Mr. Dirty

by Nana Malone

  Up ahead she saw the marquis above the Savoy and she breathed a sigh of relief. Once inside the foyer, she shook out her umbrella and tried to psych herself up for the appointment her director had set up for her.

  Since she would be playing the lead in the play adaptation of the hottest book to hit Britain since White Teeth, he thought it would be a good idea for her to do some research. In this particular case, since her character was a prostitute, she was on her way to meet an escort.

  When she'd been accepted to the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art’s acting program, she hadn't been able to believe it. Each year they only accepted twenty-six students. It was practically unheard of for them to take an American. But they had. And she’d made the painful choice to escape. But she’d left a piece of herself behind back in New York.

  The hostess directed her to a secluded booth near the back where a pretty brunette sat, sipping champagne. She stood smoothly as Imani approached. “You must be Imani. I’m Miriam.” She shook her hand and kissed both her cheeks. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I must tell you, most actors I encounter are pretenders, so full of themselves. It’s a pleasure to meet the real deal.”

  Imani had no idea what she had been expecting, but this pretty, cultured girl wasn’t it. In the light, her skin was more café au lait. And her eyes were a lovely chocolaty brown. With her hair up in an artful messy side bun, she looked chic. Not exactly what Imani had expected from an escort. “It’s uh, nice to meet you, too.”

  “You seem nervous.”

  “Well, you could say that. On the one hand, I haven’t got a clue what to say to you. On the other, I have a million questions.”

  Miriam smiled at her. “Okay, well, why don’t you tell me about your character?”

  That was easy enough. Carmen Jacoby was one of the hottest plays around right now. When Alex McQeen wrote it, several theaters fought for the rights to the first production. RADA had won out for their senior showcase piece. If they did a good job with it. It was likely many of the actors would go on to perform it on the West End. It still hadn’t sunk in that she’d won the part.

  “Carmen is a complicated girl. She’s strong and smart, and she sees her body as a means to an end, but not the end. She has other dreams. She’s a fighter and a bit of a hustler, so she takes advantage of the opportunities presented to her and goes from being a prostitute to a madame, to becoming one of the most successful traders in the City. But through it all, what she really wants is love from the one man she can’t have.”

  Miriam sat back. “And a little slip like you won the role of Carmen.”

  Imani jutted her chin out. “Winning had nothing to do with it. I busted my ass the hardest for that role.”

  Miriam studied her. “I believe it. Why don't you start at the beginning with your most basic question?”

  Right. Most basic question. Imani waited until their cocktail waitress had taken their drinks and departed before she delved right in.

  "Exactly how did you become a sex worker?” This was a conversation she never thought she'd be having in her lifetime.

  The pretty brunette leaned forward and grinned. "What did you call me?"

  Imani shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, a sex worker."

  "Love, I'm an escort. A hooker, a slag, a slut, a tramp. A whore. I'm not picky about what you call me. At the end of the day, I have sex for money. A lot of money."

  Okay then. Rivulets of sweat rolled down Imani's back. It wasn't warm in the bar of the Savoy, but this was a conversation she was unprepared to have. She cleared her throat. "Okay then, when did you become an escort and why?"

  Miriam waved her hand dismissively. "I don't have some sad story or anything like that. My old man didn’t abuse me. I didn't get into this because I'm hooked on drugs. The truth is I like sex."

  Imani frowned. "You're clearly a beautiful girl. You could have had the sex without getting paid for it."

  Miriam grinned. "Then, my love, I would be a very stupid girl. So many women are stuck in relationships they don't want with nothing to show for it at the end. At least I have money, and the occasional orgasm."

  The girl had a point. Imani leaned forward. Miriam Baxter fascinated her. They were the same age, similar upbringing, though Imani was raised in upstate New York and Miriam just outside of London. But upper middle-class families, good schools, nice home. What fork in the road decision had put them both on such divergent paths? "So you do it for the money?" Imani asked.

  Miriam nodded. "Hell yes. And at this point, I've got my roster of regulars. I mostly do girlfriend experiences. You know, the bloke comes round, yaps about his day while I make him feel listened to and heard, then I stroke his ego...amongst other things."

  Imani bit back a snort of laughter.

  Miriam grinned at her and continued. "The only difference between me and some punter's actual girlfriend is I get paid for my services without any of that messy relationship nonsense."

  Imani sat back. "Do you worry about your safety at all?"

  Miriam's dark, elegantly shaped brows drew down. "I'm an escort, remember? That means I'm high class. My clients are all vetted and by referral only. Lucy, my manager, would castrate any man who lays a hand on me. It's not like I'm on the street." She smiled. "I might be a slag, but I'm a very expensive one."

  "So you've never been afraid."

  Miriam shook her head. "I'm sure that won’t always be the case, but I refuse to live my life in fear. My decisions are my own. No one is forcing me. I look at these punters as regular guys who can’t get something they need. I provide it…for a fee."

  This was a world Imani hadn't ever given much thought to until she saw her name next to Carmen’s on the cast list. "What if the client wants something really kinky?"

  As she asked the question, she slid her gaze around the sleek and modern bar. They were seated off to the side and mellow music played at a muted level. The Savoy bar was the definition of a swank London establishment, with images of pop stars immortalized in art on the walls. But while other patrons talked about their days or their relationships, they were discussing having sex for money.

  "If he wants something kinky, then he calls someone else. I have a limit list of what I will and won't do that Lucy keeps track of. Occasionally a guy will want to try something and if I'm into it, I'll give it a go. But it’s cleared by Lucy first. And I know to expect it in our next session. But usually, my guys are straight vanilla sex. Missionary, doggy style, girl on top. If they are feeling adventurous, we try a toy or two, but that’s basically it."

  "You can say no, then?"

  "Yes, but I leave the nitty-gritty details to Lucy. Just because he’s paying for it doesn't mean he doesn't have to answer to someone. And in this case, it's Lucy.”

  “She sounds formidable.”

  Miriam nodded. “She takes care of her girls.”

  Imani made a note to ask more about Lucy later. But first, one she was dying to know. "Are you ever attracted to any of the men?”

  Miriam laughed. "Of course. I get to physically screen each of the clients myself."

  Like shopping out of a magazine? "How does that work?"

  "We meet in a place like this for a drink. Think of it like a job interview. He's seeing if I'm charming and smart and he likes my tits, and I'm seeing if he's balding or paunchy or I like his tips. After that initial meeting, he sets up a date."

  "And if you’re not into it?"

  "Then I tell Lucy, not in a million fucking years and she sends someone else."

  "So you look at it like dating."

  Miriam grinned. "The pay is better."

  Imani leaned forward. "Okay, tell me. Is there anyone really hot? You know, that you’d sleep with for free."

  Miriam might be her research for her role, but she liked the bawdy, brash girl and the way she was direct and open.

  "Is there ever. I won't name names, but I've had famous, gorgeous pop stars and footballers. One client I have now, is so beautiful to look at he make
s me tongue-tied sometimes."

  "If he's so beautiful then why do you think he comes to a sex—erm, escort?"

  Miriam frowned and chewed her lip. She glanced around surreptitiously if someone might overhear their conversation. "Honestly, I have no idea. He oozes sex appeal. And he’s charming and smart. But the kicker is he doesn’t ever want to sleep with me. He wants to talk. And he pays double my whole night rate for the privilege." She shrugged. “Who knows, maybe he can’t get it up.”

  “So you're telling me he pays an escort to ‘talk’ and not in a fun, euphemistic, dirty talk kind of way?"

  Miriam let out a loud bark of laughter. “Honey, I wish he would talk dirty to me.” Several patrons in the bar turned to look. “And it's not for lack of me trying. In the two years I've been seeing him, we've never had sex."

  “But you would if he wanted to?”

  Miriam licked her bottom lip. "He's one client I'd sleep with free of charge."

  Imani raised a brow. "That beautiful?"

  "Yeah." She lowered her voice and leaned forward.

  "My limit list is strict. But I’d try just about anything he asked, he’s that sexy. But all he ever wants to do is talk. And he’s willing to pay two thousand quid a night for the privilege.”

  Imani’s mouth hung open. Was she serious right now? A couple of nights with him and she could pay in cash for Briarwood. Stop it. It’s not that desperate yet. "Do you think he’s able to have normal relationships?”

  Miriam shrugged. “What’s normal? But it’s not like he’s odd or anything. On the contrary, I just don't think he has anyone to talk to. I'm a little protective of him. We've become friends of a sort."

  Imani wondered if Miriam’s friend would ever take her out and introduce her to his other friends. They talked for another two hours about everything from the worst thing she’d ever been asked to do (a client had wanted to give her a golden shower) to if anyone had ever asked her to leave her job for them (twice). She hadn’t taken them up on their offers.

  Imani’s timer went off and she sighed with disappointment. Already? How had it been two hours? "Time flies when you're having fun. Thank you so much for your time. Can I call you again if I have some more questions?" She reached into her purse for her wallet.

  Miriam held out a hand. "Put your money away. I like you so I'm not charging you. Call me anytime."

  "I must admit, it’s a whole fascinating other world."

  "Well if you're really curious, then you should take a job yourself. You know, really embody your character."

  Imani’s jaw unhinged.

  Her new friend laughed. "You should see your face. It's brilliant. But I’m serious.”

  "I couldn't."

  Miriam shrugged. "Why not? It’s just sex. And a pretty girl like you, you’re already having it anyway, so why not get paid?”

  Imani sputtered. “I-uh…” her voice trailed as she tried to think of something to say. “I couldn’t.”

  Miriam waved her hand dismissively. “If you say so. But if you want to see it from the inside for your research, I have just the client, my no-dirty-talk talker. And I give my word on your personal safety. Easiest two thousand quid you ever made."

  Two thousand—No! No. She wouldn’t. But still. That was a lot of money. “Thanks, but I think I’ll stick to research. I’m not a method kind of girl.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

  Three

  “Tell me the juicy bits about your meeting today. What was it like meeting a streetwalker?" Imani’s landlord, Felix, asked with a waggled eyebrow. In truth, Fe was so much more than her landlord. Over the last three years, he’d become her best friend. Hell, sometimes it felt like he was her only friend. Well, him and his boyfriend, Adam. She’d come to rely on them. Maybe too much.

  His house in Kingston upon Thames was beyond posh. He’d quartered it into four flats and completely renovated each of them into a fabulous contemporary paradise. He’d fitted the units with every modern appliance she could even conceive of, along with hardwood floors and beautiful furnishings. He lived in one and rented one to her. The other two units were rented by guys who worked in finance and she knew he charged her pennies compared to what the other two were paying.

  "Escort," she laughed. "Though, she doesn’t really care what I call her. She's pretty cool, actually."

  "What? Are you about to have her round to supper? Don’t tell me you’re about to actually have another friend. I’ll be jealous.”

  She rolled her eyes. "I'm telling you, if you met her, and I didn't tell you what she did for a living, you would assume she was a student. A well-dressed student, but student just the same. She could be me. More importantly, I could be her. It's hard not to see the similarities. Miriam said that she was a student who needed money and she liked sex, so it was a natural transition."

  “Don’t think I didn’t notice you avoided my hint that you need some more friends.”

  Fe also worried over her like a mother hen. Always checking if she’d eaten or gotten enough sleep. And his latest thing was that she was too isolated, needed to branch out more and go out more. Though she doubted he assumed she’d make friends with an escort.

  He leaned forward on the kitchen stool, as if eager for more details. "So does she have like a pimp and stuff? I mean, I've seen Secret Diary. But I assume most of that is embellished."

  She gave it some thought. "You know, I'm not sure how much of it is embellished. Miriam was saying that she has a handler that screens all the clients. Clients sign up for an exclusive dating service, whether they need a date for the night for an event or a little more. Sometimes it's a date for a weekend. The client stipulates if sex will be required. Some girls don’t have sex and they are just companions."

  "As if." He laughed. "What doddering old geezer would pay for some hot young thing and not expect to have sex?"

  "I dunno, that’s what I'm curious about. She walked me through the whole thing how the dates are set up, how the girls meet the client beforehand and yea or nay them. It's really elaborate."

  Fe’s eyes widened with interest. "Forget Billie Piper, this is far more interesting."

  "I told you, right? Miriam even suggested I give it a go."

  That broke the spell. “What the fuck?” His brows drew down. “That’s not fucking funny, Imani.”

  She held up her hands. "Hey, I’m a little impulsive, but I’m not stupid, okay? I'm not going to sleep with a stranger for money. If I'm sleeping with a stranger, I'm doing it like every other twenty year old I know: meeting him in a pub with beer goggles on, and letting him take me home."

  He grinned. "That’s more like it. Wait, how much did you say she made for just talking to the bloke?”

  “She makes two thousand pounds a night for that guy.”

  “Can somebody please tell me how I can get paid like that?”

  “Fe, you realize she’s still an escort, right? At any time the guy could decide he wants sex from her.”

  “And from what you said, he’s supposedly well fit. So what’s the problem? Philosophically speaking, of course. I would never let my bestie become a hooker. I’d rather pay you to be my beard than have you shag paunchy, balding men for a few bob.”

  Imani rolled her eyes. “Not that I would want to. But that much money in one night, I can see the appeal. I mean, this girl could easily have been me. She’s about my age. Pretty. Intelligent. I’m more than a little fascinated by the twists and turns that landed her where she is and what landed me where I am.”

  “Don't cry for her Argentina. She’s laughing all the way to her mattress. Both literally and as her bank.” He winked.

  Imani snorted a laugh. “You’re terrible. But you know what? You’re right. That girl has no money problems. From her vintage Gucci dress to her Louboutins, she looked like she was made of the stuff.”

  “No, but apparently her vagina is,” he snickered.

  “You’re terrib—”


  He was saved by her ringing cell phone. When she jogged by him, he swatted at her bottom and she managed to just scoot out of the way. Snatching up her phone, she grinned when she saw it was her sister calling.

  “Hey, Ebony. You’re calling ahead of schedule. So I can only assume—” Her sister’s sobbing on the other end of the call interrupted her. “Sweetie, what’s the matter?”

  Through sobs, she was only able to make out words like “late notice”…”mortgage”…”evicted”…

  “Eb, I need you to take a deep breath and calm down. Tell me slowly.” At fifteen, her sister could sometimes be melodramatic.

  Over the line, she could hear Ebony’s attempts to pull herself together. “I came home early and checked the mail. There was a red one from the mortgage company, so I went into Dad’s office to put it on his desk so he’d see it. But there were so many letters just like it. I was worried so I opened it. It says we’re in arrears and if they don’t receive payment on the back mortgage, they will have no choice but to foreclose.”

  Blood rushed in her ears as her lungs constricted. That house was the last reminder of their mother. After her death five years ago, their father had been steadily declining, drinking more and more to keep himself functional. “Did you call Dad?”

  She sniffled. “I couldn’t reach him.”

  Fuck. She didn’t need this. “Stay calm, okay? I’ll take care of it.”

  “How? It’s not like you have six grand sitting around.”

  Good point. But she’d think of something. This wasn't Ebony’s mess to clean up. It was Imani’s. She’d gotten a scholarship to RADA, but her father had been adamant that she stay home and attend the State University of New York for college. She’d hated leaving her sister behind, but she’d had to escape. Had to leave that dark, depressing house. Had to find some freedom and signs of life. Look where that landed you.

  She shook off the shadow of gloom and regret. She didn’t have time to wallow. She needed money, and fast. She had some saved but that was to keep her afloat through the summer while she found an agent and hopefully a job. She wasn’t tapping into that if she could help herself. What would you do for your sister? That answer was simple. Everything. “Look. Just tell Dad to call me and I’ll get it sorted.”