The Price: My Rise and Fall As Natalia, New York's #1 Escort

by Natalie McLennan

  Hulbert and I were discreet about our shared aversion to Mona and Clark. Hulbert witnessed Mona’s wretched behavior towards me—the name-calling, the booking sabotage. He knew if she was treating me that way, it was only a matter of time before she turned her sights on him.

  “And this TV show will do good things for you and Jason and hopefully me, too, but they won’t get anything out of it.”

  I made a note to make sure Jason and I were solid and were at the top of our game. Maybe the heavens would align, and Clark and Mona would lose interest in the agency altogether and just leave?

  Jason opened the door and spread his arms wide.

  “Oh, Natalia,” he sang. I flew across the room and into his arms, jumped up and wrapped my legs around his waist.

  “We start filming tomorrow,” he whispered in my ear.

  The magic words.

  “Hulbert, ready to become a TV star?”

  “Damn straight,” he confirmed.

  * * *

  It turns out VH1 was interested, but, not surprisingly, unnerved by the potential legal issues surrounding shooting a New York City house of ill repute. This wasn’t the Bunny Ranch in Nevada, where it’s all above board. And this wasn’t HBO. This was basic cable. VHl’s corporate parent, Viacom, had merged with CBS, home of 60 Minutes, and it hadn’t yet made its move down-market with Flavor Flav and his harem of hoochies. I could imagine the in-house lawyers’ heads spinning.

  So VH1 told Joe they wanted us to shoot a pilot before they would make a commitment. Whether this was just a polite blow-off, or legitimate interest, I’ll never know. In our drug-addled brains, we believed we were one step away from becoming the next big reality superstars right up there with the bible-quoting bounty hunter, the wannabe top chefs and the money-grubbing apprentices.

  I called Valeria to come by as soon as she could. The loft needed a facelift. I looked down at the huge mirror on my vanity and was stumped for a minute. What to do with it? I was pretty sure drug use wasn’t an activity that was going to be highlighted on the reality show. Or was it? I knew just what my morning errand would be. I was off to the head shop on West Broadway, right next to the Soho Grand Hotel. I needed a bullet, an oval-shaped container that holds about a gram of coke with an inhaler mechanism that makes doing a bump in public possible. My mirror was going to have to go into hiding for a while, well, at least for the two to three days Mister Dinki said we would spend filming the pilot.

  I vowed to myself that while my drug use was, for obvious reasons, going to have to be hidden, all other areas of my life would be open for the world to see. I would be candid and honest and insightful about everything from sex to relationships to happiness and money. And I would be beautiful and compelling and fun to watch. I was convinced that it was the honesty of my energy that had gotten me this far—I wasn’t going to go bottling it up now.

  The reality show became the vehicle on which we hitched all of our dreams and delusions.

  I arrived back from my little errand, pulled Jason in the bedroom and pointed to his plate of Special K on our beautiful, antique, wood table.

  “You have to get rid of that,” I said.

  I handed him a bullet and went in my closet to fill mine up. As soon as I finished, the buzzer rang. I checked myself in the mirror and ran out to meet Joe Dinki and the crew, immediately recognizing the director, Ron Sperling. I had actually met him months earlier at a party at Stephen Baldwin’s club, Luahn. We had chatted most of the night like we were old friends. Now he’d be directing me in my big break. What an awesome omen.

  He set down the cases he was carrying, and I jumped into his arms.

  Jason quipped, “Natalia, do you know everyone in this city?”

  “If I don’t already, I will after a few more months working for you,” I answered.

  Everyone cracked up.

  * * *

  The excitement built as the loft was turned into a TV set.

  But as they laid cables, struck lights and checked their equipment, Jason started drinking a lot. Some people love being on camera, like me, and some people are either terrified and freeze, or just aren’t good at it. Jason was so terrified of not being good, he froze.

  They wanted to start with some one-on-one interview-style stuff with him, asking him specific questions about what type of girl worked for him, why New York Confidential was better than other agencies, and his philosophy behind the way he did business.

  But from the get-go, it did not go well. Jason would ramble on, or just stop, unable to finish a thought. By late-afternoon they had to shift their focus to Hulbert because Jason was too messed up. I kept waiting for my turn, but then I got sent to see a client, and when I returned, the loft was crazy busy, with girls everywhere and the cameras getting it all on tape.

  I felt like I hadn’t been in a single shot. How could Jason do this to me? This was my dream. I overheard him on the phone booking me another client. It made him look great, but it just made me look like an escort who worked too much. I ran into in my closet and cried.

  I heard the door open, and Ron poked his head around the corner, “Babycakes, where are you? We’re missing you out there.”

  He hugged me. It felt good and safe and cozy in his arms.

  “I feel like this is The Jason Show,” I said.

  Little did I know, The Jason Show hadn’t even started.

  “Is that what you’re upset about? Have you seen him? Sweetheart, we need you! You are going to blow the people at VH1 away. At the end of the night, we’re going to do a big shoot with just you. Now go have fun.”

  I jumped up and said to myself, You’ve finally found the role you’ve been waiting for, Natalia. Every guy’s fantasy.

  And I was. Then Jason gave me the details of my next appointment: “Natalia, this guy is a rock star. You’re really going to love him. He’s at the Four Seasons. Go make me proud.”

  I jumped up and down with delight. Then I looked down at the booking sheet and saw the client’s name. Holy shit! This guy really was a rock star! Okay, so he’s a retired, recently divorced rock star from the 80s, but still hot and still cool. Besides, guys from the 80s know how to party better than their younger counterparts.

  I kissed Jason’s cheek, waved bye to my fellow girls and smiled for the camera.

  When I arrived back a few hours later, on the high I got from being with a high profile client, I was on top of the world. I walked into my bedroom and gasped. It was beautiful. The crew had bathed it in pink lighting and lit sweet-smelling candles. The cameras were set up facing the bed and the crew was waiting for me.

  “All right, Natalia, how long do you need to get ready?” Joe asked me.

  Ron’s assistant Alexandra was waiting in my closet to help me pick what to wear and do my makeup.

  I wore a really cute little black and hot pink nightie from Victoria’s Secret with this awesome sparkly heart-shaped necklace from Paris. I had a moment alone and had a little brainstorm: we’d just gotten a few ounces of mushrooms delivered by a photographer friend, AJ, and I thought it would be funny if I ate some right then. My thinking was that they’d kick in and start to affect me in about an hour, toward the end of my interview, and they might add a little Andy Warhol-ish flavor to some of my answers. I needed something. For the first time in months, I didn’t have any coke on hand and none of my dealers were calling me back.

  I pulled down one of my big white hatboxes from their shelf, undid the wide satin ribbon and lifted the lid. These hatboxes did not hold hats: one held my La Perla and Agent Provocateur lingerie, another my smaller, more delicate sex toys and different types of condoms. The last held our mushroom stash.

  I was nibbling a small handful just as Chloe, one of our most fun girls, popped into my closet to say hi. She stuck her hand in and ate a few as well. Then she skipped off to hang with Jason while Alexandra started doing my makeup.

  She made me gorgeous! I looked in the mirror feeling like I had finally closed the circle. I had tu
rned my new career into a launching pad for my true love: acting. Then my stomach started to grumble. Then it started to gurgle. Then it rumbled.

  I ran to the bathroom, grabbing the lid to the toilet. I felt everything spin, and I threw up a little bit. Alexandra came in after me and asked if I was okay.

  I threw my head back and smiled, pretending like I hadn’t just puked up my last glass of champagne.

  “Nervous?”

  I’d never been less nervous, actually.

  I covered. “Yeah, a little.”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. ‘Shrooms might not have been the smartest blow substitute in this particular situation. I’d only swallowed them five minutes earlier, how was this happening? They were hitting me hard. Now I got nervous for real. I picked up my heart necklace off the vanity and tried to do the clasp at the back of my neck, but my fingers weren’t working.

  Just then, Chloe reappeared. We locked eyes, her pupils were huge. She came behind me and took the necklace. She managed to fasten it with some effort, whispering in my ear, “Natalia.”

  There was desperation in her voice.

  “I know,” I answered.

  It was a place I’d been before, many times. It’s that moment when you’ve taken something, Ecstasy, mushrooms, acid, whatever, and it’s just starting to hit you and you’re not sure if it’s going to take you right off a cliff. There’s nothing you can do about it. All you can do is ride it out. So I pulled myself together and walked into my bedroom, which had been transformed into a soft porn set.

  Steady, Natalia, steady.

  They attached a wireless mic to my nightie, but there was nowhere to clip the transmitter. I was only wearing a G-string, so I sat in the middle of the bed and sort of tucked it under my ass. We did a sound check and then started shooting. Joe Dinki was standing to the right of the camera, asking me questions. Alexandra went out to the loft to tell Jason to turn down the fucking Frank Sinatra.

  Finally, someone had some authority to tell him to put a cork in Old Blue Eyes.

  Here’s the thing about Joe Dinki: he’s actually a pretty smart guy. He had some really interesting questions for me. It seemed like they were molding Jason’s character to be the gears of the agency while I was the soul. But there was a problem: Dinki would drag each question on for like five minutes. By the time he got to the end of the question/monologue, because I was tripping my head off, I couldn’t remember the beginning of the question.

  I managed to get through it without melting down or cracking up laughing, and I actually think there were a few good moments. Maybe.

  At some point Jason got bored and snuck into the bedroom and lay on the floor out of everybody’s way. He kept saying in between takes how beautiful I looked and that I was going to be a star.

  We finally wrapped. Our last shot was of me flopping back on the bed, then jumping to my feet and jumping up and down on the bed. I was ready to start the party that night.

  And boy did we party….

  * * *

  So went the next three days: the cameras rolled as I did my thing—working, shopping, partying, repeat. We kept the stretch Escalade for the entire time. The cameras came in the limo with me and I was interviewed before and after bookings. It was a blast.

  But on the second day of shooting, Jason’s ego went off the charts. He actually started calling it “The Jason Show,” just like I had joked. He sent me on as many bookings as he could, in what was so obviously an attempt to keep the cameras focused on him. He rarely spent any time with me except to flaunt some new woman he had found, suggesting that he was going to make her the new Natalia. Jealousy and insecurity is a part of any relationship. You would think that in mine, the insecure partner might be the one whose girlfriend is meeting and sleeping with rich men every day. It was a tribute to Jason’s many talents that he could turn it around and make me the jealous one.

  The irony was Jason continued to bomb on camera. He kept freezing up and getting lost in his answers. His interviews dragged on for hours.

  He was so obsessed with becoming famous, but when the bright lights were finally turned on him, he couldn’t deliver.

  After three days, they packed up shop.

  Two weeks later, Joe and Ron showed up at the loft with the first edit of the trailer they were going to take to VH1. It was awful, and Jason told them so. A week later, they came back with another cut. It was brilliant. The music was amazing, it told the story, and it was edgy. I looked beautiful; we loved it. We had thirty copies burned, and Jason started showing it to everyone that stopped by the loft.

  Jason and Joe got a meeting at VH1 and presented the trailer. The suits allegedly liked it, but not enough to commission a show. They apparently told them to keep shooting. Who knows if they were just blowing us off. It wasn’t like the network was putting up any money, but I turned a blind eye to any of the specifics. In fact, I ignored anything that could potentially bring me back down to reality and continued to snort away the day.

  I avoided my mom’s calls at all costs. I was doing a very good job of keeping any real feelings at bay and couldn’t face dealing with her, or pretty much anyone outside of my escorting social circle. One of the only people I still spoke to on a regular basis was the exquisite escort Taylor, and even that was an effort.

  He didn’t understand why I was interested in filming a reality show, but he still listened to my problems, offered what advice he could and tried to bite his tongue regarding my drug use. If we’d been closer, or he’d known me longer, I could definitely see him pulling me into a different reality show altogether: Intervention.

  He offered me all the bookings he could, even though he didn’t want me to think he was trying to take over Jason’s place in my life. I declined each one as I felt like I would be cheating on Jason and the agency, but a few times he was able to convince his client to call the agency and request me. After each one of those bookings, Taylor and I would go out for coffee, and I’d manage to refrain from slipping away to the bathroom for a little bump—long enough to land back on earth and get real with him for a minute.

  No matter how much better I knew Taylor’s lifestyle would be for me, I couldn’t live without Jason. After our meetings ended, I’d go back to the loft and continue the nonstop party I was living.

  And finally I came to terms with the truth; the reality (not the reality show). I was in love with Jason. I was in love with him. I dealt with all the bullshit, the drama, the pain and the arguments because I was in love with him.

  Once I stopped resisting my feelings, Jason and I were on top of the world. He bought me presents, we snuggled at home, and watched our trailer over and over again. We even spent time with his step-dad. One day, he took us to lunch at the Friars’ Club, the legendary private sanctuary for comics. Jason marveled at the huge photos of Sammy Davis Jr. and Frank Sinatra palling around. We were living the life he had always dreamed of.

  CHAPTER TEN

  DARK CLOUDS

  Our love-fest continued for weeks. He’d even gone so far as to call Mona and cancel the booking I had scheduled one afternoon so we could hang out. We tooled around our usual shopping haunts, and then on the spur of the moment decided to get away from it all and spend the afternoon at the Hoboken apartment.

  Crazy, I know, but we just wanted some mellow alone time together. The loft could be a bit wearing sometimes. I couldn’t believe he had canceled one of my appointments. It was probably the most romantic thing he ever did for me, as pathetic as that sounds. Sure, he bought me stuff. But this was different. Maybe there was hope for us.

  As we lay in bed in Jersey, Jason told me he had a drug test coming up and asked me to go with him. I told him of course I would. I had never gone with Jason to any of his bi-weekly check-ins and piss tests with his parole officer as he’d never asked me—it was something he did on his own. I came to learn firsthand that jail and being arrested and all things related to the criminal justice system are solitary and lonely events. It’s like a doctor’s appoin
tment when you’ve got some particularly unpleasant disease.

  We took a car service to the parole office, and I waited in the back seat as he went into the depressing grey building. He told me he wouldn’t be long.

  Cut to an hour later. I’m getting pissed. Where is he? I wanted to be supportive, but this was ridiculous. My phone was ringing. It was a number I didn’t recognize. I flipped open my phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Natalia, Ron Itzler here.”

  “Hi, Mr. Itzler, are you looking for Jason?”

  “No, I just spoke with him.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t get it.

  “Natalia, they’re taking Jason back to jail. He failed his drug test.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “He tested positive for cocaine.”

  “No, Mr. Itzler, that’s impossible he hasn’t done any cocaine. I would know. I can tell when he’s done it.”

  “Well, Natalia, you are in a car service, right? Have them bring you back to Worth Street. I’ll come by and see you later today.”

  I couldn’t believe I was leaving the parking lot without him. It felt so surreal. I was stunned. What were they doing to my Jason?

  Back at the loft, I closed the door to my room and threw myself on the bed, my face buried in the pillow, and let myself cry. There was no way he had done blow. He knew he was going to be tested. He would never have been that stupid. The last thing he ever wanted was to go back to prison. Something had to have gone wrong. Was he set up? Did Jersey finally get sick of him getting over for so long that they fabricated the results? Or was it just some kind of mistake at the lab? Or maybe it was my fault…some of my blow got mixed into his K? Who knows?

  A million “what ifs” went through my mind. What if the judge decided to revoke his parole? He could go back to jail for at least a year. There’s no way I could run the agency.

  I’d spoken with Clark as soon as I got off the phone with Jason’s dad. We decided that no one except our inner circle was to know about Jason’s whereabouts. But what to tell everyone else? Jason’s presence at the agency was all-encompassing. It didn’t make sense that he would take a week off. Problem solved: Jason had a sister in California. We’d say she was sick, and Jason went out to be with her, although in reality she didn’t want anything to do with him.