Calling Maggie May

by AnonYMous

  Sat, Jan 10

  I had my photo shoot today. It was . . . awkward. And expensive, just like Ada warned me. I really, really hope it was worth it and this brings some more business to me!

  I was really nervous about the whole thing, so Ada agreed to come with me for moral support. She helped me pick out some outfits to bring, since I wasn’t sure what to expect or what the photographer would have in mind. Plus, I know the site is totally private and Miss Irma is superconcerned with confidentiality, but I still wasn’t sure it was entirely a good idea to put seminaked pictures of myself on the Internet. So I went in there looking cute but basically fully dressed, and as I posed for the guy, he kept encouraging me to take this or that off, or hike up a hem or whatever. And every time he did, I would hesitate and resist a bit, then give in.

  The guy was good. He made me feel really comfortable and relaxed, so I didn’t mind doing it so much, but I was still kind of hesitant. Then Ada came over during a break and was like, “You should really try to speed this up.”

  “Why?” I said. “Jeb says I don’t have to do anything I’m not comfortable with. I’d rather ease into it.”

  Ada smiled sympathetically and rubbed my arm. “I know,” she said. “Jeb is a sweetheart, and he will let you take as long as you need, until you feel completely relaxed. The only thing is, Jeb gets paid by the hour. And he’s getting paid by you.”

  That did put things in a different light. I thought about how I’d act with my clients . . . maybe dragging things out a bit on purpose if I thought I could get another hour’s pay out of them. So after that I just bit the bullet and took off almost all my clothes and let Jeb pose me however he wanted. I tried to forget about the camera and my image being plastered all over the Internet.

  Now that I look back on it, I’m kind of horrified at some of the pictures I let him take. If my mom ever saw those! I don’t even want to think about it. As long as it works, I guess it doesn’t really matter.

  Thurs, Jan 15

  Finally had another date today. I guess those pictures I took are at least doing their job. When I got to the client’s room, I did my best to play up the whole Japanese schoolgirl angle, though it was hard to tell if the guy cared at all. He seemed pretty indifferent to everything I did or said. I think he mostly just wanted to pose me like a doll.

  It was fine, nothing that crazy or weird, but let’s just say that by the end, I was really looking forward to washing my hair. I almost asked if I could use the shower in the hotel room, but I wasn’t sure if Miss Irma has a rule about that.

  In any case, the guy seemed like he wasn’t particularly eager for me to stick around longer than absolutely necessary, so I got out of there.

  Made for a gross ride home on the bus though. Luckily, public transit passengers in Seattle are good at minding their own business.

  Mon, Jan 19

  This date was much better than the last one. The guy was older and kind of smelled weird, but I ended up enjoying my time with him. I think he was mostly lonely and wanted someone to talk to. He told me about his dead wife and about how he has to travel so much for work that hotels feel like home to him. Since he wanted to talk, I asked him to tell me stuff about all the places he’d traveled, and he seemed to enjoy that. I did, too. He had some really funny stories.

  The only weird part was afterward, when he got very sentimental and wanted to kiss and cuddle for a while, and then he told me I reminded him of his daughter. Awkward. I’m just glad he didn’t mention that at the beginning of the date.

  Anyway, I can’t really complain because he was a very nice man, and he also gave me a huge tip. I’ll be honest—that goes a long way to putting me in a good mood. The money itself is nice, and it’s also just nice to feel appreciated.

  Wed, Jan 21

  Another day, another date. This guy was a real creeper, but at least I felt like I was giving him his money’s worth with the whole Asian fantasy. As soon as I introduced myself, he said, “Do you know why I picked you?” I said no and started to undress, while he told me about how he’d been in the military for years, stationed in Okinawa and the Philippines, and how much he missed the whores there. I don’t know why, but for some reason that grossed me out. It’s weird that people consider me interchangeable with these random people on the other side of the world. But it’s not like he knows any of us, so what does it matter?

  Still, I hoped that he would shut up once we got down to business, but this one was another talker. He told me all about how he had traveled the world in search of whores who could re-create those experiences, and then he described in great detail what all his previous whores had looked like, including graphic descriptions of certain parts of their anatomy (for which he had a truly amazing memory) and how they compared to my own.

  Then, at the end, when I was getting dressed, he said it was a shame he hadn’t met me earlier, because he really “prefers them younger,” and he grinned and asked me if I had a little sister. Yuck.

  Also, no tip.

  Mon, Jan 26

  I got called into the office today because of all the school I’ve been missing when I’m off with clients. The assistant principal kept me there for almost an hour, making threats and trying to extort promises to reform. I just kept saying it wouldn’t happen again. Easier than trying to fight back. They said they would get in touch with my parents, but what good will that do? It’s not like my parents can control what I do or where I go in school.

  Funny thing was, the whole time she was browbeating me about missing class, she never once asked me what I was doing in that time.

  Fri, Feb 6

  Originally I planned to write about every date I go on, but I’ve skipped a couple because, honestly, there’s not that much to say. I guess it’s like any job. . . . After a while, you’re just going through the motions, and they all seem to blend together.

  But the guy yesterday was kind of exciting. My first celebrity! Ada told me we get them from time to time, because everyone knows they can trust Irma to keep their names out of the papers.

  I know this is my private journal, but before I went on this date, I got a special phone call from Miss Irma herself reminding me of the importance of confidentiality and how I really couldn’t tell anyone. And it’s not like writing it in here would be telling anyone, but who knows who might find this journal one day? So I’ll just say it was a musician. A pop star, actually. From a boy band! I’ll just leave it at that, because if I said anything more, it would become pretty obvious. Luckily, it’s not a band I’m actually a fan of, so I didn’t have to worry about being too starstruck.

  The weird thing is that with a guy like this, you’d think he’d have no trouble getting a date. I mean, anytime it’s announced that he’s going to be somewhere, girls my age line up for hours and hours just for the possibility of seeing him. Surely a pretty high percentage of those girls would go to bed with him. But I guess I should know by now that it’s a myth that guys go to whores only because they can’t get it for free. Maybe for some guys, but there are a lot of reasons why people go to prostitutes—confidentiality probably being a big one, in this case.

  The plus side of a date like this was that the guy was young (not much older than me, in fact) and really cute. Like, I’d always sort of figured with movie stars and pop stars that they look great in the magazines, thanks to all the airbrushing and stuff, but that in real life they probably look pretty ordinary and you wouldn’t even notice them walking down the street. But that was definitely not the case here! I think part of it was him having a very expensive haircut and very carefully chosen clothes and stuff. But there’s no question—he was really good-looking. And he had a certain aura about him. Or maybe “magnetism” is a better word. I kind of just couldn’t stop looking at him. But I’m not sure if he’s famous because he has this quality, or if he has it because I know he’s famous.

  The minus side was that he was kin
d of a spoiled little jerk. Like, he could be charming and powerfully compelling when he wanted to be, but the minute he got sick of that act, it was like flipping a switch. Then it was more like babysitting a two-year-old who hasn’t had his nap. Draining!

  Still, it was kind of exciting, and I didn’t mind putting up with it for a few hours. I did feel kind of bad for his regular handlers, who have to deal with him all day, every day. Glad that’s not my job.

  Sun, Feb 8

  I really don’t know what I am going to do about my parents. How much longer can we keep up like this?

  It’s been some time now that I’ve been basically ignoring them: coming and going as I please and just slamming my bedroom door on all their lectures. I eat most of my meals out, or grab something and bring it back to my room, so it’s not too hard to just avoid them.

  And for a while it was really liberating. Just not caring what they thought. Doing whatever. I used to cower in fear of them, and now I don’t even know what I was afraid of. Did I really think they were going to kick me out of the house or something just for getting a B on a test?

  I don’t know. Not really. Mom never did anything but yell a little and tell me how to do things better and tell me how disappointed she was. And what a no-good, worthless child I was. That used to hurt me so much! I think I was living my whole life to avoid that feeling of being told I wasn’t good enough. But it didn’t matter how hard I tried to avoid it, because nothing I did was ever good enough, so I heard it all the time anyway.

  But I’m free from all that now. I don’t care what they think of me, or how disappointed they are, or what a terrible child I am. And that means they can’t hurt me anymore. I go where I want. I come home when I want. I blow off school whenever, and I don’t even worry about the school’s office calling anymore. What are they going to do to me? I’ve taken away their power.

  Unfortunately, it doesn’t work the other way. Just because I’ve stopped caring doesn’t mean my parents have. And I guess it is a little hard to completely turn off my feelings. Mom doesn’t yell at me like she used to, but she doesn’t ignore me, either. She waits up every night I am late getting home, and anytime she sees me leaving the house in my new clothes, she wrings her hands and her eyes tear up, but she no longer bothers to say anything.

  Most days I can shrug this off, but some days it’s hard. Some days I just want to bow my head and put on my old clothes and get my books and sit at the kitchen table to study, just so I can see her approving smile again. But, obviously, I can’t go back.

  Tues, Feb 10

  Mom came in my room today as I was taking off my makeup after a date. Out of instinct, my shoulders tensed up, but she didn’t yell. She just looked at me silently for a moment and then sat down on the bed. She spoke to me softly in Chinese, asking what happened to me. What have I been doing? I turned to her to say something, but she held up her hand. “No. Don’t tell me,” she said. “I don’t want to know. I think it would break my heart.”

  She stood up to leave, and just before she closed the door behind her, she turned and said, “What has happened to my little girl?”

  I may have cried a little once the door shut. So much for not caring.

  It’s not fair for her to be nice all of a sudden. What am I supposed to do with this? It’s too late. I can’t go back to being her good little obedient daughter. Not after the things I’ve seen and done.

  But I can’t keep living here like this. School, too. Lately I just can’t stand it. Other than Ada, it’s so lonely, and since I’ve pretty much given up caring about my classes, it feels boring and pointless too. Why am I wasting six hours a day there, doing nothing? Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to direct my own life?

  I wonder what it would take. What if I quit school and moved out? Could I do it? Could I live on my own like a grown-up? Could I make enough money to support myself so I wouldn’t have to answer to anyone but myself? Wouldn’t have to face anyone’s judgmental eyes? That sounds amazing. Now, that would be real freedom. But I would get lonely. . . .

  What if Ada were with me? Her life at home with her mom is so different from mine, but it doesn’t seem like such a great situation either. Maybe this is what we both need. To get away and be independent. Or be dependent only on each other, without all these expectations and pressures and people needing things from us.

  I wonder how much money I would have to save up. How long it would take. Of course, it would mean fewer shopping sprees, but would I rather have a sparkly new belt or a life with Ada on our own, where we could be totally independent?

  I think I will do some research on what rent on a decent apartment would be and how much we would need for food and stuff.

  Thurs, Feb 12

  I’m invited to a party! I don’t know if I should really be that excited about it. I mean, it’s a work party, which I guess are supposed to be lame, but it’s not like work in a typical office.

  I’m not sure the last time I went to a real party, but it was probably a kid’s birthday party with pizza and cake and pin the tail on the donkey. Sometimes I hear about parties at school . . . real parties with making out and beer, but I only ever hear about those after they take place, on Monday mornings when everyone is dissecting the drama.

  I am pretty sure this party won’t be anything like those, but I don’t know much else. Ada says Miss Irma does this every year around Valentine’s Day. She presents it as a fun time for everyone. A way for her to show her love and appreciation for the “talent.” But Ada says if it were really a gift, Miss Irma wouldn’t invite the clients. Which she does. And the clients bring friends who are interested in becoming new clients, or they show up because they want to pick out their next date in the flesh instead of just using the website.

  That makes it sound less like a party and more like dim sum . . . where we’re the dumplings being brought around on trays and everyone gets to just grab what they like. Though Ada says that most years it doesn’t turn into an all-out orgy. Most years. That’s comforting.

  Still, I can’t help being a little excited about it. Most of all because it’s a chance to meet the other girls. Ada mentions them from time to time, but I still haven’t met anyone except her, and I want to put faces to names, or maybe even make a new friend or two.

  Plus, all things considered, it probably wouldn’t kill me to flirt with some of the potential clients. It would be nice to have as many regulars as Ada does and get a bit more cash coming in. Then I could tell Ada about my plan for us to get an apartment together.

  Oh, the other thing is that the invitation made it very clear that you wouldn’t be served alcohol unless you were over twenty-one. How’s that for irony! We’re there working as prostitutes, but we’re not allowed to drink? Miss Irma says drunk teenagers attract cops like nobody’s business, and she can’t afford the risk.

  But Ada said some of the talent bring flasks of liquor and share it around secretly, so everyone winds up getting kind of drunk anyway.

  That does sound kind of fun. I think I like the idea of being included in the secret more than anything else. I never pictured myself as the kind of person who would get passed a flask.

  Sat, Feb 14

  I’m at Ada’s house, prepping for the party! She looks so gorgeous, like a Hollywood screen siren from the 1940s. Her hair is ironed into perfect waves, and she’s wearing a black bias-cut dress covered in shimmery beads. I wish I could look like her, or at least dress like her. I thought this party might be a place where I could break out of my persona and look sleek and sophisticated like she always does, but Ada said it would probably be better to stick to a version of my usual style. Some of the clients there will have already seen the pictures on the website, and they’ll have an easier time recognizing me if I have the same “look.” So I have to somehow pull off “cute,” “sweet,” and “sexy” all at once, which is actually kind of complicated. I’ve decided to go wit
h a lot of white and pink and a flower motif, but still showing a lot of skin.

  Ada said I looked amazing and kissed me on the cheek, so I guess that will have to do. I wish we got to trade characters for the night, but I guess no one wants that.

  I am excited for the party but also a little nervous. I really have no idea what to expect. But Ada says not to worry and that Miss Irma keeps the clients on a pretty tight leash. Officially, there is no touching. That rule isn’t enforced strictly, but if someone really starts mauling the girls, Irma is prepared to throw them out, and they know it.

  I’m not sure I understand why Irma wouldn’t just want to keep the clients happy by whatever means possible. That seems like her usual routine. Ada said Irma has learned from her mistakes. Once upon a time she treated it like a buffet. She had everyone pay a flat fee at the door, and then they could take what they wanted. But she didn’t like the results.

  “Have you ever seen people at a buffet?” said Ada. “They go crazy. Trying to get every last nickel’s worth out of the talent. Plus, it took her ages to get the stains out of the upholstery.”

  (later)

  omg the party was so much fun! except I drank too much and probably [illegible] don’t care because I had sooooo much fun. and I met a boy! I mean a boy boy, not a client or whatever. [illegible] he was cute. ugh the room is spinning I better gotto got to go to bed.

  Sun, Feb 15

  Ugh. Now I know why people don’t do this all the time. I feel like my brain went through the dryer or something. Maybe it’s even still in there. . . . I’m not at all sure it’s in my head. And my stomach might be in there with it, because it is definitely going around in circles.