Читать книгу Life & Death In an American Harem - L. M. Ollie - Страница 4

I did a terrible thing and I hated myself afterwards but I just had to know. After Barbara left I searched her bedroom. In the bottom drawer of her side table I found her diary. Well, actually it wasn’t so much a diary as a Book of Johns or at least that’s what I called it - page after page of notes and cryptic comments. Full names were never used which isn’t surprising. Sometimes all that was noted were initials or Fred – one of Claire’s. Things like that.

Fred it would seem had a foot fetish. Red nail polish/toe rings - Vanilla cream – model airplanes.

Some of the entries were not so humorous. Like TD. S&M caution (Bridget) - moody/unpredictable/could be cruel – stay the lady NMW – snorts C.

And another similar entry with the name Richard followed by a stylized valentine. SS – caution. No kinky – stay the lady NMW. Irish whiskey straight/weed – scented bubbles – silk, pearls, diamonds - F$ Priority +++

After a few more entries I thought I could read some of the codes. NMW – could be No Matter What which was a warning all by itself. No matter what he says or what he does, stay the lady or he’ll hurt you. Nice.

S&M – easy, sadomasochism. But the SS I wasn’t so sure of. The only SS I knew were the Nazis. Flipping through, it didn’t appear anywhere else so maybe this Richard guy liked to pretend he was a Gestapo agent while lathered in bubbles, dripping in pearls and diamonds and smoking marijuana. That’s kinky. And what does F$ mean?

There were other references in the book too - jasmine tea, ribbed condoms, stuffed toys, dark chocolate, handcuffs, dildos – at the time I didn’t know what that was – mink gloves, silk rope, musk oil, baby bottles, wigs, candy cigarettes and aprons. The mind boggles.

I woke up about two in the morning. By the sounds coming from the room next door, Barbara was not alone and she was most certainly not asleep. I lay there in the dark and wondered how much she charged and if she got to keep it all. I also wondered if she was with one of her regular Johns or would she be adding a new entry to her book when she found time.

*****

‘I want to do what you do.’

‘And tell me Liz, what do I do exactly?’

‘I think you’re a call girl just like Elizabeth Taylor in Butterfield 8.’

‘Butterfield 8: holy Christ. Look Liz, you’re sixteen years old, go home.’

‘My sister is almost twenty-one years old. She works in a bank back home and to keep her job she has to have sex with the bank’s manager which, when you think of it, is pretty disgusting. I think I can do better than that.’

Barbara stared at me for the longest time. Then she asked me, ‘Are you a virgin?’

‘Yes.’

‘You know what a virgin is, don’t you?’

‘Yeah, someone who’s not … you know, done it.’

‘Done IT; like ridden an elephant or scuba dived? Could you be a little bit more articulate please.’

‘A virgin is someone who has not engaged in sexual intercourse.’

‘Excellent. Well done.’ Barbara went into the bathroom, returning almost immediately with a white terry cloth robe in her hand. ‘Stand up.’ I did as I was told. ‘Turn around.’ She sat down on the sofa with the robe across her lap. ‘Undress.’

I whipped around. ‘What?’

‘Undress; I want to see what you look like naked.’ She smiled. ‘Think of it as your first audition and one of the things they will be looking for is pale, unblemished skin.’

I began to take my clothes off. I wasn’t particularly embarrassed, at least not in front of her. In gym classes at school we had to change from our normal clothes into shorts and tee-shirts so it was no big deal, except for the underwear part of course. ‘Who are they?’

‘Let’s take it a step at a time, okay?’

Stark naked, Barbara made me turn around and around, lift my arms up above my head, stand on my tippy toes. I guess she liked what she saw.

‘Go and have a shower and wash your hair.’ She threw me the bathrobe. ‘While you’re at it, I’ll make a few phone calls.’

*****

Barbara took another sip of her coffee. All I knew so far was that she had arranged an appointment for two o’clock.

‘His name is Merhot Capritzo and he owns and runs the Brownstones. Head Office is just around the corner.’

‘What are the Brownstones?’

‘Euphemistically they are Gentlemen’s Clubs, very expensive and very exclusive. There are, I think, about thirty of them worldwide; each identical to the other. The first two floors contain private dining rooms, bars, lounges and sometimes a billiards room. The third floor is by invitation only because that is where the brothel is.’

‘There’s a brothel here in Boston?’

‘And New York, London, LA, Paris, Hong Kong, Vegas; as I said there’s thirty of them. You won’t have anything to do with them of course, until you’re eighteen, but …’ She paused then, I guess trying to decide just how she was going to go about explaining just what she, and the lord Capritzo had in mind for me.

Finally she plunged. ‘There are men who will pay a great deal of money to be the first.’ I wasn’t absolutely certain what she meant by “first” but I had a pretty good idea. ‘I was just eighteen and a virgin of course when I was auctioned.’

‘Auctioned?’

‘Ten thousand dollars: two years ago. He was an Arab and a close friend of lord Capritzo. He was very nice, quite handsome and very considerate.’

Now it was my turn to stare. I think my mouth was wide open too. ‘Did you get to keep any of the money?’

‘The girls keep forty per cent of what they make. Spending the night with a handsome Arab netted me four thousand dollars.’

‘Weren’t you afraid of catching something from this guy?’

‘He only sleeps with women who have had no sexual history except for the one he provides, and believe me, he provided lots.’ She smiled, remembering. ‘He kept me in a magnificent suite at his hotel for a week.

‘By the end I could hardly walk.’ This time she laughed. ‘Lord Capritzo was very pleased with me and I guess so was his friend. When I checked my bank account there was ten thousand dollars there.’ She stood up. ‘So, are we going to look through my wardrobe to find something appropriate for you to wear or am I putting you on a north-bound bus?’

*****

I stood just inside the walk-in closet and watched as Barbara flipped through her wardrobe which, I might add, was extensive and included some beautiful evening gowns, fur coats and tailored suits. She slumped when I asked her what this Capritzo guy looked like and whether he was an Arab too.

‘He’s not “that Capritzo guy”; he’s lord Capritzo and you will call him that or sir. Yes sir, no sir; yes lord, no lord. Got that? And another thing; he knows you’re only sixteen but he will still expect a level of sophistication so you can take your oh sure whatever; that’s okay by me dude shit and stuff it in your high school gym bag. If he thinks you’re stupid or backward you’ll be out the door so fast your head will spin. He’s Egyptian and he’s rich, powerful and expects to be treated with respect, so be warned.’

She turned back to the rack of clothes. ‘I think he will want to see you dressed in white so try this on.’

It was a white linen suit; a two-piece skirt and jacket ensemble. It fitted perfectly overtop of the white silk shift I was wearing. Beneath was a white silk bra and matching panties with lace trim. All the underwear was brand new almost as if Barbara had anticipated my arrival.

She checked the time, chose a similar outfit in pale pink and hurriedly dressed. Then she concentrated on accessories; shoes and jewelry. A purse she felt was unnecessary. The jewelry was no problem at all; pearl studs - nothing else would do, not on this occasion and there was a reason for that.

‘He likes pearls apparently,’ Barbara said matter-of-factly.

‘How well do you know him?’

‘We’ve met a few times at various functions. He knows everyone and he never forgets a name.’

She handed me a pair of ivory-colored pumps which finished me off beautifully.

‘Okay, let me see you walk,’ she demanded. So I did, all around the living room. Then she pulled a chair free of the dining room table. ‘The walk is good now sit down like a lady please.’

Mrs Warwick had helped me with this. ‘Sit down slowly, don’t flop. Legs crossed at the ankles, knees together; hands in lap. Sit straight up in the chair.’

‘Excellent,’ Barbara pronounced. ‘Right, now I need to ask if you are on your period?’

‘No.’

‘Good because if the lord Capritzo wishes to proceed then you will be sent to Doctor Carolyn Colter who is the resident physician. She will examine you carefully and that includes confirming that you are what you say you are.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Whether you are a virgin or not; that will need to be confirmed.’

‘But I’ve already said that I was.’

‘That’s not good enough.’ She stared at me hard, real hard. ‘So if you’ve been lying you will very soon be found out and believe me when I say that the lord Capritzo will be very, very angry and not just with you, so …’

‘Barbara, I swear to you I’m a virgin. But I don’t understand how that can be confirmed?’

‘God, don’t they teach anything in health sciences these days? Have you ever heard of a hymen?’ I shook my head. ‘Okay, it’s a membrane that partly covers the entrance to the vagina. That’s what Doctor Colter will be looking for; an intact hymen because the first time a woman has sexual intercourse it’s ruptured, forever.’

‘Does it hurt?’

‘Yes and most of the time there’s bleeding.’

‘Oh.’

Barbara smiled. ‘Think of it this way; the pain and blood, it’s like an initiation. You go into it a girl and come out a woman.’

She checked the time again. ‘We’ll leave in about half an hour so I’ve got just enough time to tell you more of what you need to know about the lord Capritzo. He will ask you questions, perhaps about your family, Canada, whatever. Answer simply and succinctly, don’t ramble on because he won’t be interested. Look at him when you’re talking to him; not at the walls or your hands.

‘English is not his first language so sometimes he speaks in a somewhat convoluted manner so you will have to listen carefully and, for Christ’s sake, don’t you dare laugh. He speaks five languages so show some respect.

‘Speak when you are spoken to. He’s interviewing you, not the other way around. If you upset him you will know it right way because he has a hair-trigger temper and a zero sense of humor. If you do make him laugh or smile even, you’ve just won major points. On the other hand, if you piss him off … well, let’s not go there. In summary, you will act like the young lady that you are. Any questions?’

‘What happens if he doesn’t like me?’

‘He will like you.’