Fast Girl

by Suzy Favor Hamilton

  AT THIS POINT, I WAS only getting away to Vegas about once a month, and so I spent the next few weeks replaying scenes from my recent trips and fantasizing about what might happen on my next trip.

  I was proud of the money I could make in Vegas, and to me, it was like a better, easier alternative than selling real estate. I just wished Mark could see it that way, too. We barely had sex anymore, barely talked about anything beyond Kylie—except when I needed him to approve some new aspect of my Vegas life—and avoided each other as much as possible. We fought less that way. At the time, I put all the blame on Mark. He was constantly accusing me of being selfish, and while I had become quite self-centered, putting my own happiness before the well-being of our marriage, family, or business, I didn’t see it that way. Instead I resented him. He didn’t support me. He didn’t understand what Vegas meant to me. He wanted me not to be myself, but instead to stay the woman he knew in Madison who wore sensible shoes and picked up her daughter at school. I know now that he was simply trying to accommodate the fact that the woman he loved was finally happy, but the thing making her happy was taking her farther and farther away from him.

  Eventually, I set up my web page after I showed Mark the photo I had taken in the gold dress, and he realized there really was no way anyone was going to be able to recognize me. And so I excitedly sent messages back and forth with Bridget to hammer out the details: my age, thirty-nine (well, really I was forty-three, but that wasn’t such a stretch); that I was a business owner who could only be in Vegas a few times a month, but was devoted to making my clients very happy when I was there; my preferred drink (pinot noir or a lemon drop martini); and my preferred designers, Louis Vuitton and Christian Louboutin (even though I owned neither at the time), should a client wish to give me a gift. I couldn’t wait for my page to go live. It was going to change everything.

  During this time, I was also fielding texts from regulars, including Bob, who liked it when we sent dirty messages to each other and wanted to know when I’d be back in Vegas. At first, I didn’t know what to tell him, but I kept him interested with sexy texts and promises of how fun our reunion would be.

  Finally, my page on the service’s site went up, and just like that I had enough business to merit another trip. I spent Valentine’s Day in Madison with Mark and Kylie, but Mark and I weren’t feeling particularly romantic by then, so we put all our focus on our daughter. She and I had a tradition of buying candy and writing Valentine’s Day cards to all of the kids in her class. I sat with her at the dining room table, completing this simple task with my daughter, the only thing still rooting me to home.

  As soon as I landed in Vegas, I put the finishing touches on my look. I’d learned by now that all the escorts got spray tans, and I booked an appointment at their favorite place. I also got my hair and nails done at my hotel. I realized that looking good was its own full-time job, but I actually enjoyed the process. I got a little thrill from seeing other women in the waiting room of the spray-tan salon, women I could tell were also escorts. I was impressed by how sexy and confident they all looked, and pushed myself to mimic everything about them. Later that day, when I had a photo shoot to generate more images for my personal web page, I reveled in the attention from the photographer. I was reminded of the request to pose for Playboy that I had been forced to turn down right after college. Olympic athletes didn’t do things like that. Now, I could do whatever I wanted, and I happily stripped off all my clothes and struck a pose in just my lingerie. I felt so free. There were two other girls in the room, getting ready for their shoots, but I wasn’t bothered by their presence. Being watched just made me feel sexier.

  Chapter 14

  I KNOW WHO YOU ARE

  I loved the fact that I already had regulars, and I was excited to see Bob. When I walked into his suite, I kissed him with the passion of a lovers’ reunion and perched myself on the edge of his couch, wondering what he’d want from me that day and eager to give it to him.

  He seemed excited to see me, which I liked. He poured our drinks and then sat down close to me on the couch. I was expecting him to compliment me, maybe even say something sexy he wanted to do with me. Instead, he dropped a bombshell.

  “I know who you are,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” I said. “I’m Kelly.”

  “Sure, when you’re here in Vegas, but I put two and two together, and I know that you’re Suzy Favor Hamilton when you’re home in Wisconsin.”

  Mark had warned me, and I hated that he was right, hated being reminded of the old life I’d just pried myself out of. But I wasn’t worried. I knew I belonged in this world and nothing bad would happen to me while I was here. Bob watched me eagerly, as if he was enjoying this moment, as if knowing my secret meant that our relationship was somehow special, deeper than any others I had.

  “Don’t worry,” he continued. “I’ll never tell anybody.”

  “I know you won’t,” I said. “I trust you.”

  “Good,” he said. “You should. Now let’s go get you some new lingerie.”

  I liked the sound of that. Having men spend money was now a big part of the thrill for me. The high was already building as we entered the shops at Caesars and approached the Agent Provocateur display window, with its mannequins in naughty poses in gorgeous lace. The store looked expensive and exclusive, and I felt very special as I walked in next to Bob, standing by as he flipped through the racks of skimpy lingerie with confidence, picking out pieces he liked and giving them to a saleswoman.

  “She’ll be modeling them for me,” he said to the woman, nodding my way.

  The woman, who was very thin and pretty enough to have been a model herself, gave me a knowing look. Instead of being embarrassed, I felt excited by the fact that she knew why we were there. I strutted along behind her into the fitting room as Bob sat on a small sofa to wait for my version of a runway show. As soon as I had the first bra-and-panty set on, the woman came into my dressing room to check the fit. Seeing her come up behind me in the triptych of mirrors was enough to turn me on, even before she’d put her hands on me to adjust the straps. It wasn’t that I wanted to have sex with this woman, but I liked the attention, liked having her focused so intently on my body. When she had gotten the fit just right, I pushed open the dressing room door and, without a moment’s hesitation, strolled right out into the store where Bob was sitting, not caring that I might be visible to other shoppers. Bob beamed at me.

  “Holy shit,” he said.

  Head held high, wide smile on my face, I paused just in front of him, close enough that he could have reached out and touched me.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said.

  “Turn around,” he said.

  I made a slow circle, allowing him to admire every inch of my bare skin, which I knew was toned and tanned and ready for a close-up.

  I modeled several combinations for Bob. Finally, I put on one that was made entirely out of black netting, which I found pretty strange, but as soon as he saw me, his whole face lit up. “That’s the one that I like,” he said.

  I stood beside him at the cash register while the saleswoman wrapped the lingerie in tissue paper and rang it up. The total for one bra and one pair of panties was three hundred dollars, more than I normally spent for an entire outfit. Of course, Mark and I made good money selling real estate, and I’d done well as a professional runner, but it had never been a part of our lifestyle to pay that much money for decadent purchases like lingerie. This was a whole new thrill. I throbbed with the pleasure of the entire outing and the knowledge of what was to come when we got back to his hotel room and I modeled it for real.

  From such a young age, I’d been told I was special, a prodigy, destined for greatness, and I had spent my whole life chasing that dream on the track. Now, in Vegas, I was looking to be number one, too. At first, it had been enough to have the men I slept with tell me how amazing I was. And then, when I’d needed to take it up a notch, having sex for money had been
enough. Then my need to compete turned into wanting more and better gifts from my clients. Now, chasing the high, I became obsessed with the rankings that clients gave escorts on the go-to website for information about escorts all over the world, the Erotic Review. The rankings were the thrill for me, and they fed my insatiable desire to compete. Vegas was no different than the track. If I was going to compete, I had to win.

  Formulating a plan of attack to climb through the rankings, I thought of regulars I could surely receive 10s from, and prepared myself to go the extra mile for new clients who, in turn, I trusted would write me a positive review. I wouldn’t rest until I was number one in Vegas.

  Meanwhile, I continued to text with Bridget, checking in with her about my schedule. Although I was never sure who was behind the service, she was the only person I ever dealt with there. And the longer I knew Bridget, the more impressed I was by her and the more I liked her. She began to show me the ropes, explaining that there was a schedule of conventions to suggest which weekends would be the busiest, so they could make sure the best girls were on hand to meet the demand. In late February, she texted to let me know that there was going to be a NASCAR race in Vegas the weekend of March 10 and 11, and that I definitely wanted to be in town because I could make as much as five thousand dollars for two days. When Bob texted me to request an overnight when he was in town for the race, that sealed the deal. I booked my ticket. Mark didn’t say a word.

  AS THE PLANE DESCENDED, I could almost feel the lights of Vegas waiting for me, reaching up into the sky to welcome me home. To welcome Kelly home. She wanted to come out in all of her sexy, fun, manipulative glory. She couldn’t wait to put on her black eyeliner and false eyelashes, her Agent Provocateur bra-and-panty set, and her black high heels. She couldn’t wait to think only about sex. She couldn’t wait to be free. Finally, Kelly couldn’t wait any longer, even though we were still landing.

  I pulled off the bulky sweater I’d been wearing to cover up my figure in Wisconsin, revealing tight black leggings and a tank top. I could hardly stay in my seat. It felt so small and restrictive, and I felt so big and sparkly. I’ll show them how sexy I am, and that I have all the power. My heart beat even faster, echoing off my breastbone. Get me off this plane. I am so ready to be the real me. I never was meant to be Suzy Favor Hamilton. This is who I am.

  Toward the end of my time in Vegas, when my mania was at its most pronounced, I didn’t want anything to pull me out of my high, and it became increasingly difficult for me to make myself go home to Wisconsin, or even think about the life I’d left behind there. But my normal life was going on while I was away. And now that I’m looking back on this period of my life from a healthy perspective, this is probably the most difficult part of my illness for me to come to terms with—how I temporarily abandoned my husband and daughter, and absented myself even further from my parents, making up lies when necessary to explain my absence.

  Thankfully, I had a wonderful husband who was at home during this time, covering for me in every way possible. He made excuses for my time away to our real estate colleagues and family members, saying my public speaking career had taken off, removing me from home more than ever before. When I was gone, he got up every morning at six o’clock in the morning, began the day’s work that would keep our real estate business booming, got Kylie up and off to school, devoted himself to all the demands of our business during a nonstop workday, picked Kylie up from school and took her to her various after-school activities, and made sure she was fed and bathed and fully loved before tucking her into bed again at the end of the day. Only to get up the next morning and do it all over again. When pressed by friends and family, he lied on my behalf, hid his unhappiness, and put on a brave face for the entire world to see.

  I know this time was anything but easy for him, and it makes me so sad to think of him there all alone. I also feel terrible about lying to my parents, although I can see this was just my way of internalizing and continuing the cycle of denial and silence that plagued our family. This was how we’d dealt with Dan’s illness when I was a kid. And this was how it happened all over again when I was an adult. Of course, none of us knew any of this back then. We were all just doing the best we could in the moment, no one more so than Mark, who earned my eternal gratitude by holding it all together during such a difficult time. I can only hope he becomes an example for other spouses and family members out there who are struggling to support a loved one who happens to be bipolar. You are not alone. It can and does get easier. And our family is very much rooting for yours.

  Chapter 15

  EXTREME

  The next day, I spent the morning getting ready with extra care. My regular, Bob, was paying me thirty-five hundred dollars to do the overnight with him, and I had to make sure I had everything in order. When I was ready to go, I sat on the edge of the bed in my hotel room with my phone in my hand. I knew Mark expected me to check in, but I wasn’t looking forward to the call. Finally, I took a deep breath and dialed.

  I reassured him that I was safe and having a great time, and he caught me up on all the happenings of home. Mostly, we talked about Kylie, who was our only real connection at that point. After a few minutes, our strained conversation had run its course, and he put Kylie on the phone. In my brightest, most loving mommy voice, I asked her about school and gymnastics and told her I would be home soon. I could tell she didn’t really understand where I was or why I wasn’t with her, and her unhappiness momentarily shattered my illusion, leaving me feeling blue and guilty.

  “Mommy has to go, Kylie,” I said. “I’ll talk to you soon and see you on Monday.”

  “I miss you, Mommy,” she said, tears in her voice.

  “I miss you, too,” I said. “I love you.”

  The sound of her crying was too much for me. It reminded me how much I missed her and our old family life. For a moment, I lost my protective bubble of adrenaline and ecstasy. I didn’t want that. I threw down the phone to finish getting ready. I wanted to get to the bar where I was meeting Bob as fast as I could. I needed a glass of wine and some of that Vegas glamour to feel like Kelly again.

  It was a relief to spot Bob’s silver hair as he snaked through the crowded bar at Mandalay Bay, clearly glad to see me, just as my first glass of wine hit my bloodstream. I liked that I knew how to please him—I had worn the set of black lingerie he’d bought me at Agent Provocateur—and I looked forward to doing just that once we got upstairs. And I liked that he was paying me thirty-five hundred dollars to spend one night with me. The bubble was back.

  “Hi, beautiful,” he said as he took the stool next to me.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” I said, knowing he’d like the sound of that.

  We watched the NASCAR race, which he and thousands of racing enthusiasts had traveled to Vegas for, in a suite at the speedway where we had more drinks. By the time we went back to his hotel suite by helicopter, it was as if the call home had never happened. We spent an hour together in his suite, and he seemed pleased with every move I made. I was surprised when he started getting dressed. We had all the time in the world, and I assumed he would want to go again before we went down to the casino so he could play slots.

  “I’ve got to go do some business,” he said. “I’ll be gone for three hours.”

  “I’ll miss you,” I said. “But I’ll just go down to the bar and have a drink.”

  I hadn’t been at the bar for more than a few minutes when I felt myself being noticed by five guys in the back corner. I smiled at them, and one of them took this as all the invitation he needed and came over to me.

  “Hi, how are you doing?” he said.

  “I’m great,” I said.

  After a few minutes of light conversation and flirtation, I’d been so friendly that he was smiling at me now.

  “Come back and talk to my friend,” he said.

  When we reached the table, I could immediately tell which friend he meant, and I understood that he and another of the guys w
ere interested in my services, while their other friends were very unsure. I quickly focused my energy on the two who were into it.

  “You should come up to our hotel room,” one said, a few minutes later.

  “I’d love to do that,” I said. “But I can only stay an hour.”

  “And how much would that be?”

  “Three hundred dollars each.”

  By this point, I’d had enough conversations with the other girls to understand that there was no rule against lining up our own clients in our free time, and that it was actually very easy to meet a man in a bar in Vegas and get him to pay for sex. But because these men often hadn’t planned in advance for the experience, they usually weren’t willing, or able, to pay our normal rates. That didn’t matter to me at all, nor did the fact that anyone I met on my own would not have been vetted by the service to ensure that he was likely to be safe, well behaved, and not a cop.

  Within ten minutes of having met them, I was upstairs in their room, making sure both men felt included in the fun. We had just barely started to run longer than the agreed-upon hour when my disposable phone began to buzz. The message from Bob read: “Where are you, my dear?” Oh, shit. Here I was, naked in a hotel room with two other men. “I’m in the casino,” I quickly wrote. “I’ll be right there.”

  I threw my phone back into my purse, scrambled to find my clothes, which were scattered around the room, and pulled them on as quickly as I could.

  “What are you doing?” they called out, not ready for the fun to end.

  “You don’t understand,” I said. “I have a client. He’s paid me for the full day.”

  “No, no, stay!” they exclaimed again and again, trying to convince me.

  “You don’t understand,” I said again. “I have to go.”

  They finally gave in and paid me the money we had agreed upon, and I gave them my number.