Fast Girl (17 page)

T
he action in Vegas slowed down considerably during the summer. It was too hot to attract the same crowds of tourists that flocked there during the winter. And there weren't as many conventions, which meant fewer doctors and businessmen looking to enjoy a weekend away from the real world. Also, Kylie was out of school and even busier with her many activities, including gymnastics, water ballet, and soccer. I stayed closer to home and helped Mark.

Being at home meant spending more time in close quarters with my husband, but we were far from close. I longed for my life in Vegas and tried to keep it with me by playing the
same songs I listened to with my clients—like “Locked Out of Heaven” by Bruno Mars and “Numb” by Usher—over and over and over again until Mark couldn't take it anymore. I remained in constant contact with Bridget, several of the girls who were now good friends, and my most devoted regulars. By this point, I had plenty of clients who believed that I was their special girl, that I liked them more than any of my other clients and would eventually run away with them. I was able to leverage their affection into the promise of sessions with me if I booked a trip to Vegas. Sometimes when they texted that they wanted to see me and were coming into town, I would go so far as to tell them I'd fly to Vegas to meet them if they booked four hours with me. At least one person always agreed. The promise of even one appointment was enough for me to justify another trip back in July, and then if I got more business, even better. I always did get more business in the end, so it seemed like a good plan, an investment almost.

Along with my regulars—Roger and Bob—I had an appointment with a new client during that trip. All I knew when I met Lionel at the Double Helix bar at the Palazzo was that he was a lawyer from Kansas. From the minute I sat down next to him, it was clear he was smitten with me.

If he had felt connected to me in the bar, the feeling was amplified considerably in the bedroom. He was into blindfolds, ropes, and S&M, and I was open to all of it. Toward the end of our time together, he was lying on the bed staring at me.

“You don't know how incredible that was,” he said. “I have sex with my wife maybe three times a year. She's having an affair. There's nothing I like about her anymore.”

“I'm so sorry to hear that,” I said. “That's terrible.”

“I've seen plenty of gals in Vegas,” he said. “But I'm only going to see you now, okay?”

“I'd like that,” I said.

“Are you free tomorrow?” he asked. “I'd like to take you shopping. Who are your favorite designers?”

I paused for a beat, never wanting to seem too greedy, but wanting to seize the opportunity, too.

“Hervé Léger,” I said. “Christian Louboutin.”

“You'll look gorgeous in those,” he said. “I want to buy you an outfit.”

I floated out of there, high from the sex and already imagining the shopping spree.

That evening, when I got to Lionel's suite, he was jittery with excitement.

“I know who you are,” he said. “You're Suzy Favor Hamilton. I remember seeing you run on TV, and I recently watched a show about you on the Big 10 network, and how you were one of the top twenty athletes in conference history.”

“Lionel, you have to promise me you're not going to tell anyone.”

“Of course I'm not going to say anything,” he said. “I love you.”

I nearly took a step back from him, I was so surprised. Even my most devoted regulars never used the word
love
. And this was only our second session.

“That's so sweet,” I said, trying to keep it light.

“I'm serious,” he said. “I want you to visit me in Kansas. I want us to know each other in our real lives. In fact, you should marry me.”

“Lionel, if you know who I am, than you must know I'm married,” I said.

“Well, not happily, if you're here now,” he said. “Leave him and marry me. I'm serious. I'm a lawyer. I can give you everything you ever wanted. I'll totally spoil you. We'll go on vacation to tropical islands. We'll have sex twice a day, every day.”

That was my cue to distract him by having a little sex right then. From that moment on, he was my most regular client, and my most devoted.

Mark and I were actually getting along better than we had in a long time. Our policy of giving each other space had led to considerably less tension around the house. And with me home more that summer, and with us bonded together in the complicated scheduling that went into getting Kylie to and from all of her events, we actually started getting along better than we had in months, maybe even years.

We celebrated my forty-fourth birthday as a family on August 8, picking Kylie up from her swimming lesson and then taking her to a day camp in our neighborhood. Kylie seemed excited to have us together and insisted on taking a picture of Mark and me before we left her with a sitter and went to eat at a fancy restaurant in downtown Madison. It showed us looking more relaxed together than usual, with me looking very skinny and very blond. Mark and I even had sex that night when we got home from dinner, and although it wasn't as passionate and loving as it had been years before, at least we were getting along.

The thaw between Mark and me meant that we actually started talking about subjects beyond simple household
happenings again. And there was a great deal to discuss. One thing that had been weighing on Mark's mind was taxes. He'd slipped the small amount of money I'd earned from escorting in 2011 into our taxes for that year, but he knew he'd have to find a way to declare my much more substantial escort earnings for 2012, and he had no idea how to explain this to our tax accountant, or to the IRS.

Mark also dared to make a suggestion that he hadn't before. We were alone in our bedroom when he looked up from his iPad.

“Suzy, you need to stop,” he said. “Too many people know who you are. It's only a matter of time until someone goes public. It's just too dangerous.”

Mark had said this before, but he'd always stood by and let me continue.

“I can't stop,” I said. “I've never been happier.”

He looked at me sadly. Of course I'd been happier on my wedding day and the day Kylie was born, but those were both a long time ago, and this was different.

“You've got to see a psychologist,” he said. “You have a history of depression.”

I tell him I'm happy, and he tells me I need a doctor. Who does he think he is?

“I'm finally independent,” I continued, trying to win him over to my point of view. “Nobody will ever know.”

Finally, he gave up.

It was the last night I was home for a long time.

W
hen I next saw Lionel, he had another gift for me. He gave it to me over dinner, sliding the flat box across the table as we sipped our wine. Many of my clients had very specific fantasies they wanted me to act out with them, and I was happy to explore whatever. But Lionel's desire wasn't sexual. He wanted me to be his wife, in real life, so when we were together, without ever explicitly saying that's how it would be, I pretended I was.

“You look so beautiful tonight,” he said. “I have something for you.”

I was already feeling the rush from the sleek lines and hushed glamour of the expensive restaurant and the
intoxicating properties of the wine and his praise. My pulse quickened when I opened the box and rested my eyes on a beautiful diamond necklace. He'd already given me a sexy Hervé Léger dress and an iPad, even though I'd told him I already had one, but expensive jewelry was the most potent symbol of all I wanted my new life to be.

“Thank you,” I said. “I love it.”

“And I love you,” he said.

And then he stepped out of the fantasy, as he sometimes did, forcing me to pay attention in order to keep up with what he wanted from me.

“I'll give you anything you want,” he said. “Gifts. Vacations. I can provide for you in a way your husband can't. You wouldn't have to be here in Vegas anymore.”

As if I'm in Vegas for the money,
I thought.

I knew I wasn't going to leave Mark, wasn't going to marry Lionel, wasn't going to stop escorting, but I was flattered by Lionel's passion and persistence.

“That's very sweet of you,” I said.

“We can be so happy together, Suzy,” he continued.

I flinched a little at the sound of my real name. I didn't like hearing him say it.

“Help me put on my necklace,” I said, eager for the mood to be flirty and light again. “When we get back to your suite I'll model it for you with nothing else on.”

He came around the table, and I lifted my hair for him so he could slide the necklace onto my breastbone and clasp it behind my head. The gold was heavy and cold against my skin. I loved the weight of it and how substantial it felt: all those
diamonds, all those dollars, the perfect emblem of everything he'd promised me.

It wasn't just my regulars who were upping the ante, either. I got a call from Bridget, preparing me for a date with a regular client.

“I've got this appointment for you,” she said. “The date is with Jim. He buys expensive gifts for all the girls, so expect to go shopping. He's very wealthy.”

“Excellent,” I said, waiting for her to continue.

“Okay, have fun,” she said, ready to get off the line.

“That's it?” I asked, wanting to know everything, like I always did, so I could add it to my notes. It was really important for me to know who I was seeing and how I could please him. Of course, Bridget didn't know about my notes.

“That's it,” she said, again ready to hang up.

“But wait, what does he look like? What does he do? What are his special requests? What's he into?”

She sounded annoyed as she quickly ran through his basic information. I could practically hear her thinking,
What a pain in the ass. None of the other girls ask questions like this.
But I was number two in Vegas and the other girls weren't, so she humored me.

I was excited by the possibility of an expensive gift as I stood outside the door to Jim's suite. I prepared myself for some extreme sexual acrobatics. If he was going to buy me a gift, I was going to make sure he knew how much I appreciated it. When the door opened, a pleasant older man dressed in business casual met me with a wide smile.

“Hi there,” I said, kissing him right on the mouth.

He stepped back a little and laughed.

“Oh, hi, Kelly, it's nice to meet you. Let's go get some dinner.”

I was surprised that Jim didn't want to take a trip to the bedroom first, but I didn't let it show. I simply adjusted my behavior to match his calm, thoughtful mood. There was nothing the least bit sexual in our interaction as we made small talk on our way. He'd made a reservation at one of the top restaurants in Vegas, which impressed me, as did the fact that everyone from the hostess to the busboys knew who he was and greeted him with warm respect. I didn't know who this guy was beyond what little Bridget had told me, but I liked the feeling of being out with him. When it was time for us to be seated, he stepped aside a little and gestured that I should lead the way, like a true gentleman. Aside from letting it be known there were a few items I preferred, including pinot noir and lemon drop martinis, I always let the men pick our wine when we went to dinner, and often, our food. I was taken aback when he ordered a bottle of red wine for us that cost a thousand dollars.
My first thousand-dollar bottle of wine,
I thought, adding this to the list of incredible firsts I'd enjoyed lately.

“So do you come to Las Vegas often?” I asked him, wanting to know more about him.

“Some,” he said. “I prefer to travel in Europe, but Vegas has its perks.”

“I love Europe,” I said. “Monte Carlo is my favorite.”

“Yes, Monte Carlo is wonderful,” he said, seeming a little surprised and very pleased that his new escort could speak knowledgeably of European cities.

Several times throughout dinner, I noticed him giving me a similar look over and over, as if he couldn't believe he was having such an intelligent conversation with me. Instead of feeling indignant at the implication that all other escorts were dumb, I thrived on the suggestion that I was unique and special. When the bill came, the meal itself cost a thousand dollars, plus the price of the wine. None of my clients had ever spent that much money on me for a meal, and I was flushed with pleasure and excitement. It was time to up the ante.

“Which store would you like to go to?” he said as we waited for the waiter to return with his credit card. “Chanel, Louis Vuitton, they're all here.”

This is the best thing in the world,
I thought. But I was not the type to be pushy when he was already being so generous.

“Which do you think?” I asked.

“How about Louis Vuitton?” he said.

“That's great,” I said. “I don't have a really nice purse.”

By the time we entered the Louis Vuitton store, with its elegant displays of expensive handbags, I could barely focus on even this extremely enjoyable task.

“Which one do you want?” he asked, smiling warmly at me.

Again, I hesitated, looking around. They were all beautiful. I didn't want to pick one that was too expensive when he had already been so generous.

“Which one do you think would be good for me?” I asked.

He surveyed the displays and picked out a beautiful handbag.

I beamed with joy, and I couldn't contain myself as we stood at the counter.

“This is my first expensive purse,” I said to the saleswoman. “This is so nice of him. Oh my god!”

She laughed, not in a mean way, but as if she found it refreshing to see someone actually excited to be in possession of something so elite. I was so thrilled that I was lighting up that shop, and I could tell the woman loved me for it.

From there we went back to his room, and I stripped for him. We did finally have sex, but it only lasted for about fifteen minutes, and it seemed as if maybe it wasn't the point of the endeavor for him anyway. Jim wanted to treat a beautiful young woman to dinner at one of the city's most exclusive restaurants and feel her appreciation and admiration when he bought her an expensive gift she wouldn't have otherwise been able to afford. If that was what made him happy, I was more than glad to help give him what he craved.

By the time our appointment was over, I was vibrating with the combined effects of the meal, the conversation, the purse, and the feeling of having been acknowledged in some way by this very successful, very rich man.

“I definitely want to see you again,” he said, cementing my happiness.

Later that month, I met with a client named Dylan, a wealthy techie who had sold his software company for major money and now enjoyed spending freely in Vegas on escorts and other pleasures. As we drank our wine before dinner, he began confiding in me.

“I don't feel like I have any choice but to come to Vegas,” he said. “I'm in a sexless marriage.”

“A lot of people are,” I said, trying not to think about
Mark. “But it's good that you can take care of yourself. Does your wife know?”

“She didn't know for a long time,” he said. “And then, recently, she found out and she actually gave me her permission. She just doesn't want to know when.”

“That sounds like it's probably the best solution for both of you,” I said.

I was at a nice restaurant, drinking an expensive bottle of wine, having a deep conversation with an extremely rich and successful man who I'd won over enough for him to tell me all about his troubled marriage. Not that long ago, each of these factors alone would have thrilled me, but now, they just felt normal to me.

“My limo's waiting outside to take us to my hotel,” Dylan told me after we had finished eating and he had paid the bill.

I liked the sound of that. When we climbed into the hushed, opulent cocoon and pulled out into the constantly dragging traffic of the Strip, I kissed Dylan.

He paused and pulled back from me a little bit.

“There's something I want to give you,” he said.

“What is it?” I said, already excited, hoping for jewelry.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small tube, from which he shook two white powder-filled capsules out onto his palm.

“One for you, one for me,” he said.

“What is it?” I asked, a little wary.

“Ecstasy,” he said. “It'll make you feel really good, I promise. I'll make sure you're safe. You just need to drink plenty of water.”

That was enough for Kelly. She was up for excitement, risk, anything. Without further thought, I popped the pill onto my tongue and swallowed it. As the driver rolled the car past the great banks of sparkling lights that lined the Strip, we began to kiss, and I quickly stripped down to just my bra and panties. The partition between the driver's seat and the back of the limo began to go up, and I realized that the driver wanted to give us privacy. Suddenly, my high spiked that much higher at the thought of him watching us in the backseat.

“No, leave it down,” I said, catching the driver's eye in his rearview mirror.

Dylan seemed as turned on by this as I was, because he pulled me onto his lap and took it from there. I'd found a way to up the ante once again.

MY CALLS HOME HAD BECOME
ever more infrequent and brief. After his attempt to talk sense into me in the summer had failed, Mark seemed resigned to the fact that this was my life now. And if that was true, he had a new concern. During one of our rare phone conversations in September, he made me really talk to him.

“Suzy, you're in Vegas so much these days,” he said.

I prickled, ready to get defensive at whatever came next.

“And the hotel bills are getting really expensive,” he said. “It's ridiculous. Do you have any idea what you're spending?”

“But I need to stay at the nicest hotels,” I said, looking around me at my room at the Encore. “A top escort out here has to present a certain image. And besides, I make a lot of money.”

“That's all fine and good,” he said. “But these bills are completely out of control.”

I waited for him to tell me once again I had to stop, to come home, my defense at the ready.

“We should buy a condo in Vegas,” I said.

Secretly, I was hoping this would be the first step in convincing him to move our entire life out west, but I knew I couldn't present it like that.

“It could be an investment property,” I said.

“Right,” he said, sarcastically.

Then, a few days later, he surprised me, obviously coming to the realization that this was going to be our life now.

“I've been thinking about it, and we should consider a condo at the Trump,” he said.

“Are you kidding me? I love the Trump.”

“The main thing is that you'll be safe, and we won't be spending so goddamn much money on hotel rooms,” he said. “Hopefully, it'll be a good investment in the long run. I could let my real estate clients use it as a reward for working with us.”

“When are you going to buy it?” I asked, already prickling with excitement. Although I was proud of how much money I made in Vegas, it was almost like play money, and I never thought specifically of using it to cover my Vegas expenses. I spent as much as I wanted in Vegas and what was left sat in our safe at home, untouched.

“I've already picked out the condo I think is best for us,” he said. “I want you to go check it out, and if you think it looks good, I'm going to make an offer.”

As I strolled through the condo, snapping pictures to send
to Mark, I felt a deep sense of satisfaction, like I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Maybe everything would really work out the way I wanted after all.

I DIDN'T HAVE TO DO
everything a client wanted on a date, only what I was comfortable with, and the decision was totally up to me. At the same time, there were certain sex acts that cost extra, which the client knew up front. Mark and I had, in our old life, been very open when it came to sex. There was a lot I was comfortable with. And besides, there wasn't a judgmental bone in my body. I wanted to make my clients feel good and help them to live out their fantasies, and so I responded enthusiastically to almost everything they wanted to try. But there were a few things I wouldn't do, and that was that. No one ever tried to pressure me. But now that more and more extreme behaviors—drugs, taking high-end gifts, overnights—were becoming the norm for me, I had to push the boundaries even further. I started expanding the range of things I was willing to do, of my own accord. For a little while, at least, it worked.