Panties for Sale (4 page)

 
“Chieko.
 
That is a lovely name.
 
Is it Chinese?”
 

“Nei, Japanese.”

“Oh, of course,” Angela
smiled at the quiet Asian girl perched on the edge of her sofa. “It’s too bad
you had trouble finding my house.
 
I
thought bus 23 came straight here. You know to the stop right over on Don Mills.
 
I never take the bus, myself. So I could be
wrong.
 
Anyways, I’m glad you found it
here in the end.”
  
Angela’s long red
fingernails flicked absentmindedly as she watched the young girl, waiting for a
response.
 

“I had another girl start
today too.
 
I was hoping that the two of
you could have met.
 
I thought it would
be helpful to have someone to talk to, since you are both beginners. Maybe I’ll
set up a meeting with you two anyways.
 
For coffee?”
 
Angela paused, then
leaned forward, “Coffee? Do you like coffee?”

“Hai, Yes,” Chieko looked up
and nodded.
 
Angela smiled and then she
picked up a pen and jotted down a quick note to herself.

Chieko lowered her head
again.
 
She didn’t have any trouble
finding Angela’s house.
 
She had sat right
at the front of bus 23, watching closely for the Don Mills bus stop. When the
bus stopped, she easily followed Angela’s directions down the street and across
the parking lot.
 
She was just about to
cross Simcoe Avenue, when a blonde girl jumped out of her shiny car, right in
front of Chieko and strutted up the stairs to the front door of 215 Simcoe
Ave.
 
Chieko watched the girl’s wavy
blonde hair as it swayed seductively,
 
her
shiny black high heels tip-tapping their way up to the big white house.
 
She looked just like a Hollywood movie
star.
 
When Chieko looked down at her own
flat chest, her small boyish frame and baggy clothes, she just couldn’t bring
herself to follow.
  
How could she
compete with a real live Barbie doll? What man would choose her over that? What
little confidence Chieko had had when she set out that morning quickly
evaporated into the mist.
 
Dejected, she
had turned and shuffled back to the bus stop.

She sat, waiting for over
half an hour, but bus 23 never came back.
 
And then it started to rain. Cold, wet and miserable, Chieko ran across
the street to take refuge in Tim Horton’s.
 
With a Boston cream donut and a cup of hot coffee, Chieko sat down on a
hard orange plastic chair and cupped her hands around the hot cardboard cup to
stop herself from shivering.
 
“Dame,” she
muttered staring out at the rain.
 
Now
what was she going to do? What other job could she get? Being an escort had
seemed like the perfect solution. She didn’t need a visa, or have to speak
perfect English. Pleasing men was already something she was good at.
 

Chieko looked around the
donut shop. Maybe she could work here?
 
The girls behind the counter didn’t speak English so well.
 
Maybe there was one closer to her apartment
that needed help?
 
There were cafes
everywhere.
 
They were popular and their
uniforms were nice Chieko sighed.
 
The
salary probably wasn’t enough for her.
 
And that didn’t matter because she probably needed a visa to work there.

“Baka,” she scolded her
reflection in the rain splattered window. Why was she so weak?
 
Why didn’t she just go to the appointment? It
was all arranged. Angela was expecting her.
 
“Damé Chieko.
 
You have to do
this,” she muttered to herself.
 
“It’s
the only way.” Her rent was already a month overdue.
 

“Honey?
 
Did you hear what I said?”
 
Angela was staring at her.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sumisen.
 
I was, I am tired.”
 

“Oh you poor dear,” Angela
looked at Chieko with concern. “Have you eaten lunch?”
 

“Kekkoudesu, onaka suite
imasen, um, no,” Chieko realized she had spoken Japanese and tried to explain
in English, “I forget.”
 

“Forget?
 
How can you forget to eat?
 
No wonder you are so tiny.
 
How ‘bout I go downstairs and fix you
something?” Angela offered her a pillow for her back and then went out through
the white curtains.
 
“Here,” She handed
Chieko a stack of papers, “while I am downstairs, you can fill in these
forms.”
 

Chieko took the forms from
Angela. She squinted her eyes to read the small English typing.
 
“And, do you think,” Angela hovered by the
side of chair, “are you ready to take photos today?
 
Maybe we can do that too. Ok? ”

“Yes. Ok. Of course,” Chieko
nodded “I am ready for pictures.”

“Ok, well, why don’t we get
started on that as well?
 
Come over
here,”
 
Angela guided Chieko to the
vanity, “you can fix your hair and makeup. And here,” Angela patted the side of
the bed, still set up as an exotic love nest from the earlier photo shoot, “is
where we shall take the photos. OK? Are you ok?”

“You take photo here?”

“Yes, you did say that would
be ok.
 
If we did a photo shoot?”

Chieko smiled weakly. “Hai,
yes. Photo is ok.”

“Whew,” Angela pretended to
wipe sweat from her brow. “Ok, then. Please, use what you need. Really, help
yourself.
 
Make yourself look
beautiful.”
  

Chieko sat down and looked at
the pile of used eye shadows.
 
She picked
up a purple colour but then hesitated as Angela leaned over her shoulder.
 
Angela was staring, not at Chieko. but at her
own reflection. Chieko watched in fascination as Angela pulled and squeezed
bits of her face, trying to smooth out her wrinkles with her fingertips.
 
Angela rummaged through the mass of blushes,
lipsticks, mascaras on the counter with her long red fingernails finally
selecting a black lipstick tube.
 
She
opened it and roughly smeared a dark plum colour on her lips.
 
She smiled too wide, opening and clamping her
jaw, inspecting her yellowing teeth. Then she pursed her lips together, leaned
back and smiled seductively at herself in the mirror.
 
Laughing, she caught Chieko watching her,
“OK?” she patted Chieko on the shoulder.
 
“I’ll be right back.”

Once the sound of Angela’s
footsteps faded down the stairs, Chieko got up and tiptoed into the
sunroom.
 
She grabbed her bag from the
floor and opened the zipper, digging her hands deep, past her own small makeup
bag, her big makeup bag, her wallet, her mirror, her nail kit, her
handkerchiefs, her cell phone, her ‘Hello Kitty’ notebook and matching pencil
until she found her half crushed pack of cigarettes. Picking out the last
intact cigarette, and grabbing the plastic lighter from the table, Chieko ran
over to the open window, lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply.
 
She felt her whole body relax as she blew the
smoke out through the open window.
 
She took
a few quick drags, savoring the feeling of the nicotine surging through her
body, and then flicked the cigarette out the window. She watched it land in the
rain soaked gutter two stories below and then tiptoed back to the mirror.

Feeling much more relaxed and
confident, Chieko sat down again.
 
She
shoved all Angela’s makeup and hair products to the side and opened her own
makeup bags, spreading their contents neatly out on the table. First she
delicately spritzed Evian water spray and then fanned her face with her hands.
She used blotter papers to blot the excess oil from her forehead, chin and
nose, and then leaned close to the mirror to carefully examine her pores at
every possible angle.
 
Satisfied that
there were no blemishes, she picked up her Shiseido white lucent skin cream and
squeezed out a small drop into her open palm. Using just the tips of her
fingers, she rubbed it all over her face and neck in small gentle circles.
 
Then, she took her powder and using a small
cushion dabbed it all over her face, especially under her eyes and on the tip
of her nose.

Next she set to work on her
eyes.
 
She opened a small tube of glue
and a box of fake eyelashes.
 
Squeezing a
thin line of glue onto the lashes, she carefully placed them on the rim of one
eyelid and then the other, using her fingers to fan the glue dry.
 
A gentle tug on the lashes ensured they were
secure.
 
She curled both her real lashes
and fake ones together and lined her eyes with black.
 
She chose a pale lilac shimmering eye shadow
and brushed it onto her eyelids all the way up to the eyebrows.
 
Midway between the eye and the eyebrow,
Chieko drew a thin line of dark grey eye shadow to create the illusion of an
eyelid.
 
As she dug into her small makeup
bag for her eyebrow brush, Chieko closed one eye then the other watching in the
mirror to make sure the eyelid lines were even.
 
She meticulously combed her thin eyebrows and coloured them in with a
black pencil, then finished her eyes with a slow coat of black mascara.

Happy with her handiwork,
Chieko lowered her eyelids and fluttered her lashes, flirting with her reflection.
She dabbed her favorite bright red lipstick onto the middle of her lips and
smoothed it out over the rest of her mouth with her middle finger.
 

“Oh you look so beautiful,”
Angela made Chieko jump.
 
She had been
staring at her reflection so intently; she hadn’t even heard Angela come back
into the room.
 
“Just like a china
doll.
 
I wish I had one of those Chinese
dresses to put you in.
 
That would drive
the men wild.
 
No, I’m sorry, you’re
Japanese.
 
I always get those Asian
countries mixed up.”
 
Angela put down a
can of Pepsi and plate of crackers with cheese. “What do they wear in Japan?”

Angela took a sip of her wine
and stared at the pink notebook in her lap.
  
Her house was so quiet.
 
She sat still
and listened, but all she could hear were the creaks and groans as the old
house settled itself in for the night after a long day.
 
It had been a long day, she thought as she
closed her eyes and relaxed back into the couch pillows.
 

“I know, I know,” she
muttered, “It won’t write itself.”
 
With
a sigh, she put down her wine glass, flipped the journal open to the first page
and picked up her pen.

March
15

Dear
Diary,
 

Today
is the first day of the rest of my life.
 
Yes, this is officially my new GOOD life.
 
Turning over a new leaf.
 
A new start.
  

Ok,
so, I have to write 3 pages.
 
A day.
 
Luann, my darlin’ therapist told me to.
 
I don’t know why.
 
It seems like a waste of time to me.
 
But she said that it was important. Write
down all my thoughts.
 
My feelings.
 
She said I needed to know what I am raging
about before I can heal it. What rage?
 
Is she insane?
 
So, maybe, I guess
my new therapist is a little nuts.
 

Luann
is one of those new age touchy feely freaks.
 
She doesn’t even have an office. I go to her apartment.
 
We sit in her living room.
 
Like a bunch of hippies.
 
On our asses.
 
Well, I guess it is more comfortable than a stodgy old leather chair in
a dusty office.
 
She does have these
gorgeous silk pillows to sit on and she makes this lovely chamomile tea with
honey or something.
 
Oh, she has so many
pillows.
 
Like those Indian style
patterns covered with bells.
 
You know, I
think the Indian look is in now.
 
Maybe I
could get a few red ones or pink pillows for my set.
 
Hang some of those gauzy curtains.
 
Get the girls to wear those bells around
their waists, like belly dancers.
 
That
would be sexy!
 
Men would like that.
 
Yeah.
  

What
else?
 
Luann has tons of bells. Bells
everywhere.
 
Today, while she was
talking, I counted 10 bells on her bookshelf.
 
And one huge iron one on her coffee table.
 
She said that one was from Thailand.
 
She studied massage in Thailand.
 
Wonder what university that was at?
 
Whatever.
 
She is so nuts.
 
Oh yeah, she also
burns incense.
 
I don’t know what it’s
called.
 
It kinda smells like pot, but
more like pot mixed with flowers.
 
I
don’t know.
 
Patchouli or Frankincense or
something?
 

Adriana
told me about her.
 
One of my girls.
 
Well ex-girls.
 
She doesn’t work for me anymore.
 
I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad
thing.
 
She said Luann helped her turn
her life around.
 
And now she is
happy.
 
Married!
 
To a nice man actually.
 
They moved to Chicago.
 
Computer job or something.
 
So, yeah I think that’s good.
 

Let
me tell you, that girl used to be a disaster.
 
Always whining about her clients.
 
And how hard her life was.
 
And
it’s true, she did get slimy clients.
 
But that’s because she liked them. I swear.
 
They kept asking for her exclusively.
 
And every girl knows how to treat a man that
you don’t like, so he gets the hint.
 
No,
I think she liked the attention.
 
Hell,
of course she did!
 
She got her tits done
for the attention didn’t she?
 
Not that
she needed it.
 
She started at D.
 
Imagine how her back is going to feel when
she’s 70.
 
Whatever.
 
Now, she’s a different person.
 
And she dropped like 20 pounds. Ha!
 
Can you believe it!
 
So, basically she looks like Dolly Parton
now.
 
Huge tits and a tiny waist.
 
And bleached blonde hair.
 
Ha!
 

So,
I thought what the hell, right? I was thinking of going to a shrink anyways.
 
I need someone to talk to about my life.
 
My god damned husband.
 
And this god damned marriage.
 
And sure, I could use a stress break.
 
No, I’ve been thinking about it for a long
time.
 
But, I never really looked into it
you know?
 
Don’t want any referrals from
my doctor.
 
Don’t want anyone knowing my
business.
 
I can pay for it.
 
Don’t need approval from OHIP.
 
I don’t care if it’s covered with my
insurance or not.
 
I pay cash.
 
No money trail.
 
Plus, it’s just for me.
 
It’s my time.
  
Lord knows, I need my time.
 
Need someone to sort out these crazy thoughts
I’m having.
 

I
couldn’t go to a man.
 
NO.
 
What would a man do?
 
Listen to my story and then want to have sex
with me.
 
Or want me to give him a blow
job.
 
For sure, he would.
 
As soon as I told him what I do.
 
No, I can afford it.
 
I want to pay for it right and straight.
 
No more goddamned lying cheating sex grabbing
two faced men!!!!!!
 
God.
 
Really.
 
Jesus Christ.

Angela took another sip of
her wine.
 
She looked down at what she
had wrote and then flipped to the next two empty pages. Not sure what to write
next, she looked around her sunroom.
 
She
liked this room.
 
Liked the furniture she
had chosen.
 
Soft white leather. Crisp.
Clean.
 
She smiled at the small blooms of
exotic orchids that grew in large china pots along the windows.
 
Purple. White.
 
With a faint trim of pink.
 
So beautiful. So delicate.

Leaning back, Angela brushed
her hair against a branch of the large fig tree that hung over her chair and
looked out at the night sky through the sun window.
 
It had just started to rain.
 
As she watched, a tiny drop hit the window
pane and then slowly began to trickle its way down the slanted glass.
  
Another rain drop splashed in its path, and
joined in.
 
Then another.
 
And another. Soon, the rain drops fused
together to create tiny streams, picking up speed as they descended connecting
with other streams until they became a rushing torrent racing over the edge of
the window, plummeting off the side of the house. “Oh yeah,” Angela grabbed her
pen.

My
new girls.
 
Jesus Christ.
 
Two new girls stuck in the headlights.
 
Maybe I shouldn’t hire them?
 
Maybe they don’t need to get into this.
 
Ha!
 
Bloody hell.
 
If not me, someone
else will.
 
At least I can keep them
safe.

I
don’t know about girl number 1.
 
What an
airhead!
  
Ok, maybe not.
 
I told her my story.
 
Tried to get a response. You know, gauge if
she’d be OK or be a runner.
 
Nothing.
 
She just listened.
 
Didn’t rattle her at all.
 
Girls these days.
 
In-fucking-vincible.
 
Think it’s not going to happen to them.
 
Bloody naïve rich bitch.
 
She seems nice enough.
 
Pretty too.
 
Sexy as hell.
 
Great body but she
doesn’t think so.
 
Insecure as fuck.
 
Perfect for this kind of job.
 
Men will love that because she won’t be too
proud.
 
And she’ll do anything to
please.
 
You can just tell.
 
And those tits.
 
And hair. I’ll make some money off of
her.
 
Wonder if she’s got what it takes
though?
 

She
seemed cool enough today, but I wonder if I’ll hear from her again.
 
Sometimes they just disappear.
 
Don’t call or anything.
 
Yeah, she could be a runner.
 
I got the feeling that she is doing this on
the spur of the moment.
 
Like it almost
sounds exciting for her.
 
Or turns her
on.
 
I can see her doing the quick in and out appointments, and she’ll
take the gifts, but I don’t know if she’ll want to comfort them, you know.
 
The old guys might freak her out.
 

How
much do our parents fuck us up when were kids eh?
 
So much that I have lists of men that will
pay hundreds of dollars to some chick who doesn’t give a damn about them, just
to let them suck her tits like a baby while they talk about their problems.
What the fuck, eh?
 
Yeah, I think she’s
expecting some scene from a movie. I don’t know what she’ll do.
 
My clients usually aren’t George
Clooneys.
 
These are the, well, the ones
that no one else takes the time of day to even notice.
 
The fat boys.
 
The skinny man-boys.
 
The fucking
nut jobs that were beaten too much as a kid or were abused by their father’s
friends.
 
The perverts.
 
The gays who don’t want to face it.
 
I don’t know.
 

It’s
funny really.
 
Men are supposed to be
these big, strong, powerful business guys who run the world, but really inside
they are just like little boys.
 
Its
goddamned bizarre is what it is. Sometimes, when I’m with a client, and they are
all nice and relaxed, I can actually see the little boy they used to be. So
cute!
 
Just a cute little boy looking for
love.
 
I don’t know if Barbie doll can do
that, though.
 
I don’t know if she’ll
have the patience to hug one of those creepy old greasy haired men while they
cry.
 
But damn it, if she could learn how
to do that, see the little boy in her clients, hot damn, she’d have them
hooked.
 

I
don’t know, you know?
 
But there is no
way that that girl’s got money troubles.
 
She ain’t desperate.
 
You should
have seen the expensive black leather boots she had on.
 
And a bag full of lingerie.
 
The expensive stuff.
 
From La Senza.
 
All of it brand new.
 
She probably just bought it all for this
bloody photo shot. What in the world is she thinking?
 

Britney
Bloody Spears.
 
Making sexy videos to
make little girls think that money comes easy.
 
That it’s fun to parade around half naked and get men to pay for you.
 
Stupid!!!
 
I’ll have to be gentle with this one, for sure.
 
I’ll start her slow.
 
Give her the nice guys.
 
Can you believe she is going to kiss the
clients?
 
She didn’t even see anything
wrong with it. Just shrugged her shoulders.
 
Of course, why not?
 
How gross is
that?
 
But maybe it’s not gross for
her.
 
Ugh!
 
Some guys tongues, well, let’s just say you
never know where they have been.
 
And you
don’t want that jammed down your throat, honey.
 
But no threesomes.
 
Damn.
 
I thought everyone was into threesomes these
days.
 
Why is it so hard to find girls
that will actually do them?
 
I can’t
believe all the calls I get for two girls.
 
Just the novelty of it, I guess.
 
What’s the god-damned big deal with that right now?
 
Like it’s any better?