4 Hours

4 Hours

The rain left sparkling gems on her dark overcoat as the middle-aged businesswoman stepped out of the taxi and looked up at the looming building in front of her. The world was a dark grey as it usually was, and the building could have blended well with the dark skies if it weren’t for the bright, almost blinding neon lights that flashed its name: Make Me Happy, Co. The name dimmed and flashed and jumped at her eyes in neon pink, blue, and red. It was especially red today, as it was Valentines Day. The businesswoman quickly reached into her coat pocket and took out a bright red pamphlet. On it in bold letters, it said:

MAKE ME HAPPY CORPORATION

Your #1 go-to place for happiness and love

VALENTINES DAY SALE!!

This Valentines Day, we at Make Me Happy Co. want to spread the love by giving a discount for all of our dates for rent! Limited time only, so book or reserve a date now!

Under 18 (above 13) - 30% off

18-23 - 50% off

24-44 - 70% off

45 and above - 80% off

LIMITED OFFER ONLY! Valid only on Valentines Day (February 14) RESERVE AND RENT NOW!

She read it two more times before folding it twice and putting it back into her coat. The paper had gone soft and wet from the rain, and the ink from the words smudged against one another until most words were unreadable. Once again, she wondered if it really was necessary to do this today, of all days. A sudden bout of paranoia entered her mind and she looked around, thinking someone from work was in the area and would see her at her lowest moment: she, the relatively well-off no-nonsense businesswoman, in front of such a building! Anyone who stopped in front of Make Me Happy Co. only had one intention in mind, no matter the excuse they give to others. In fact, when the corporation first began its business, people who rented escorts from there were given a status in society for the length of time they were with their escorts (it was easy to spot these escorts, what with the wristbands they wore with numbers). Despite this, the business flourished. The businesswoman herself had a stigma against clients of such a company, and yet, here she was now.

On that day nobody she knew from work was nearby. In fact, it was such a dreary rainy day that barely anyone was out of doors. She looked up at the building again and a cold shiver ran down her spine. Fighting against the voice in the back of her mind telling her such a process was unnecessary, she walked towards the building’s double doors and opened them, the bright light of the lobby almost blinding.

Fortunately, there weren’t that much people yet in the Ordering Room. There were younger men and women, and even a much older man signing the pink papers on different coffee tables. The businesswoman walked to the receptionist and took a pink paper and pen. She filled out her important details, her credit card details, and the qualities she wanted in a Rental Date. The last question was: How long would you want to take your Rental Date out? The woman quickly took out her planner from her satchel. She would have a meeting with her boss at 5 tonight, then she would work on until 11 PM. She took a sharp intake of breath as she considered her options. For 4 hours only, she wrote. Her hand shook slightly, and the voice in her brain screamed for her to leave, but she stayed. Today was an important day, and there was no turning back now.

When she finished filling the paper out, she went to the next room which was where the profiles of potential Rental Dates were displayed on a dull yellow wall. They were arranged by age and by sex. The youngest of them all caught her eye, and when she looked at his innocent face, she felt all the wind in her lungs push their way out from between her lips. She blinked hard and forced herself to move towards the sharply dressed young man awaiting her pink paper. She handed it to him, and the question danced on her tongue, filling her mouth. The young man read the details, nodded, then took out a thick brown folder. “Please pick the date you would like,” he said. “The boy over there,” the woman said, pointing at the photo she saw on the wall. “Does he fall under my category?”

The man looked at the photo, then opened the folder and browsed through the photos. He stopped at a page where the exact same photographer showed. “Yes, ma’am, he does. His name is Kris.” The man paused for a second and glanced at the woman. “I would like to remind you, ma’am, that Kris is sixteen years old,” he said. “Yes, I know,” the woman said, using her business voice despite the loud pounding of her heart against her chest.

“Our rules for renting minors are strictly followed in this business, ma’am. With and without the discount,” he added, as if judging her. The woman started to feel annoyed. “I know that, it’s just for four hours. Can you call him up now?” she asked. The young man was silent for a second, then nodded his head. “Yes, ma’am” he replied finally, closing the folder.

She was waiting at the ground floor when the boy finally arrived to meet her. He was accompanied by two guards; she noted their rifles. The boy was dressed like most teenage boys: monochrome shirt, jeans, and black sneakers. He looked just like his photograph, except his hair was slightly shorter. He smiled at her and held out a hand. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. My name is Kris,” he said. He had a firm grip. The entirety of the situation overwhelmed the woman, but she forced herself to remain calm and professional, even though all she wanted was to hold the boy close.

She wanted to reply, but the guards were still there. She nodded instead, and the guards turned and left. She dropped her hand. “What are you in the mood to eat today, Kris?” she said. Kris grabbed an umbrella from the side and tapped the watch on his wrist on a monitor next to the door, causing it to open for both of them. “I’d love to eat Japanese food today, if you don’t mind?” he asked her courteously, still smiling that smile she missed dearly. “Of course I don’t mind,” she said. Be cool, dammit, her inner voice cried out to her.

He smiled at her and held out his hand towards her. She took it and immediately noted how warm it was. His hand felt like a ray of sun on a wintry day. Linked together, they walked towards the taxi stop, the world around them starting to seem a lot less grey.

The Japanese restaurant was almost completely empty when they got there. Like all places, the restaurant was in shades of grey, except for the screaming red paper cutouts in the shapes of hearts placed on the walls. The few people eating there were like their surroundings: dull, blank-faced, eating their food not without passion but just for the sake of necessity: to survive, one must eat. Feelings of attachment and amazement with food are unnecessary.

They sat down, Kris opposite her, and she ordered sushi while he ordered beef ramen. It was his favourite kind, he said. They played the game of fighting over who will foot the bill for a while until it got old.

“What do you do for work?” Kris asked. He never seemed to stop smiling. “I’m a businesswoman,” she replied. “I work on selling greeting cards.” The moment she said it, she realized for a split second how dull her work seemed. What an irony: greeting cards in a world that barely ever appreciated them. She slightly shook her head to get the thought out of her mind. Kris didn’t seem to notice.

“Does it get hectic at work?” he continued. He was leaning in towards her, looking at her as if she was the only person in the world. The businesswoman realized this was his tactic, this was his way of playing his role, and she wondered if she should fall for it or fight back.

“Of course,” the woman said. “We all have to work very hard to get higher pay checks.”

“Does it get lonely?” he tilted his head slightly.

Surprised by the question, the businesswoman hesitated in replying. Her inner voice cried out to her again, telling her to lie and say something else, but the truth fell out of her lips anyway. “Most times, yes. But there are also times where you could be so bothered by work that there’s no time to seek company.”

“Except for days like this, right?”

The woman felt a lump rise to her throat. The flashing ambulance lights and the biting cold of that February air two years ago felt like a slow burn to her chest. The tears she had thought no longer existed stung her eyes. But now wasn’t the time for him to know, not yet. She mustered a smile. “Especially on days like this,” she replied. The food arrived; they tried what the other ordered and proclaimed both were exquisite.

“What would you like to work as when you grow up, Kris?” she asked after a while.

“I’m already working,” Kris said nonchalantly, not looking up from his food. The woman looked at him quizically, and noticing her silence, he raised the band on his wrist and showed the number printed on it: 14. She understood then that what he had wasn’t just an ordinary bracelet, but an identification chip. “This is my job,” he said.

“Ah,” the woman said slowly. “But I mean, outside of Make Me Happy Co., where would you like to work? Or are you under contract?”

Kris seemed hesitant to answer, and the woman began to worry that she was breaching the rules. “I am under contract, that’s all I’m going to say,” he said finally, shrugging his shoulders like it was nothing to be working at 16. “I just renewed mine for another five years.”

“Are you happy there?” she asked him.

He smiled. “Oh, yes. The corporation is my family.” He seemed happy as he said this, but she had been looking into his eyes, and she felt the coldness hidden there, the coldness only seen in the eyes of youth whose innocence was wrongfully taken away. Her heart almost went out for him, but then she remembered she was renting him; she was his benefactor, she was stealing him from what he could be. She was doing her best to be unattached, but everything about him spoke to her of times she couldn’t forget.

“Are you happy?” he asked her suddenly.

The question was so familiar to her it sounded and felt like a memory. She didn’t know anymore whether it was because so many people have asked her that question or it was because she had asked herself that for what felt like her entire life. All their voices, hers included, melded in her mind and mixed into a screaming mess. Kris’s voice stood out most of all. He sounded just like him; just like her own beautiful Kris, her bundle of joy that once was.

She opened her mouth to say another lie, but the lump in her throat grew so large and heavy she could barely breathe. “Kris,” she said softly, when she was once again able to find the words, “I’d just like to apologise in advance, alright?”

“Apologise?” Kris asked, his smile disappearing. “It should be me saying sorry, since it looks like I’m making you sad. Have I said something wrong?” He looked genuinely concerned, and the woman almost wondered if he was simply playing his role or he actually cared.

“No, no you haven’t,” she replied quickly, unable to look at him. The watergates in her eyes opened before she could stop them, and she quickly reached for a napkin and covered her face. “I’m sorry,” she said under her breath. It hurt to speak.

Kris held her hand. He did not squeeze it or anything, he just placed his hand on top of hers, and his hand felt so warm. “Talk to me,” he said softly. “I’m here to listen.” She could feel his eyes locked on her face through the napkin she held against her own eyes.

And so she told him, hesitantly at first, and then she bared her soul and heart to him, showing him all its cracks and imperfections. She told her of him, of his faults and his achievements, laughing sometimes despite her tears. She told him of that night, that Valentines Day, when her entire world changed and the ground swallowed up her son; how their time together slipped from between her fingers. He was quiet the entire time, and he looked at her and only her, and his hand did not stray from hers. Their food grew cold but their hearts grew warm.

“I’m sorry,” he said, when she was done. “I never could have guessed.” His voice was low and soft, the taste of sympathy strong on his tongue.

“It’s not your fault you look so much like him,” she said, trying her hardest to smile. She took a deep breath before saying it, the one thing she wanted the most out of this whole ordeal.

“But would you do me just one favour, besides you being my escort for today?” she said to him.

“Of course, anything,” he replied immediately.

“Would you call me ‘mom’?”

Kris paused for a while, and the woman wanted more than anything to enter his mind and know what he felt at this moment. And then he smiled that smile that reminded her so much of her own Kris, her Kris that once gazed at her with the love of a son.

He put his hand away and glanced at her sushi. He quizically raised an eyebrow at her and said, “Mom, your food is getting cold! You better eat it before it gets all mushy.”

She could feel the heat of the blood running through her veins, and she felt every single beat her heart made, and she enjoyed each sensation. That one single name made her weak and made her feel more alive than ever before, all at the same time.

“Don’t leave any leftovers, alright?” she said to him with her usual authoritarian tone of voice.

“We’re not in a rush,” Kris argued, picking up his chopsticks.

“You have classes in four hours,” she pretended. “You can’t be late to school.”

“Ah, you’re right!” Kris exclaimed. “But, mom, could we catch this movie first? There’s a really good one showing now at the cinemas. Leonardo DiCaprio is there, he’s your favourite. Please, mom?” he said, giving her puppy dog eyes to get her sympathy.

“Not exactly, but alright, we can watch for a while. Finish your ramen first,” she replied, smiling despite herself. When they finished, she paid for both of them. He held his hand out to her, and she took it. And so, the mother and son for four hours walked out together, hand in hand, into the cold that no longer seemed to bite at their skin, and the world around them that slowly, ever so slowly, began to be infused with colour.