Calling Maggie May

by AnonYMous

  Do I have a plan for those circumstances? When I started, Irma said that safety always comes first, and if a situation seemed dangerous, I should leave. But what if I couldn’t leave? If I called Anne or Irma or Ada, would they come rescue me? Would they come in time? What if I called the police? Irma wouldn’t want that, but should I care? These are difficult questions, and I’m only just realizing I haven’t thought them through completely.

  I don’t know. Maybe I really should just quit. Going back to my old life sounds pretty unappealing, but it’s not forever. Once I graduate from high school, I can be on my own if I want. And even if I don’t wind up going to college, a high school degree will at least give me a shot at a regular job that wouldn’t be so dangerous.

  But what about Ada? I can’t just walk away from her. And as long as I follow my parents’ rules, there will be no room for her in my life.

  I guess there’s really only one thing that makes sense: I have to keep working for Miss Irma. At least until I can save up enough money for me and Ada to rent an apartment together, like Beth and Jen have. I did some research on it, and I’m pretty close already. It won’t take me long to earn that much, plus a bit extra for some security. Then, once we get on our feet, Ada and I can start looking for other kinds of work. I mean, yeah, we’d have to work long hours to make enough money, but normal people do it, so it must be possible. Somehow we’ll make it work.

  I love my parents, and I don’t want to hurt them. But for now Ada needs me more. I just have to make sure I toe their line closely enough so they don’t ship me off to Taiwan before I can put this plan into action.

  Wed, Feb 18

  My date yesterday got a little out of control. According to Anne, it was just supposed to be a normal, straightforward date. Easy peasy, no special requests. But when I got there, the client had lines of what I think was cocaine laid out, and he wanted me to do it with him.

  I froze, just running through everything Ada had told me and trying to figure out what I should do. Stay away from drugs so you don’t wind up like Jen, except I just saw Jen at that party and she seemed okay. Some drugs are really bad, but others are basically okay, like pot and alcohol. Which kind was cocaine? I was pretty sure it was a bad one, but then Ada had mentioned doing it a few times, so how bad could it be? Ada said it was always okay to say no, if you didn’t want to do it, and I remembered how awful I felt after just a bit of whiskey and pot at the Valentine’s party and how out of control they had made me feel. I really didn’t want to put myself in that position with a client. But then, Miss Irma would say it’s important to keep the client happy. And Ada had said they consider it rude if you say no.

  The client was giving me a weird look at this point, and I realized I’d been standing there for way too long. He offered his straw to me again, and finally I decided I’d split the difference and just do a little bit, for politeness’ sake.

  It was a really weird feeling. The whole concept of sniffing something other than air into my nose was hard to get over, and it took me a couple of tries to even figure out the mechanics of it. Then, once I got it to work, I suddenly felt like I had a cold. My nose got all weird and congested, and there was this really wretched taste in my throat, hard and bitter like a chewed-up aspirin. Why do drugs taste so bad? But I guess that’s not why people do them.

  To tell the truth, I didn’t really feel that much. Like, I didn’t feel different the way I did with pot and alcohol. I did notice that I was talking a lot, when normally I talk the very bare minimum in these situations.

  But that wasn’t really a big deal. The problem was that the guy was taking forever. Technically, it’s supposed to be an hour, and in the past I’ve had some clients go over a bit and I never said anything because I didn’t care enough to make a stink about it. But these days I really need to make sure I’m home by the end of the school day, because I know that if I mess up even a little bit, my parents are prepared to ship me off to Taiwan. And I can’t let that happen.

  So I kept trying to hurry things along, but this guy just kept going. I wasn’t sure exactly how much time had passed because I couldn’t reach my phone, and from my angle I couldn’t see the room’s alarm clock. It started to feel like it had been a really long time, though, and I just wanted him to finish. But you can’t exactly tell people to hurry up in this line of work—that would ruin the fantasy.

  So I tried to suggest a different position, trying to make it sound like a sexy idea rather than a desperate attempt to speed things up, and he was just like, “No, this is the only position that works,” and I could tell he was getting frustrated too. So I was trying to be encouraging, and then he says, “It’s this fucking condom. I’ll never be able to come with a rubber. I need to take it off.” And I’m like . . . what? I didn’t even know what to say. Condoms are required, obviously, Miss Irma tells all the clients that. Did he think I was insane?

  Finally he got off me and I got off the bed and started to get dressed. I’d had enough of him. I just wanted to leave, but that pissed him off. First he couldn’t believe it, and he tried to convince me to come back to bed. When that didn’t work, he started yelling. “Fuck you, you fucking whore,” and all that. And it’s not like I’ve never been called a whore before, and it’s not like it’s inaccurate, but something about the way he said it upset me, and it scared me too. He just seemed out of control, unpredictable, and I was scared to be alone with him much longer.

  So I kept getting dressed and getting my stuff together, and then he started really screaming at me. He hadn’t touched me, and he wasn’t being violent, but he was in my face screaming about how I can’t leave him there with a fucking hard-on and he didn’t pay three hundred dollars to have to finish off by hand. And how I was a shitty whore and he wasn’t going to pay one cent and that I was lucky he wasn’t charging me for all the coke I did (even though I only did one line!). Then he called me a cokehead whore and said what could you expect from fucking crackhead whores (I was trying to figure out how I suddenly changed from being a cokehead to a crackhead), and how Miss Irma promised her whores were clean but clearly I was just a fucking addict and he was going to tell her to fire me. He was blocking my way to the door through most of this rant, and at some point I started crying a little.

  This is the most ridiculous thing, but what started me crying is when he said I was a shitty whore who was no good at my job. Because I am good! I really do work hard at this. I’ve heard the jokes about how easy it is to make money on your back, but let me tell you, it is not easy. In addition to be dangerous and scary, it’s actually a lot of work. And only a pretty small percentage of it is on my back. I always work hard and bring 100 percent to everything I do, and I just wish people appreciated the effort I put in.

  He kept me there for quite some time, yelling at me for being a whore, for being a bad whore, for crying, for being a drug addict . . . anything he could think of. Called me fat and ugly too. And I just kept asking over and over, “Please let me through. Can I get through?” At one point I even started to take my clothes off again, in hopes that if I could just finish the date he would let me go, but that set him off again and he kept saying he didn’t even want me and that I was no good and that he’d have more fun with a blow-up doll.

  Anyway, finally he seemed to run out of steam and he wandered off to get a cigarette, so I made my escape. By then I was more than an hour late to get home, so I took a cab instead of wasting time on the bus. When I got home my mom asked where I’d been, and I didn’t even bother to lie because I knew she would check any story I gave her about the bus breaking down or whatever. So I just didn’t say anything and went up to my room and cried.

  Today was awful, and now I’m terrified that Mom will use my outburst as an excuse to send me away. I better go downstairs with some story and make it up to her. But hey, at least I have a worst-date story now.

  Thurs, Feb 19

  Just when I thought thing
s couldn’t get any worse.

  I went by Miss Irma’s office today to pick up my fee, and Anne said she didn’t have anything for me. I pointed out to her that I had an appointment clearly marked on the schedule and I needed to be paid for it, but she just said that if I thought there was some kind of mistake, I was free to take it up with Miss Irma. And she pointed me to Irma’s door.

  I didn’t like the sound of that, but what choice did I have? I went in to see her. Miss Irma started in right away about how furious the client was and how he had complained about me, so I tried to defend myself. I explained about how he had made me do drugs. Miss Irma asked if he had held me down and forced me, and I had to admit that he hadn’t, but I did tell her about how he wouldn’t let me go and how he was being abusive. Then she asked if he hit me, and I had to say no. She asked if he injured me in any way, but he hadn’t.

  So then she lectured me for a while about how important it is to keep the client happy at all times. And at the end she added, “Unless you are in danger,” like it was an afterthought.

  “I was!” I said. “He was threatening me and he wouldn’t let me leave. And I was . . . I was scared.”

  Miss Irma was silent for a few moments, just looking at me over the top of her glasses.

  “Of course,” she said at last, “if you were in danger, you did the right thing. You must always leave if you don’t feel safe.”

  I sighed with relief. “So you’ll pay me?” I said.

  Miss Irma smiled coldly. “How can I pay you if I did not get paid? Be reasonable.”

  “But you said—”

  “The most important thing is to be safe. Surely your safety is more important to you than money.”

  “Yes,” I said, “but—”

  “You did the right thing. We all have to look after ourselves in this business.”

  “I thought . . . I thought we look out for each other.”

  Miss Irma laughed. “Who gave you that idea?” she said.

  So on top of that being the worst date ever, I’m not even getting paid for it. And in fact, I’m in the hole since I blew money on the taxi home.

  Fri, Feb 20

  Chinese New Year. Normally this is my favorite time of the year, with so much good food, and firecrackers, and decorating the house. . . . But it’s hard to celebrate family and community when I’ve spent the last few months making my parents hate me.

  I’m really trying these days to stay in line and not give them a reason to make good on their threat, but it’s hard. They just don’t trust me anymore. Not that I can really blame them.

  I know my parents would say that none of this would have happened if I could only have been the good, obedient girl they wanted, but sometimes I wonder if the problem is really that I’ve always been too obedient. Trying to live up to their expectations of the dutiful daughter nearly drove me crazy. I was living so much for other people, it hardly felt like living at all. Then I traded all that in for the “bad girl” life of a call girl, but even there, I spend all my time trying to be good, trying to be what people want, to fulfill their fantasies, to live up to Miss Irma’s expectations, not to disappoint anyone. Where am I in all of this? What about me?

  And what happens when all the people I am trying to obey disagree with each other? Or when obeying one person leads me in a bad direction? At a certain point, I have to start trusting myself and doing what I think is right, because the people around me don’t always have my best interests at heart, or know what’s best for me.

  But then, how can I follow my own mind when I don’t even know it? And how can I make the best decisions for myself when there’s so much about the world I don’t know?

  I don’t know, but after that last date, I am thinking again about quitting. Not for my parents, not for Ada, but because it might be the right thing for me. Maybe it’s time to stop living in this crazy fantasy. Because it is starting to seem not so fantastic.

  Wed, Feb 25

  I haven’t gotten called for another date since last payday. I’m guessing Miss Irma is mad at me for talking back and not just accepting whatever she says as law. But you know what? I’m just as glad. I’m still having nightmares about that last client, and when I even think about going out on another date, I just start to feel sick and panicky and my skin goes clammy. So I don’t regret being left out of the loop for now.

  The more I think about it, the more I realize I don’t want to go back to that ever again. I had already been planning to quit at some point. I was just trying to save up enough money to have a nice amount for me and Ada. Since I didn’t get paid for that last date, I have a little bit less than I’d been hoping for, but maybe it’s enough. Maybe it has to be.

  I’m going to call Ada and tell her about my plan. If she wants to talk me out of it, she can try, but I hope that she wants what I want. I just want to walk away from this mess and start over.

  Wed, Feb 25, later

  Just got off the phone with Ada. I’m still kind of . . . confused though.

  I wanted to tell her my plan and hear her say, “Yes, we can do it. Let’s make a new life for ourselves.” Better yet, I wanted to hear that she had a better plan than mine, one that would solve all our problems. Or if she couldn’t offer me any of that yet, I expected her to at least talk me out of quitting, so we could keep saving up. But nothing went quite how I expected.

  “I’m glad you called,” she said immediately upon answering the phone. “I need to talk to you.”

  “I need to talk to you too,” I said, and before she could get in another word, I started in about my little dream of us living together in an apartment, getting real, legal jobs to support ourselves, and not getting pushed around by parents or Miss Irma or the clients anymore.

  I kept talking for a while before I realized Ada hadn’t said anything.

  “Ada?” I said. “Are you there?” Still silence, but I could hear her breathing on the other end of the line. “Tell me what I should do, Ada. Should we quit? Or should we keep on with Miss Irma? I know we can trust her. I know she would never put us in any real harm, but—”

  Ada barked out a humorless laugh.

  “What?” I said. “What’s going on?”

  “Quit,” she replied.

  “What?”

  “You should quit. You have to.” Her voice sounded odd, broken. “I’m asking . . . I’m begging you.”

  “What’s going on, Ada?”

  “Nothing,” she said with a sort of grim finality. “Nothing you need to worry about. I’m taking care of it, okay? It wasn’t your fault, and it’s not your problem. So don’t worry about it.”

  “Okay, but Ada, did something happen? You sound upset.” Actually, she sounded more than upset. She sounded scared.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said. “I know what I’m doing. Just stay the hell away from Irma. Don’t take any more dates. Don’t respond if she contacts you. Ignore her, and she can’t hurt you. In fact, take that stupid phone and throw it in the bay, like you wanted to that other time. I should have let you then. I should have made you do it then. Promise me you’ll do it now.”

  “Okay. I promise. What’s gotten into you? Why are you talking like this? Are you okay? Can I help?”

  “I can’t talk about it,” she said, and hung up.

  What was all that about? I’m worried about her.

  Fri, Feb 27

  I wish I knew what was going on with Ada. I’ve called and texted her a few times since the other day, but she’s not answering. Not that that’s all that unusual with her. Sometimes if she has a crisis with her mom or something, I won’t hear from her for a couple of days. When I’m not working, we don’t necessarily interact that much. And she’s tough and smart. If anyone can take care of herself, it’s Ada.

  Still, something about my last conversation with her . . . I wish I knew what was going on. She sounded nervou
s and upset. A little desperate, even. But I trust her. And she did give me the answer I was looking for. I wanted her to tell me if I should quit the business or keep going a little longer, and she told me what I think I needed to hear. It’s always tempting to work a little longer, turn just one more trick, in hopes of easy money, but the money’s not so easy, and as I learned from my last date, sometimes there’s no money at all.

  I’m glad she said what she did. Quitting’s hard, but I think it was the right decision. That lifestyle is not healthy. It grinds you down. I didn’t even do it very long, and it has already taken its toll on me. And if I’m not doing it, at least it’s easier for me to be obedient to my parents, so I don’t have to worry about them sending me to Taiwan.

  I just wish I knew what Ada thought about the other part of the plan . . . about us moving in together. All the time I was dreaming it, I don’t think I ever allowed myself to wonder what I would do if Ada said no. If she wasn’t interested. But what if she’s sick of me? What if she’d rather live with someone like Jen? Someone cooler and more sophisticated? What if she just wants me to quit because she has figured out I’m not cut out for that kind of life, and she wants to just hang out with people more like her?

  I don’t know. Maybe she’s right. Maybe to Ada it’s really obvious how stupid my plan is and how I’m just too sheltered and ignorant to survive on my own. Maybe she knows I could never make it work and was trying to let me down easy.

  Mon, March 2