No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author. During my ride to Glyfada, I receive a text from Andreas telling me his room number. I text back:. By the time I hear the announcement for the upcoming stop at the Vergoti town square station, my destination, it is p.
Talk about good timing! I disembark and see the neon signs of several hotels. One is the Gordens Hotel. I enter a brightly lit lobby after climbing the few steps to the entrance. At the front desk is a young woman dressed in a drab gray suit. Walking up to her, I say:. This place does not seem to be a regular hourly hotel. From the looks of it, I would say it is a regular tourist hotel.
In the elevator, I check my appearance in the mirror. After reapplying lipstick and perfume, I run my fingers through my hair and I am ready for my next client. When the elevator stops, I am confronted with a waiting couple far apart in age.
He must be at least 60, whereas she looks 20, if that. His arm is tightly wrapped around her shoulder, giving the impression they are not father and daughter. We greet in passing and I head left to room Not long after I knock, the door is opened by a man who reminds me of Obelix the Gaul. He is quite tall and large. And he wheezes, which means he has problems breathing. His slicked-back black hair is shiny as if he used a whole jar of mayonnaise on it.
I feel insignificant next to this mountain of a man. Andreas offers his hand and greets me warmly. His handshake is limp and damp. I do not care for damp hands, nor do I like big men. But it is not about what I like, I am here for him. Andreas closes the door and follows me into the room.
