. In the time it took him to put away his eyeglasses, he pulled a welcome smile into place. He tossed his phone on the table and turned in his chair. “Well, well, just what I need —— a distraction from this damned … Tweeter … thing.”

[mabelwinthrop-blog]

Mabel never imagined that she would actually know people involved in the political cesspool of Washington D.C. Certainly, she slept with them, maybe even indulged their strange kinks, but she never knew them, and never let them know her. No one wants to know who their escort really is, as the reality is typically depressing - all they know is who they wish they were, reflected in the company they’ve paid for that night. 

Juliette was different. Juliette knew who Mabel was, what she was, and held no judgement or contempt. There was no need to obscure anything, no need to play the femme fatale, the coy seductress, the innocent schoolgirl - there was just two women. And the simmering tension between them intrigued Mabel even more. 

“You could become an escort instead,” she suggested mildly. “Sometimes it’s rough, but yesterday a client ordered me pancakes in bed. I would do a lot of fucked up shit for pancakes.” She smiled wryly. “Tell me what the assholes did today.” 

@mabelwinthrop

If there was one thing that Juliette knew it was that the world would keep spinning if she wasn’t watching.  It was that philosophy more than anything else that allowed Juliette to relax for a few minutes.  Granted, those few minutes were peppered with intermittent text messages from her incompetent interns, but it was a few minutes nonetheless.  It was hard to pull always from work and ignore the rest of the world around her.  She felt so responsible for so many people, ignoring it was a challenge.  Yet sometimes the breaking point was all she needed to take time for herself.  In those moments, Juliette was glad for the friends that understood her situation.

Mabel’s career was very different from Juliette’s and many people would wonder how the two women even became friends.  It was an odd match up, but Juliette didn’t care.  Mabel was one of the people she truly trusted.  It was beneficial.  She didn’t have any political sway and the things Juliette told her would stay between them.  That was something she never doubted.

Once more her phone vibrated but Juliette set it face down on the table as she fell into a chair.  The weight of the world seemed to disappear as she forced herself to pretend nothing else mattered.  “You have no idea how glad I was that you called,” she sighed as she lifted a hand.  Rubbing her temple slightly, Juliette smirked.  “It’s days like this that make me want to quit.  Please talk me out of throwing away my career in frustration.”

[mabelwinthrop-blog]

a little indulgence

@teddysteelman

The hotel was nice, polished and poised, but still discreet, not located in the heart of D.C., that turned an eye to the less-than-savory activities of Mabel’s agency. She was a frequent customer, and had spent many nights just like this, sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for Teddy. She was clad in a simple black négligée, showing off the length of her slender legs. Hearing the door open, her back straightened, lips tugging into a light smile. 

“It’s lovely to see you, Mr. Steelman.”