fault.’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘You look lovely today by the way. I can see your face. Without the abaya you seem to have more clothes on.’
‘Yes,’ she said, pleased by the compliment, ‘I normally work hotels, not streets. I was only doing that because it was a quiet day and I was bored.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well David, many men have fantasies. In my abaya on a hot day, I can be a wicked wife for a bored husband, a seductive mother to a troubled son, or if I am out of luck a naughty daughter to an angry father.’
‘Ah, I didn’t realize.’
‘But surely you must David? If I need to, I can even be the innocent Arab girl who needs to be rescued from oppression by the heroic white man.’
She explored my awkward reaction, waiting for me to see her point, to acknowledge my own predatory role during our previous meeting. A small smile touched her lips when I finally worked it out.
‘Don’t worry, we all react to other peoples bodies in different ways. It is natural. We are only animals after all. This is why they cover their women here. To hide them from the other animals.’
‘Like blinkers for horses?’
‘Exactly.’
‘So do you have local customers?’
‘Yes. If I am stupid or unlucky. Many times if you get into a car with them, they take you to a cheap penthouse somewhere in Sharjah or Khalidiya where there will be maybe nine or ten men waiting. If you survive the night you are lucky. But what can you do? Faisal can only make a noise if they are smaller men than him, you understand?’
I nodded.
‘Faisal will only be interested in getting paid by every single man for the days or weeks that I cannot work. They will be punished, but only for not paying.’
‘Will you show me some of the places where the women work?’
She shook her head. ‘I can show you the places where I work. You can pay and meet me. I can tell you about the rest.’
‘Okay,’ I said inhaling sharply, just another man paying to use her.
I told myself not to be so self indulgent.
‘I’ve never been here before,’ she said, ‘six years and I didn’t even know this existed. It is lovely.’
We sat for a moment taking in our surroundings. She let out a nervous sigh. ‘David, you have paid me for the whole day, yes? Will you take me to more places like this? Good places?’
I hesitated. I was supposed to be a professional pinning down a story, but then I had the luxury of choice.
‘Sure,’ I said, offering her my hand, ‘let’s go.’
Chapter Six
Our first stop was the Icy Palm Café, a health conscious hideaway on Beach Road for Anglo-Saxon expat wives. Yasmin chain smoked heavily in between sips of her muesli smoothie, uncertain what to make of the chattering blonde hordes that surrounded us, their well fed boho babies and nannies chasing after them, living the good life.
‘This is what schoolgirls want to be when they grow up,’ she told me.
***
I contemplated taking her to the Ladies Club but knew neither of us would be welcome. As the sun was melting tires outside we decided to go skiing instead. Cold snow in a hot desert sounded ideal.
Inside the cavernous Mall of the Emirates the slopes were full of local teens showing off. Middle Eastern chavs wore pristine white dishdashes beneath puffy skiing jackets, their headdresses and baseball caps perched primly at rakish hip hop angles.
Too cool to ski, their eyes darted unconsciously towards the visible curves of western teens, while the local girls looked on with envy and disdain.
Never straying too far from family or friends they suckled the digital teats of their mobile phones and grunted ugly answers to indifferent questions.
Yasmin explained that away from the inquisitive eyes of their families, teenagers would cruise the malls and use the Bluetooth messaging on their phones to flirt and make illicit rendezvous.
Their bored fathers used the same technique to pick up cruising prostitutes while the kids occupied themselves on the