Calling Maggie May

by AnonYMous

  2) Never discuss money with the other girls. Money talk is bad for morale, and Miss Irma doesn’t like settling fights.

  3) Never discuss clients with anyone. Spilling secrets is the fastest way to lose not just one client but all of them.

  4) Never do anything you don’t want to do. If a client asks for something that makes you uncomfortable, tell Miss Irma. Someone else will do it.

  5) Safety first. If you feel unsafe, leave. Tell Miss Irma what happened as soon as possible.

  6) If you are unhappy working for Miss Irma, you are free to quit at any time.

  She asked me then if I understood everything. I said yes, and that was basically it! It was kind of anticlimactic, actually. I’m not sure what I was expecting, to be honest. Someplace with red shades on the lamps and mostly naked girls draped all over the furniture?

  Toward the end she asked me if I had any questions, and for a moment I completely blanked and was about to shake my head no. But then I realized that actually yes, I had a ton of questions. The most obvious one being, what do we get paid?

  Miss Irma smiled politely at this.

  “Ada did not explain? It depends on the situation. Depends on the client, time of day, and nature of request. You leave that kind of thing to me.”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling a little confused.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, still smiling. “Everyone is paid fairly.”

  I was annoyed not to be able to get a more concrete answer out of her, but it’s true that Ada had never complained about the money. It seems like a strange way to do business, but it can’t be that bad or people wouldn’t go along with it, right?

  After that, all that was left was for me to check in with Anne. She had me pose against a bare wall for a quick photo, then handed me a pink phone just like Ada’s.

  “I already have a phone,” I told her.

  Anne explained that I needed a committed phone. One that Miss Irma controls. She doesn’t like when the girls get their service cut off or their numbers changed. She needs to know that she and the clients can get in touch with us. Anne said it would take a day or two to charge and activate, but once it was all set, I should just wait for a text letting me know about my first appointment.

  This is all so weird but exciting. It’s like a strange dream, or something that’s happening to someone else. Maybe once I do my first date, it will start to feel real.

  Sat, Nov 29

  Still no word from Irma. I’m starting to get nervous.

  I’m not even sure what I’m nervous about. Part of me is afraid she’s changed her mind and won’t ever text me, and another part is terrified that she will. Sometimes I lie awake in bed thinking, What am I getting myself into? Am I prepared for this at all? I mean, I’ve had sex exactly once. Am I qualified to be a professional? Or is that a silly thing to ask?

  What if it’s weird and awful? What if I panic at the last minute and can’t go through with it?

  Yesterday I made Ada talk to me a bit about her experiences, to help calm my nerves. I made her describe an average date for me and what the guys are like and what they ask for. That helped a bit. Plus, she reminded me that I can always say no at any time. I can always turn around and leave if I’m not comfortable.

  It helps to know that Ada has been through all this before. I want to be like her. I can be like her. I want to know something of the real world and not learn everything from books. I look at Ada, and I want all the experiences that made her what she is, even the bad ones. I can do it.

  Mon, Dec 1

  I got the text! I waited for ages. It felt like it was never going to happen. But I guess I have a client? This is all so weird. My handwriting is awful because I’m shaking a little, and I don’t even know if it’s fear or excitement. I mean I’m scared, but for the first time I feel like I’m living my own life and not just following someone else’s path. Maybe this is a huge mistake, but it’s my mistake and no one else’s.

  Miss Irma’s car is coming for me at the same spot where I’ve seen Ada get picked up. That’s basically all I know right now. I hope my dress is okay! (It’s one of Ada’s.)

  Mon, Dec 1, later

  I’m back from my date. I don’t know what to say about it.

  It was fine. It was . . . fine.

  It wasn’t fine.

  I don’t know. I feel like an idiot. Ada warned me. She told me most of my dates wouldn’t be like Damon, and I heard her and I understood. I thought I understood. I knew they wouldn’t all be as handsome as Damon or as kind. Or as young. But I thought . . .

  I feel dumb even saying this, but I thought . . . at least they would appreciate me. Even if they were old and unattractive, they would at least make me feel sexy and wanted. But this guy . . . It’s not that anything terrible happened. I didn’t get hurt. He wasn’t cruel. But I don’t even know his name! I mean, I understand why people might not want to give their names, but not even a fake name. He was just so distant.

  He had a drink in his hand when he came to the door, and I smiled and started to introduce myself when I realized I still hadn’t thought of a fake name. So I was standing there with my mouth open like an idiot, trying to think of what to say, but I guess it didn’t really matter, because he just grunted and turned his back on me. He didn’t tell me his name or offer me a drink or tell me to take a seat or anything. So I just stood there. Eventually, he said, “What are you waiting for?” He was probably in his fifties, kind of fat, and wearing a nice collared shirt with gym shorts underneath, which was weird. He definitely did not turn me on.

  At that moment, with everything so different from what I was expecting, I nearly turned around and walked out the door. But I knew if I did that, Irma would never book me for another date at all. I thought, this has to be a test. I don’t even know if that’s true, or if this guy was just the luck of the draw, but somehow it helped me to think of it that way. If there’s one thing I know how to deal with, it’s tests. Just focus and take deep breaths and do your best.

  I did what he told me to, and I tried to do it well, though there was some stuff he wanted that was, well, more difficult than it looks in movies and stuff. But I think the worst thing is that through the whole thing, I had no idea if I was doing a good job or what I did well and what I did badly. The man was totally expressionless the whole time. It kind of hurt my feelings.

  God, what a stupid thing to say. As if this is about my feelings! It doesn’t matter what I want. It’s about the client, not me.

  Anyway, I guess it must not have been too terrible, because when I was done, he gave me a tip. Twenty bucks. I used it to get a cab home, because Irma’s cars only take you to the appointment; they don’t pick you up at the other end. We’re on our own for that.

  Now I’m pretty sore. But at least I’ll get paid soon. It’s funny. Now I can’t remember why I was so eager for money.

  Mon, Dec 1, later

  I feel a lot better. Dumb, but so relieved. I just spoke to Ada. I hadn’t planned to, but she called me, knowing that today was my first time. My first time for real. At first she just congratulated me, but I guess something in my voice must have given away how I was feeling, because she asked how I was and sounded really concerned.

  I didn’t mean to tell her. I didn’t want her to feel responsible. But before I even knew what was happening, it was all spilling out of me, and I was sobbing into the phone. I told her I hated it. That I felt gross and used and like I wasn’t even human. I asked her if that was normal and she laughed, though I don’t think it was very funny. She said yes, that’s normal. It’s part of the gig.

  I asked her how she put up with that, and she sighed and didn’t say anything right away. Then, just as I was beginning to think we’d lost our connection, she said, “It isn’t always like that.”

  “You mean like with Damon?” I said.

  “Damon’s great,” she said.
“But no, that’s not what I mean. What I mean is, sometimes what gets you through is . . . human connection. Even with someone who is gross-looking and kind of rude, sometimes you get just a moment, a brief glimpse of the person as a person. And you think, I have a chance to make this person feel good right now. And it might be the only good feeling he has in the next month.”

  “But how do you know . . . ?”

  “You don’t. You never know. And maybe it’s all a fantasy. Maybe the men are a fantasy to us as much as we are to them. Maybe there’s no decent person under it all who needs you. Maybe they are all dickbags. But you have to tell yourself something. I mean, there has to be something that gets you through it, week after week.”

  I thought about that for a while . . . tried to picture telling myself that story and believing it because I had to.

  “Ada,” I said after a while.

  “Yeah?”

  “I don’t think I want to do it again.”

  I cringed as I said it, certain that she would be angry or disappointed or resentful. Angry, maybe, that I was passing judgment on the life she is living, or disappointed to lose a friend who understood her life, or resentful that I have the option of quitting and maybe she feels like she doesn’t. But I didn’t hear any of that in her answer.

  “Good,” was what she said, and she breathed out a heavy sigh that sounded like relief. “When you told me you were interested, I wanted to kick myself. I never meant to draw you into this.”

  “You’re not upset?”

  “Honey, no,” she said sweetly. “It happens a lot. Loads of girls quit after their first date. It’s fine.”

  I felt relieved too after that. I should have felt bad, giving up on this fantasy and going back to my normal life. Or embarrassed that I had given up so easily, after just one kind of crappy date that wasn’t even that bad. But I think I’m doing the right thing. Even debate tournaments and chemistry tests don’t sound so bad compared to the dead-eyed way that man looked at me.

  Tues, Dec 2

  Ada reminded me today that I still need to pick up my payment for my date. I asked if she would just do it for me so I wouldn’t have to see Miss Irma again, but she said they don’t like to do that because of that thing where no one’s supposed to know what the others are earning, so I have to get it myself or just abandon it. I could do that, I guess. Wouldn’t that make it better? If I don’t take the money, I’m still not a whore.

  But the man already paid the money, so maybe it doesn’t matter. Besides, that feels almost worse in a way, if I did those things with that man for nothing. So I guess I’ll go, even though it means cutting class again so I can go with Ada. I definitely don’t want to go alone.

  Cutting all this class is becoming a problem, though. At lunch Eiko asked me why I wasn’t in French the other day. Awkward. I didn’t know what to say, so I just mumbled something about not feeling well.

  I really need to start putting more effort into school again. I’ve blown off so much lately, I think this semester may be a lost cause. But as long as I don’t flunk anything, maybe I can have a fresh start next semester? Stanford is off the table (not that it was ever a likely outcome), but that doesn’t mean all hope is lost. Right? I just need to buckle down.

  Thurs, Dec 4

  Went to pick up my fee today. It wasn’t that bad. Well, the going wasn’t that bad. I didn’t even have to see Miss Irma, which was great. I don’t know why I’m scared of her, since she’s never been anything but kind to me. Maybe it’s because of the way she reminds me of my mother. I just have this irrational fear that if I tell her I’m quitting, she’ll look at me the way my mom did when I told her I wasn’t going to play violin anymore: as if I had simultaneously slapped her across the face and broken a family heirloom.

  But anyway, that part was fine because apparently Miss Irma does not hand out the money. I guess maybe I should have guessed that. We just went up to Anne’s desk and gave our names and she handed us each an envelope.

  But the not-so-good part was when I got outside and checked the envelope. First I thought there had to be some kind of mistake. I’m not exactly an expert in the going rates for call girls, but I wouldn’t be doing much worse at those minimum-wage jobs I was looking at.

  I freaked out a bit at Ada. Not that it was her fault, but it did feel like kind of a betrayal, that she and Irma had refused to give me any solid numbers but both let me believe the pay would make everything worth it. But Ada calmed me down. She said she forgot to warn me—the first envelope is always skimpy, because of all the setup costs. Like apparently I have to buy my own phone (even though I already had a perfectly good phone). And we all have to pay Anne’s and the driver’s salaries. And Ada says they take that in a monthly sum, instead of per date.

  That still seems kind of unfair to me, but Ada says they only charge you if you’re working. If you didn’t take any dates the month before, you don’t have to pay in. So at least I’m not going to wind up owing money now that I’ve decided to back off.

  Still, it sucks that I’ll never get to see any real money from this, even though I did the work. Now I just have this stupid phone.

  Oh, that reminds me. I was going to turn in my phone when we went today, since I’m not going to work for them anymore, but I was so shocked by the envelope that I forgot all about it. So now I’ve got this phone. Do I go back tomorrow and deliver it then? I really don’t want to go back. Is it wrong to keep it? I mean, I did pay for it.

  I guess I’ll just hang on to it for now.

  Tues, Dec 9

  Things are getting back to normal. That is to say, boring, but that’s okay. I’m trying really hard to catch up as much as possible in all my classes, and that’s draining all my energy for the moment. I’ve pretty much stopped all my activities for now, because I just can’t with all the schoolwork. I expected Mom to give me a huge hassle about that, but she seemed to agree. School comes first, she said.

  I’ve even quit swimming, which sucks, because I really do love that. But there isn’t any point in showing up when I can’t swim competitively right now. My head’s just not in it. But I don’t know, maybe I should start hanging out at the local YMCA or something, just to get in the water from time to time. Could be fun.

  There is one other thing that is bothering me a bit. More than it should, maybe. It’s this damn phone. I still have it, and I feel it weighing on me. The phone doesn’t know that I’ve quit, and neither does Miss Irma. And neither does Anne, I guess. Which means my name is still in the appointment book, and I could get a call for a new date at any moment. Ada says all I have to do is say no. It’s no big deal. People say no all the time, for all kinds of reasons—they’re busy, or on their period, or have a cold or whatever.

  And anyway, the phone hasn’t rung. I haven’t gotten a peep out of it since my date. I wonder if that means the guy complained about me, so now Miss Irma doesn’t even want me anymore.

  I have no idea why that should bother me, of all things. I should be thrilled, if that’s the case. But I guess even whores have pride.

  I wish it didn’t weigh on me, though. That one of these days the phone is going to buzz and it’s going to be a text from Miss Irma setting me up on a date and it’s going to make the whole rotten experience come flooding back. I kind of just want to pitch the phone into the ocean and never think about it again, but I have a feeling Irma wouldn’t be too pleased about that. And I don’t think I want to make an enemy of her.

  Thurs, Dec 11

  I got a text today—on the pink phone. But it wasn’t Irma texting, and it wasn’t Anne.

  It was Ada.

  That made the whole thing very different from what I was expecting. What I was worrying about. All it said was, I need a favor. Call me.

  I called her right back, of course.

  “I need your help,” Ada said as soon as she picked up the phone. She sounded anxiou
s.

  “What is it?” I said. “What’s the matter?”

  Ada took a deep breath. “I know you’re out of the business,” she began, “and I really didn’t want to have to do this. . . . Believe me, I’m the last person who wants to drag you back in. But I’m in a jam.”

  “I’ll do it,” I blurted out.

  “What?” said Ada. “But I haven’t even told you what it is yet.”

  “I know,” I told her. “But if you’re in trouble, I want to help. Whatever it is. Like you said, we need to look out for each other.”

  Ada didn’t answer a moment as she weighed this over. “I did say that, didn’t I?” she said at last. She took a breath. “Okay, then, if you’re sure. Meet me at the pickup spot. I’ll explain in the car.”

  Fri, Dec 12

  Wow. I have so much to tell. I’m not sure how to put it all in words. And some stuff I’m not sure I want in words. . . .

  But what does it matter? I had fun.

  I can’t believe I gave up so easily before. Maybe I just need to stick close to Ada. . . . She’s my lucky four-leaf clover in all this. I wish she ran this business instead of Miss Irma. Then it would all seem like no big deal.

  But I’m getting ahead of myself, and I do want to get all this down.

  I met Irma’s car outside the school and slid in next to Ada. She looked stunning as always in a charcoal dress with red detailing, which somehow made my patterned top and skinny jeans seem plain and boring. Ada explained then what the favor was about: A client wanted two girls at once.

  I breathed a huge sigh of relief when she told me that, which I think surprised Ada. I guess she expected me to be shocked, and . . . Well, okay, it is a little weird. It’s not exactly something I ever pictured myself doing. But when she told me she needed a favor, I figured it must have something to do with Miss Irma, and I assumed she double-booked again or something. So I thought I was going to have to do another date on my own, which made me really anxious. I mean, I’d do anything to help out Ada, but I really wasn’t excited about that.