ONE CUP (Part 22)

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89

Jackie

I told Whitney I needed a couple of days to think it over. In the meantime, I said, don’t do anything stupid. Stay away from the agencies. She agreed. I handed her five hundred dollars in cash.

“Jackie, I can’t take that!” she protested, unconsciously reaching for the money.

“It’s just a loan,” I said. “No strings attached. Pay it back when you can.” We said our goodbyes, and promised to be in touch in a couple of days.

That night, and all the next day, I gave it a lot of thought. In fact, I could hardly think of anything else. I wanted to help her, but what was the best way to help? After two days, I couldn’t bring myself to call her. After three days, she called me, but I didn’t answer. By the time a week had gone by, she left a voicemail saying simply, “I’m going to do it. With or without your help.” That settled it. I called her back immediately and arranged for her to meet me for lunch.

We met at a sidewalk café near the heart of downtown, where we could have a private conversation without being overheard. I wasted no time getting to the point. “I told you about my experience at the agency,” I said. “I’ve talked to other girls in the business, and they all have similar stories. Stay away from them, or learn the hard way.

“Nowadays, the only outcalls I do are to upscale homes or the better hotels. Clients who stay at the nicer hotels tend to be able and willing to pay more, and they never haggle over my rate. Plus, they treat me with some degree of respect. Without that, this business can ruin you. Will ruin you. All other things being equal, though, my preference is to do in calls.”

“Why?” Whitney had a small notebook, and was writing as I talked.

“For a number of reasons,” I said. “Most of my guys are married, and for obvious reasons, they can’t have me come to them. By offering to host, without a doubt I receive at least twice as many calls. I can control the room temperature, choose the music, and set the lighting. Any supplies or outfits are right there in the room. Repeat business is important, and I’ve found my clients tend to come back more frequently if I can accommodate wardrobe requests. Believe me, some of these guys can be very imaginative. But, hey, it’s all in fun!

“I always do my in calls in a hotel room, by the way. Never, ever from my own home. It doesn’t cost that much to find a nice room. Nine to five is my preferred schedule.” I could see Whitney was having trouble keeping up with her notes.

“You really don’t need to write this all down,” I said. “It’s mostly common sense.

Whitney put down the pen and pad. “Okay. Tell me more.”

“Hotels are more discreet than residences during normal business hours. You don’t arouse your neighbors’ suspicion, and you can maintain your privacy as well as your security, both of which in my book rank right up there with respect.

“Older guys have the money, and they know how to act. We may be getting naked and nasty, but I expect to be treated like a lady. I screen my new clients the best I can and I go out of my way to avoid trouble. If a guy calls me up and I get a bad vibe, I just don’t see him. Period.”

I could see Whitney’s eyes going toward the notepad.

“Ahem,” I waited until she looked back to me. “Okay,” I said. “Write, if you must.”

She grabbed the pen and pad and immediately began scribbling. I waited patiently. Finally, she stopped long enough to look up and say, “Okay, what else?”

“I provide my gentlemen a drama-free, temporary escape from the day to day bullshit they have to deal with at home. In return, I expect to be treated with respect, and my safety is never compromised. I never, ever, under any circumstances, allow a personal relationship to develop with a client. No exceptions! I keep my professional life and my personal life separate.

“I’ve met a few men I made it a point not to be available for when they called again. If they are running late, or have to cancel, and have the decency to call, then I give them another chance, but otherwise, they screw up once, whether it’s a no-show or especially if it’s bad behavior, I won’t see them again. EVER!”

Whitney held up her non-writing hand, “Hold on a sec … I’m writing as fast as I can!” I paused to let her catch up.

“Okay, go ahead.”  

“If you feel uncomfortable with a client – he smells bad, acts like a jerk—whatever—you should as politely as you can, just put back the gift in plain sight, where he can see it, and leave. If you are hosting at your in call, let him know it is time for him to go. That’s why I screen my clients over the phone. It gives me a feel for the likelihood of our ‘compatibility’.”

“Why do you call it a gift?” Whitney asked.

I smiled. She really is new. “It’s easier to maintain innocence of any criminal activity if we adhere to the policy that any gifts or donations are for my time and companionship only. Anything else that happens is between two consenting adults.”

“Oh.” Whitney nodded thoughtfully. “Okay, dumb question … do you do all your business in cash?”

“I do,” I said. “And that is not a dumb question. Some of the girls do accept credit cards. I never bother with them.”

“So, if you only do cash business …”

“I know what you’re going to say,” I said. “And, you’re right. Most of the girls don’t report their earnings to the IRS. Me? I claim probably half of everything I make. Keeps the IRS from investigating me. I claim all deductions, especially when I’m traveling—airline tickets, hotel bills, that sort of thing. Also, my cell phone and advertising. You can file as a consultant; an entertainer; a model; or an actress. I personally file as a consultant. And never use a client to prepare your taxes for you, no matter what.”

Whitney looked up from her notepad. “But, if he could …”

“No. Matter. What!” I said. “You won’t need much to run your business. A laptop computer and a cell phone, you’re all set. Make sure the cell phone is separate, not the one you talk to your family and friends on. Other than that, just a couple of credit cards for hotels and travel expenses, and a reliable set of wheels, and you’ve got all you need.

I sat quietly for a moment, watching as Whitney continued with her note taking. She looked up at me, expecting more. “That’s pretty much it,” I said. “The rest, you’ll learn as you go. But if you want my advice, walk away from it right now. Do something else.”

Whitney thanked me and put away the notebook and pen. We enjoyed a nice lunch, and chatted. Despite my briefing, she still had some questions. I remember we talked about the general nature of the business, in particular dealing with married men. She confessed she was not completely comfortable with the idea. I told her that I thought it was okay that we entertain men whose needs aren’t being met at home. “It has nothing to do with love,” I said.

She fidgeted, bit her lower lip, and looked down for a moment, then asked in a hushed tone, “Has anyone ever asked you to do anything freaky?”

To which I replied, “Define freaky.”

“You know . . . kinky.” She leaned forward, and whispered … perverted!”

I told her, “Kinky is when you use a feather. Perverted is when you use the whole chicken.”

We both laughed at that. Then Whitney said, “I was meaning more like . . . you know . . . domination. Can you tell me about that?”

I smiled. “This could take a while.”

90

Whitney

I, in my role as Lady Fredericka, was well established as a dominatrix, and knew exactly how to play men like Mike Prescott. Lady Fredericka was so different from any other woman he’d ever met, so in control that he was drawn to her/me like a moth to a flame. Within a week of our first meeting, he was calling to set up an appointment.

91

Whitney

When Jackie asked me what name I wanted to use, and I said I hadn’t really thought about it.

“Oh, Honey,” she said, shaking her head, “it’s the most important decision you’ll have to make!”

I asked, “How do I go about it?”

“It’s simple, really,” she said. “A friend of mine years ago had a unique way of picking her names.”

“Names?”

“Names. Plural,” Jackie said. “You’ll want to change from time to time. Anyway, she told me that for starters, she would always start with ‘Lady’. Then, she would add an "a" on to the end of her first name – not her real first name—that goes without saying—followed by the words ‘Mistress of the . . . ’ then—and here’s the fun part—you choose the most expensive power tool in your tool box and add it to the end.”

Jackie could see the confusion in my face, and she laughed. “So, what you end up with is something like ‘Lady Barbarella, Mistress of the Cordless Jigsaw’”.

92

Larry Brown

It was time to work with Pete, my best fighting dog. He’s one badass sonofabitch, and he hates my guts. I dangled a big, juicy piece of meat I stole from the freezer in the house I hit a couple days ago, teasing ole Pete. He had to be hungry, because he hadn’t been fed in last couple of days. Every good trainer knows, you got to keep them hungry. Never let them get fat and lazy. They’ll lose their fighting edge.

I kept Pete tethered to an old semi tire with a heavy chain. He could pull the tire, but it wasn’t easy. Made him stronger, the more he lunged at the end of the chain. His teeth was bared, and his ears was pinned back. He was drooling saliva and growling like a damned grizzly bear.

I stayed just out of his reach, dangling the meat in front of him. Then—and he knew this was coming, because this is always the way it went—I smacked him in the ribs with a two-foot length of garden hose. I didn’t use no boards or pipes on my dogs. Don’t want to injure them to the point they can’t fight. Just want to get them used to pain, and piss them off. Makes better dogs out of them. Besides, I ain’t cruel.

I just kept laying into him with the garden hose. Over the head. On the legs, the back, the ribs, but it didn’t stop Pete. He just kept coming at me. I don’t know which he wanted to tear into more, the slab of meat, or me. God, but you gotta love that in a fighting dog!

Leon’s the only human Pete likes or trusts, because it’s him that feeds him when I say it’s okay to, and works him on the treadmill every day. I don’t pay Leon, but I am going to give him one of the pups out of Sheila’s next litter. Not the pick of the litter, but a good one he can train to fight and make some money with.

The pick of the litter will go to our Sheriff, Mike Bridges. Mike’s what you’d call a “good ole boy”—grew up here, knows everyone by their first names. One hell of an athlete back in the day. He done real good in wrestling and track in high school. Took the team to state a couple times in football and basketball. Drafted by the Philadelphia Eagles as a running back, but they cut him in training camp. Anyway, he was real popular here in Page County. Me and him have a working relationship of sorts.

Like most of us, Mike grew up going to the dogfights, and he knows there ain’t no harm in it. Just good, clean, family fun. My daddy took me to my first dogfight when I was five, and look at me. I turned out alright. Hell, it goes back all the way to the Roman Empire. They’d use dogs in war, and they brought them into the Coliseum to entertain the emperors and all the people who come from miles around to see the show. They’d turn them dogs loose on other animals, like wild elephants. I’d pay good money to see that!

A while back, I done some research on the internet, and found out how to take care of a honey badger. Made a couple calls, bought one on the black market. I figured I could bring in a lot of money on people bettin’ for or against it if we put it up against a good dog. And I was right! I’d started it out against a young, inexperienced dog, or maybe one that was over the hill. Maybe even against two dogs at once. Stir up some interest. Then I’d put it up against a really good dog.

Honey badgers are a real pain in the ass, if you’re thinking about getting one. Son of a bitch bit Leon on the nose when he tried to take it out of the cage to pet it. Leon’ll never learn.

Like I said, I make sure Sheriff Bridges has a damn good fighting dog. The pick of the litter once a year. He told me he sold one of the pups I gave him for six grand. Between that and the purses he wins from the ones he’s kept at my place and for me and Leon train for him, he makes damn good money. It’s a win-win deal. He looks the other way when it comes to the dogfighting and any other activities which may not be technically legal, but ain’t immoral, either, like gambling and selling weed. I do my stealin’ outside his county, and now and then I let him in on something he ought to know, like when that drunk sumbitch killed them little girls and left the scene, then come to me to fix his truck and keep quiet about it. Like I said, win-win.

It was hot, and after a while, I got tired of beating on Pete, so I stopped. I wouldn’t have gone much longer anyway. You have to be real careful not to break a dog’s spirit. I stood a few feet away, catching my breath and looking at him. He was my pride and joy. I tossed the slab of meat on the ground, about ten feet away from him, so he’d have to lug the tire a ways in order to get to it. I watched him drag the tire, closer and closer to his prize. “Attaboy! Go get it, Pete,” I said, with a smile, like I imagined a proud father would have watching his son grow brave and strong.