Calling Maggie May (6 page)

Mon, Nov 24

It's the middle of the night, but I can't sleep. My brain won't shut down because there's this thought buzzing around in it—a totally crazy thought. But maybe if I write it out on paper I'll see just how ridiculous it is and my brain will finally leave it alone.

What if I did what Ada does? No, that's not good enough. I have to be able to say it. Okay. What if I became a prostitute? What if I were a whore?

Okay, see? Ridiculous! Crazy. I could never do that. That life isn't for girls like me.

Ada does it. But Ada's not like me. But could I ever be like Ada? I used to think no, definitely not. I remember when Ada seemed like she belonged to a different species. But it's not like that anymore, is it? We're friends. We share clothes. I look good in her clothes. And she herself said that I could be like her, if I wanted. I wonder if she was serious.

Back then I was a virgin and she was not. And that seemed like an unbridgeable gulf. But I'm not a virgin anymore—already I'm more like her. Damon wanted me, thought I was pretty. Thought I was sexy. A couple months ago, I couldn't even dream that. If Damon wanted me, other men probably would too. So I could do it. In principle.

But it's still nuts. I mean, what about my parents? Just imagining the look on Mom's face if she found out . . . She wouldn't believe it. She would never think me capable of such a thing. Because I'm not. Right? My mom should know.

But then, what does Mom know about me, really? I spend my whole life doing the things she expects of me, but is that who I am? I guess it is, in a way. I mean, you are what you do, right? But I'm not exactly happy with who I am right now. If I decided to do something different, something really crazy, would that make me a different person? Would I like that person better?

If she were more like Ada, then yes—I would like her better. Like me better.

And then there's the money. That would be nice, wouldn't it? I don't know. My family's not poor, like Ada's, so why should money be so important to me? It's not like there's a ton of fancy things I want to buy. But money isn't just about getting stuff. Having my own source of income would feel like . . . freedom. Independence. Right now I have to do whatever my parents want because I'd basically die without them. But if I had my own money, I could make my own choices.

Wow. Am I really considering this?

I'm sure in the morning I'll see what a terrible idea this is and drop it completely. But it's a nice fantasy for right now.

Tues, Nov 25

I'm excited. I shouldn't be, but I am. This is a bad idea, but honestly, who cares? I'm nervous and scared, but at least I'm feeling something. My whole body is buzzing, and it's partly fear and surprise at myself, but it feels better than all that dead nothingness before.

I didn't mean to say anything. I didn't think I was seriously considering it. But at lunch today I was sitting alone, eating a sandwich, thinking over the whole concept, not quite ready to let it go yet. But then Ada slid onto the bench across from me and asked me what I was thinking about. And I just blurted it out!

“I want to do it,” I said, as if she'd been listening in on my thoughts for the past twenty-four hours.

“What?”

“I want to be a . . .” I hesitated over the rest of the sentence. Not because I wasn't sure, but because I didn't know the right word to use. I didn't want to accidentally give offense. “Do you think that I could do what you do?” I said.

Ada raised her eyebrows.

“Have sex,” I clarified. “For money.”

Ada blew out a long breath. “Shit,” she said.

“You don't think I could do it? You think people wouldn't want—”

“It's not that.” She pulled her coat tight around her, a dark expression on her face. “I shouldn't have told you. I was afraid at first that this might happen, but then I thought, no way, not her. She would never be interested in—”

“Why not? Why shouldn't I be? You think I want to be an invisible geek my whole life?”

Ada shook her head. “It's not what you think. Damon . . . they're not all like that. They're not at all like that. Damon was the worst possible introduction I could have given you to this business.”

“I know that,” I said, smiling a little. “I'm not an idiot, Ada. I have actually thought about this. I know it's not all dinners at the Space Needle.”

She frowned. “You don't understand.”

But I do! I mean, maybe not completely. Of course not completely—how can I understand something I've never experienced? But how can I learn without experiencing it?

“Do you want to quit?” I asked her.

“No,” she said slowly.

“Is anyone forcing you to keep doing it?”

“No, but I—”

“If it were really that bad, you would quit, wouldn't you?”

Ada nodded, a little uncertainly. “But it's not that simple. You don't know—”

“How can I know if I don't try it? And if I don't like it, I can stop, right?”

Ada relaxed a little. “Yeah. You could always back out, if you wanted.” She didn't look totally convinced, but she stopped fighting me. And when I pressed a little more, she agreed to introduce me to Irma. She said after that it would be between me and Irma and out of her hands.

I can't believe it. I can't believe I'm really doing this! I'm not sure I even recognize myself.

Wed, Nov 26

Ada just called. My big meeting with Irma is today! I'm so nervous and excited. I wanted to go home first to change. I'm
worried that if I don't look really pretty, Irma won't want me. But Ada said not to worry about that. Irma is sending a car for me! I really can't decide if I am more nervous or excited.

Ada just reminded me
not
to mention anything that happened with Damon. I still don't quite understand why that's such a big deal, but I can do that. Okay, I have to run.

Wed, Nov 26, later

Well, I have a job! Kind of. I still have to wait until I get scheduled for my first date, and of course I can't get paid before then. But Miss Irma took me on! I feel . . . relieved, I guess.

One thing I definitely didn't expect: Miss Irma (that's what everyone calls her to her face) came here from Taiwan, just like my parents. She's probably about their age, too. Oh, wow. What if they've met? Given the size of the Chinese community here, it's not impossible. I definitely don't want to think too much about that, though. Let's keep those worlds separate.

It was surreal because Miss Irma speaks English with an accent that sounds a
lot
like my mom and all my aunts. I mean, obviously her English is much better. She's been doing business in English for decades now. So more like my dad, in that way. She speaks very carefully, slowly, and her sentences are always correct, but the accent is still there.

I can't even describe how weird it is, because Miss Irma is
like the complete opposite of my parents in every significant way. She is not obsessed with me going to college and doing all my homework and stuff like that. But it's not just that. Everything about her seems so much less rigid and controlling. It's kind of a revelation to meet someone Chinese who isn't a doctor or an engineer or a scientist or some other “acceptable” successful career, like my parents' friends are. Miss Irma has made her own success, in a completely original way.

It made me feel like maybe there are more options open to me than I thought. Not that I necessarily want to do what Miss Irma does when I grow up, but I'm starting to see that I don't have to limit my dreams to the ones my parents consider acceptable. I can follow a different, less-obvious path, if I want to.

Irma's office wasn't really what I expected either. It was in a big anonymous high-rise tower downtown, mixed in among dentists and lawyers and gynecologists. Her sign in the lobby was very discreet, and you would never have guessed anything at all about her line of work from it.

Even once you got upstairs into the reception area, it still felt a lot more like a doctor's office than like a . . . well, a whorehouse. It's all pastel wallpaper and tasteful paintings and fluorescent lighting. I figure this can't be where Miss Irma meets her clients. I can't see anyone being turned-on by that decor.

Anyway, there was a receptionist, a pretty woman named Anne who told me to wait a few minutes and then eventually let me in to Miss Irma's office. She was sitting behind a desk, and, again, I couldn't help a weird shiver of recognition because the layout of the room and the desk and everything were so much like my dad's office at the hospital.

Miss Irma was friendly and smiled a lot, but the whole thing felt much more formal and professional than I was expecting. She was wearing a well-tailored gray tweed suit and a fussy perfume that filled the whole room with notes of lotus and plum. The only hint that she wasn't an ordinary businesswoman or bureaucrat was a pair of pearl-gray stilettos so high they made my feet ache just to look at them.

She asked me a bunch of questions about myself and my family (but nothing too personal), and she asked me how I learned about her operation. I was careful not to say anything about Damon. I just said that Ada was my friend, and I learned about it from her. Miss Irma seemed to accept this, and she told Anne via her intercom to add my name to her appointment book.

Then she asked me what were the best times for me, and I sort of slipped and said, “I can't do nights anymore.” I was thinking about my night with Damon, but obviously I can't tell my parents I have an overnight study session every time. I knew
I'd messed up the minute it came out of my mouth, but I was hoping Irma wouldn't notice. But she's sharp. She picked up on it right away.

“Anymore?”

“I can't do nights,” I repeated, trying to sound confident. “My parents would cause problems. It's easier to get away from school.”

Miss Irma nodded and I breathed an internal sigh of relief.

“And your name?”

I repeated my name, even though I'd already introduced myself, and she gave me a sharp look over her reading glasses. “Not your real name. Never give a client your real name. You need a working name.”

She tried to get me to come up with one on the spot, but I blanked completely, and after about half a minute, Miss Irma just sighed and said, “Sleep on it. You can let us know later.” She made a few more notes in a big book on her desk, then looked up again. She told me I'd get a text in a few days, most likely, setting up my first appointment. Then she went over some ground rules:

1) Never accept money from the clients directly. Never discuss money with the client. All payment goes through Miss Irma.

2) Never discuss money with the other girls. Money talk is bad for morale, and Miss Irma doesn't like settling fights.

3) Never discuss clients with anyone. Spilling secrets is the fastest way to lose not just one client but all of them.

4) Never do anything you don't want to do. If a client asks for something that makes you uncomfortable, tell Miss Irma. Someone else will do it.

5) Safety first. If you feel unsafe, leave. Tell Miss Irma what happened as soon as possible.

6) If you are unhappy working for Miss Irma, you are free to quit at any time.

She asked me then if I understood everything. I said yes, and that was basically it! It was kind of anticlimactic, actually. I'm not sure what I was expecting, to be honest. Someplace with red shades on the lamps and mostly naked girls draped all over the furniture?

Toward the end she asked me if I had any questions, and for a moment I completely blanked and was about to shake my head no. But then I realized that actually yes, I had a ton of questions. The most obvious one being, what do we get paid?

Miss Irma smiled politely at this.

“Ada did not explain? It depends on the situation. Depends on the client, time of day, and nature of request. You leave that kind of thing to me.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling a little confused.

“Don't worry,” she said, still smiling. “Everyone is paid fairly.”

I was annoyed not to be able to get a more concrete answer out of her, but it's true that Ada had never complained about the money. It seems like a strange way to do business, but it can't be that bad or people wouldn't go along with it, right?

After that, all that was left was for me to check in with Anne. She had me pose against a bare wall for a quick photo, then handed me a pink phone just like Ada's.

“I already have a phone,” I told her.

Anne explained that I needed a committed phone. One that Miss Irma controls. She doesn't like when the girls get their service cut off or their numbers changed. She needs to know that she and the clients can get in touch with us. Anne said it would take a day or two to charge and activate, but once it was
all set, I should just wait for a text letting me know about my first appointment.

This is all so weird but exciting. It's like a strange dream, or something that's happening to someone else. Maybe once I do my first date, it will start to feel real.

Sat, Nov 29

Still no word from Irma. I'm starting to get nervous.

I'm not even sure what I'm nervous about. Part of me is afraid she's changed her mind and won't ever text me, and another part is terrified that she will. Sometimes I lie awake in bed thinking,
What am I getting myself into? Am I prepared for
this at all?
I mean, I've had sex exactly once. Am I qualified to be a professional? Or is that a silly thing to ask?

What if it's weird and awful? What if I panic at the last minute and can't go through with it?

Yesterday I made Ada talk to me a bit about her experiences, to help calm my nerves. I made her describe an average date for me and what the guys are like and what they ask for. That helped a bit. Plus, she reminded me that I can always say no at any time. I can always turn around and leave if I'm not comfortable.

It helps to know that Ada has been through all this before. I want to be like her. I can be like her. I want to know something
of the real world and not learn everything from books. I look at Ada, and I want all the experiences that made her what she is, even the bad ones. I can do it.