with her best friend Dodie. Ever since Grandmummy died, Mother’s siblings have been renovating or selling up. Not one of these rustic Norman properties is less than twice the size of her farmhouse in Wales. All those rumors about the will, which Mother won’t discuss, may actually be true. And her timing couldn’t be better, given Sebastian’s rehab needs.
An email from Liane—at seventy-something, still newly excited about the internet—startled me:
Bernie’s in town! He’s on fire to see you, dear. I know JUST how to spice up your visit to Provence. Will you be near St-Tropez? I have a number for you. Let me know when you get this message. I’m trying to add a return receipt but the silly thing won’t cooperate!
Liane, who began turning tricks when call girls had rotary phones, has had email for less than a year. It makes me nervous to see her talking so freely about business while she’s still learning how to send messages. Yesterday, when I called to ask for her advice about Milt, I never imagined she would be careless enough to talk about my plans in email. How can I tell her this isn’t what you’d expect from a reputable madam? Lectures about discretion and etiquette have always been HER métier. Besides, she’s older than my mother!
Tuesday, June 25, 2002
Today’s session with Bernie was only one part of Liane’s solution. As Bernie “introduced me” to the rigors of sex on my hands and knees, Liane was taking a call in the other room from her contact in St-Tropez.
For a few years, Bernie’s been under the impression that he’s my first—or only—customer. That said, he’s not entirely deluded, since he’s one of the few who knows about my marriage. Liane raised our fee on the grounds that it was the only way he could coax me out of newlywed bliss for an hour.
When we met, I was supposed to be a college student—now I’m a twenty-something bride married to her college boyfriend. His ideas about college girls and young couples must have been formed thirty years ago watching porno movies about wet co-eds. As I steadied myself on the edge of Liane’s bed, I slid my hand across the sheet, so Bernie could see my wedding band.
“You need to get fucked,” he told me. “I can tell. Does your husband ever take you from behind?”
“Oh! Not yet,” I said in a demure voice. “We haven’t tried that. I think he’s afraid to hurt me.”
“He doesn’t know what a hot little cunt you’ve got,” Bernie muttered. He was thrusting quickly, and I reached underneath to discreetly check on his condom. At this point, I was glad the engagement ring was tucked into my make-up bag. “That’s right, play with your clit, baby. I’ll bet he has a big cock, though. Does he know how much you like to suck cock?”
His hand was resting on my right buttock, and I felt a light pat that seemed to flirt with the idea of a spanking.
“Y … yesssss,” I moaned. “He does! I love sucking his cock …” When Bernie collapsed against me with a loud gasp, I held onto the condom and wriggled away from him, hoping my precautionary measures wouldn’t seem too professional.
After seeing Bernie to the door, Liane burst into the bedroom, looking unusually animated. I was still dressing.
“Isabel is your answer,” she said. “She’s got a new apartment in St-Tropez and a group of lovely new girls! You must call her before you fly. This is a much better choice. Allison would have been a mistake, dear.”
“A mistake?” I adjusted the zipper on the side of my dress, and followed her into the living room, where a pot of mint tea was brewing. “Allie would have been ideal!” I protested, though I didn’t tell her why Allie’s unavailable. “She’s someone I know and trust.”
Liane’s enthusiasm is making me nervous. What’s happened to her innate insularity?
“How do we—” sounds nicer than you “—know Isabel’s discreet enough?” The chatty emails. Her new contacts in St-Tropez. Do I detect a loosening of standards? It’s worrying to think that Liane, of all people, would let an economic slump affect her old-school values. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but it can’t be safe for me to do business with someone you’ve never met.”
“Dear, I don’t mind at all.” Liane, in her favorite armchair, leaned forward, extending a delicate, tapered hand toward the teapot. “Some girls are much too greedy to stop and ask the right questions.” As she poured, a diamond bangle sparkled discreetly against the sleeve of her blouse.
“I’m glad you care,” she said. “That’s why we’re talking. After my girlfriend Hilary—” Liane looked away for a moment. “She was a little older than I was, and lived most of the year in Cannes. We sent each other a lot of business back then … You’ve met some of Hilary’s people, you know. Isabel bought her business. Hilary moved back to Edinburgh to take care of her aunt.” I wonder if there was more to Hilary’s departure than her ailing relative. Is she still alive? “Anyway.” Liane smiled gently at her teacup, then looked up. “We can trust Isabel. She moved to France a few years ago, and sends me new business sometimes. Hilary always liked her. They met in London.”
“Isabel doesn’t have a website, does she?”
“I can’t imagine why she would!” Liane said. “Dear, why are you always talking about these websites? It seems to be an obsession with you.”
“Because! That’s what so many people do these days. You never know if they’re advertising behind your back, and not telling you. Imagine the risk!”
“People do what they have to do, and we mustn’t judge. But,” Liane insisted, “we don’t know anybody who would have to do that!”
Oh yes we do, but Liane would freak if she knew about Charmaine’s site.
“Well,” I explained. “Some girls have a very nice website, and they’re careful about meeting new clients. But you never know how careful. Do you?”
“No,” Liane agreed. “But there would be no reason for Izzy to do that. She inherited Hilary’s customers. And this is much better for you! If this gentleman’s an important client, you should keep him entertained with girls who won’t be calling when he returns to New York. Staying in that house with him might give Allison ideas.”
She paused to refill my cup.
“Men will be men,” she said. “Don’t take your best people for granted, and don’t underestimate your best friends. Allison might grow jealous of your good fortune. What if she tattles to your husband? Or your client? Did you say he’s in the dark about your marriage? Isabel doesn’t know you’re married, and her girls won’t know a thing about you. It’s dangerous to rely on a girl who’s close to you.”
Madams are sometimes hard to read. Is Liane promoting Isabel because she owes her some business? Or because she wants to remold me into the best mini-madam I can be?
“There’s a lot at stake,” she pointed out. “Izzy will provide the gentleman with variety. That’s what keeps your relationship with him stable and secure.” She reached into the pocket of her long slim skirt, and handed me a small white card. On one side, in her graceful handwriting, a phone number. No name.
“This makes me quite nostalgic!” she said.
