Bonnie

Jet lag shows up in the shoulders first, Bonnie says, and then in the temper, and she prefers to meet it early in a layover rather than an hour before boarding. Her home is the Jordaan; the ride to Schiphol is worked out in advance, not guessed at the door. She speaks Ukrainian, Russian and English, and a guest who has been listening to gate announcements since dawn tends to be grateful for whichever of them sounds softest to the ear. Twenty-five, blonde, unhurried, and clear about her limits from the first minute.

Bonnie decides which bookings she takes and may decline any of them; she sets the limits for what a session includes, says what they are, and may end a visit at any point, as the terms set out.