The Education of a Very Young Madam (19 page)

One of my all-time best clients has never once had sex with my girls, and he's hired a lot of them. He's in the insurance business and way into S&M, as a stress release I think. He'll sometimes hire a bunch of girls at once, and, since he's not married, they often go to his house. Once he went to the store and bought bags and bags of sex toys, enough to practically fill a whole room. When the girls arrived, they spent the first hour just unwrapping the toys and putting batteries in the ones that needed them. Easy money. He's got tons of cash and a huge house, including a full basketball court. Another time he tied a girl upside down to the post under his basketball net. Normally I'd say no to a request like that because someone could get hurt, but this guy was such a sweetheart and such a big tipper that all the girls loved working for him. And since he was a regular, I knew I could trust him.

I don't blame a guy for being freaky, I just make sure my girls know what they're getting into. But if any client ever mistreats any of my girls—if he tries to hurt her or threatens her or even if he's just disrespectful in the way he talks to her—I blacklist him right away. Depending on the circumstances, I may even post what happened on one of the public review sites so everyone else knows to be wary of the guy as well. Like I said, these sites protect all parties.

I would post a warning only if a guy gets violent or out of control or steals from a girl or threatens her. If he "forgets" to pay, well, that's a different kind of problem. That's really the girl's responsibility. She is supposed to collect her donation up-front, and if a guy doesn't pay, then he gets no play. If a girl forgets to ask for the money, then it's her fault. In those situations I tell the girl she has to work it out on her own, which usually means she ends up eating the loss and pays me my share out of her own pocket. But that's okay. It helps her remember the procedures the next time around.

I once had a regular client who was the head of a big technology company and liked to tell girls exactly what to do. I mean
exactly,
down to the smallest details. He had to be in charge of everything, telling a girl where to put her hand, then what to say, then when to move and how.

I didn't think that was a big deal, but then I started to hear some more disturbing stories about him. He asked a few girls I knew to come along with him while he vacationed on his yacht one summer. He made his own deal with the girls so I wasn't responsible, but I was still disturbed by what they told me. At first they were psyched and jumped at the chance without thinking it through. Personally, I would have been really concerned about being on a boat with a guy I barely knew, since I couldn't turn around and go home whenever I wanted to. And just as I thought, as soon as they got out onto the open water, he wouldn't let them out of his sight. He treated them like dogs, telling them when to sit, when to eat, when to sleep, what to wear. It sounded like a nightmare.

One of the girls called me crying from a hotel in the Bahamas, where they had stopped for the night. She'd gone with him thinking it would be a big party on a big boat, but she felt like a hostage.

"Get your own room and then get on the first plane out of there in the morning," I told her. "And call the police if he gives you any problems." But she didn't want to do that because she didn't want to spend her own money to get home. Stupid. As far as I'm concerned, whatever happened to her after that was as much her fault as it was his.

Still, the guy was an asshole, and I thought that was enough to blacklist him from my service. Truthfully, I thought the baby man was an asshole too, but he's harmless, so I still have him as a client to this day.

CHAPTER 11

Love and Karma

I
try to tell myself that I don't need anyone. Business works better that way, when I'm on my own with no attachments and no liabilities. But no matter what I do, I always find myself back in the same situation time and time again. I know it's smarter for me to be alone, but there's a strong part of me that just doesn't want to be. And the worst part is that, the older I get, the stronger that piece of myself seems to become.

When I started my agency in New Jersey, Philippe, my soul mate from Montreal, would still call me sometimes. Then one day my old hairdresser from Montreal, who I always stayed in touch with, told me that Philippe had gotten married. He knew because he had fixed Philippe's wife's hair tor the wedding. It sounded like Philippe had done it for the papers, because he was an immigrant and wanted to stay in Canada, but still, my heart broke. I didn't have sex for an entire year after I found out.

Of course, my year as a borm-again virgin included the time I was in jail for two months and gained all that weight. I wasn't having sex in jail, obviously, and then the extra weight and all the work I had to do to take my agency back helped keep me chaste. I did date like a fiend, however, after my business in New Jersey was back on track. But most of the guys didn't stick around too long when they found out that the madam didn't put out.

I finally started working out with a trainer and took up boxing

to get me back to my "fighting weight." Eventually, I fell in love again. His name was Mark, and we met through a mutual friend. He was a chef at a hotel restaurant and very successful. We moved in together into an apartment in New Jersey, we went on vacation together, we even bought a dog together—my little pug, Max. Mark accepted me for who I was and what I did. In the end, however, I didn't leave Mark. I made him leave me. I found out from a friend of his that he had been offered a great job in another city but had turned it down because of what it would do to our relationship. Before this it had always been my boyfriends who held me back, not the other way around. I couldn't be responsible for that, so as much as it killed me, I had to let him go.

I should have stuck with the vow of chastity that had been working for me before I met Mark. Because after Mark, my love life just went downhill. I was in a dark dance club in New York one night when Freddie shined a flashlight on me and gave me a huge smile. That's how we met. At least that's how I met him. He met me about an hour later, after the drugs wore off and he came out of his K-hole.

Freddie was the kind of person who was impossible to miss, even without his flashlight. He was tall, dark, and lean. Not classically good-looking, but he had an interesting face and interesting tattoos, and he was fit. I later learned that he worked out like it was his second job, and it was his physicality that first caught people's attention, including mine. He was perfectly proportioned and sculpted—not too muscled, not too skinny, broad shoulders, thin waist, long limbs with plenty of definition. Even when he was relaxing, his body looked like it was ready for action.

Freddie hardly ever relaxed, however. I'd seen him around at clubs before—we had the same taste in places to play—and he always seemed to be bouncing around from person to person, talking, hugging, or dancing with whoever was around and willing. And people were always willing to spend time with Freddie, especially girls. He was so open and friendly, it was hard not to like him, even if you knew you shouldn't trust him.

I knew Freddie's reputation. Practically everyone did. He was wild, carefree, and always surrounded by pussy. He was a playboy who loved that title so much and embodied the concept so completely that most people at the clubs actually knew him only as Playboy. It was his nickname, one that I'm almost sure he came up with himself. Still, people used it. And I'm attracted to bad boys. Always have been and still am. Their energy, their charm, their ability to take control of situations. I get bored too easily with nice guys. (I once dated this guy who never took charge of anything. He was always saying to me: Where do
you
want to go? What do you want to eat? I'll do whateverj/ou want to do. I make a million decisions a day, I can't stand someone who can't make any. It drove me crazy.) Well, Freddie was anything but nice.

I kept an eye on Freddie that night and was dancing near where he was sitting when the Special K wore off and he got his mind back. As soon as he saw me looking at him, he came over and asked me my name. Then, without even a pause, he started trying to convince me to go home with him, "for a night of fun," he said. He didn't waste any time getting to the point, but he did take his time arguing that point, even after I laughed off his invitation. I liked that about him.

After that we danced, we talked, we flirted. Finally Freddie whispered in my ear, "It will be something incredible. You won't regret it."

He was so confident, how could I resist? I let him take me by the hand and lead me through the club toward the door. I walked quickly and tried to cover my face with my hair so no one would see what I was doing. Freddie had a reputation, but so did I. I went to that club a lot, and people knew me as someone you don't fuck around with. I had chosen to leave with Freddie, hut I didn't want anyone thinking I was dumb enough to actually tall tor his playboy lines. He hadn't fooled me. He just interested me.

In the cab heading across town to his apartment, I was quietly thinking about how I really wanted to handle this situation. I decided that this was going to be just a one-night stand, which meant I needed to stay cold and make sure he knew what I was thinking. When we got to his place, I would tell him up-front that I'd be leaving as soon as I was done. I'd make it clear that
I
was using
him,
and not the other way around. I still hadn't had a real one-night stand since I tried it with Philippe in Montreal and ended up accidentally falling in love. I thought it was past time to try again, but I also wanted him to know what the deal was.

Freddie didn't seem to mind that I wasn't saying much. He just chatted away as he held my hand all the way to his apartment, and continued chatting as he dropped it so he could fish his keys out of his pocket and unlock his front door, still chatting as he grabbed my hand again and led me inside. Nervous as hell, I entered his bedroom. The first thing I saw was a furry creature in the corner looking back at us. It was a cute white rabbit with soft gray wisps. I did a double take, checking to see if it was really alive while Freddie went over and picked it up. It just seemed out of character for this guy to have a pet like that and, even more so, to have one he adored as much as he obviously did. He nuzzled it with his chin, and we sat down on the floor together so Freddie could introduce me to his bunny.

Listening to Freddie talk about his pet got my mind off my anxiety and made me completely forget what I had meant to say to him. It had been a really long week, and I had gone out that night looking for a distraction. I was so tired that I guess I just didn't want to worry about anything for a while. Despite myself, I began to relax. Freddie seemed to sense this and got up to turn on some music—some sassy house beats, just what I liked. It was then that

I gave in to whatever was about to happen. Freddie came back over to me and began to rip my clothes off. Right to the point again. Until we discovered that neither of us had a condom.

We stopped and I called my assistant.

"Can you bring me some condoms?" I asked him, trying not to laugh. I knew the request would embarrass him but he'd still do it. He always did what I asked. "And pick up Justine at the club on your way," I told him. "I don't want her to have to wait for me all by herself. She might as well go home with you."

Justine had flown in from Florida to work for me that week, and we had taken a car together into the city from New Jersey so that we could both have some fun. We felt like we'd earned it. Justine and I have known each other for years, since long before I started my current agency—which is why she is the exception to my rule about not socializing with my girls. I didn't want to leave her stranded at the club, and I had walked out without even telling her where I was going.

When my assistant showed up with my delivery, Justine came with him. That was not part of my plan, and Freddie immediately got the wrong idea. He was all over Justine, and, to my surprise, she was all over him too. Justine should have left with my assistant, who got out of there as quickly as he could, but she didn't. She stayed even though she knew how I felt about sharing men. At that moment, she didn't seem to care. I sat in shock watching as Freddie fucked her. I hadn't even fucked him yet. Finally, I realized that I should put my clothes back on.

As I tried to get my clothes, some of which were still on the bed they were using, Freddie began grabbing at me. He tried to pull me into bed with them. "I do not recycle," I said pointedly, but they just kept on going. At that point I really wasn't feeling very well. The last thing I remember thinking was that I should have left with my assistant. Stunned and dizzy after having been up two days and running, I passed out in the corner of Freddie's bedroom.

When I woke up, I started screaming.

It was the next morning already, and I was mortified that I was still there. Even if things had worked out the way I wanted them to, which obviously they hadn't, I had never meant to stay. It was completely embarrassing.

"I told you I should have gotten us a cab," I heard Justine say from the bed. "I knew she'd be pissed."

I called a car immediately and was out the door with Justine right behind me. All the way home I gave her an earful. I couldn't believe her behavior. She knew better than that. She apologized and told me it was Freddie who wanted me to stay the night undisturbed. (As if that was all that I was upset about.) "He was worried about how tired and stressed out you looked," she told me. How considerate of the asshole who just fucked my so-called friend.