Memoir. After reading Postmodern's latest post I sat staring at the screen for no less than thirty minutes. I had a gamut of emotion and I knew I had to write about it. Now ( not wanting to be seen as lacking original material I don't want to post on the exact same subject matter) the memoir that arose was so strong I don't know if I can write about anything else. I will work my way towards the post I want to do ; but as usual that story has a lot of backstory to accompany it. Therefore, I will do it in three parts. Firstly, I am going to be writing a lot more to fill in some details of Heroinegirl. We have a lot of ground to cover and I don't know if it will all be as poetic as the last few memoirs - because the story is very basic. It was a terrible part of my life. I will keep the prose succinct and true to the simplicity of despair. Mind you, this content will speak for itself and I am sure you won't miss the litany of adjectives and third person. Let the story tell itself.
I saw a wide variety of clients. Most were married businessman whom absconded from glass rimmed offices around midday to come and have a 'naughty' on lunchbreak. I would encourage them to discreetly park the company Mercedes around the back of the cheap motel where I plied my trade as a sex worker. Even though my prices were competitive when comparable to other girls on the game who advertised in the local paper; I was not considered a high class escort. This doesn't mean that I didn't ever entertain/solicit high class clients. (I still have a black book full of prominent names and local "celebrity".) It just means that I never received more than one thousand dollars commission for 'services rendered'. That was the most my clients would pay.
Everyday for two years I would advertise in the paper in a crowded section entitled "Entertainment Services' . I ensured that my advertisement was always located at the top of a list of seventy escorts. The first two words read 'Absolutely Adventurous' , which displayed my marketing genius as this worked a treat. I also listed that I was 18 and new. I was always the first to be listed until Angelface became AAAAngelface. (But still it took her two years to figure that out.) My mobile phone would ring on average about 100 times per day , business was always rather solid. I would keep my cell on silent otherwise it would ring during a job ( poor form) or when the landlord was walking past. The phone was my sole source of income and would be the hardest thing to eventually throw into the river.
I enjoyed a regular clientele of varying financial status and appearance. Clients whom would keenly visit at whatever motel I was staying at ( which I had to rotate every week or so) . No one was ever encouraged to show up uninvited ( but they always tried to) as I always made them ring for the room number when they were five minutes away from the booking. I did this so I would never go without a booking, I would always doublebook. This way if a client came into the room sensing he had walked into a "den of despair"and as a consequence cancel the appointment, I would be able to shepard him out the front way and have another client waiting at the back. As I become progressively malnourished and skinny, I did find my cancellation rate escalated. I will always remember one gentleman in particular.
His name was Barry. Barry was a rotund and jovial middle-aged man. He arrived on time, smelling like drugstore after-shave and freshly lathered soap. Not an overpowering aroma, just enough to embellish his clean and neat demeanor. He wore a lemon colored, Lacoste polo shirt that stretched over his portly tummy. It hung loosely over neat khaki pants and dark tan sandals, which looked new and uncomfortable. With a paper curled up under his arm and his cheeks flushed with excitement, he knocked on the emerald door of Room 15. I checked my reflection in the microwave, pumping up my breasts. I often wore tissues inside my bra so clients wouldn't think I was skinny and flat. I spray my deodorant at the doorway, its chemical hissing though the air to kill any lingering trace of stale cigarette. My heart was beating with irregularity now , this job was for a fair bit of money. He just couldn't cancel. So, I pulled out all the stops with my presentation and I thought I had disguised my darkside rather well as I blended the foundation that covered my trackmark. He knocks again and through the dusty lace curtains I see him for the first time and smile - Tourist.
Room 15 was nothing special. It was a secret land of shifting shadow and sex, two naked forms in the almost dark. I always had the curtains tightly drawn; this way the clients could not see how skinny I was, how pinned I was or sense The Ex hiding in the closet. This was only when I was very dope sick and needed to shoot up whilst the client was showering. The Ex would leave afterwards and I would be ok to finish the job whilst enjoying a stoned oblivion. I don't think he ever stayed in the room whilst I entertained a client. That would be considered very rude in the industry and I did try to be discreet when I could. That was not often. I kept the needles in the closet; the free condoms at the back of the drawers. I never showed clients the industrial size box of rubbers that was kept hidden in the closet. Most working girls that could afford it , could buy in bulk and save money. A client had bought me all of those. A Thousand condoms for A Thousand Forgotten Faces. I just kept a few loose in the side table. I ended up supplying most of the street.
I would make my clients wash first, I would join them in the shower if I had everything in order. I would also run the money out to The Ex so he could go and score the Heroin. I could never let the Clients see The Ex as they would become very anxious about a man lurking around the room and their wallet. Unfortunately, The Ex was not always discreet enough which cost me a lot of clients and money. Most clients however never suspected that I was a heroin user. That I had a boyfriend and that he was a junkie too. Most of my clients had no idea that any working girl would ever inject drugs. Some of them I told as some of them asked but most never asked. So I never told.
They often saw a few of the working girls ( whoever was the newest girl on the block and sometimes they even saw highway girls who could not afford to advertise) I knew this because the highway borded the motel. I remember seeing one of my regulars car pull over and saw "Dirty Sue" get out of the car with her makeup all smudged and whatnot and I would think - well I am not seeing you anymore. But then over time and numerous calls to my mobile , they would offer the right price or more likely, it would be a quiet day and I would need to score. I would risk it all and just pray he used a condom with her. For his sake, not mine.
I would lecture them whilst giving them a hand job and tell them horrifying stories of Dirty Sue, how she liked to buy methodone from Charlie on the corner. They would go very pale but I wasn't happy until I saw the fear of god. I just could never tell them that I was exactly the same. It was still a business. They would ask - What is methodone? So I would say I wasn't sure but this is what I had 'heard'. Little did he know about the twenty bottles stashed under the bed that he was lying on.
To buy methodone illegally is very hard; as it's only a government prescribed drug that can be taken orally through supervised dosing stations. I explained about Charlie The Methodone Dealer and the connection to "Dirty Sue". Charlie was on a high dose of methodone. He was a bad junkie and preferred to sell his dose to get some smack instead. So when he was at the dosing station, rather than digest the medicine dispensed by the nurse, he kept his in his mouth and promptly spat it into a jar upon exiting the clinic. Then he sold this for twenty bucks or if a drought was on - fifty. Charlie was helping Dirty Sue get off junk. Sometimes the methodone had floating bits , left over from Charle's lunch. True. Yep, It was a notorious suburb ( Miami) and the methodone clinic was only a five minute walk. The Ex started to sell Methodone this way as well. Another way to get food money.We ended up in Miami at the near the end of the addiction, after we had lived in more than 50 different homes. We stayed there, for a year , burnt out and the path to recovery begun. Dirty Sue, aged thirty- five, died from a hot shot. This means someone killed her by giving her Ajax rather than dope. Which she then injected, needless to say it's a horrible way to die. Police found her dead in her unit after a few weeks. Dirty Sue..Nobody loved you.
Back to Barry. I answered the door from the shadows and made sure I was facing him the right angle. I directed him to place the money on the bench and then told him to take off his clothes and prepare to shower. I had a small sliver of soap and only one towel for the day.We chatted a little about his holidays and I made sure he was stripping off. He seemed nervous and I knew he was getting cold feet but I just wanted the money on the counter before I could relax either. Then he could leave - I didn't really care either way. Barry gingerly placed the money on the counter and I noticed his hands were trembling. He hadn't done this before he told me, blushing profusely as he fumbled with his underpants and shoes. Like a blackjack dealer, I deftly scooped up the plumes of his money now my money, in an hungry instant. It would be harder for him to leave now but for me I already had what I wanted.The rest of the appointment was just about ..Nothing. He embraced me in a cuddle and really..Squeezed. He was warm and soft, I felt him harden against the lace of my panties and I could smell traces of talc. I embraced Barry for a few moments , then gently nudged him away to commence his sanitization. This is why I don't think I am a very good hooker. It was all about the drugs. Not all escorts are like this; just me.
I would try to please clients that I took a shine to , but honestly I was just too sick to take anything other than my Heroin addiction seriously. I feel bad about it. I honestly do. I reassure myself though that the sweet clients that know me, are just glad I am off the junk now - they always said I was destined for better things than The Game. I would sit naked on the bed and tell them about how I want to write a book and they all gave my permission to use that part of my life. True. They believed in me as much as I could believe in myself.
Barry bundled himself into the shower and began to whistle as he soaped his privates. I handed the cash to The Ex from through the gap of the chained door. I quickly removed my clothes and sashayed into the shower. I felt his soft hands and the hard pebble of soap find the small of my back. It slid down my rump and in between my legs. I spread them further apart and let him wash me, even though I had already showered. The soap irritated me so I said he should use the shower gel. As he reached up to the shower ledge , I pointed to the milk and honey scrub for him to use. What lay beside the body shampoo was a syringe. A Used one.
Our eyes both locked onto the exposed needle in the same devastating instant. I saw his hand reach and just in the nick of time I brushed it away. "Goodness" My voice was shaking and the words sounded flustered and irregular like a vacuum cleaner that has flipped on its side. I felt his erection instantly subside. The moment was too horrifying for words, so the only sound was the rain like patter of the shower , gushes of water collecting and falling in unison, sounding off like aquatic fireworks. No one moved and the moment just grew with the tension of the spark. I was so mortified that I honestly felt my life had ended. The shame was almost shattering. Someone had obviously had a shot in the bathroom and carelessly left a used syringe (lid removed) up the ledge alongside the shampoos. Extremely dangerous, if I can remember correctly, as who I had let shoot up in my bathroom ? Ahh Steven - I and I remembered that I did so because he had Hepatitis C and I did not want to share the same environment whilst cooking up my breakfast hit. Fucking junkies.
I was so shocked that I began to cry. I felt the empty tears dissolve into the now cold water that poured down my face. I left the shower and pulled a towel around me. I attempted to try and change the subject as I sit on the toilet, talking with false bravado about what I am doing at university, filling the air with boldfaced lies. I listen to myself and I hate myself even more than I thought possible. I try compensate the negative image that dominated the bathroom. I was trying to paint over the ugly , with rainbows of fantasy as that is what a junkie does. That is why we are sick and always will be. I splayed myself out on the bed suggestively and smiled seductively as he exited the shower. He was very pale. In fact, Barry had not said much at all actually. It was only me that was rabbiting on like a fool. I smiled even more suggestively and he looked even worse.
I knew it was over when he started to put back on his clothes . I sat on the bed cold, wet and miserable.
I think he wanted to explain something but he seemed to search for the correct mindset to address me from. He reminded me of a foolhardy man who drove his car through a terrible storm and ended up perched on its roof , surrounded by the swollen river and needing urgent rescue. Barry's face reflected that same expression that I saw on the hapless chap which was plastered all over the news - totally out of his depth and very much seeking the solace of something warm and familiar.
He stammered as he spoke, his cheeks blemished with beetroot as he pulled on his pants. "Kayla. I have a wife and two small children. I .. I don't know what I am doing here. I'm on a family holiday and I thought I wanted a bit of fun but..but I don't think I can risk this. I am so so sorry. I really hope that you can forgive me. S.S.Sorry to waste your time. You are very beautiful, it is not you personally. I just love my children and I love my wife. I love her so much. I don't want to endanger myself or anyone I love. I wish it was different for you. I have a daughter that is younger than you. I thought about her when I walked in. Now..this.
Tears brimmed in his eyes.
"Kayla..take care of yourself. Please. "
All I could muster as a reply to that heartbreaking appeal was detached
"I don't do refunds". I said, steeling myself, ready for a verbal attack.
I felt so cold and so sad. I actually wanted to give him back his money so he could see someone else , but it was already gone.
I was not giving up my taste and we both knew that.
"That's ok darling. I don't expect you to." He said with the saddest smile ever.
" It's my decision and I am glad I am going. This was a mistake. " He wiped away his tears as he fumbled with his wallet. Barry showed me a snapshot he kept of his children inside. Twin toddlers with identical blonde hair and blue eyes, little white teeth smiling at me. How could such innocent faces shine through the depths of this darkness ? Part of me wanted to convince him to stay but all of me knew he should go. I wanted to tell him sorry I was such a fuckup and so unattractive and wrong. Instead, I just wept. I wanted him to cuddle me again but I knew that this would not be so. The silence stretched with morality. I was still naked and felt even more that I was exposed in a whole new way. I could not promise him that I could be what he wanted. I had tried to and failed.
He dressed rather quickly and the lemon fabric of his shirt swum before my eyes. He looked at my shivering naked form bent on the bed, hugging a pillow.
He bent over me and he kissed my forehead.
"You have no idea how beautiful you are"
I couldn't believe it when he gave me a generous tip. He placed it on the counter with deliberate good intention even though he knew it's destination. I knew from the moment I saw him he would be a lovely caring man. I was right.
"Here's an even better tip - Get off that shit gorgeous. You're much too good for that - maybe you should really go to university.."
I smiled even though it broke my heart to do so. My face was distorted by the bleak sadness I felt. I close my eyes and tried hard to picture that day of hope.
As I sat on the bed with my eyes closed, he slipped back into the sunshine and moved away from the murky depths of hell. I did not see him leave but I certainly felt the emptiness when he did.
"I'm sorry" I said.
I opened my eyes to find him but I was alone, he was long gone.
No-one ever heard the apology that I wanted to give to him.