Not all clients with loads of money were gentlemen, and often wealthy clients believed that they were renting more than your body—they also expected your tolerance for their abrasiveness, which, in my case, they never got. Ordinarily I would never do an all-nighter with a client, but often financial pressure or golden opportunities dictated that I bend the rules. I recall on one occasion it was a bit of both. I had seen this client a number of times when he visited Perth on business; he was always polite and generous but a bit of a nag. Personally, if I ask for a favour and am denied multiple times, I eventually get the hint and stop asking for a favour. Well this was not the case with Patrick.
‘Come on Cleo, let me kiss you?’ No.
‘Please, I don’t have a cold?’ No.
‘Come on, I brushed my teeth.’
‘Mate, do you have a hearing impairment? The answer is no, simple no, not today, not maybe later, not if you promise to give me a tip, just plain and simple no!’
So as you can see, not a perfect client but manageable. With clients you had to accept the good with the bad, after all, even a golden goose shits on your lawn on occasion.
I was childless on the weekend that Patrick asked me to accompany him to Margaret River for a shindig at a winery. This was to be followed by a nice dinner for eight hosted by him at a flash restaurant. We agreed on $3000 for Saturday afternoon, Saturday night and Sunday day. I took $1500 upfront and requested the balance to be paid on Sunday when he dropped me home. So with $1500 safely deposited in my account I made my way down the coast for a four-hour drive with very little radio reception. In its place, Patrick gave me his life story. Not just his life story, but that of his entire family, going back four ear-bending generations.
Halfway to Margaret River I wanted to jab a chopstick in my ear for some relief. I did attempt to change the topic on a number of occasions, I tried to interject my own relatable stories to the mix, but they were an entirely unwelcome interruption to his family history.
Upon arrival, I couldn’t drink fast enough, and thankfully we were in wine country, where even the school bubblers released chardonnay. Patrick made a big song and dance about buying two bottles of expensive wine: one was $750 and the other over $1000. I’d never had such an expensive drink, but could not imagine that it was going to get a chance to linger on my palate if he kept talking at me at every given opportunity.
After a few drinks I felt an insatiable need for a cigarette, so I made my exit to the outside smoking section. When I returned he told me not to smoke for the rest of the evening, and I was taken aback. I was not doing anything illegal, I was not blowing carcinogenic fumes into his face—it didn’t affect him. So I neither acknowledged his request nor rejected it, I just gave him my very best raised eyebrow stare.
I did attempt to be a good girl for the remainder of the evening, but when one of his female dinner guests invited me to join her for a cigarette, I couldn’t refuse.
Right then, in front of all his guests he yelled at me: ‘Sit down! You are not to leave this table, I gave you strict instructions that you are not to smoke this evening, so don’t try my patience!’
Like all the other guests, I was in shock, but more than anything I was embarrassed for him. As far as anyone was concerned I was a girlfriend not a ring-in, so he had no right to speak to me like that. All the faces around the table studied their linen napkins, while Patrick’s female guest and I took our seats. It’s no surprise that few of us ordered desserts and cheese or coffee. My nicotine sister even came down with an immediate headache and left very shortly thereafter. With no one keen to join him for a nightcap, we headed back to our hotel. And things got really unpleasant.
As he was driving he had only had two drinks, one glass of each overpriced wine he’d purchased earlier. Back in the room, much to my disappointment, he was still functioning from the waist down. He attempted to lean in and kiss me on the lips, and I turned away—I didn’t allow lip kissing.
This infuriated him. ‘For the price I’m paying, I want to be able to kiss you.’
‘Oh god, not this broken record again? Which part of “I don’t kiss” am I not being clear about?’