Naked Lies

by Karen Botha

  I fiddle with my phone. Adam's number is on the display. But I can’t decide whether to text him and remind him I’m around today. I’ve drafted several messages ranging from professional to personal. One draft reminds him he’s due an appointment. I figured that would be harder for him to turn down, but it came across as curt. Then, I’ve ignored the massage altogether and made light conversation about how he is feeling, suggesting we hook up. But that’s not the right tone either, so I scrubbed it almost as soon as I’d typed it. I’ve asked if he could give me a lift home from the office, but I never sent that one because, well, it just sounds like I’m using him. Texts can be so difficult to interpret, and there’s no room here for miscommunication.

  My finger continues to trail down the list, double checking. Ooh my last appointment is Hana. That will be an enlightening hour, as I’ve not had any dealings with her other than at the fundraiser when she seemed a bit odd. I’m curious to see how she pans out with her guard down. Clients often start off abrasive, but as the massage progresses and their stresses dissipate, they lighten up and allow you to see behind their mask.

  It’s hard going. Working for myself means I’m in charge of when I want a break, but it’s different here. Someone who doesn’t understand how the workload can affect your health is booking my calendar up. But I can’t complain. I’m being paid well. But whoa, working three solid days back-to-back on clients who haven’t had a massage in forever… that’s rough.

  By the end of the day, I’m considering where I could book a massage myself at short notice. My previous trepidation about meeting Hana properly is diminished somewhat. Overshadowed by my tender thumbs, aching back and my shoulders which send shooting pains down to my elbows whenever I administer in excess of my standard bodyweight.

  ‘Ready Lucy,’ she shouts after undressing.

  She’s butt naked on the table, the warmed towels laying folded as they were. She has a great body. She must be my age or a little older, and I tell myself that some people are just blessed.

  ‘Are you warm enough?’

  ‘Of course, darling, this room is baking.’ Strange word selection, but then I’m reminded of a foreign colleague who would create the oddest sounding sentences in a bid to sound like a local. I smile at the memory.

  ‘Have you had a busy day?’ I make small talk.

  ‘Ah not so bad, here and there, but nothing too taxing.’

  ‘What exactly is it you do?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m in charge of all the whales. So, I must keep them happy with whatever they want: hotel suites, special foods, and so on.’

  ‘Sounds fun?’

  ‘It can be, but a lot of it is behind the scenes. I’m looking at hotel suites, negotiating contracts, making sure the staff and rooms we rent are of the correct standard. There’s a lot of detail that goes into making this process appear seamless.’

  ‘I can imagine. These high rollers must need to bring in a lot of money for you to spend on them like you do?’

  ‘Oh yes, but then they certainly do. Otherwise we wouldn’t do it. They do expect a lot, though. And then it’s not just the amount we invest in them, but it’s the payment terms as well.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t realise you made repayment agreements with gamblers.’

  ‘Yes, it’s a deal breaker when encouraging the highest spenders to sign with us over our competition. We agree a line of credit when they apply for their membership. I work with, no actually, I argue with Graham, over the limit we can provide interest free.’

  I know I’m naïve in many areas, but I truly did not realise. I thought you took your cash to the casino, or maybe your bank card, and then when you spent up that would be that. Apparently not!

  ‘So, what happens if people can’t pay their credit?’

  ‘It depends on the financial climate.’

  ‘So, how do you get it back?’

  ‘Well,’ She starts. ‘We write off an amount as bad debt, it’s part of the risk of this type of industry. It can go to court though, or the bailiffs, like a bank loan would.’

  ‘So, you have to deal with all of this whilst keeping those who are paying happy?’

  ‘Yes, there are some challenging moments, that's for certain. I flip from being the evil guy to the perfect angel in seconds.’

  It strikes me that Hana maybe an impeccable choice for this role. ‘You must spend a lot of your time role playing, rather than being yourself…’

  ‘Oh yes, but isn’t life like that?’

  ‘I’m not sure, it used to be for me when I had a corporate job, but not anymore. I’m happier being myself.’

  ‘Oh, but honey, where is the fun in this?’

  I’m struck dumb. Something about her tone amplifies her words. More importantly I don’t know what she was getting at. Does she mean I shouldn’t be so drab? That’s the literal interpretation.

  Or, did she mean she plays a million parts because she likes being anyone other than herself? I’m not sure she’d be that open with me on our first proper meeting, especially when the implication is that she isn’t herself very often.

  I take a mental step back before asking, ‘So, who do you like being best if you play all these different roles?’

  ‘Ooh, now let me think. They are all so enjoyable because none are someone I must be the whole time. I don’t know if I can select a favourite.’

  ‘But, if you had to choose one?’ I push.

  ‘I think the flirty Hana. She gets the most pleasure. She is taken wherever she wants to go, is showered with compliments and flattery, and can be nice.’

  ‘So, you prefer to be nice than not?’

  ‘Oh, no, I love being not nice. Thinking entirely of oneself is how to get on in life. But, it is more fun to be charming when your prey has no suspicion of your alternate personality, one that would rip their throat out in the beat of a heart.’

  ‘Whoa,’ I laugh, unsure what else is appropriate.

  She joins me. ‘Not literally, you understand, but I must be merciless as a woman in this business. I didn’t leave everyone I know and love in my home country to come here and be nice. Being nice only achieves a certain amount.’

  I can actually see what she’s saying, although it strikes me she could potentially have taken this the odd step further than I’d be comfortable with.

  ‘Is your heart made from ice?’ I ask.

  Her spine moves as she releases another sultry laugh. ‘Not of ice, that would melt.’

  I got out of the business world to avoid being around people like her. Yet, here I am, day one back in a corporate environment and wouldn’t you know it, here I am dealing with that total shit again. A razor-sharp dagger, nonchalantly hidden behind a cloak of sincerity in the name of achieving and maintaining the position of top dog. We’ve not evolved at all over the hundreds of years since the Middle Ages, and we’re still creating wars so we can win.

  ‘What’s your barometer of success? The other day you mentioned money was an important measure to you?’

  ‘Oh yes, because the more I bring in, the more I have achieved. Of course, I don’t need any more cash, but my bank balance is my tick list of achievement,’ she continues.

  ‘Not running a business such as this then, that many can only aspire to?’

  ‘Yes, that is important, but this is one aspect. My accumulation of wealth, now that is my total accomplishment.’

  Paula

  The sloping drive arches out at its pinnacle to mirror the trunks of the trees within which it sits. It’s dusk, and the lights are on in Adam’s multi-level flat roofed home. I sigh. Every available wall is glass, flaunting his interior-designed upstairs living space. The house just nestles into the hillside, hidden as you sweep up the curved approach. It reveals itself gradually as you pass beneath it to start the ascent to park in front of the grey triple garage. I knew Adam was rich, but whoa? I'm not sure why I’m surprised; the man owns a casino for goodness' sake. Well, him and Hana. But as they say, seeing is believing.


  Adam is already waiting between his double entranceway for me, flanked on either side by two ornate potted trees. Dressed in joggers and a T, he has the appearance of someone who jumped out of the shower two minutes before; his hair is still damp.

  As I approach, he leaves his entrance and comes to meet me on his significant driveway.

  ‘Hi Paula, thanks for dropping everything to come by.’ He hugs me; tight.

  ‘That’s alright. Are you OK?’ I am a little confused by his message to meet him ‘with urgency,’ he said, particularly as this is the first I’ve heard from him since dumping us without warning in the middle of a field.

  ‘Yeah, let’s go in…’

  His house is as awesome inside as out. This man has money and class. I follow as he leads me up a back-lit tiled staircase which curves from the ground level basement to his upstairs living space. I place my hand on the glass banister and then immediately regret it in case I’ve daubed finger prints all over it.

  We appear in an open-plan living space. Double height windows run the entirety of the room, extending the spaciousness. To the left is a gloss white kitchen, again in pristine condition. But unlike Graham’s house, this has warmth and personality. Perhaps, in part, because the sloped ceiling has a porthole of light cascading in, casting a warm yellow glow over the quartz counters.

  He gestures to take a seat on the large cream couch. He crosses the charcoal rug and sits in one of the Conran-style armchairs facing me.

  ‘I don’t have much to tell you yet,’ I start. ‘I went and had a sneaky look at Graham’s home and I didn’t find much that shocked me. He’s a wife beater, but these types often are - more fool her for sticking with him if you ask me.’ Adam nods, and I can’t work out if this is news to him, or whether he’s agreeing with me. ‘His place is tidy to the point of being clinical, and when we studied his mortgage repayments, they’re right at the top of his official limit, he’d either have had to pull some strings to borrow at that percentage of his earnings or there’s something else at play. That said, all the payments are above board, but Jerome, my hacker contact, did check out whether he had any other bank accounts. He has at least one secret record, which was easy to trace…’

  Adam holds up his hand as I’m about to tell him we’re still analysing what has been deposited and where from.

  ‘Don’t worry about that, I called you here to help me out with a different case.’

  ‘Oh, OK?’ Wow, more work before I’ve even delivered his first assignment. Either I’m doing something right, or this weird situation with him and Lucy is taking a direction that includes me getting contracts. Either way, I’m fine. Lucy could do a lot worse.

  ‘I was arrested Paula.’

  Whoa! Rewind! What? I nod.

  ‘I have no idea what is going on. It's for human trafficking.’

  I scrutinise his house with a new interest, taking in every expensive coffee machine or remote control with different eyes. It took a lot of money to buy the view out of those huge windows; the place has its own lake - he resides in his own country park.

  ‘I see…’ My words are slow and precise.

  ‘I didn’t do it, Paula, and that’s why I need you. A few months ago, my registration plates were stolen off my car. I didn’t think too much of it. I just told Nuala, my PA, to report it to the police. But now, I’ve been accused of this, and I wonder if it was more sinister than I’d considered. I’ve been wracking my brains and I can’t remember anything else even remotely suspicious that has happened. But, the thing is, the police seem certain of themselves. They say they have evidence and they don’t appear to be game playing.’

  ‘Who have they said you’ve trafficked?’ I ask.

  ‘Well, they’ve not been particularly helpful in that department. They implied rather than stated specifically, that I was dealing in prostitution, which I absolutely am not I hasten to add. I assume that these prostitutes are the trafficked people to whom they refer. They also intimated they were young, but how young I’ve not been told.’

  ‘Oh, jeez Adam, what are you mixed up in?’

  ‘Nothing! Hey, if the high rollers want a hook up, we pass details on for women, not children. That’s part of the job. These guys blow fortunes with us in a weekend, if they wish to have someone to warm their bed it’s our role to make that easy for them. They’ll obtain their numbers, either way. We just speed up the process so they have maximum time and brain power to spend by not needing to arrange this stuff on their own. What we absolutely don’t do is have our own girls that we run in some kind of sleazy ring.’

  I would have preferred to believe that Adam didn’t get involved in this behaviour, but I’m no fool. I'm aware of what goes on, and to be fair, his description of events is plausible.

  ‘I’m going to need the contact details of the ladies you pass on regularly,’ I state getting back to business.

  He nods and rubs his chin. ‘I’d be glad to, as long as you’re discreet. When you meet these women, you’ll understand what I mean. They’re all well heeled business people who do this of their own accord. No one is being coerced.’

  ‘Sure.’ I’ll be the judge of that. ‘I’ll need to speak with Nuala, to get the crime reference number she was given when your plates were stolen. What vehicle do you drive?’

  ‘I have a few. The ones the number plates were taken from is my town car, the AMG.’ He says it like I’d have any clue what that is.

  ‘I see.’ I write it down; I’ll search it on Google later. ‘You should call Lucy,’ I remind him as I start packing up and heading towards the lobby.

  ‘Yeah, but with all of this, well would she want to hear from me?’ He opens the front door to the cold night air.

  ‘Hmm, good point. Let me speak to her, and I’ll pave the way for you.’

  ‘Oh, Paula, thank you.’ He hugs me again before I hop in my car and drive off. I'm sick with myself because I'm buoyed up, and it's at the expense of a friend having a tough time. My insides are singing. Finally! A case to get my teeth into. It’s been too long.

  Paula

  Well, this is a turn up for the books. I've lined up an afternoon of meeting Adam’s ladies of the night. I’m ensconced in a dark corner of a London coffee shop, reading a paper and peering over as people shuffle with laden trays between tables. There’s a mix of types in here, that’s one of the reasons I love this city so much. Everyone integrates well - until the tube, but that’s a different story.

  I’ve had dealings with call girls in the past, but they’ve been of the short skirt, blue vein, white skin variety. Basically hookers doing whatever they need to, for barely enough for their next fix. I haven’t knowingly met someone who has sex with unknown males out of choice. Actually, that’s not true, I’ve met plenty, but they do it for free. When I think about it like that, I’m not sure which side of the law I come down on. The side which tries to protect the unprotectable who will always go on giving sleazy blowjobs for a wrap regardless of the wording of a legal document; or the side of the seemingly smart business woman who exploits men who choose to be exploited.

  Carri turns up. I spot her a mile off. Her expensive wool three quarter length jacket is open over stylish boot cut high waisted trousers and a mink polo neck. Her makeup is expertly applied, natural looking and her hair is pulled back into a sensible pony tail. Solitary diamonds hang from her ears. She spots my wave and heads over, taking the seat opposite.

  She plonks a handbag the size of a satchel on the bench next to me, ‘You don’t mind do you? I'd rather it wasn't stolen.’

  ‘No certainly not.’ And I don’t, I warm to her as soon as she sits.

  She’s smiley, but not pathetic, glamorous but not crass and clearly intelligent. I go through the thanks for meeting me line and she nods.

  ‘No problem! Although we could have caught up on the phone, I never mind a trip out for coffee.’ She summons the waitress with a practised wave and orders a skinny latte.

  ‘Yes, we could, but
it’s often easier to get a sense of someone when you’re sitting across the table from each other. This won’t take long.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, I’m not working until later this evening.’

  ‘OK.’ I’m not sure whether I should show more interest or let it slide. My dilemma is unnecessary as she fills the gap in our chat before I’ve had a chance to reach my conclusion.

  ‘I'm seeing a regular; he’s a nice chap. We’re out to dinner and then a show whilst he’s in town.’

  I'm curious about his age, how wealthy he is, and whether she enjoys his company or even if she likes the guy and if that makes a difference. Instead I busy myself with getting a pad out of my bag. I don’t need it, as Carri has obviously not been trafficked.

  So as not to appear as though I’ve wasted her time, I ask, ‘So, how do you get your bookings?’

  ‘I work with an agent. She vets the gentlemen and then, once they’re cleared, passes me the details.’

  ‘Does she say what goes on during your meetings with these gentlemen?’

  She waits a heartbeat and then replies, ‘Officially? No, but this arrangement wouldn’t work if she wasn't at least aware of my strengths. I’m also not prepared to provide some services, so she needs to find out what the applicants have in mind to suggest the right fit. It is a bit of a tightrope walk.’

  ‘I can imagine. And just for the sake of clarity, your agent would never match you with someone whom you didn’t want to work with?’

  ‘One hundred percent.’

  ‘And no one in anyway forces you to perform any of the acts you offer?’

  ‘They most certainly would not,’ she says.

  ‘How did you get into this line of business?’

  She smiles, and leans back in her chair. ‘I’ve always loved the high life and I am lazy. I admit it.’ She grins, tips her head to one side, and nods. Her eyes are warm with self-acceptance. ‘Some will say that they love sex; it wasn’t the case for me, but I don’t mind it. If by sleeping with lonely men it means I am able to have all the nice things in life, I'm happy. I do enjoy it way better than sitting in some awful clerical role for the rest of my days.’ Her smile turns into a full-blown beam. Her teeth are perfectly white, bleached to match the tips of her nails.