She looked around as if we weren’t alone on the elevator. Then she leaned in toward me. “I mean who do you work for? Which service?” Sasha wanted to know.
I was really confused, but I needed to know just what Sasha was talking about. She was iced from her ears to her chest and her fingers. I noticed a thick diamond tennis bracelet dangling from her arm when we shook hands.
“Why? Do I look like someone you know?” I asked stalling, hoping for more information.
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, you do. But I know she got out of the business a while back. That’s a shame too, ’cause she used to make serious money. She’s the one who encouraged me to go out on my own,” Sasha confirmed.
My interest was very piqued at this point. She didn’t look like a dancer; she had this air of elegance about her that told me she was clocking some serious dough, and if she was shaking her ass to earn it, she was doing some type of private shit.
“Well, how’s it been on your own?” I asked, still fishing.
“It was rough at first, but once I built up my clientele, it’s been paradise ever since.” She smiled again.
“Your clientele, huh?”
“Best part is I don’t have to worry about splitting my fees. Of course, I don’t tell the client I’m an independent contractor. It seems like they just feel better thinking you’re part of a service; you know, a real escort service,” Sasha said easily.
My mouth dropped but in my mind, I knew Sasha was somebody I needed to get to know better. I looked at Sasha, the way she was dressed, the way she carried herself, and I knew this was a much better hustle than stripping. I would make it my business to find out all I could about the escort business. Sasha didn’t know it, but she was about to take me to the next level, and hopefully to riches beyond my wildest dream. And my dreams were pretty wild.
5
Two weeks after we met in the elevator in those wee morning hours, I sat across from Sasha at the trendy and upscale Marea on Central Park South.
“I could tell when I first saw you that you weren’t in the business,” she said.
I let out a little giggle. “Was I that obvious?”
“Yes,” Sasha reluctantly admitted. “But I knew that you needed to be.”
“It was my first time,” I hesitantly admitted.
“What did you do?” Sasha smiled. “I mean, before your ‘first time’.”
“I dance at a club called Ecstasy.”
“Everybody got to start somewhere.” Once we ordered our meal, Sasha got down to business. “So, like I told you over the phone, what I do can be very lucrative. It’s just a matter of knowing how to you handle yourself in every situation.”
Sasha offered to let me work under her until I felt comfortable going out on my own. Sasha was very big on independence, and I liked that about her. She had convinced me it was best that way. Under Sasha’s tutelage I learned how to walk and talk, like a lady. There were days when I felt like I was Eliza Doolittle and Sasha was Henry Higgins in My Fair Lady.
Sasha and I had spent weeks “fixing” my wardrobe. “I don’t mean to criticize, but what you wear is too-too ghetto for what we do, honey,” Sasha criticized as she went through my closet. “This stuff may be all right for the club, but the look you’re going for is elegant and classy.”
I already had compiled a stash of sexy lingerie, so that wasn’t going to be an issue. But I swear, the woman had a line of credit at all of the most exclusive boutiques. For a while after I hooked up with Sasha, I still danced at the club so I had money to reinvent myself.
Once Sasha felt that I was ready to be seen in public with her, she encouraged me to quit dancing so she could introduce me to the world. We went to executive networking events, exclusive VIP mixers, and just about every high-roller’s private party there was. It amazed me to see just how many people she knew.
Sasha had discreet and elegant business cards. I noticed when Sasha attended these events she was often friendly, but never a chatterbox. She’d carefully scrutinize all of the men who were present, especially those with dates. By the end of the night, she would have distributed a small and select number of her cards. I really liked the way she operated. If the men were loud and flashy, drunk or obnoxious, she avoided them. Sasha had a good nose for money, and oftentimes it was the quiet and laid-back ones who were her ideal targets, and they usually paid off.
We’d spotted a couple of celebrities and I remembered feeling like I wanted so desperately to be a part of Sasha’s world. We’d talked for hours about the ins and outs of the ‘biz,’ as she called it.
It would take about a month before I felt completely comfortable with the idea of sleeping with men for money. Even though I had already done it, the idea was still somewhat foreign to me. I gave some thought to how I’d been livin’ for the past year. None of this was part of my great plan. Well, almost none of it. I had always planned on makin’ this kind of paper, just not like this.
One Friday afternoon, I had just finished a mud bath at a spa Sasha recommended, when I got her call. She informed me that Douglas, no last name provided, was in a pinch and needed a date for an exclusive event.
Once I agreed, she informed me that I should check into the Peninsula Hotel on Fifth. Douglas would be picking me up at the hotel room. I chose a caramel-colored Channel skirt suit with soft, camel leather sling backs, and a matching Channel evening bag. Sasha had warned me to dress tastefully when I checked into the room.
When I walked into the grand lobby of the Peninsula Hotel, it was like stepping into Wonderland. A cascading staircase that forked into two directions took center stage in the massive lobby. I stepped to the right and went to the front desk. “Good evening, madam,” the clerk greeted.
“Ms. Green,” I said like Sasha instructed. “I have a reservation.”
He checked his screen, then looked up at me and smiled. “Of course, here’s your key card. Will you be needing help with luggage?”
“I’ve got it. Thanks,” I said as I took the card and headed toward the bank of elevators. I stepped off the elevator and into the deluxe suite. It was a one-bedroom corner suite with a glorious view. I opened one set of French doors that led to a terrace. I looked over the rail and felt my stomach nearly give way when I looked down.
The room was luxuriously furnished in earth tones and neutral colors. There was a decorative fireplace and even walk-in closets. I marveled at the separate dressing area with its own vanity and a separate guest bathroom. The room had a stereo system with a CD player, and the master bathroom had double sinks with a television mounted over the bathtub.
Maybe thirty minutes after I was relaxing in the California king-sized bed, there was a knock at the door.
“Shit!” I bolted upright in the bed. I looked at the clock, wondering if I could’ve misunderstood Douglas’s pick up time.
“Ah, who is it?”
“Room service,” the cheerful voice called back.
I jumped up, a bit confused. “Room service?”
“Yes, ma’am. Compliments of Ms. Deverox,” he answered.
I rushed to the door and pulled it open. When I did, the bellman wheeled in a silver cart, like they do in the movies.
“Fresh strawberries with melted chocolate and a bottle Moet,” he announced in a grand way.
“Oh, wow,” I said as I searched the room for my purse.
I slipped him a ten-dollar bill and giggled as he closed the door behind himself.
“Shit, I could really get used to living lovely like this!” I plucked one of the juiciest looking strawberries and dipped it into the bowl of melted chocolate. I bit into it and savored the flavor.
An hour later, I stumbled over to the bed. I had indulged in too much champagne and I knew I needed to pull myself together before Douglas arrived. I was glad Sasha suggested the earlier check-in.
