Occasionally you’d get a far more industrious lass who had already done her homework and connected the dots to the ads in the paper and knew her partner was on the prowl. My first question then was: ‘If you already know your man is calling sex workers, you have him by the balls, so why bother me?’
Still she’d ask if I knew her partner, telling me his name and what he did for a living. I know I’ve mentioned this more than once, but it really was true that almost every name given to me was John or every now and then I might have got a Sam. Even if the name and occupation did spark instant recognition, my loyalty lay wholly and solely with my bank manager. What did she expect me to tell her? ‘Oh, yeah, he comes in here twice a week, splashing around hundred-dollar bills like it’s raining money. That’s right, he’s the guy who loves me to spank him, and call him a naughty boy,’ or, ‘Oh my god, your boyfriend gives the best head, you are one lucky gal.’ Unlikely.
‘Look I don’t mean to sound dismissive, but most clients give me false names and occupations so I truly can’t recall your partner, what did you want me to tell you?’
Most girls at this point would just hang up, but the occasional persistent soul would continue.
‘I need to know, did he use protection? How long this has been going on? How much of our money he has been spending?’ With each question the emotion behind her words swung from frustration to the point of tears.
I felt for her, but I really couldn’t help her. ‘Let me relieve one of your concerns: I always use a condom and I have regular medical checks so I am one hundred per cent disease and drug free.’
The conversations generally ended with the betrayed girl feeling the need to strike out with a final passing shot at me, like it was somehow my fault: ‘How do you fucking sleep at night?’
Nine times out of ten I let that one slip to the keeper, but every now and then I retorted with: ‘Surrounded by your husband’s money!’
Sometimes it wasn’t the phone bills that were the giveaway but the bank statements. Constant and excessive cash withdrawals were a bit of a red flag. I could count on one hand the amount of times I’ve had to withdraw $400 in cash at an ATM. It’s one thing to smell a rat, it’s finding the rat that is the challenge.
‘Mum, there’s a lady at the door wanting to talk to you.’
Damn those fucking laws that say we have to work from home!
‘Hi how can I help you?’ I said to the rather solidly built and extremely well-groomed middle-aged woman darkening my doorstep.
‘I believe we have a friend in common.’
My heart sank, and my protect mode switched into top gear. ‘Really, who?’
‘Let’s not play games, my husband is Sean O’Donnell.’
I took a deep breath. I usually didn’t know the names of my clients but I knew this one. At this stage I was still unsure if she was aware that I was a sex worker or perhaps she saw me as his mistress.
‘Right, how can I help you?’ I could see Poppy was still sitting within ear shot, so I turned to her and said, ‘Honey go play up in your room for a bit while Mummy talks to this nice lady.’
‘I see she goes to the same school as my daughter. Doing all right for yourself, aren’t you? In fact I have friends who have kids in the same grade. I’m sure they would love to know that there’s a prostitute’s daughter in their class.’
I was in a tight spot. I didn’t want to talk in the front yard where neighbours could hear but I certainly didn’t want to invite this woman into my home. I decided to try to be as nice as possible for everyone’s sake.
‘I can see you are angry and hurt, but I think your emotions are misdirected.’
‘I want you to leave my husband alone.’
‘Look, do you think I wake up every morning, drive my daughter to school, come home, doll myself up, then grab the Yellow Pages and start prowling for customers starting with auto-mechanics and ending the day with zoologists? I place an ad in the paper, and clients call me! If they can afford it they get in their car and drive over. I don’t have to club anyone over the head and drag them back to my boudoir. If I do as you suggest and stop taking calls from your husband, do you honestly believe that will stop all your problems?’
She was speechless. Sean had already told me that he’d previously been caught having an affair with a girl he worked with and had nearly left his wife for. In Sean’s mind, our arrangement was a fair solution to all parties, almost admirable. He believed it was far better to help me financially, rather than become emotionally entangled with anyone other than his wife. Even with his history this woman still loved her husband, but she was hurt and angry, and needed to vent. And it’s much easier to yell at a stranger than at someone you love.