Susie Learns the Hard Way (15 page)

‘Now we follow the next step. That's the way it works in this lark. One thing leads to another and you just keep on going until you find what you're looking for. In this case the next step is easy. Our Malcolm works for an agency in the West End—'

‘As a boxer?' Susie knew she had interrupted Harry, but though she didn't want to, she was having trouble concentrating and needed to join in and keep her mind busy, helping her to shut out the mental images of that chocolate-brown thing swaying from side to side as it dangled between Alf's thighs.

‘No, not as a boxer,' snapped Harry. ‘At an escort agency.'

‘Sorry. Go on.'

Harry lifted his eyebrows in exasperation. ‘We go there.'

‘We?'

‘Well, all right, you. I'm hardly escort material, am I,' he added plaintively, justifying what was about to follow.

‘No,' Susie agreed. ‘You need someone younger and better looking.'

‘I've got someone.'

She raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

‘You.'

‘I'm a girl.'

‘I've noticed that. They do provide escorts of both sexes.'

‘You want me to be an escort?'

‘Exactly. Got it in one.'

‘A hooker?'

‘No, no, no. It doesn't always have to be like that.' He saw the look on her face and rushed on. ‘You're young and pretty, you get paid to go to dinner and chat up an old bloke, make him smile a bit, and then make your excuses and leave. That's all there is to it.'

‘Harry, I may be young, but I'm not completely stupid. I read the papers, you know.'

Harry nodded glumly. He'd written enough of the stories personally. ‘Well
you
don't have to. You can just say it's midnight, goodbye, I've got to flit off before I turn back into a pumpkin or a toad or whatever. You can't tell me you've never given a chap the bum's rush before now.'

‘They won't give me the wonder drug though, will they?'

‘Noooo... not exactly.'

‘What then?'

‘I think they may give it to you to give to your client.'

‘I see. So you do want me to become a hooker.'

‘No, no. Listen. How it works is he rings the number in a magazine, they send round a bike messenger with a book of pictures, he chooses a girl he likes, agrees a price, pays on his credit card, and then they call the girl in question and tell her where to go. He's paid for a night of your company, and anything else beyond that is a private arrangement between the two of you. And you don't have to make one. But I think that when you get the call, they'll deliver the address and a small package for your client.'

‘And then I bring it to you.'

‘Precisely.'

It sounded easy enough. ‘How do I get a job, then?'

‘Just call the number.' Harry had a magazine open and was pointing at an ad for escort girls. The scantily clad and busty young blonde with a pouting smile left no one in any doubt as to what you were buying, no matter what the legal niceties might have been.

‘How did I know you'd know where to find one?' Susie smiled sweetly at Harry.

‘Go on then, get on the phone. Tell them your name is – oh, something silly and sexy. I know – Charlie.'

‘Charlie? Sexy?' She was smiling at him, hoping he wouldn't notice that thanks to their conversation she'd lost the battle with her body completely. The idea of becoming an escort girl was strangely erotic, and there was a burning sensation between her legs. She knew if she shifted in her seat she'd feel the wetness that had soaked into her knickers. She still had the money given to her by the old boy in the flat upstairs, the actual note, which she'd kept because she expected it would be the only time she'd be paid for having sex. The very thought of it sent a spike of excitement stabbing up through her groin, and her legs squirmed together, pressing the two halves of an increasingly juicy peach together inside her panties.

‘I don't really look the part, do I?' she asked, suddenly aware of her light tan slacks and sensible jumper.

Harry groaned. ‘Can't get home and change very quickly, can you?' He pondered for a moment. ‘We'll fix it for now,' he decided. ‘With the company credit card. But you need a base in London. Get yourself a flat somewhere. Now, let's move.'

Susie swivelled round in her seat and made the call. It was her first real work as a reporter and it made her feel important, enough to quell the tremors of fear that made her hand tremble as she dialled, and let warm excitement seep into her knickers.

‘That was okay,' she said brightly, replacing the phone.

‘Yes,' said Harry grudgingly. ‘I expect the genuine article is nervous too, the first time. Let's go and get you some clobber.'

In the side streets of Soho they shopped. Guided by Harry, to whom shop assistants easily deferred, as if older gentlemen bought young girls tarty clothes every day of the week, Susie purchased a short and clingy black dress that was almost wet-look, but not quite, and which almost showed off her bum when she walked, but not quite. It clung to her breasts like a sheet of soft plastic, and her nipples poked small shiny black lumps in the fabric.

‘Perfect,' agreed Harry and the raven-haired assistant.

Coupled with stiletto heels in patent leather, and some bright red lipstick, Susie looked every inch the part, probably because you could see a lot of her smooth flesh most of the time. Like now. Sat in the front of Harry's car, the skirt could hardly be pulled low enough on her thighs to conceal her knickers from Harry's glances, and he was definitely glancing. In fact, Harry had peered rather too often through the curtains of the changing room, ‘to see how things are going,' and had seen almost everything there was to see. Her tiny white G-string knickers had been perfect under the light fawn trousers she chose for work that morning, but seemed to shrivel and vanish under Harry's penetrating stare. In a way she was glad he found her attractive enough to bother peeping; at least there was
something
about her he liked.

‘Here we go, girl. Sorry, habit, like I said.'

He pulled up outside a row of shops. ‘It's up there – see that door? Just go on up to the first floor and tell them who you are. Remember your name – you're Charlie.'

Up the steps she tottered on uncomfortably high heels into a small reception area staffed by a largish thirtyish woman who greeted her politely in a very smooth voice with a well-bred accent.

‘I called just now – my name's Charlie.' It sounded stupid, and she thought the woman would know at once it wasn't her real name. But on the other hand, she was probably used to false names in this business.

‘Oh yes.' The woman looked at her again, more carefully. ‘Yes, that's right. Tell me, how badly do you need the money – the work, that is?' she corrected herself quickly.

Susie was fed up with people asking her the same question, but at least she knew the answer. ‘Very badly. The rent's overdue,' she improvised, ‘and so is the HP on the car.'

‘Okay.' The woman looked around and then leaned forward, lowering her voice conspiratorially. ‘Look, I'm going to do something for you, something I really shouldn't. We normally have a very strict procedure here. Our routine induction starts with you showing us your birth certificate or passport so we know you're eighteen, then there's the interview, some photographs, and then we put you in the book. Do you have a mobile?' she waved at a phone on her desk and Susie shook her head. ‘No? Well, you'll need one. Normally we can get you working in two to three weeks.'

Susie was about to tell her that was fine by her, when the woman carried on.

‘But since you need the money, and you come well recommended by one of our valued clients...' Susie must have looked blank. ‘Harrison? Andrew Harrison?' the woman prompted. Susie made the connection swiftly, and agreed she did know him. ‘Well, since you're known to us, in a roundabout sort of way, I can get you work at once. We're a bit short ourselves, to be honest, and we need some help this evening.'

Susie's pulse quickened. She hadn't expected to gain employment so quickly, and now she had little seeds of doubt germinated in her head.

‘Here's the way it works.' The woman again leaned closer over the desk, and began to talk Susie through the routine, almost word for word the way Harry had explained it. ‘Okay?' she concluded. ‘You want a booking we have for tonight?'

It was another of those moments when so much depended on big decisions that had to be made on the spur of the moment, and whatever Susie said now could change the course of her life.

‘Yes,' she said, stepping off the precipice, ‘of course I do.'

‘Good. Here's the address,' and she handed over a slip of paper with the name of a Knightsbridge hotel written on it. ‘Now, you know the rules: you just have to have dinner with him and be polite and charming. If he wants you to do anything else that's up to you. We don't encourage that sort of thing.' She winked hugely. ‘But most of the girls won't do anything at all for less than a hundred, and they definitely don't drop their knickers for less than two-fifty.' She winked again. ‘His is room sixty-six. Don't go to reception; find a house phone and call the room direct. He'll be expecting you.'

‘What's his name?' asked Susie, reasonably enough.

The woman raised her eyebrows. ‘Who knows? Just ring his room. He'll know who you are.' She smiled brightly. ‘Come back in again some time tomorrow and we'll sort out the paperwork and another job. ‘Okay?'

Outside in the street Harry waited on double-yellows, anxiously looking around for any lurking traffic wardens.

‘All okay?'

‘Oh yes, all okay, Mr
Harrison
.' Harry grinned. ‘They know you, then?'

‘Yes, I've posed as a client before.'

‘Posed?'

‘Well, behaved like a client.'

‘Harry, you old rake, you've been getting your end away on company expenses.'

He laughed a hollow laugh; the look in his eyes made her wonder what was going on. Had she caught him out? Was she missing something?

 

 

Harry dropped her on the corner, a couple of hundred yards from the hotel.

‘I'll park the car and then come in,' he told her. ‘I'll be in the bar, but you won't know me. I'll just be there to keep an eye on you.'

‘Fine,' she said bravely, feeling better that Harry would be there but still aware of the butterflies fluttering faster and faster as she stepped out of the car – no mean feat in that short black dress; not without attracting attention.

Her heels clicked as she walked towards the circular glass doorway that butted out onto the pavement, and with each step that took her closer she could feel her tummy churn, and then, fear-inspired, the traitorous seepage started in her knickers.

‘I can do this,' she told herself quietly, barely moving her lips so people passing by wouldn't notice her mumbling to herself and think her mad. She needn't having worried; those who were surreptitiously eyeing the sexy blonde approaching the hotel with swaying hips and gently bouncing breasts certainly weren't looking at her lips. ‘I know I can handle this,' she repeated like a mantra. ‘This is my job.'

Inside the hotel she called on the house phone, as instructed, and it was answered by a rich American voice.

‘My name's Charlie,' she said, hearing the quiver in her voice come back to her through the ear-piece.

‘Right. What are you wearing, honey?' the voice asked without much ceremony, getting right to the heart of the matter at once.

Though she hadn't expected it to come to this so quickly, Susie thought it best to play the role to the hilt right from the start. In her huskiest voice she replied, ‘My black dress really looks good against my blonde hair, and it's very, very short. So short that...'

‘Yeah, yeah, fine. Black dress blonde hair, right? Just go to the bar and I'll be down in a couple of minutes.' The phone went dead.

More than a little perturbed at the abruptness of her client, Susie went to the bar, ordered a vodka and tonic, and sat there with butterflies twirling in her tummy. Was this the bravest thing she'd ever done? She certainly didn't feel brave – she felt scared.

She didn't see or hear him approach, but suddenly he was there, pulling up the stool next to hers, a middle-aged businessman in an expensive suit. He smiled briefly at her, and while he arranged the details of a complicated drink with the barman she looked him up and down, taking in the even rows of gleaming white teeth, manicured nails, carefully styled dark hair and deep golden tan. The good news was that he was rather dishy. But the bad news was that he didn't look like he needed drugs to get it up. In fact, she thought, all he needed was a helping hand, which under different circumstances she would be more than happy to give.