“So, what you’re saying is, I’m supposed to fuck for hire to the highest bidder,” I said. “So, it is prostitution?”
“Don’t think of it that way,” Janine replied. “You just make a customer happy, but that doesn’t mean you fuck everyone. You just fulfill their fantasy, whatever that may be.” Janine lit another cigarette. “Some guys like to watch. Some like a spanking, while others like to dress up like a woman, or play strip poker.”
“Sounds weird,” I replied.
“Don’t over think it. If you can do what you did last night, just let go, you’ll do fine, I promise.”
Janine looked at her watch. “It’s two o’clock.” She looked upward, as if she was pondering something, and then said, “I’ll tell you what, I’m gonna grab a shower and take you to Cat Tails. Madame Elaine arrives around three. I will introduce you and you can take it from there. If you don’t want the job, that’s fine. No pressure, I promise.”
I did not answer her. I wanted to make her be the one to press the idea, not me.
She lit another cigarette, her fourth in a half hour. She blew her smoke in the air, and then said, “So, what do you think?”
I smiled, squirmed in my chair, bashfully giggled with a silly laugh, and said, “Do you really think I’m good enough to do the job?”
“Sure, you’ll probably take my job.” She started giggling with me.
She took a long drag on her menthol cigarette, exhaled and said, “Show me your tits.”
“What?” I replied.
“Show me your tits,” she repeated.
“Why?” I asked.
“Just do it,” she insisted.
I knew what she was doing, but I was being difficult, knowing she was enjoying the opportunity to help me. My plan was working perfectly. I had a tight, white, men’s “wife-beater,” T-shirt on without a bra, tied in a knot in the front, exposing my stomach. Surely, she could see my nipples. So, to ask me to show my tits was obviously her idea of an interview.
I untied the knot above my belly button, lifted my T-shirt and exposed my breasts. “There,” I said, “Are you happy now?” I sat down and retied my T-shirt into a knot.
“Good. Now stand up,” Janine insisted.
I glared at her, as if to say: what now?
“Please, I’m trying to help you,” she pleaded.
I stood up, placed my hands on my hips with attitude, and said, “Okay, now what, you want me to strip?”
“Turn around,” she said.
I pushed my chair back and spun around, facing the opposite direction. When I did, I noticed above me, one story higher, a guy — probably around 18 or 19 years old, wearing shorts, sandals, and no shirt — was standing on his balcony with his hands on the rail, gawking at me. I made eye contact with him, getting ready to tease him and impress Janine.
“Okay,” Janine said, “Lift your skirt and show me your ass.”
Without hesitation, I lifted the back of my blue-jean miniskirt. I was wearing a white G-string.
“God, you got a nice ass.”
I dropped my skirt and continued staring at the man above. The awkward pause caught Janine’s attention.
“I see we’ve got an audience,” Janine said.
“I guess we do,” I said. I untied my T-shirt and exposed my tanned, 34C tits.
The man’s eyes popped wide open in shock, and then he turned around and scooted past the patio furniture, tripping over a chair before to his knees. He stood up, looked back for one last peek and rushed into his apartment.
Janine busted out laughing.
I tied my T-shirt, turned around and sat down. “Scared the hell out of him. I guess he’s never seen a set of boobs before.”
“That was great,” she replied.
I lit a cigarette. Janine shifted her head to the left, gazing upward, looking over my shoulder and giggling. She whispered in a soft voice, “Oh, shit, there he is.”
The young man was peeking out the sliding glass door, all that was showing was a head. I turned around to catch a glimpse and when I did, he jerked back inside, like a turtle retracting into its shell.
We both laughed. We repeated the scene, play-by-play, explaining what was funny about the young man’s actions, laughing all over again as we finished drinking our coffee. As I expected, Janine explained that her demand to see my tits and my ass was a role-play to prepare me for Madam Elaine’s interview.
I got dressed for the proposal. I put on a matching black lace bra and panties and changed into a short, black satin dress and a pair of white Stiletto shoes.
After Janine got showered and dressed, we got into her car and drove to the brothel. While riding in the car, she told me more about Elaine. I learned her last name was Dungy, but she didn’t like to be called by it. She inherited it from her ex, whom she detested. I thought about me changing my name from Cindy West to Kelly Lee, and wondered, why doesn’t she just change her name if she doesn’t like it. Elaine was a 45-year-old cougar, a retired stripper and former escort. She started stripping in LA and moved to Vegas when she was 25.
Elaine obtained a job at the landmark strip club, The Palomino Club, which, according to Elaine, is the only club allowed to serve liquor and totally nude dancers. Other clubs with liquor licenses are restricted to topless dancers. When Elaine turned 32, she went to work at the Can-Can Room because the club has a quainter atmosphere and the cliental were personal, which meant better tips. When she turned 36, she went to work at Sheri’s Brothel Ranch for two years, learning the business and gaining experience.
At age 38, she opened her own brothel, The Cat Tails Lounge. According to Janine, the name cat and tail stands for “pussy” and “ass.” Pretty clever, I thought. For the past seven years, her business had served high-profile clients from all walks of life.
Janine says Madam Elaine is sassy, quick-witted and wise. She demands excellence from her girls and respect from her customers.
“Once you get to know her,” Janine said, “she will watch over you as if you are one of her daughters. She is fair, honest and trustworthy.”
We pulled up to the brothel which wasn’t what I expected. It was no cheesy storefront or typical dingy retail building, like some grungy porn shop stuck in a corner of a ghetto neighborhood. It was a beautiful, two-story home with shrubs, flowers and greenery. I did not see a sign anywhere. The parking was around back, with a gated lot and a digital keypad for entry.
Janine removed a picture ID badge from her leopard-print handbag, slid her card downward on the keypad and the electric gate opened. She placed her badge back into her purse, looked at me and said, “No badge, no code, no enter.”
We drove around the back of the brothel house and she pulled her Mercedes Benz into a parking spot that had a sign that read, “Reserved for JB.” I stared at the sign. It took me a second to figure it out that JB stood for Janine Brady.
“JB,” I said, as she put the gearshift in “park” turned off her car and removed the keys.
“We don’t use our full name,” she explained. “Instead, we use Cat Tails, or ‘CT,’ for short. So, to a client, I am Janine Cat Tails. You would be Kelly Cat Tails. Pretty cool, yeah?
We got out of the car and went to the back door, and Janine pressed a button on a black square box, positioned on the outside wall. A voice answered, “Cat Tails.” Janine replied, “JB dash 6231.” The bolt automatically unlatched the door and we went in.
A woman standing in the hallway took one look at me and said, “Who the hell is she?”
4
The Agreement
In front of me stood a 5’ 2” red headed woman, wearing a tightly fitted pink mini-skirt and a cut-away blouse that exposed a fair amount of cleavage. A designer chandelier necklace, dangled in between her buxom breasts, gently rocking from one of the other.
She looked stunning, beautiful and sassy.
This must be Elaine.
She certainly didn’t look like she worked at the brothel; her outfit, as skimpy as
it was, and her accessories probably cost more than they made in a year.
“Madam Elaine, this is Kelly, she’s with me,” Janine said. “I wanted to introduce her to you. She just relocated from New York City and she’s looking for a job.”
I stood motionless, feeling very intimidated. She was menacing, imposing — downright terrifying.
Elaine took two steps towards me to check me out. Then she asked Janine, “Does she have references?”
I knew that I had to appear confident, but not cocky, so I spoke up, “What kind of references?”
Before Madam Elaine had a chance to respond, Janine interrupted, “Well, after last night, at my place, Thomas and I can give her references.”
“Oh, really,” Elaine replied. “Is she any good?”
“The best.”
“Let’s go into my office,” Madam Elaine said, walking away.
Janine took the lead and then stopped when Elaine turned around and said, “Just her.”
I followed Elaine down the hallway to the final door on the right. I stepped into her elegantly decorated office, complete with animal statues and a zebra rug that covered half the floor. The walls lined with signed and framed photographs of famous actors, sport-figures and high-profile businesspersons standing with Elaine.
She walked to her desk, spun around and sat on the edge. “Come closer,” she said.
I walked to the leather chairs and stopped.
“Closer,” she repeated.
My God, what’s she want to do, make out?
I moved closer until I was about three feet away.
“Take off your dress,” she said.
I slid my straps off each shoulder and removed my dress, at which point she asked me to remove my bra and panties. I stood before her nearly naked, wearing nothing but my stilettos. She stepped forward, placed one hand on each breast and gently squeezed them, before saying, “Are they real?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied.
“Turn around,” she asked.
I turned around and she said, “Bend over and place your hands on the arms of the chair. Spread your legs.”
I felt like I was back in eighth grade getting a physical examination from the school nurse. She rubbed her hands on my buttocks and said, “Mmmm, no tan lines, that’s a nice touch.”
The air conditioner was turned up high in her office, raising the hairs on the back of my arms and stiffening my nipples. My nipples stood to attention, as if ready for their physical examine. She looked at my crotch, pointed and said, “You might want to consider shaving that little patch, if you want to work here. It is not a requirement, but men tip better for a shaved pussy.”
“I’ll do it tonight,” I said.
She gave me one final glance and then told me to get dressed, which I did quickly and without looking at her. Fully clothed, I sat in the leather chair as she asked me questions about myself.
“Sorry for coming on strong in the hallway, I like to know who is in my home.”
“I understand,” I said.
“So, you’re from New York City?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Call me Elaine,” she stated.
She asked me questions about my work history and my family — did I have any allergies, why did I move to Las Vegas, had I ever worked in a strip club, did I take drugs and how much alcohol did I consume? I was trying to decide what part of my “Cindy West life” I would include. I knew I couldn’t tell her my real reason for being in Vegas, but whatever I said, I needed to be sure to keep my story straight so I wouldn’t draw unwanted attention later.
I gave as little information as possible, telling her about my parents’ car accident and that after their death that my sister raised me until I went to college. I left out the part about Penny. How could I explain her suicide was a murder and that Harvey Goldman, one of her best clients, was a prime suspect?
After a brief question and answer session, Elaine gave me an application form. Before she stepped out of her office and I completed the application, she informed me that I had to agree to a blood test and a background check. She assured me it was all a formality, nothing personal and nothing to worry about, but necessary nevertheless.
Mr. Watkins and Alex helped me with getting more than just a new name—they got me a new identity. Alex knew someone at the Federal Bureau of Investigation in the statistical department, he created a background that included a credit history, bank records, credit card statements and work history, all in the name of Kelly Lee.
Ten minutes later, Madam Elaine returned to the office and sat in her chair. I gave her my application. She gave it a quick once-over and then, without looking at me, said, “Janine had nothing but good things to say about you.”
“She’s been very helpful and supportive.”
Elaine smiled. She looked up into my eyes and said, “I guess Thomas has positive things to say about you, as well.”
I lowered my head, placed my right hand on my chin, smiled, looked back up, and stared right back into Madam Elaine’s eyes. “He should. I was able to make him cum twice in five minutes.” I knew I was taking a risk, but I had to do something to show I was provocative.
She told me the procedure, where to go for my blood tests, how many days it would take for the results, the background check and the reference calls. Elaine told me she would be very discreet and that no one would know I was working as an escort; to all appearances I would be a waitress at a Bar and Lounge.
It would take a few days before she would get back to me. I was anxious to get started. The first thing I needed to do was call Alex and Mr. Watkins. Not only didn’t they know I put them down as references, but they had no clue I was in Las Vegas. I didn’t want them to stop me so I told them I was going to visit my Aunt Debbie in upstate New York.
***
Janine dropped me off a few blocks from my hotel. I told her I wanted to do some shopping and that I would catch a cab to her place when I was through. I immediately called Alex and then Mr. Watkins. Alex was not happy at all. He warned me that it was too dangerous and that Harvey Goldman was an evil man.
“You need to be careful,” Alex said. He gave me a name of a P.I in Vegas and told me to mention his name. He would be able to follow me and make sure I was safe. I promised Alex I would be cautious and give him an update as soon as I made contact with Harvey.
My next call was to the PI. His name was Rick Morgan, a former Nevada State Trooper turned Private Investigator. He met me in the hotel lobby about an hour after I called him. I paid him $2,000 in cash to watch my back for the next two weeks and, if I still needed him, I would pay him $1,000 a week and an additional $1,000 for weekends. He refused to accept that much money, especially in cash, but I insisted and told him that Alex spoke highly of him and that I needed his help. He assured me that he would not let me down.
Later that afternoon I went to a health clinic and got my blood work. I hate needles and have always been terrified of them. Just the thought of them makes me sick to my stomach. The phlebotomist gave me a cookie because my face turned sheet-white.
I returned to my hotel, called Janine and told her I was looking at an apartment and would stop by later. A couple of hours later I called her again and told her I found a furnished apartment and would call by the next day to get my stuff. I really did not need any of the items I had left at her flat, but I had to do it to keep my cover intact.
***
I arrived at the brothel in my new car. I was trying to figure out how to explain it, but Elaine never mentioned it, neither did I. I went into her office, wondering if I was going to be strip searched again. Elaine informed me that the blood work was good and that my references checked out positively.
“So when do you want to start?” she asked.
I looked at my watch, “Give me two hours and I will be here, ready to do whatever you need.”
“I like your zeal,” Elaine said. “You kind of remind me of myself. However, before you begin, I want
to go over a few things with you. First, you’ll need to sign an employee contract, an NDA, a confidentiality release form that protects our clients and then I have what I call ‘The Agreement.’
“The Agreement?” I replied.
“Yes, I guess you can call it a Code of Honor. It is an agreement between you and me,” she said.
Oh, great, I thought . . . what’s this . . . The Agreement? Is this some legal document that binds me to a one year commitment? What does she want from now . . . my firstborn?
“Much of the paperwork around here is required by the state and the IRS,” Elaine said. “But I’m old school. I believe your word is your bond. If I tell you something, you can take it to the bank, Kelly. I do not lie. I do not cheat. I do not steal. And, I do not let my girls get in over their head.
“If there is something you do not feel comfortable with, I want you to tell me. If a client hurts you, threatens you, or stalks you—you tell me and I will deal with it, immediately. That’s what you can expect from me.
“Now, here is what I expect from you. No illegal drugs, period. If you take prescriptions drugs, you need to let me know right away.”
I remembered that I had lied on my application about taking anxiety meds. How did it not turn up on my toxicology report, I had no idea. I guess they were just looking for HIV or AIDS.
“Low levels of alcohol are permissible when you are with a client. Now, if you want to get smashed on your own time, be my guest, just don’t come to work drunk or hung over,” she insisted.
I nodded.
“We good so far?” Elaine asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered.
“Okay, good. You must agree not to moonlight with clients.”
“Moonlight?” I replied.
“That means you cannot date your customers or see them off the clock. You cannot arrange meetings with clients outside of our booking. This is for your protection and mine. No offense, but the last thing I need is for you or one of my girls to wind up dead in an alley somewhere because you got greedy or sloppy.”
“I understand,” I said. I began to wonder what my strategy was going to be when and if I met Harvey Goldman.
The Plan Page 4