Insatiable

by Val

  From that moment on, I promised myself to be as bland as possible whenever Manolo was around, to avoid his attitude becoming contagious.

  I made my coffee, paid Susana her 150 pesetas, and went to the living room to get some peace and quiet. All of a sudden there was a loud hammering noise from the floor below, and Manolo rushed furiously out of the kitchen. It really was so loud it would have driven anyone mad.

  ‘They’re going to destroy the whole fuckin’ building if they carry on like that!’ shouted Manolo.

  Susana followed at his heel like a little dog, cigarette in hand. She had obviously forgotten how badly he had been treating her, and shadowed his every move.

  ‘It’s like this every day,’ she explained.

  ‘When the fuck are they going to finish all that building work? I’m going down to see how much longer they intend to take.’

  ‘OK.’

  Manolo turned to Susana and wagged a finger in her face.

  ‘I want that to be the last time there’s any fighting in here. Otherwise, you’re out in the street, got it? In the fuckin’ street . . .’

  ‘Yes, Manolo,’ Susana replied meekly.

  Then he stared at me again, and gave a short wave of goodbye.

  ‘Not exactly easy, is he?’ I said to Susana, trying to be friendly.

  ‘He can be difficult, but he’s right. I shouldn’t allow the girls to phone him at night to complain.’

  She looked askance at me, as if I was the one she suspected. I could tell that, strangely enough, she wasn’t mad at Manolo. With him, she was a complete masochist.

  The doorbell rang. It was a client, and Susana showed him into the living room, while I ran with my cup of coffee to hide in the small bedroom. A few moments later Susana came in to tell me to get ready, because I was the only girl in the apartment.

  ‘I can’t see anyone like this, Susana. Have you seen how I look? I’ve got bags under my eyes, and I’m exhausted. I need to go home and rest.’

  ‘Oh, sweetheart! What are you saying? I thought you wanted to work.’

  ‘Of course I want to work. But when I feel up to it.’

  ‘You should get dressed, put some make-up on, and see the client. It’s up to him to decide if you’re up to it or not.’

  I didn’t dare say a thing. Not because I was afraid of her – I had no problems telling her what I thought – but because I didn’t want to start an argument. And it was true, I was there to work. So I got ready.

  As I had thought, the client wasn’t impressed by the way I looked. He greeted me, but then asked to see the photobook, because I wasn’t what he wanted.

  ‘You see, I told you so,’ I said to Susana, putting on a pair of jeans.

  ‘All right, you can go home. Estefania is going to come back. I called her. She was out having breakfast, but I’m sure the client will like her. I don’t know what you’ve done to leave your face in such a state,’ she said, glancing at me again in that furtive way of hers.

  When I heard her comment, I could understand why the girls were so vain about their appearance, and were always buying themselves stuff to put on, and spending the whole day in front of the mirror. Remarks like Susana’s could easily depress you, send you rushing to a plastic surgeon, or leave your self-confidence at zero. Mine was already there anyway, so I tried to shrug her comment off, picked up my bag of things, and went home.

  The Sponge

  4th September 1999

  I DIDN’T GO to work last night because my period started. I felt awful, and stayed in bed all day.

  At eleven I got a call from the agency owner, Cristina. She wanted to know how I was, and when we could organize my photo session.

  ‘I feel dizzy, Cristina. Not well at all. And I know I’ll be like this for six days at least.’

  ‘Six days?’ she said. ‘Does your period last that long?’

  ‘Yes, unfortunately. But I think I should be able to do the photos in about three.’

  ‘Good. I spoke to our photographer. He wants to go to the Costa Brava. It’s very pretty there, and we could do some really elegant photos, if you agree.’

  ‘Sounds great.’

  ‘We’d have to leave early, around six in the morning, to take advantage of the light.’

  ‘I understand. Six is a bit early for me, but that’s fine. I want to get the photos done.’

  ‘Why don’t you call by the apartment this afternoon. That way we can organize the photo session, and we can talk about what you should wear. I’ll be there around four.’

  So I forced myself out of bed.

  When I got to the brothel, there were more girls present than usual. They were all sitting in the living room, watching a soap on TV. Cindy, the Portuguese girl, was walking round the room with a lit stick of cinnamon.

  ‘This attracts money,’ she said when she saw me staring at her in amazement. ‘Afterwards, I’m going into the kitchen to wave the cinnamon round the phone, so that clients will call.’

  She seemed completely serious as she told me all this. I couldn’t help laughing, but I stopped abruptly when I saw a blonde girl coming out of the bathroom. She looked just like a Barbie doll: the same tangled mass of hair, a tight-fitting tee shirt that showed off her huge silicone breasts and matching plump lips. Her breasts were so exaggerated I thought they were going to swallow her up completely. She had had such a severe facelift her eyes were completely expressionless. I thought her plastic surgeon had overdone it, to say the least. She was tiny, but round in all the right places. What on earth had she done to herself? She looked at me without saying anything, then went to sit next to Isa, who was busy putting on lipstick with the help of a small hand mirror. I could see at once the two of them were friends, and that was why the Barbie doll seemed to dislike me even before we had met. Isa must have already set her against me.

  Cristina came out of the kitchen and called me.

  ‘Come in here, it’s easier to talk,’ she said in a friendly way.

  She was finding it hard to move around because she was eight months pregnant, but every time I saw her she seemed to be in a good mood.

  ‘The blonde girl is called Sara. You haven’t met her before, have you?’

  ‘No, this is the first time I’ve seen her,’ I said.

  ‘She’s worked for us for years. The men love her.’

  ‘They do?’

  I was disgusted, and thought yet again what little taste most men have.

  ‘She can be a bit strange at first, but don’t worry, she’ll come round.’

  To tell the truth, I didn’t really care one way or the other. I was just taken aback because I had imagined there would be more friendship and solidarity among the girls. But I already realized I had been mistaken. I felt truly disappointed.

  ‘Every morning when I wake up I think I’m about to explode,’ Cristina said. ‘I’m so fed up with this pregnancy. I just wish the baby would come . . .!’

  ‘I can imagine,’ I said. ‘And it must be dreadful with this awful heat, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. And I’ve got no one to help me. I’m rushing about, and at home Manolo is a good man, but he’s completely wrapped up in his own affairs. He doesn’t do any chores for me. I’ve heard you’ve already met my husband, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes. I met him yesterday morning. I looked ghastly because I was about to get my period, and that’s how he saw me.’

  ‘He shouts a lot, doesn’t he?’ she said, laughing. ‘I’ve already told him, Manolo don’t get so nervous. But he never listens. Oh . . .’ She suddenly clutched her belly. ‘I’m just the opposite, thank God! It doesn’t do to blow your top in this job. There are always problems, and the only way to deal with them is to stay calm, don’t you think?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘We have a clothes shop as well. Manolo and I run it. You should call in one day, we have some nice stuff. Perhaps you’ll need to renew your wardrobe. I’ll give you a special price.’

  ‘Why not?’
>
  ‘Anyway, to get back to business: how about doing the shoot the day after tomorrow? You’ll have to bring some elegant dresses, some nightwear, your own make-up. We’ll probably have to retouch the photos, because you’re bound to sweat a lot in this heat,’ Cristina went on, giving me the impression she knew all there was to know about these things. She changed topics. ‘As far as your periods go, you’re going to lose a lot of money if you’re out of action six days a month.’

  ‘Yes, I know, but what can I do about it?’ I said wearily.

  ‘There is something you can do so that you can work without your client realizing you have your period.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  She had taken me by surprise. Every day in this place I learn something new. Cristina went on to give me all the details.

  ‘Tricks of the trade, sweetheart. If you have a client, instead of using a tampon, use a nice big soft sea sponge. Cut off a bit, otherwise it will be too big. While you’re having sex, the client won’t notice a thing.’

  ‘Does it really work?’ I asked, still only half-convinced.

  ‘Of course it does! Try it and you’ll see.’

  This woman is determined to make sure I earn as much as possible.

  ‘I’m telling you this because tonight there are two politicians from Madrid who want girls. I’m sending Cindy, and I think you’d be good too. They want girls they can be seen having a drink with. For the moment, they’ve paid for an hour just chatting, but nothing more. I’m sure though that if they get on with you, they’ll take you back to their hotel.’

  I thought it over for a minute, and decided it might be interesting. I would agree.

  ‘All right. What time will it be?’

  ‘At midnight. Only one of them knows you’re being paid. It has to look like a chance meeting, as though you were a friend of his. His colleague is never to know all this has been set up, understand?’

  ‘Yes, but how will it work?’

  The whole thing seemed absurd to me.

  ‘Manuel, our accomplice – to call him something – will arrive at the bar with his friend around midnight. He’ll be wearing a grey suit, and a red Loewe tie. When you see him, you go up and ask if he remembers meeting you at such-and-such a place. Remember, you go up to him. Then he’ll ask both of you to have a drink with them, and you sit with them. No problem!’

  ‘All right, I’ll make sure things go smoothly.’

  ‘Good. Manuel has already seen Cindy’s photo, and I’ve told him about you. You speak Spanish better than she does, so it’s up to you to set everything up. Your friend has just arrived from Lisbon, by the way.’ She paused, then wrote an address on a piece of paper. ‘Twelve midnight in this bar. Come here first to pick up Cindy, then the two of you go on there.’

  ‘Got it.’

  ‘And then the day after tomorrow, I’ll see you at six in the morning, right?’

  ‘Right.’

  Politically Incorrect

  The night of 4th September 1999

  AFTER TALKING TO Cristina, I went home to sort out what I was going to wear that night and for the photoshoot the day after tomorrow. In the evening, I went back to the apartment. My whole body was tingling: I like this kind of chance meeting. It’s really thrilling, it gives me an adrenalin rush, and makes me feel as though my head is going to explode from all the blood pounding at my temples.

  Cindy was ready when I arrived, so we took a taxi to the bar. I was picturing what the two politicians might look like: very serious in their Ermenegildo Zegna suits, their pockets stuffed with notes and business cards, perhaps leather briefcases containing unpronounceable speeches written by others more skilled than them at constructing a coherent argument. I had never spoken to a real politician. What kind of language would Manuel use with me? We were supposed to talk for an hour: what could we say to each other?

  ‘Do you know what this Manuel looks like?’ Cindy asked all of a sudden, putting a stop to my inner monologue.

  ‘I haven’t the faintest idea!’ I confessed. ‘All I know is that he’ll be wearing a grey suit and a red Loewe tie.’

  ‘How are we supposed to know what a red Loewe tie looks like?’ Cindy protested, smoothing down the hem of her skirt, which had ridden up when she got into the taxi. She kept lifting herself up to tug at the material stuck under her backside. As she did so, I got a glimpse of her stockings and the garter round the top. She looked very sexy tonight.

  ‘I don’t know. But we’ll find them.’

  The bar was up in Tibidabo, with a fantastic view over Barcelona. It was pretty dark inside, and the music was going full blast. Not exactly the ideal place to meet two politicians from Madrid. We were going to have to shout our heads off just to make ourselves heard!

  I left Cindy on her own for a moment and went to the bathroom. I had my sponge in my bag. I was waiting until the very last minute to put it in. At home I had taken the trouble to cut it into three pieces, because the original ball was far too big. As soon as I was locked in the cubicle, I took out one of the pieces and carefully inserted it. It gave me a strange feeling to be doing this, but it was my only option. It also took me quite a while, because I was not used to it. Then I went back to join Cindy, who was closely studying every man who came in the bar. It was so dark inside that, like cats, all their suits looked grey, and I was beginning to think we were going to have a hard time finding our clients.

  ‘Can you see anything?’ Cindy asked me.

  ‘No, not a thing. But it’s not midnight yet. I don’t expect they’ll be punctual anyway. Let’s wait a bit longer.’

  We asked for a drink: Cindy wanted a gin and tonic, and I had a whisky and Coke. We began to chat. Cindy seemed very pleasant, with very clear ideas and a tremendous loathing for men that she made no attempt to hide.

  ‘I can’t stand them. Only for work; apart from that I don’t want to know,’ she said, raising her glass in a toast with me.

  ‘Don’t you have a boyfriend at least?’

  ‘A boyfriend?’ she almost shouted. ‘You must be crazy! Just so that he can spy on me and discover everything I’m doing, then start a scandal? No, no, no . . . I had more than enough with the father of my filha.’

  ‘What happened with him?’

  ‘What happened was that when my girl was two years old, he left me for another woman. Since then, he hardly ever comes to see sua filha and gives me next to nothing for her keep. He’s such an asshole! And he’s got dough, the idiot! That’s why I don’t want a boyfriend. Besides, I wouldn’t know how to be with a man who didn’t pay me now.’

  ‘Too bad!’ I didn’t know what else to say. ‘But you’re OK in the agency, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes. Sometimes there’s muito trabajo, and at others, nothing. But I always pick at something.’

  ‘You pick at something?’ I liked Cindy a lot, but I was having a hard time understanding her, what with the noise of the customers and the loud music, and the way she used Portuguese words and expressions the whole time.

  ‘Sim. I mean I always find work. I used to work in New York and London, so I’ve been around. What about you? Why are you here?’

  Even though I felt I could trust her, I did not want to go into detail about my life.

  ‘A man’s to blame for that too. He stole money from me, and I have debts.’

  ‘I get it. So now it’s you who makes the guys pay. It’s your revenge.’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think it’s just that.’

  As I was trying to explain to Cindy my reasons for joining the agency, I could feel someone caressing me with their eyes. Instinctively, I looked up, and saw a man whispering into his friend’s ear. Two men on their own! It must be them! I couldn’t make out the colour of his tie. It looked quite bright, but I couldn’t swear it was red. But they were the only two men on their own at the bar, so without giving it a second thought, I left Cindy in mid-sentence and decided to go over to the man looking so intently at me. As I stood up, I could f
eel something wasn’t right between my legs. The sponge had moved, and I felt tremendous stomach cramps, and as though my legs were made of cotton wool.

  Cindy could tell something was wrong, and grabbed me by the arm.

  ‘Are you feeling all right?’ she asked, visibly disturbed.

  ‘Yes, it’s nothing. It’s only the stupid sponge . . . Wait, I think I’ve seen them. Over there at the end of the bar. I’ll be right back.’

  I could feel beads of sweat on my brow, but I had stood up and was looking at them purposefully, so I had to go through with it. I did the best I could.

  ‘Aren’t you Manuel?’ I asked, trying hard to raise a smile.

  ‘No, I’m Antonio, and my friend here is Carlos. And what’s your name, gorgeous?’ said the guy who was supposed to be wearing a grey suit and a red tie.

  When I heard their names, my face fell.

  ‘Sorry, I thought you were someone else. I’m really sorry, I was sure you were him.’

  I extricated myself as quickly as possible, before I was completely overcome with embarrassment. It had all been for nothing, and I had looked ridiculous walking over there, as if I were wearing a baby’s nappy. By the time I got back to my seat, Cindy was deep in conversation with two men at the next table.

  ‘They’re from Kuwait,’ she explained. ‘But they only speak English, not a word of Spanish. I falou a poquinho of English, but it’s hard. What about you?’

  The two Kuwaits were eyeing me up and down in a way that left little doubt as to their intentions.

  ‘Look, if our two guys don’t show up, I’ll pick up one of these Arabs. They’ve got money, and I’m sure they’d pay well. We could keep the lot, and not tell them a thing at the agency.’

  ‘Are you crazy? Susana is expecting my call, and our clients haven’t appeared. If they don’t, we’ll have to go straight back to the apartment.’

  ‘Well, she can wait a bit, and besides, she’s just about to leave and soon Angelika will be in charge. She’s great: all we have to do is go back and tell her we waited and they never came. And in the meantime, we can have these two here.’