The Further Adventures of a London Call Girl (2 page)

And the man who introduced me to Dr C, for which I should really send a thank-you note at the least. ‘He’s a character reference.’ Yikes, I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Maybe it was improper business practice or something. I must admit my ethics radar has been somewhat recalibrated since I started having sex for money.

‘And the fact that he’s one of the most respected businessmen in his field has nothing to do with it?’

‘I knew him when he was living off Pot Noodle and beans on toast. You can’t say I hitched my trailer to a star knowingly.’

Dr C laughs. ‘Don’t worry, if I’d thought it would improve my job prospects, I’d have done it, too. Most people end up exaggerating in their interviews. You do, of course, have explicit permission to use me as a reference if need be.’

‘Ta, love, I’ll keep it in mind.’

‘That’s a no, then?’

‘I’d rather have explicit permission just to use you in general.’ We laugh.

jeudi, le 9 septembre

Sometimes I feel I’ve been doing this job for ever, then I remember it’s only been about two years. Funny how steep the learning curve is with sex work. Also how quickly you can tire of it – I can’t help feeling I’ve seen all these men, had all these requests, before.

‘Where do you want it … here or here?’

‘You know where I want it,’ I said in my sauciest voice.

‘I want to hear you tell me.’ The end of his cock was twitching, and with one of his hands on the shaft and one on his balls I could tell he was holding back until the right moment.

‘I want you to come all over my face.’ You know what would be nice about landing a legitimate job? Not having to wash come and makeup off my face more than once a day.

‘Beg me.’

Well, whatever works for him. ‘Please,’ I said. Please let him give me a big tip. ‘Please, I need you to come all over my face.’ At that moment, he released his hands and sprayed.

Of course, it rarely ends up where you want it to. You can hardly blame the client – the moment of ejaculation is not the right time to say, ‘Er, actually you’re mostly just getting my hair there.’ But it’s a fact of life, if you want some on the face, be prepared for any result. And for your own sake keep your eyes shut – that stuff’s like battery acid.

Other tips for a successful facial:

• Eyelashes. Waterproof mascara at a minimum; those long-lasting three-day formulations aren’t bad; personally I go for the eyelash tinting option. It wouldn’t do for people to think you’ve been crying, or, worse, guess what you’ve been up to.

• Pillow. Adjust your head height and angle accordingly. If you studied physics, you’ll be able to calculate from the angle of his penis and expected pressure the distance the ejaculation will travel. But save yourself the time and simply prop your head up in front of the cock, not below.

• Smile! It’s the mental photograph he’s after, and we all want to look good in a photo, don’t we?

vendredi, le 10 septembre

‘Looking forward to seeing your man, am I right?’ N asked. We were watching telly and eating crisps. He’d brought round a bottle of wine; I put it in the cupboard and opened a bottle of Bailey’s instead. He smiled; it’s terribly unfashionable but we love it. A little of what you fancy always does you good.

‘Can’t wait,’ I said. I was a bit nervous, though: Dr C had been to visit twice since we first met, and it was rapidly passing the point at which I should have told him how I pay the rent in between looking for other work.

‘Damn sight better than the last one,’ N said. ‘You ever hear from that arsehole again?’

‘Um, no,’ I said and sat down, turning the television volume higher.

I felt bad about lying, but it had to be done. The Boy kept sending texts – all of which I ignored – for ages after we split. Then one night a month ago he rang. I was feeling soft and a bit lonely, and Dr C and I never asked many questions about what each other’s lives were like outside seeing each other. The Boy and I hooked up. I swore it would be only the once.

Plus there are a number of reasons not to go there again:

1 His friends hate me. Well, to be fair, most of them never even met me. But the ones who do know me definitely do not approve.

2 He’s a snob. Not that this is a deal breaker in and of itself. But to him and his friends, girls like me are on the bottom rung of middle class and always looking for an opportunity to marry up. Never mind that I couldn’t possibly be on the make because a) I don’t want to marry anyone and b) I make more than he does; it’s a class thing.

3 He’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Yes, I’m a snob too. I see enough arses in a day; I don’t need to be dating someone who constantly talks out of his.

Anyway it turned out to be only the once, as planned.

samedi, le 11 septembre

Note to self: if in future really really need hair cut, but usual stylist is away, WAIT UNTIL SHE RETURNS. No one else will understand what is meant by ‘shorter but not too much shorter’. And pulling the hair won’t make it grow back any faster.

The colour’s rubbish, too. No excuses there – same person as always. You know the dingy look from too many hours in the swimming pool? It’s like that. Why? Why???

dimanche, le 12 septembre

Wake up. Panic. Straight to mirror; yes, hair is still rubbish. Shower, rubbing scalp vigorously. Circulation helps hair grow, right?

Run out door. Just catch bus; thank heavens for whatever genius invented Routemaster. Must learn to schedule time better before this route is phased out.

Tube. Which change to make? Slower train with fewer stops, or faster with more? Compromise and go for alternative slower with infinite stops route; only just make train.

Arrive panting at airport to learn flight is delayed by two hours. Spend six pounds on hot chocolate and try to make it last.

Lose track of time. Feel tap on shoulder and look up and he’s standing, bags in hand, by my table. Dr C smiles and I can’t help but grin.

Worth the wait.

lundi, le 13 semptembre

We sat on the sofa reading, my legs round Dr C’s hips, his head in the hollow of my shoulder. From here it’s like reading to a child, I thought, all softness and nuzzle and warmth. Though I did have to hold the book out at a strange angle in order to not block his view. After a few minutes, the raised hand started to tingle, and I put the book face-down on the table. I have always had the most appalling habit of breaking book bindings, but it’s something to read, not a collector’s item, right?

I love it that Dr C doesn’t ask many questions. What goes on in my life is seldom up for examination, and that seems fine with him. Though it is beginning to bother me: when is a good time to tell someone you have sex with other men for money? I suspect he knows there are other people and chooses not to mention it. But I’m not sure most men can make the jump from thinking their girl has an active social life to thinking she’s a whore.

The big problem is that I’ve been making an effort to be as nonconfrontational as possible with this relationship. When I think back on my most recent boyfriend, the shouting, the slammed doors, it doesn’t bear much examination. We were both passionate people, yes, but at the heart of it was that he couldn’t bear what I did for a living. I never want things to go like that again.

I’ve been imagining how the conversation with Dr C might go:

‘You remember when I went back to your hotel with you the first time we met? I do that professionally, you know.’

‘I’m glad you enjoyed the blowjob. I’ve had a lot of feedback on that particular move, and eighty per cent of my clients agree.’

‘How about a little role play in the bedroom? I’ll pretend to be a call girl, and you’ll pretend not to be freaked out about it.’

Er, probably not.

He sighed and shifted in the sofa cushions. ‘This is like heaven.’

‘I was just thinking the same.’ Actually, I was really thinking how I’d forgotten to use any deodorant that morning and with his nose practically in my armpit, I hoped he didn’t notice.

mercredi, le 15 septembre

Dr C dashed off after quick breakfast and sex to see parents in Bournemouth. He didn’t invite me; I didn’t ask. Don’t want to impose when things are still relatively new. Every month in a long-distance affair is like a week in a normal one, so by that reckoning we’re not even at asking about each other’s careers yet.

Also, I think I’ve learned my lesson from the Boy. Be the calm one, the collected one; be the cool girl. Don’t be the freaky oddball. When he says he’ll call, he’ll call. You have to trust a man sometimes.

vendredi, le 17 septembre

Dr C called late, to say he’d be back even later. I said fine, did he want someone to meet him at the train? That’s sweet, he said, but no, you keep the bed warm.

I kept the bed warm reading, feeling very virtuous for not throwing a scene. We had so little time together, but what was more important was that we didn’t argue.

Switched the light off some two hours after deciding that probably he couldn’t get to a phone to let me know he’d caught an even later train.

Fell asleep certain he’d be home any minute.

Just before dawn, heard someone try the door. I’d left it on the latch. Heard his soft steps on the stairs and rolled over in what I hoped was a sleepy yet sexy way.

‘I’m wiped,’ he said, throwing a black bag on the floor. ‘Absolute madness at my parents’. No wonder I left the country. You don’t mind if I crash for the next twelve hours, do you?’

‘Of course not, love,’ I said. Because it’s all about compromise.

samedi, le 18 septembre

A quiet day in. I asked Dr C if there was anywhere he wanted to go, maybe see some of the sights that have been built since he moved to America, like the London Eye?

‘Eugh, no thank you,’ he said. ‘Not really my sort of thing. I left the city for a reason, you know.’

I didn’t know, not particularly. Sometimes he says things – nothing specific, just a way with a phrase – that make me think he’s been married once, maybe in London. But if so it probably wasn’t a good idea to ask. If he wanted to, he’d bring it up.

Met N later for a meal. Chinese. Dr C made a flourish of picking up chopsticks instead of the fork. ‘No Chinese restaurant in California would even think of putting those on the table,’ he smirked. Unfortunately, it was a little lost on us, as N and I are both adepts. Particularly impressive in N, who had never even been to a Chinese before we met. You’d be surprised how motivated you can be to learn the correct method when you’re hungry.

N and I chattered away about people we knew. Dr C turned to me and started a conversation about our mutual friend A2. Oh, yes, N knew him, too, and soon we were talking nineteen to the dozen. I noticed Dr C going quiet and pushing noodles round his plate.

‘Everything okay, darling?’ I asked when N went to the toilet.

He squeezed my thigh under the table. ‘Just longing to get you home,’ he said. ‘I’m leaving tomorrow night.’

He growled in my ear, a move that sent a shiver up my back. ‘We’ll make it quick,’ I said, squeezing his thigh, higher, harder.

dimanche, le 19 septembre

The morning was not spent, as I’d have preferred, nibbling on smoked salmon and enjoying the weekend papers. It was spent on an alarm set for stupid o’clock in the morning and an emergency shop for things he couldn’t get back in California (Marmite, and lime shower gel). But I was determined to enjoy every minute, smiling bravely as we negotiated the bus, Tube and then train to the airport. When he suggested – repeatedly – that maybe we should have arranged a car, I didn’t disagree. I waved him off (sexy embrace in front of security, check; goofy kissy faces from other side of barrier, check) and made my way home. It had been a good visit if a little brief.

N came round, and as it was so late, I made supper for two. Nothing special – pasta, cream, mushrooms, asparagus. Wildly out of season but I find it so hard to resist, and try to make up for it by only eating British apples. N wolfed his down, declared it the best effort yet, and for a moment it looked as if he was going to dive for mine. That or he was looking down my top. Either way it was flattering.

The phone rang. Unknown number – could be a client, but more likely Dr C. I answered; it was the latter. N could tell by my smile what was up and he discreetly removed himself upstairs.

‘I take it you made it home safely?’ I did the maths. ‘It’s, what, lunchtime there?’

‘Yeah,’ he said. He sounded tired, and no wonder. Very thoughtful to ring me first thing, though.

‘How was the flight? Any good films on?’

‘Um, mostly I spent the time thinking.’ My heart dropped, and I knew. He wasn’t calling because it was the sweet, romantic thing to do. He was calling to end it. He said he thought the distance was too far and that he was too busy to be in a relationship, anyway – man code for ‘I’d like it if you were more convenient, but don’t worry, I’ll find someone who is.’ He said he’d been thinking this since before the visit, but he didn’t want to ruin my good time.

Ruin my good time? We’d barely spent three evenings together, I wasn’t the one who’d made a 12,000-mile round trip. I said nothing, just let him spool out the list of reasons. No sense trying to argue about it; I’d parted ways with so many men it was practically a lifestyle choice as well as a career. As soon as he said ‘I don’t want to hurt you …’ I felt a door shut in my heart.

He paused, possibly waiting for the vitriol. Still I said nothing. ‘Well,’ he said, clearing his throat, ‘I hope we can still be friends.’

Oh, cringe. Friends? I’ll say who gets to be my friend, thanks. I can play at being civilised but there is a line. There is a fucking line and he crossed it, right then, and I was not going to be Cool Girl any more. ‘No, thank you. I have enough friends as it is.’ I hung up and turned the phone off. When I looked up N was in the doorway.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘You’re not the one who has to apologise.’

‘Someone should,’ he said. ‘Want a hug?’ And even though I thought I didn’t, I really did.