Page 2 of What Happens in Dubai
‘I’m great. How are things, darling?’ he replied, standing there in a pristine suit. Peter was one of my favourite clients. He worked as a top banker in London and would commute back and forth to Glasgow for work. He was initially one of Raj’s clients from years before, and when I started training, he offered his face to me as a guinea pig for injection techniques and since then had remained on my client list. We got on exceptionally well and often commiserated about the gruelling task of online dating.
Together we walked into the treatment room, and I shut the door.
‘So, just a top-up today?’
‘Freeze me please – as much Botox as I can handle!’
I giggled at his demands.
‘Deal!’ I had prepared the syringes already, anticipating the large amount of product he was going to request, and began marking his face with a tiny white pencil.
‘Look up. OK, big frown. Perfect.’ I headed over to the sink and washed my hands.
‘So, how’s the dating life? How’s the restaurant guy from the last time?’ Peter asked.
I sighed a little, slightly embarrassed that I had moved on so quickly.
‘Ehhhh … aw, nothing exciting. It didn’t work out, but I do have a date tonight!’ I turned around to him smirking. ‘What about you?’
‘Oh, never mind me! I’ve not been in the same place for two nights running! I’m living off other people’s dating stories. Spill.’
I put my gloves on and sat down on the stool beside him, feeling uncomfortable at my tummy bloat.
‘Well, his name is William. He’s older than me. Considerably older, actually. He’s like fifty-five but very DILF-y.’
Peter let out a big laugh.
‘Oh, Zara, you crack me up. Nothing wrong with a DILF but at that age he could be a grampa you’d like to fuck! Where are you guys meeting?’
I leaned over Peter, trying to concentrate without giggling as I began injecting his forehead.
‘Meeting at The Ivy for drinks. Just a couple – I’m working tomorrow.’
Peter’s eyes were blinking as I got closer to them with the needle. I carried on for a few minutes, holding his head.
‘That’s you done, I’m just putting pressure on the bleeding.’
‘Oh, it feels better already. It’s been too long between appointments. Can’t wait to shave off a few decades now. Oh, maybe you could inject your new man? Have him looking in his thirties again.’
We both laughed as I handed Peter a mirror.
‘How the hell did you meet him anyway?’ he asked, smising in the mirror from the treatment bed.
‘Tinder,’ I shrugged.
‘What fucking age range do you set, Zara?’
I blushed, remembering that I’d recently had to expand the limits at either end of the scale as I had exhausted all my swipes, having either shagged, messaged or ditched my original group of suitors. This resulted in Tinder itself messaging to sayNo more potential matches are meeting your criteria.
‘Right, come here, you.’ Peter leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. I felt his expensive, strong aftershave hit the back of my throat. He always smelled amazing.
‘Stay safe, Zara. I’ll square Ashley up. Enjoy your night, sweetheart!’
I smiled back at him as he walked over to the desk, shaking his head.
‘Thanks, Peter. See you soon.’
I wiped down the bed and set up another sterile trolley before heading back to the reception desk just as Peter was leaving. I waved him out the door.
