Calling Maggie May (7 page)

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 anxious.

“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.

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.

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.