With brisk steps swinging to the floor of her flat, she recounted the details of the session with Lila and her own commentary, effectively building up into a crescendo.
She picked up from the last part of her memory, the part where Lila asked for her ID.
Not the first time she faced full-blown jealousy from her clients, either. On one hand, this job could sound like an angelic task, a total benevolent attempt to restore faith in the community where people cared for each other. People could not live just by basic sustenance, electricity, water, and a roof over their heads. The social needs should not be neglected, and that was where the Companions came in, however shallow the jealousy accused them of.
On the other hand, with certain types of clientele, this felt like a straight out bullying of her privilege. A privilege she never flaunted but was almost always hated for.
"No, not that. The card just served as a motivational card for me to reach more people who are in need of company. That's my privilege, true because it allows me to enter someone's property without them fearing that I might transmit disease. I was also made redundant almost three years ago when the mortality rate started ramping up and no more jobs like mine—a finance analyst for a design house—was allowed. An unessential job, it was. Also, we had to talk to people every single day. Couldn't do my job anyway, could I?"
She sipped the hot jasmine tea, savouring the little things in life, then continued smoothly, "When the mass test result stated me as Immune, my family and friends, well, the remaining of them, knew. Their immediate response was to ask me to their homes because they just wanted to have guests to chat with and kill time. Did that regularly."
"Got sustenance in exchange. I could also shower at theirs rather than borrow their money to pay off my overdue water bill. Or, if I got some money from this service, I could pay back to the families I lived with. I've to admit that the idea of founding Prattle came from this. I'm really sorry if this comes across as abusing my privilege."
Lila shook her head daintily. "You didn't do it for money, I know. What makes you tick?"
"Something personal."
Lila didn't press her for an answer, as Stephanie wriggled her toes subconsciously.
She pursed her lips before saying, "I felt lonely, too."
That was not the whole truth. But at least, in this first session, Lila didn't need to know that.
"I see," she still didn't push. "But what if you grew attached? Would you keep coming back for that client like finding a friend?"
"Probably."
"And what if it's the other way around? Say, if we don't find comfort in each other. Maybe I won't like you after this. Will my deposit for five sessions be refunded?"
Stephanie was also okay with T&C (Terms and Conditions) talks. Better to be frank upfront. "I still suggest that you continue with another Companion. You can rate me in the app after today's session ends. On that page, you can leave a comment on your request for the next session, whether you still want it with me or someone else. That's totally fine. We're humans, personalities can still clash, perhaps you find my words are subpar, or I'm awkward. You can always ask for someone else and no one will hold it against you personally. We want our clients to feel less lonely."
"Good, then. More tea?"
For a little while, the silence was split asunder by the crunching noise of the day's snack. Stephanie tried to chew on her gnetum crackers quietly, but it was as impossible as expecting the city to not have a single spot of flood the whole year. Time stretched with uneasy muted biting until Lila began.
"I dreamed— well, may I share things like these? A dream? That doesn't count as a useful activity to spend this session?" Lila had this knack of changing the course of her thought process mid-sentence, Stephanie noticed.
Stephanie caught on to the comfort level of her client. "Why, yes. A hundred per cent yes. You may share about anything and I will be your friend here. Talk to me." A paid friend, Stephanie chided herself.
Hesitance reared its ugly head when Lila furrowed her brows. She seemed like a high-class lady who saw specks of dust covering her vase collection after the maid had forgotten to give it a quick wipe.
"But, then, it's not worth your time. Never mind," she cut her off.
"No, Lila," Stephanie coaxed. "I'm not a censorship authority here. If you need to be heard, I'd listen to you. And that's not just because of my job, but first and foremost because I'm a human, too. I want to be listened to, so do you." She bobbed her head, lifting her cup of tea and inhaling the steam that smells of jasmine. Feeling instantly relaxed, she hoped her body language transmitted to the lady of the house. That in turn, becoming contagious.
"Well, if I may . . ." Lila tucked some hair behind her ear and started talking.
"I dreamed of a bird this morning. It was this morning, not last night, as I've got this habit of dozing off for a bit after hitting the snooze button. My husband usually wakes up an hour after my second nap finishes off, so I knew I still had time. During that negligible period of sleeping, it turned out that the dreamscape had its own universe. Time ran much faster there, so, within the span of slightly shorter than thirty minutes, I dreamed of events that stretched across a few hours, or even days. What I know is there was a time-hopping ability I gained there."
Stephanie's calming black tea was soon forgotten. The clinking sound of the spoon touching the saucer felt like a muffled sound from another room altogether. Like a plastic tarp laid down over a pool, it blocked all the underwater gurgling return streams. She snapped out of it and quickly took stock of her environment, breath slowing down with more questions of how the past came back.
The spoon still lay on the beige minimalistic table, half of its body on the saucer. Eerily similar to how time had warped itself inside her mind despite not even five seconds having passed after Lila stopped.
"That's true. In dreams, our mind creates and recreates its own world, free from expectations. It's not limited by gravity or other forces of nature, not even time," Stephanie composed herself then added.
Lila blushed and looked downwards. Stephanie followed it, too, diverting her attention now at a doily upon which a wooden trinket stood.
"Yeah, but I . . . I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm telling you this. I'm afraid this becomes a therapy session and you're analysing me from my dream."
Stephanie didn't know what to say apart from encouraging her to keep going; this could be as boring or interesting as to how they made it to be. The part where the client didn't even know what to talk about broke her heart as if humanity had lost their natural survival instinct, which was to form a social bond with other people.
"If you're not comfortable talking about this, then we can always do something else. If you don't want me to talk, then I'll stay silent, replying only when you want me to. I'll try to be anything you need now."
Upon hearing her Companion's answer, Lila brightened up. "Need? What do I need?"
Stephanie nodded vigorously, assuring Lila that she needed not be afraid to express it.
"May I ask you to do something? I would like you to brush my hair, please."
In Lila's tired eyes, Stephanie saw gleaming unshed tears like two transparent curtains veiling the world beyond. What lay beyond, she did not dare to reach, like secrets stacked together in a Jenga tower. Her proverbial mouth watered to pull one block out to see the structure keel, or worse, scatter on the ground. But at what cost?
"Which one at what cost?"
She just realised she murmured it almost inaudibly, and Lila caught it.
"Um, no, sorry. My mind keeps doing that, thinking out loud of other things. Do you have a hairbrush?" Stephanie asked the hostess.
Lila shot a frowned stare then stood up, beckoning the Companion to follow. Hesitantly, Stephanie raised and followed her to a room, possibly the master bedroom. A queen-sized mattress covered by a teal-cream bed sheet stood in the sepia-toned room. Lila led her Companion to a dresser, above which a large rectangular mirror hung on the wall. Plopping herself down on a plush blue round chair, her shaking hand offered the hairbrush to Stephanie.
So she ran the brown plastic vented hairbrush through Lila's hair. Each strand of light hair demanded her attention. She reached a meditative state her solitude could not provide. When brushing someone's hair, it was as if the universe ceased to exist and only the recipient and she were at the moment.
"The background noise," Lila whispered.
Stephanie paused the movement of her wrist above Lila's crown.
"The background noise of your mind seems to have its own pace. Well, mine's too. But on the days like this, in solitude, it's not just noise. It's a roar. And it scolds me for having chickened out for so long."
Stephanie didn't try to analyse her words. A psychologist in her team kept reminding everyone that they should listen more to understand than to reply. This was one of those times where she could do good by keeping it quiet but her ears open.
"Damar is rarely home. But when he is, we fight. A lot. Sometimes I ask myself the dreaded what-ifs and if-only sentences. Idiot, I know, because he's the reason I'm still alive. Nobody could ride this crisis alone."
Stephanie gulped. This nobody's town actually had at least one person population, which was her.
Lila caught her eyes on the reflection in the mirror. "It feels lonelier and scarier, though, when you're in the lockdown with the wrong person. We're just two physical bodies occupying the same space."
"I'm sorry." Stephanie never knew what to say. Heck, even after a year of getting in and out of people's place she still came across situations where everything she could say would still sound inadequate.
Lila tilted her head and shook it. "I'm sorry for having asked you to brush my hair. It's pathetic. But I love the feeling of someone else brushing it. Like, someone really cares for me. Why did God put us in this world only to die alone?"
Stephanie didn't know which information to lay bare, Lila's craving for the caress or her helpless question. The first months she had been in this business, she knew someone would eventually ask this rhetorically. Not until when she was seasoned enough, apparently.
"Are you a religious person?" Lila probed again. Her head now tilted as if pushing the brush in Stephanie's hand away. She noticed the cue, so she lowered it.
"I'd like to think so, but perhaps, I'm more spiritual than religious now."
"Does it really matter?"
Stephanie left the question unanswered, and Lila didn't ask further.
Stephanie picked up the brush again to shake off the uncomfortable silence. "If that works with you, I'll brush your hair every time I'm here."
The reaction elicited by Lila warmed Stephanie's heart, even a smile curled up on her lips. Lila covered her mouth with her hand, her head nodding once.
It had been an hour, time for Stephanie to wrap up the session.
Lila's unwavering gaze bore deep into hers, her fingers rounded her wrist.
"I don't want you to go home with the wrong idea. There is nothing wrong with him, okay, with us. Him and me. Nothing's wrong. We're just incompatible. He's angry with me several times, but I can understand. It could be just me. That's why you're here. Please be my friend."
Stephanie assured her of their tenet of privacy before asking, "Did he ever hurt you?"
Her grips on Stephanie's wrists grew tighter if that was even possible. "No, never. Also, not a breath of this, yeah. He's a member of the functional Council. We don't do anything to rock the boat, okay?"
Outside, the buzzing high-pitch noises of the cicadas signalled them that the world was still running like wheels on oiled axles.
When she reached the bus stop, she replayed the session in her head. A Companionship session always worked two ways. Lila might have found talking to Stephanie easy, she saw the five-star rating on her notification. But what did she think about this new client?
The last-minute response, the rushing stream of consciousness, always bleeds the truth more than the thoughtful answers, her ex's voice helpfully supplied the memory. Why did he even come back to the front of her mind?
The last-minute response of Lila, the change of her relatively guarded persona, alluded to there was something more than met the eye. A thing she couldn't pin down. Yet.
Play by the book, she might. Or risk it all to fail again. Just like the last time.
"So," Mark's husky voice sounded at the conclusion, "you even still thought about it before facing your new problem, me. Sorry, I interrupted your thinking."
"Hey," Stephanie chimed in, "I don't see it that way. It's my responsibility to deliver you safely."
"This Lila lady," Mark slowly recited, "do you think she's hiding something about her relationship with her husband?"
Stephanie paused before locking the door and throwing her backpack to the sofa.
"This is . . . a Council member we're talking about. It's not that simple."
"But if Lila's unsafe, why don't we help her?" Mark's conviction didn't help.