The Song of Muses

I work as an escort for a well-known bordello in a city nearly an hour away from where I live. Call it fancy, high end, prestigious; in the end all those sugar-coated words could never change the fact that it is a whorehouse all the same.  Ironically, the women working there are termed as 'muses', and are given an alter name inspired by names of goddesses from various mythologies. The agency prides itself for its luxurious commodities and services, most especially for its anonymous method of dealing with both its muses and valued patrons. As for myself, I've been in the company for just barely 2 years. And yet, I have already gotten myself accustomed enough to the ins and outs of the system. The reason for this is simply due to the known fact that the name of my family has a long-standing partnership with the founder of the most honorable brothel, The Song of Muses. This affiliation can be traced way back to the roots of our ancestry. No one could actually pinpoint its beginning, but it had been passed down to each and every generation with no fail. The moment I could comprehend words and effectively communicate, my mother had given me a lengthy introduction regarding what fate had in store for me once I reach the minimum age requirement. I was due to become a muse even before my birth. The exact day I turned 19, my mother took me out for dinner and shortly afterwards, I found myself face to face with a representative of the aforementioned brothel. The process was indepth and precise. Every crook and cranny of my bio-data was scrutinized. Endless interviews, laboratory diagnoses, and physical examinations were in order. I had to fit in the standards in order to be accepted and the dignity of my family line depended on it. My mother had coaxed me that it would be fine and that I had done a great job nonetheless. In my defense, for a whorehouse, they were extremely picky.  A letter arrived a few days later; I was deemed worthy of being a muse. A celebratory dinner was arranged and the following Saturday, I played my role. It was a bittersweet story, far from becoming a fairy tale. I never bothered trying for university as it would bring unwarranted attention to my lifestyle. In fact, immediately after high school graduation, I applied into different small jobs—flower shops, cafes, gasoline stations—just to keep myself busy. After being accepted into The Song of Muses, I had dropped all other jobs I had. After all, the pay was more than enough and I was fully covered from insurances to monthly allowances. I had moved out from our family residence to an apartment closer to the bus station just in case I didn't feel like driving my way to work. My mother, on the other hand, had long reached the end of her service the moment she had turned 35. Along with my stepfather and younger half-sister, whom would also share the same fate, she usually spends the luxury of her days at home. Other days, she attends cooking classes. The only other relative I had working in the same profession as I, is my cousin Phoebe. She's a year older than me and has a studio a block away from the bordello. During nights when we share the same schedule, I usually pass by to accompany her to work or just whenever I feel like it. Today is one of those days. The sun had just started descending from the horizon and shops downtown were getting ready to call it a day. Phoebe was busy locking her door and I took this as an opportunity to stare blankly at the orange pink skies and the clouds wafting in the distance from the window of the 5th floor hallway.  "I'm taking a night off tomorrow. Thought you might want to know." She hummed as she inserted her keys into the back pocket of her skinny jeans. I swiveled my head towards her shadow melting onto the carpet floor. "It's date night."   Despite the unreasonable state of being a p********e, the agency never forbid romantic relationships with the rule that it wouldn't interfere nor interact with business affairs. With that said, romantic relationships with patrons are prohibited inside the establishment but permitted outside. They mentioned about not sticking their noses into personal lives of their muses, if that even meant any sense. Phoebe found her 'soulmate', as she quotes it, in the person of one of her regulars. They have been dating for a few months and it seems that she's been looking forward to their date nights that much that she actually went out of her way to consume the 'strictly twice a month basis' night off for the guy. "That's sweet." I grinned at her on cue, mentally asking myself if dating was even something I could think of doing while being a high-class w***e. Of course, I couldn't speak of this out loud unless I wished to offend Phoebe and sound like a b***h with a stick up her ass, which I am not. And so, I kept my mouth shut as we made our way to the elevator and out of the building. The majority of the walk was silent save for the occasional beeping of Phoebe's phone signaling her lover had replied within the one minute threshold of their back and forth text conversation. I peeked through the sides of my eyes, noting how she had her phone propped in between her hands, both thumbs swiftly tapping on the brightly lit screen while her lips played a contented warm smile. She looked utterly blissful.  Ah, it must really be love.   It's such a pity that love doesn't look good on me at all.