The Education of a Very Young Madam (23 page)

When Melissa's mom saw us all acting like one big happy family, with Nicole and her kids and Zoe and me all laughing and having fun, I think she felt guilty. I think she saw that Melissa was capable of being part of a family and that maybe some of what had happened between them had been her fault too. After all, she's the adult. Melissa is just starting to figure things out, and she clearly has a long way to go.

Melissa went home with her parents that day, and I haven't seen her since. She keeps in touch though. Last time I talked to her she had gotten some little ten-dollar-an-hour job, but she thought it was okay. And she was working on getting her GED so she could go to college. She wanted to go to art school, which seemed like a good idea because she was so into drawing, and she was going to visit her dad for the first time in a while. She sounded good. A bit unsure of herself but excited about things and not so angry or scared anymore. I think that's what a girl her age should sound like, but what do I know about things like that? When I was her age, I was running a brothel in New York and living with some drug dealer twenty years older than me, a guy who cheated on me constantly and, when he'd done too much smack, would knock me around. That was who was looking out for me when I was her age.

I hope things work out for Melissa, but who knows? This world can be tough on young girls, and the ones who have done what she's done tend to fall back on it when times get rough and they're having problems paying the rent. "Once a ho always a ho," as people in my world like to say. Maybe Melissa will change her life, but I can't pretend I don't know the odds, and they are long. Still, a girl her age deserves a second chance, doesn't she?

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CHAPTER 13

A Sunday in the Life of a Very Young Madam

E
ven I need a day of rest, so on Sundays my business is officially closed. (Our hours, as advertised, are Monday through Friday, 9:00 A.M. to 11:00 P.M.) My assistants are off. I keep one available to me on Saturdays for errands and other work matters, like taking girls to the airport so they can fly home after working for the week. But on Sundays both of my assistants are free to ignore me, even if I do sometimes find reasons to call them.

Even though Sunday could be a great time to make lots of money, I have designated it as my quiet day, because it's a day that my friends or boyfriends usually have off too, and because I tend to go out on Friday and Saturday nights, which means I need Sundays to recover. Sunday is, however, a popular day for clients. Over the years I've learned a few things about the male mind-set, and one thing I can tell you is that, in a lot of ways, they all think alike, especially when it comes to sex.

For instance, you'd think Friday would be a popular night in my line of work. The workweek is over and it's time to let off steam. Paychecks usually come down on Fridays, so guys feel like they have money in their pockets. But while my phone certainly does ring on Friday afternoons, Fridays are nothing like Monday mornings, when it's practically off the hook for hours at a time.

Mondays, with the stress of the coming week lying in wait right in front of them—that's when men feel like they need my services the most.

In the minds of most men, Fridays are for their girlfriends, Saturdays are for their wives, and Sundays are for themselves, which means when they aren't out drinking with their buddies or watching football (or after they're done drinking with their buddies and watching football), they often call me, hoping that, even though our offices are closed, I'll make an exception.

Sunday is also a big day for businessmen. My clients are all professional types, so many of them travel regularly for work. They tend to fly in Sunday evening so they can start work bright and early Monday morning. But after they check in to their hotel rooms, what are they supposed to do? They're alone in an unfamiliar city. They're bored. They have nothing to do until tomorrow, and it's still the weekend. That's when they call me.

Customers who are frequent travelers and know all too well what it's like to be bored and alone on a Sunday evening will often ask me in advance to make arrangements for them. They call me at the same time they're choosing their hotel and reserving their rental car. With enough warning, I'm happy to accommodate good customers, even on my day off, which is what happened one particular Sunday night not long ago. One of my very best regulars had told me that he'd be staying in New York for the week and made special arrangements months in advance to meet with a girl after he arrived. He agreed to pay extra for a trip into Manhattan, since I usually work only in New Jersey. He was even willing to be flexible about the time, so I told him I'd figure something out for him. He asked only that the girl be someone new (new to him, that is).

I had booked Danielle weeks ago. She wasn't just new to the client, she was new to me too. She had never worked for me before, but she came highly recommended by another girl who had been with me for a while. It seemed like a good opportunity to try her out. I'd seen her pictures. I'd also read her reviews, and it was clear she knew what she was doing. Unfortunately, I hadn't been able to convince either of my assistants to work the extra day, so I was going to have to chauffeur her myself. The appointment wasn't until around 9:00 P.M., and she could take a car there directly from the airport, but afterward I was going to have to pick her up and take her to her hotel in New Jersey, where she'd be working for the rest of the week. The client had asked for extra time—two hours—so she wouldn't really need me until about 11:00, plenty of time for me to have my leisurely Sunday.

My plan for the day was to do some errands, maybe meet a friend, stock up on groceries at the Korean market for my boyfriend Justin and me, and ignore my phone as much as possible. I'd been off for two whole weeks, and that Sunday was the last day of my vacation. I wanted it to be as low-key as possible.

When I had decided to take the time off, I told everyone—my clients, my girls, and my assistants—that I was eloping. That way they couldn't be too upset that I was shutting down without warning. The problem is, I am my business. If I'm not there to run it, no work will get done.

I didn't really get married. What I was doing was cleaning out my system. I've had ulcers for years from all the stress in my life, and at that point they'd become unbearable. I was taking every painkiller I could get my hands on just to make it through the day—Percocet, Vicodin, even morphine patches I got from a customer who works as a pharmaceutical rep. The rep gave me some samples in exchange for a complimentary appointment with the lady of his choice. I hadn't realized that a lot of those medicines could actually make my ulcers a whole lot worse after a while. Justin finally convinced me I needed to stop taking them all at once in order to let my body recover. That's when I moved into his house on the Jersey Shore. He took care of me, and god, the pain was awful. But no one needed to know what I'd really been doing. All they needed to know was that I would be unavailable until further notice.

That particular Sunday afternoon, I was driving along the highway following the Jersey coastline. I had my sunroof open, a CD of my favorite DJ mixes playing with the volume cranked, and the GPS navigation system on my new BMW talking to me every now and then, telling me in its reassuring lady-computer voice when to turn and where to stop. When my phone, which was resting in my lap, started ringing the first time, I ignored it. But when it rang a second time, I look down and recognized Danielle's number. She was one of the few people I knew I needed to talk to that day.

"Hi, honey. What's up?"

"Hi, it's Danielle. Listen, I'm having problems finding a flight that gets in on time. They're all either booked up or really expensive."

"Where are you, honey?"

"I'm still in Florida."

Typical ho. It was already noon and she was just starting to figure out how she was going to get here in time for her appointment that night. We had agreed when I booked her that she'd arrive in the early evening to give her plenty of time to meet the client. But I wasn't surprised. She was no more or less flaky than any other girl in this business. Occupational hazard.

"Where are you checking, sweetie?"

"Priceline."

"Into which airport?"

"La Guardia."

"Try Newark, honey. You can also try JFK, but try Newark first."

"Where's that?"

"Newark's in New Jersey, sweetie. It's practically right across the river from Manhattan and it's near me. Try all three airports. Are you at your computer now?"

"Yes."

"Well, try that right now, and if you have any problems, call me back. And we want you in as early as possible, sweetie, okay? As
early
as possible."

"Okay."

I like to drive fast, and I realized as I hung up that I had gradually sped up to 110 miles per hour. As I put my phone back in my lap, I started to slow down. I lost my driver's license a while back, so the last thing I needed was to get pulled over. "Exit approaching in twenty seconds.. .ten seconds.. .five seconds.. .turn now," my GPS told me. God, I love that thing.

The Korean market was about forty minutes away from where Justin and I lived, but it was worth the trip. It's huge and has everything, and I planned to stock up for an entire month. Justin had lost some weight recently—I thought then that it was because he'd been working so much, but I would soon find out it was because he was doing lots of drugs behind my back—and I had decided that I needed to fatten him up.

As I loaded my cart to the top with tubs of freshly made kimchi, ribs marinated in the store's special sauce, lots of vegetables, and candies with cartoon figures on the packages, my phone rang again. I put it away in my purse for later. At the bakery counter, I tried a sample of a doughy pancake just fried and spread with a lumpy red bean paste. The taste was familiar and I was sure I'd had this before, when I was living in Korea, but the memory was so distant I couldn't remember where I had been or who I was with.

As I filled the trunk and backseat of my car with grocery bags, I checked my phone to see whose call I had missed. It was a client who was a real regular. Knowing him, he'd probably had a pretty hard time over the past couple weeks, when he couldn't get ahold

of me. I knew he had called several times, so as I pulled out of the parking lot, I decided to be nice and call him back.

"Hi there. It's me," I said when he answered the phone. I was sure he knew my voice.

"Hi. I've been trying to reach you," he said.

"I know. I got your messages. Are you looking for something this week?"

"Actually, I was wondering about tonight."

"We don't usually work Sundays, you know that."

"I know, but I have some time to myself tonight, so I was just hoping... "

"Well, I do have a girl flying in this evening. I'm not sure when she's arriving, but I can see if she'll have time for you."

"That'd be great. Any time. I'm here watching the game, so whenever. Will you let me know? Or should I check back with you later?"

"I should know more soon. After I get home and have a chance to call her, I'll let you know what her schedule is."

"Great. Thanks. So when do you think that'll be?"

"Oh, probably an hour or so."

"Okay. You know we've missed you lately. How was it? Did you really get married?"

"It was great. Thanks for asking."

"Well.. .congratulations."

"Thanks. I'll call you back as soon as I can, okay, baby?"

"Okay."

The phone calls had put me back into work mode, and since I still had a half-hour drive to get home, I decided to do a little housekeeping. First, I called my friend in the city and left him a message saying I'd be coming in late that night and could drop off the money I owed him if he was around. I always pay my debts right away.

Next, because I was thinking about debts, I called Angelita. She

was another new girl who was supposed to work for me a couple of weeks before hut never showed up. Angelita was recommended to me by Sherry, another local madam I swapped girls with sometimes. Doing business with Sherry was always a potential problem, because we had very different standards and policies and sometimes the girls got confused. She was much more laid-back, and she'd take just about anyone she could find to work.

Angelita had been given my handbook, however, just like any other girl, so she should have known what I expected. My rules about money are very straightforward. Since girls travel from all over the place to work for me and they always stay in three-star hotels, where their appointments take place, there are obviously certain expenses involved. I'm happy to help make arrangements and get the best prices (something I'm an expert at by this point), but each girl is responsible for paying her share. That means airfare, hotel, car services (though I'm also happy to have my assistants serve as drivers for the week at reasonable rates), and anything else they might need. As for Angelita, I booked a hotel for her for the week, and, according to the handbook, even if she never did a day of work for me, she still owed me for part of that hotel bill.

I had already called Angelita several times since she ditched her obligations, but up until that day I had only gotten her voice mail. This time, however, she picked up the phone, so I got right to the point. I didn't ask her what happened because I didn't care. The last thing I wanted to do was listen to a bunch of excuses or another sob story from another girl. I simply told her what I tell them all in these situations, that we had some settling up to do and that I'd be happy to work it out with her in any number of ways. Since I'd been on vacation, I hadn't had time to line up many girls to work for me for the coming week, and I was worried that as soon as I sent out an e-mail blast to my client list saying I was back, I'd have more clients calling than I could handle. So I also told Angelita that if she wanted to work for me that week, we could take what she owed me out of what she made.