General Fiction posted March 19, 2009 Chapters:  ...53 54 -55- 56... 

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Unable to get a job Valerie gets inventive.

A chapter in the book A Leaf on the Wind

Jack and Sue

by Sasha

Poor choices sometimes can be a Godsend.

Sexually abused as a child, Valerie becomes an adult with severe psychological damage. Her marriage is over, her children are confused and beginning to rebel, as Valerie continues to fight the debili

"I wouldn't change a thing about what I've done in the past because what may have been bad choices have all led me to this moment."

~Minnie Driver

Working for an escort service had not been my first choice. However, since my last employer put the word out that I was trouble, I couldn’t get a job at Mac Donald’s, 7-Eleven, or Domino’s Pizza. 

Even with Richard’s child support payments, I was finding it difficult to make ends meet.  Three months behind on my house payments, I was beginning to panic. The stress of not being able to find a job weighed heavily on me and set me on a downward spiral into depression. My nightmares were so intense I was afraid to sleep. I often stayed up for several days before finally collapsing from exhaustion. The gaps in time continued and often increased in length, and I started to have seizures again. 

Dr. L. and I argued constantly about the need for me to go back to the hospital. He was concerned about the gaps and wanted to try hypnosis. I refused. It was hard enough dealing with my past without the frightening prospect of discovering even worse memories hidden inside my head.

Dr L changed my epilepsy medication and the seizures stopped. My inability to sleep was also a concern so he prescribed a different antidepressant with a side effect of drowsiness. It helped me sleep but the nightmares continued. 

One day I came across an advertisement in a newspaper, which simply said, “Escorts wanted”.  My gut instinct told me that there was more to being an escort than simply playing temporary companion for gentlemen from out of town. But I desperately needed a job. I made the phone call and scheduled an interview at a quaint little Mediterranean restaurant in the University District later that afternoon. When I asked the woman on the phone how I would recognize her, she said, “You won’t, we’ll recognize you." I giggled at the cloak-and-dagger routine. 

I spent more than an hour getting ready. I applied my makeup, meticulously, combed my hair in an attractive style and wore my most expensive Christian Dior suit. I arrived at the restaurant a few minutes early and sat by the window as instructed. 

Within a few minutes the waiter brought me a cup of coffee and, as I reached for the pitcher of cream, an older woman with flaming red hair that could only have come from a bottle, sashayed over and sat down beside me. She was wearing a black cashmere sweater at least three sizes too small, with the singular purpose of drawing attention to her absurdly huge, store-bought chest. Her pink leather skirt was far too short for someone her age, and her make up was applied so thick, she made Tammy Faye Baker look like a well-scrubbed Barbie doll. In a deep southern accent, she introduced herself. 

“Hi, I’m Sue,” the woman said as we shook hands. “Jack will be here in a minute. He’s just outside making sure we weren’t followed.” 

Under any other circumstances, I would have got up immediately and run for the nearest exit, but I felt as though I was watching a really bad movie and had to stay to see how it ended. 

Sue ordered a double martini, lit a cigarette, and began to ask questions. 

“You done this kinda thing before?” she fired. 

Visions of handsome young gentlemen looking for companionship had long ago disappeared. My answer was an unequivocal, “No.” 

“So, what brings you to us now?” Sue asked with a hint of suspicion. 

“Money. I’m broke,” I said truthfully. 

“Yeah. Heard that story a hundred times.” 

Sue ordered a second martini. 

I had already decided there was no way in hell I was going to work for her but she fascinated me and I was riveted to my chair. 

Suddenly a tall man in his late fifties joined us. He was incredibly ugly. His tiny, cold, steel-blue eyes barely held up his thick Neanderthal brows. His huge bulbous red nose was a dead give-a-way that he was an alcoholic, and deep pockmarked skin covered his entire face. 

Sue gave me a quick rundown on escort services. 

“The client calls us,” she tutored. “He tells us the type of lady he is interested in spending time with. He might ask for a tall blonde-haired woman in her late twenties, big boobs, and a tight butt. We never talk about sex on the phone. That is a sure fire way to get arrested. If we feel comfortable that the guy is legit, we describe some of the girls we have working for us that fit his requirements. If he picks one, we call the girl and give her his phone number. She calls him and sets up a time to get together.” 

Jack interrupted. “If he asks you what he gets for his money, you simply say, an hour of my time. If he pushes the issue, you tell him thanks, but no thanks, and hang up.” 

I wondered why, if they were so cautious, would they openly implicate themselves in front of me, a complete stranger. 

Curious, I asked. “Aren’t you worried I could be a cop or something?” 

Sue smiled and said, “Nope, I can smell a cop a mile away.” 

I had no doubt whatsoever she was well acquainted with the police. 

“The fee is $150 an hour. You keep $100 and we get $50. On a good night you can make as much as $700.  Some make more.” 

I was impressed but also doubted Sue’s bravado. She seemed to enjoy hearing herself speak just a little too much. In her youth, Sue was probably a very beautiful woman but age had been cruel to her. Time had sculpted deep lines into her face and too much sun had turned her skin into leather. Jack, on the other hand, had most definitely been born ugly. 

“We could use someone like you, classy, sophisticated and with a brain to boot,” Sue said baitingly. “We have plenty of cute, bubblegum chewing bimbos, but we are getting more calls for classy ladies. If you are interested in making some serious money, we could start you tonight.” 

Unprepared for her offer, I told her I’d have to think about it. They paid for my coffee and left me alone to contemplate their offer. There really wasn’t much to think about, there was no way in hell I was going to go to work for them.

Earned A Seal Of Quality

I hope I do not dissappoint my loyal readers by openly and honestly telling of a part of my life that I am not particularly proud of. But an autobiography demands I be honest; not just about the people I describe in my book but most important of all, about my self.
Pays one point and 2 member cents.

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