‘Thank you, kind sir,’ I said even though I wanted him to just shut up and bring on the cash and jewels.
He tapped the bed and I followed his direction. I did feel a bit out of sorts, as this was not my domain, and my mind whirred with questions: Where are the condoms kept? Was this the prince with HIV? Where and when do I ask for cash, or is that covered by the money we were already given? We were not allowed to carry a purse in the house so I prayed that he had condoms in one of the bedside tables. He started kissing me, which is an absolute no-no in every sex worker’s manual. I just kept telling myself, ‘Tennis bracelet, string of pearls,’ with every forbidden kiss.
He did have condoms and thankfully insisted on wearing one even while I gave him fellatio. Whoever he really was, he had obviously had some practice in the bedroom. He had me in positions that would have put a gymnast to shame. We fell asleep in each other’s arms.
In the morning, breakfast was delivered to his room. He thanked me for a wonderful evening then presented me with a gift and an envelope. I chose not to open the envelope in front of him, but I ripped that bow and paper off the package with lightning speed. Inside was a glistening gold brand-new Tag Heuer watch. I kissed and thanked him, and he told me that I should leave my clothes here and put on a robe, and he would see to it that my dress was cleaned. He wished me a safe trip home. I donned my robe and returned to my room, escorted by a man who had been waiting for me outside. The envelope was screaming at me to be opened, but I ignored it until my door was safely shut behind me—US$3000, thankyouverymuch.
***
Many of the clients I met in Singapore stayed in touch with me upon my return to Australia. Often they would still send for me to visit in their country. Or we would meet at some halfway point. One of my clients was an American businessman who was very socially isolated. He claimed to have set up companies in over one hundred different nations, but only ever saw the airport, a hotel and an office. He invited me to join him on as many trips as I could. He understood my dilemma with Poppy, so often he would send us two tickets.
By this stage we had become friends rather than individuals exchanging commodities. I could not share a bed with a client if Poppy was there, so it was understood that there was not to be even so much as hand holding in her presence, nor would I be sneaking out in the middle of the night. To his credit, he never even tried. He was simply rapt to finally be seeing more than an airport and hotel. He paid and I made the plans, where we would go, what we would do. His life was all about show: he owned a yacht but didn’t know how to sail. We were both happy with the arrangement, and Poppy loved parasailing, Disney World, dancing and limbo in the Bahamas, skiing in the Alps, tennis finals in Melbourne—we had a hoot!
There was never an exchange of envelopes on these forays; I gave my time freely in return for a holiday I could never have afforded, but I was still conscious that while I was living it up there was no income coming in to cover the expenses that continued in my absence. Often I would have to decline an extravagant invitation because I had to work to cover one thing or another.
41
Ben's Rebirth
Rarely did a day go by that I didn't think about how Ben was faring. Even if I chose not to think of him, Poppy was at the age when she needed to know every detail of her history. I had stopped flying over to visit him once I met Austin. I had stopped calling him, and I rarely wrote. I still received letters from him most of which were pleading for financial assistance for his new music career or for a piece of gym equipment.
He had absconded from the clinic twice but had very quickly been returned—one time he had made it as far as Sydney. That time they only caught him because he had enrolled in a mental health program in order to get his much needed medication.
It had been too long since I had heard from Ben so I decided to write him a letter and send him some recent pictures. To my surprise they were returned: Unknown at this address.
I freaked out. How could he not be known there? I got on the phone to the hospital. Due to privacy restrictions they couldn’t tell me anything, except that although he was still a patient, he no longer lived there. I was furious! I was his next of kin and they had not even thought to inform me that they had released a potentially homicidal schizophrenic back into society? Just by chance I rang directory assistance to see if they had a number for Ben registered in Brisbane. As luck would have it there was only one.
I immediately called the number. To my surprise there was a familiar voice on the line. ‘Ben is that you?’
‘Yes, is that you Annika?’ We talked for another two hours, like we had never been apart. He was reborn! He seemed sane again. He was happy, and had a new found maturity and optimism about him. He wanted to know all about Poppy. And then came the question I had been dreading.