Calling Maggie May

by AnonYMous

  So when she told me what she needed and I realized that she’d be by my side and I didn’t have to go into this alone . . . That was just so much better than what I’d been picturing. I was still nervous, but I felt like nothing that bad could happen as long as Ada was there.

  Turns out Miss Irma had set up the date for Ada and another girl, Jen, who Ada’s friends with, but Jen couldn’t do it today. I wanted to know why, and at first Ada tried to be vague, but then she stopped herself.

  “No, you know what?” she said, almost to herself. “You should know what happened to Jen. I want you to know.” She turned and looked at me very seriously, her eyes dark and stormy. “Jen has a drug problem. She was doing smack last night even though she knew she was working today and knew I’d be furious with her. And I am. Not about the work, though.” She sighed. “It’s only because I worry.” Ada paused a moment to collect herself, then went on.

  “She was strung out this morning and could barely stay awake. Then her asshole roommate convinced her that the best way to deal with this problem was to snort a bunch of Ritalin. Jen should know better, given what happened to Ella last year. . . .”

  Ada shook her head in sorrow and disbelief, but all these people were little more than names to me. Suddenly, she grabbed my hand, and the grip in those bony fingers was surprisingly tight and forceful.

  “You have to promise me,” she said. “I mean it. Never get mixed up in that stuff, okay? Don’t kid yourself that you can handle it. It will destroy you. You have to keep your head about you in this business or it will eat you up.”

  None of this meant much to me. The closest I ever came to drugs was when my parents let me have a sip of champagne at a cousin’s wedding, or the day they legalized marijuana here and I smelled something weird and pungent when I walked near the park on my way home from the bus stop. That world didn’t seem to have much to do with me. But I tried to return her serious look while I nodded.

  Ada explained then that since Jen was out of commission, Miss Irma was going to find someone else to go, but Ada didn’t trust Miss Irma’s choice of partners, so she asked if she could just do it with me, and Irma said fine.

  I guess it’s probably not a normal reaction, but I felt weirdly flattered at that. Still, I was kind of nervous. I’ve heard of this kind of thing before, mostly in locker-room jokes at swim meets, but I wasn’t exactly sure what the client would be expecting.

  “What will I need to do?” I asked her.

  “It’s nothing, really,” Ada said. “He probably just wants to see us kiss and make out a bit, and then he’ll want to get off. I’ll take care of that part, and you’ll still get half the money. And it will be at my rate, not yours, so a lot more than you got last time.” She bit her lip as she looked at me. “I appreciate this so much. But you know you don’t have to do it, right? If you’re not comfortable.”

  I put a hand on hers and smiled. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

  And I didn’t. I had been so filled with dread over even just the idea of a phone call, and I was so sure I never wanted to do anything for Miss Irma again, but this was different. Maybe I should have been more freaked out at the idea, but it didn’t seem gross or weird as long as it was with Ada. It seemed like fun, almost. Like we were playing a wicked little game. Which I guess we were.

  I almost abandoned ship before we even began, though. Just as we got to the door, I felt a weird little rush as the memories of my last time came back to me. I had a vision of that same man coming to the door, or someone like him. I imagined how cold and impersonal it would all be, and my stomach turned and I had a sudden urge to run away, dash toward the fire exit, and run down sixteen flights of stairs just so I could breathe. But right then Ada touched my arm and smiled and I felt better.

  She asked me what name I was using, and I realized I still hadn’t come up with one. I got nervous that I would completely blank out, like the last two times it came up, so I just said the first name that popped into my head: Justine. It’s my French teacher’s name, and I don’t even know why I said it, but Ada said she liked it, so I guess it’s okay.

  When the guy opened the door, Ada introduced me as Justine and herself as Brigid. The guy said his name was Marco, but who knows? That might be fake too. He was in his twenties, I’m pretty sure, and he said he worked for a record company. He asked if either of us knew how to sing, and I was worried for a second that he wanted us to sing for him, but he just laughed at the stricken look on my face and took a seat in a little sitting area near the window. Ada and I stayed standing. I wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Should we sit on the bed? Take our clothes off? Start kissing? I figured I would follow whatever Ada’s lead was, but she was as frozen as I was. She was smiling though. I tried to smile too, but it felt awkward and fake.

  Marco grinned back and gestured at the love seat across from him as he pulled a little packet of papers and a bag of something out of his pocket and started rolling a joint. “You guys smoke?” he said.

  “No,” I answered automatically, but Ada shot a look at me.

  “Are you sure?” said Marco. “It helps you relax.”

  “Go ahead,” said Ada. “You should try it.”

  I looked back at her, trying to figure out what was going on in her head.

  “But you said . . . ,” I began, remembering our conversation in the car over.

  Ada giggled. “That’s different,” she said. “I was talking about hard drugs. This is legal.”

  Marco had finished his joint and lit it, inhaling deeply, then taking a long time to exhale the thick smoke. He handed the joint to Ada, and she held it expertly in her fingers, taking a small, delicate drag. She handed it to me.

  “Don’t inhale too much, or you’ll cough,” she said. I started to bring it to my lips, but I hesitated at the last second.

  “I don’t know if—,” I began, but Marco interrupted.

  “Go on,” he said. “Try it. You’ll like it.”

  Ada gave me an encouraging nod, so I brought the joint to my lips once again and pulled. The heavy smoke filled my mouth and throat immediately. I struggled so hard not to cough that my eyes watered. I did let out a little cough/hiccup, but at least I didn’t have a huge coughing fit. At first I was mostly aware of the smell and the taste of it, and the harsh burning feeling in my throat, but then I noticed that my head felt a little foggy. But I’m not even sure if that was the pot or just the weirdness of the situation. Honestly, I don’t think I inhaled enough to really feel anything.

  After a while Marco started fidgeting impatiently, and Ada took the cue to nudge me into a kiss. My mouth was so dry and hot, the wetness of her mouth felt like a relief, and I leaned into it. I had to admit, this was much nicer than anything that happened with that old man. Maybe even nicer than what I did with Damon. I realized right then that I still had never hooked up with anyone I actually knew for more than a few hours. So maybe it’s not so surprising that it felt really comfortable and relaxed, like a natural extension of our friendship, instead of this awkward, artificial business arrangement. But that might also just have been the pot.

  It wasn’t quite how Ada had said it would be. Mostly Marco just watched, but sometimes he came over and put his hands on us, and sometimes he moved us this way or that to position us the way he wanted, as if he were a movie director. And he whispered directions and encouragement too, which was a little strange but not so bad. In a way, I started to see what Ada had been talking about the other day: that it could be fun to know you were giving pleasure to someone, fulfilling their fantasy. It made me feel sort of powerful.

  Eventually he moved us to the bed and helped us take off each other’s clothes, and then he mostly watched from then on. When he was ready to finish up, Ada took care of him while I just watched. A few times he reached for me, but I just giggled and kissed him a little, and each time Ada did something to distract him.

&
nbsp; Ada’s really talented. Watching her work was educational, in a way. It made me want to get better, so I could be skilled like her.

  By the time they finished, my head was feeling a lot less fuzzy, but I was suddenly starving. Ada giggled when my stomach grumbled as we got dressed. We didn’t really say anything until we got down to the lobby. Even though the whole experience had been sort of fun, it felt a little awkward afterward. But just as we were about to go through the big revolving doors, Ada stopped me with a hand on my elbow. I turned to look at her.

  “Honey,” she said, “are you . . . ? Are you all right? With everything, I mean . . .”

  I nodded, and the smile that came to my face was completely unforced. “Yeah,” I said. “It was okay. I mean . . . It was kind of fun, actually.”

  Ada smiled back. “Good,” she said. “Hey, he slipped me a tip while you were getting dressed. You want to go get something to eat?”

  * * *

  We wound up at a diner Ada knew, and we both got burgers and fries and milk shakes, and it felt like an indulgence. Ada explained about how the guys tip sometimes, but I should never tell Miss Irma about it, or she’ll insist on taking a cut. So that’s good to know.

  At one point I glanced at my watch and realized I was supposed to be in history class right then, and I couldn’t help giggling. I also couldn’t stop talking about how great the burgers were, and Ada laughed at me. I was like, “What?” And she said, “Nothing. It’s just cute. You’ve never smoked pot before.”

  I looked down at my burger. “Oh my God,” I said. “Is this what people mean by the munchies?” And we both lost it to giggles.

  “But I don’t understand,” I said when we had recovered a little. “On our way over, you were telling me . . . I mean, didn’t you say I should stay away from . . . ?”

  “This is different,” she said. “Jen was using heroin. This was just pot.”

  “So pot’s okay, but nothing else?”

  Ada pressed her lips together. “It’s not that simple,” she said. “Pot’s not such a big deal, and it doesn’t really count if it’s with a client. Now, if the client offers you drugs and you don’t want to do them, you can always say no. But it’s more polite to accept. And everything goes a little more smoothly if you do it. But as long as you only do drugs when someone else offers them to you, you can’t get into too much trouble.”

  I nodded slowly, trying to reconcile all this information with what she had told me before in the car. I’m still really new to all of this.

  But today wasn’t so bad. I’m still not quite sure what I want to do for the future. I need to think about it. Maybe it’s one of those things that gets easier with practice, or as you get more used to the feelings and to the different types of clients.

  The other thing is, it’s nice to have something in common with Ada again. The truth is, when I’m not doing dates and stuff, but just living a normal life, I don’t really have anything to say to her. I worry that she’ll get bored with me. As long as I keep working like she does, we have this bond.

  Sat, Dec 13

  I’ve been thinking a lot about the date the other day with Ada. I had fun, but I also felt kind of like an imposter. I know I’m still very new to all this stuff, but watching Ada work just made me aware of how much I don’t know.

  It’s like when you go to a restaurant and the waitress says, “Hi! Just so you know, it’s my first day,” and you smile but inwardly you groan because you know she’s going to mess up your order or forget about you completely or spill water on your shirt and generally be a big nuisance. That’s how I felt. Like there was this whole encyclopedia of stuff I’m supposed to know, and I am pretty clueless about all of it.

  I mean, not that I’ve never heard of a blow job, and on paper it doesn’t sound like rocket science. But the mechanics of it are surprisingly . . . It’s not easy to get the hang of. Also it’s really gross, and I’m not sure how to get over that.

  Miss Irma said it was okay to have things you won’t do, but blow jobs probably shouldn’t be on that list. I’ll look like a real idiot if I won’t do that, because it’s not even that weird. Plus, I’d probably lose a lot of money to the other girls. So I just need to get better at it somehow.

  And there are probably a lot of other things clients might ask for that I’ve never even heard of, so I don’t know whether they should be on my list or not. I guess I need to do some research. Thank God for the Internet. . . . I don’t even want to think about how girls like me had to figure this stuff out fifty years ago.

  Wed, Dec 17

  It’s payday today! Ada and I are going to leave at lunch to go to Miss Irma’s office together and pick up our envelopes. I’m not as scared this time, since I’ve seen how it goes. I only have to talk to Anne, not Irma. Plus, it will be sooo much better this time because my envelope will have actual money in it! No more start-up fees coming out of my pay. Maybe Ada and I can finally go shopping afterward.

  Wed, Dec 17, later

  Guess there’s been a change of plans. I just got a call from Anne. She told me I’m not supposed to go to the office to pick up my envelope today. I’m supposed to go Saturday. And she gave me a totally different address to go to. I asked if Ada could wait until Saturday too, so we could still go together, but Anne told me that Miss Irma wants to see me alone.

  Miss Irma wants to see me? I don’t understand. I’m really confused. Why would Miss Irma waste her Saturday handing cash over to a newbie like me? And why at a different address? And why can’t Ada be there?

  I tried to ask Anne what was going on, but she told me not to worry. That Miss Irma just wants to have a private conversation with me. That doesn’t make me worry any less, to be honest. I like Miss Irma so far, and Ada says she treats everyone well, but at the same time, the morning after my night with Damon, Ada seemed scared of Irma. At the very least, she is definitely intimidating. What does she want to talk to me about? Did she find out about Damon? Am I in trouble?

  Should I even go? Maybe if I just don’t show up and let her keep the money, she’ll let it drop. Except I want the money. I mean, I earned it, didn’t I? There wasn’t much point in showing up to the date if I’m going to chicken out on picking up my payment.

  Sat, Dec 20

  That was . . . interesting. It wasn’t what I was expecting at all, but I have a lot to think about now. I had to take three buses to get to Miss Irma’s house, which was in an out-of-the-way suburb. I’d never been there before, but I’ve heard my parents mention it. A lot of people they knew from Taiwan live around there, though it’s a mixed neighborhood.

  From the outside the house looked nice but reassuringly normal. Not that different from my house. It has a pretty garden, and I wondered for a moment if Miss Irma works in the garden the same way my mom does. But Miss Irma has a career; she must be too busy for that. She must hire people.

  Miss Irma welcomed me at the front door and invited me back to what she called her “office.” She was wearing jeans and a pink shirt, which was a little strange, compared to how sharp and businessy she had looked when I met her the other time. I guess it’s not so strange for her to dress down on a Saturday, but it was weird to see her looking so . . . normal. But reassuring, too. I couldn’t quite believe she would want to yell at me or fire me or whatever in her weekend clothes.

  She told me to take a seat and offered me a glass of lemonade. Then she asked me how I was doing with the work. How I felt about how things were going. I was feeling awkward and not at all sure what she was looking for, so I just said everything was fine. Then she brought up my first client, and I got that feeling in my stomach like in class when the teacher starts handing back the graded exams. I wasn’t exactly sure I had passed.

  “The client contacted me,” she said in that slow, precise way of hers. “He had a few . . .”

  “Complaints?” I said, feeling queasy.

 
“Suggestions.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said quickly, feeling like I was defending myself to my mom after getting yet another bad grade. “I . . . I’m still new to this. There’s a lot of stuff I don’t know, but I’m trying to learn. And I’m a . . .”

  Irma held up her hand, and I closed my mouth, dropping my eyes in embarrassment.

  “Don’t apologize,” she said. “And don’t worry. In this business, skill and knowledge can be useful. But another kind of knowledge is even more useful.”

  I looked up.

  “You might have guessed by now,” she went on. “Men who are looking for skill don’t hire sixteen-year-olds. Your innocence is a selling point. Keep it as long as you can.”

  “Oh,” I said, surprised. “But Ada . . . She’s so sophisticated. And talented. Don’t men like that?”

  “Some men, yes. But you have something Ada will never have. It can make you a lot of money, if you know how to use it.”

  I couldn’t believe that. What could I possibly have that Ada didn’t?

  “Why do you think men choose you when I show them your picture next to Ada’s?”

  “I—I have no idea,” I answered honestly. It seemed impossible that anyone would do that.

  “You want to know what they say? They say, ‘I want the Asian girl.’”

  I looked up at her, startled.

  “They pick me because I’m Asian? But . . . why?”

  “Probably because they are racist pigs,” Miss Irma replied with a delicate shrug. “But it’s not important. What’s important is if you keep them happy, they can make you rich. Those pigs have made me very rich.”