by Candice Dow
“No, technically they’re paying me.”
“What do you mean?”
He took a deep breath. “When I asked you to work for me, I don’t know if you thought you’d only be working directly for me or not. But I need to let you know, that’s not the case.”
My heart pounded, because that had been my understanding. I thought he was paying me to be his mistress, but from the tone in his voice and the look in his eyes, I knew this was definitely something else.
“So you expect me to sleep with different men for money.”
“Only my clients. They’re not random. I only deal with men that can afford what I charge for my women. Every one of my girls is hand-selected.”
He made us sound like nothing more than pieces of meat. I felt like he’d taken advantage of me, or better yet misled me. “Why didn’t you just tell me you wanted me to be a prostitute? I could have told you no before you wasted your money and flew me to LA.”
He stood up and closed the bedroom door. “London, you probably would have said no. And you would have said no because of the negative stigma associated with being a call girl. But let me ask you something, what were your plans for the weekend?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” I snapped.
“We all like to have sex. We all need to have sex. Why not get paid to do something that you’re going to do for free anyway?”
“I wouldn’t sleep with strangers for free.”
“Exactly, but you’d have sex with some knucklehead for free because he promises you fidelity?” He paused for a response and I looked away. He continued, “So can you tell me what’s so bad about sex with a stranger for a premium fee? It affords a lifestyle that most girls only dream about.”
“A life of a prostitute?” I said, with my lips curled because I couldn’t fathom how this could give me some dream life.
He smiled. “The correct term is call girl. My girls are all quality.”
My eyes squinted and I sighed in frustration. “I just don’t get it. You’re a millionaire banker. Why do you do this?”
“I have well-respected clients that look for a service and I provide it. To me it’s just another business. I get paid off the top and everyone is happy.”
“So you’d get a cut of my five hundred?”
He laughed. “Five hundred? London, that was nothing more than a love offering to test your willingness. My clients pay on average about three thousand per night for regular sex and a premium for multiple girls and/or kinkier things.”
My mouth hung open. I mouthed, “What the fuck?”
He smiled. “Quite the commodity, huh?”
“Are you serious? What do the men get out of it?”
“Drama-free stress relief. I mean, you have to understand I only deal with clients that have money to throw away. A few thousand dollars here and there won’t break the bank.”
“But why? Why do you feel like you need to do this?”
“This business opportunity actually found me when I was at Wharton.”
My eyes stretched and he noticed. “That’s where I went to business school.”
“Oh no, I know. I’m just shocked that’s where you started.”
“Anyway, I had a class studying business modeling and what professions were recession-proof. The subject of prostitution surfaced and as we talked about it, my mind began to wander. I thought that selling sex would be too stressful. I actually made the comment out loud. And a white chick in my class said, ‘That’s only if you’re sloppy. If you run it like a business, you could probably get rich.’ ”
He chuckled as he continued to reflect on it. “And it just sparked a nerve in me. I started my own personal science project, asking other men if they would pay for sex. And if so, what would they expect. Then I started profiling women and asking if they would accept money for sex. Before I knew it I was swept up in a whirlwind. The more successful I became as a banker, the more successful my client base became and the price for the sex skyrocketed. It became too lucrative to quit and I think somewhere along the way I got addicted.”
“Why is it so addictive?”
“It’s so easy. I mean, you have a little drama here or there, but for the most part all I do is matchmake.”
“Do you think you’ll ever stop?”
“I’ve tried a time or two.”
I longed for a better explanation but I could tell by the look on his face that was all I was getting. My chin lowered. I was confused. It sounded good, but I was scared. Not everything that looks good is worth it. He reached into my jeans and his fingers crawled down my panties. “I’ll protect you. I promise.”
I wasn’t sure I was up for it, but then again I wasn’t sure that I wasn’t. Where else could a chick with a bachelor’s degree in biology make that kind of money? Maybe I’d do it a few times and get out. Then again, maybe not. I took a deep breath. My head was pounding and my palms were itching. It was the battle of common sense versus morality. My hand ran over my face. “Can you give me a moment to think about it?”
“Sure. And talk to some of the other girls about their experiences. That’s why I wanted to bring you out here this weekend. The girls here this weekend are my best girls. They only work for the highest-paying clients. So talk to any of them. They’ll give you the 411 from their point of view. But I’ll say this: I already have people requesting you.”
“Why me?” I thought out loud, meaning as compared to all the other beautiful girls downstairs.
“You have a platform. All men want to be trained, Ms. Dog Trainer.” He opened the door. “Get some rest, and when you’re up for it I’ll have one of the girls come talk to you. Deal?”
“I guess.” I sighed, before plopping back on the bed.
My veins pumped with anxiety. I knew this wasn’t right, but Thorne made it sound sensible. My balled fists covered my eyes and I let out a sigh of frustration. Then I stood up and walked to the window that faced the pool. I looked out and watched the girls swimming, wondering how they had gotten there and how being a call girl had become an acceptable profession. I sat back on the bed wondering if I was wrong for even being interested. Was I stupid for agreeing to let Thorne pay me? I decided to sleep on all my decisions and indecisions, because I was too confused to do anything else.
I heard a soft knock, and my head popped off the pillow as I sprung from a deep slumber. For a moment I didn’t know where I was. My heart raced as I took in my surroundings. A calm voice called out, “London.”
“C’mon in.”
I raked my fingers through my fresh weave, and the girl named Jasmine came into the room. She smiled. “Hey, Thorne told me to come talk to you. He said you were having second thoughts.”
“Second thoughts, huh? I’m not sure I agreed to anything in the first place.”
“I understand. It’s very different than you can probably imagine. The biggest thing I had to learn is not to ask why. You’d be surprised at our clientele. Celebrities. Athletes. Businessmen. Politicians. It’s not like streetwalking and sleeping with slimy old perverts.” Her body shivered like the thought repulsed her, and she continued, “I can honestly say that every man I’ve been with was respectable and possibly someone I’d want to date anyway. I mean, like look at Thorne.”
“I’m sure they aren’t all as attractive as Thorne.”
I was slightly leaning toward doing this, but I wasn’t going to believe that I would be paid to sleep with some fine man every night. If that were the case, there probably would be more women agreeing to it.
She said, “No, they don’t all look like Thorne, but most of them are financially stable like him. Some are attractive. Some are not so attractive, but trust me, after your third encounter, it won’t even matter what he looks like. Then it’s just a well-paying job.”
“So three’s the magic number?”
She laughed again. “That seems to be the consensus around here.”
“So everyone had reservations at first?”
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br /> “Everyone.” She paused. “I mean, I’d say at least all of the girls here. Thorne usually recruits the non-typical girl. He likes cultured girls with class and usually they’re a harder sell, so it took some convincing for most of us, but I think what gets us all is that nothing rakes in money like this. I don’t care if you’re a damn surgeon; most people don’t make a couple of thousand dollars in one night. Depending on what you’re trying to gain from this, you could work once or twice a month.” She shrugged. “That’s all I do.”
“Do you work?”
“Yes, and I also have two small children at home.”
“Wow. How do you manage it all?”
“I’ve been doing this since medical school.”
“You’re kidding me, right? You’re a doctor?”
“Yeah, an emergency medicine physician.”
“And this still is worth it to you?”
“Listen, London. I’d have to work about a week to make what I make in one night doing this. I don’t do this all the time. I moved to Chicago after my residency, so I only have Chicago clients. And I’ll come out to do an event weekend like this. When there are a lot of players in one city, Thorne makes sure he has a bunch of girls on tap and I’ll usually come through.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, are you married?”
She smiled. “Yes, I’m married. I guess you’re curious how I manage it. Well, I think of it like this: Most women have two lives. Maybe not to this extreme, but there are two sides to every woman.”
“So you’re not afraid of your husband finding out? I mean, don’t you feel guilty?”
“No, this is a business. When you remove the emotion, it eliminates the guilt.”
Jasmine helped me come to terms with what I was about to agree to do. At least I’d give it a try. One way or the other, I would know if I was cut out for this or not. If I felt grimy afterward I’d fly back to DC and leave this world behind. Jasmine and I talked for several more hours. She walked me through her first time and her last time and the time before the time before that. After a few cocktails I told Thorne to close the deal. And before I knew it I was dressed in pantyhose, garters, and a black cotton dress, knocking on a room door at the Roosevelt Hotel.
10
After thanking me, the snoring man in the bed managed to tell me that the money was in an envelope in the top right drawer of the dresser. I stepped out of the bed and turned on the shower before going to confirm that the money was there. King, as he had asked to be called, was practically comatose. It had been a two-hour job, but it seemed that time had gone really, really fast. King knew just how long he needed because the envelope was stacked with two thousand dollars cash.
By the time I stepped into the shower the water was hot just like I like it. As the water poured down my face I was disturbed because for sure I should feel slimy, but I didn’t. I didn’t feel anything. It was weird because although I tried to control my thoughts by telling myself this was just work, I didn’t feel good about actually believing it. While I scrubbed my skin of my first client’s scent, I wondered if Thorne knew what he’d done to me. I really couldn’t see working for the average dollar again if this was all I had to do. I thought about Jasmine and how even though she was a physician she still did this on the side. It was too easy. Even working a couple of hours once a week would be equivalent to a six-figure salary. I wrapped a towel around me and called the driver before coming out of the bathroom. After drying off and putting on lotion, I slipped back into my dress.
It was crazy how he’d charmed me into the business, I thought as I rode back to the house. We drove up the winding driveway and the lights were still on. I rechecked the time, making sure it was as late as I recalled. It was definitely three in the morning. When I opened the door the other girls clapped like I’d just been inducted into a sorority. They cheered loudly and I felt bashful. I covered my face and Jasmine stood up and grabbed my arm. She said, “It wasn’t bad at all. Was it?”
Initially, it popped in my mind to say, “Hell no, not for two thousand dollars.” But then I recalled Thorne telling me to keep the financials confidential because each girl was paid differently based on the level of requests. I laughed and said, “Nope, not at all.”
A few of them screamed and comments were made. “It’s the easiest thing you’ll ever do.” “It becomes fun after a while.” “Wait until you get used to it.”
I was slightly excited but the other piece of me wondered if I’d done a good job. Thorne sat up from lying on the couch and yawned. My attention immediately went to him. He stood up and groggily walked over to me, offering me a pat on the back. “Did you do a good job, London Bridge?”
For the sake of not lying, I shrugged. I felt like I’d done my job. I felt like the guy was satisfied. He’d even told me that I was good, but I wasn’t totally confident that he’d request me again. Thorne ignored my concern. “I’m sure you did well. Go ahead up and get ready for bed.”
I stepped away from him and headed up the stairs. It was as if he were the father of the group and he pimped out all his daughters. I noticed that each girl pretty much did what he said and yearned for his approval or praise. He seemed to treat everyone with sensitivity, certainly a gentleman across the board. I wondered if he’d always be so kind or if that was only during the initiation phase, but the fact that some of the girls had already been working for him for some time made me believe that despite selling sex, Thorne was the perfect guy.
After changing into my nightclothes, I lay in bed looking at the ceiling fan and out of nowhere I felt engulfed by guilt. I felt like I’d gone against some morality code, but I couldn’t say I would refuse to do it again. While I flipped around trying to get comfortable emotionally and physically, I heard a knock at the door. “London?” Thorne said softly.
I quickly sat up and said, “Yes?”
He turned the knob and walked into the room. I moved over in the direction of the sliding glass window, hoping he’d climb in, and he did. I faced away from him and curled into a fetal position. He spooned me, wrapping his arm around my waist. After pushing my hair away from my neck, he began kissing it.
“You okay?”
“I’m not sure.”
“It’s normal to feel that way.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. I’m going to hold you to make it all better. A’ight, London?”
I nodded and he pulled me tighter and closer to him. His arms removed my feelings of guilt, leaving me with the conclusion that a woman just needed to feel connected to someone after sex, not necessarily the man she’d shared her body with.
“So how do you make money? Am I supposed to give you a portion of what I make or what?”
He laughed as he softly kissed on my shoulder. “I’m more like a booking agent instead of a pimp. I make my money straight off the top. So whatever they give you is your money. I give them a rate, and for booking I get a flat fee of one half hour of that hourly rate. At minimum they will pay the stated rate, but if you exceed their expectations they may give you more. I have nothing to do with that.”
“That makes sense.”
“Always.”
The room-darkening window treatments made me feel like it was the middle of the night, but when I finally awoke it was eleven-thirty. I sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes. Thorne wasn’t beside me, but I didn’t feel abandoned. In fact, I felt fulfilled and peaceful. The range of emotions was frightening. I got out of bed, grabbed my case of toiletries, and headed to the bathroom.
After I put on some clothes I headed downstairs. A lady was cooking brunch for everyone in the house. I automatically searched for Thorne, but they told me he’d gone out. Although Jasmine and the other girls seemed friendly, I wasn’t sure that I wanted to be around them 24-7. I didn’t know them that well. I asked them if I could call the same limo driver so I could go shopping. Jasmine told me Thorne kept a car there and she’d tell me where to go.
I pulled the convertible Benz out of
the garage and headed to the Beverly Center. Shopping was always a stress reliever. I took an initial walk through the mall to scope out the stores. Everything was screaming my name and the money in my pocket was telling me to answer, but I kept thinking, What if I get no more requests or what if I decide I can’t do this? I opted to hold on to my money and just try on the nice things as an incentive to keep doing it if there were interested clients. In a way it seemed like fate: As I was going back and forth with myself standing in the Dior store, my cell phone rang. It was Thorne.
It seemed like he didn’t hear me say hello, but he began to speak. “What’s your availability this evening?”
I was thinking he should know better than me. My flight didn’t return to DC until Monday morning, and as far as I was concerned I was on his schedule. I said, “Uh, I guess free. I don’t know.”
He laughed. “Okay, you have an appointment at twelve. You down?”
Standing in the mirror, looking at the form-fitting leather jacket with a two-thousand-dollar price tag, I said, “Yeah, I’m down.”
It was at that moment that I knew this lifestyle would be the only way to afford items like the one I was wearing. For some reason, looking at expensive clothes and trying them on made me feel like this was where I belonged.
I left the Dior store and headed to Louis Vuitton. I had a few Louis bags that I had scraped up money in college to buy, but I wanted a new one. As I stood there, posing in the mirror with my bag, 650 bucks didn’t seem like a large amount to pay after what I’d made in one evening. I copped it and felt like I was walking on air as I headed out of the store.
Once the buying bug bit I was ready to spend more money. Maybe I needed to splurge to console myself and make me feel like my new career was worth it. A pair of Gucci shoes and a denim Dior jacket later, I left the mall with 120 dollars in my pocket.
When I got to the house it was around three and no one was there except Thorne. I sashayed in, carrying my bags and feeling proud of myself. He frowned at me and I smiled. “So what’s up?”
“The photographer will be here to take your head shots in about two hours. The makeup artist and hairstylist should be here any minute.”
