Pamela crossed her arms. “But that has happened before, Scarlett, and it’s led to successful real-life relationships and marriages. You know it has. It’s rare, but I’ve heard stories about girls who’ve fallen in love with a client and left the business to be with him full-time.
“We had a girl here eleven, twelve years ago, in fact, who had a loyal, recurring client. Her name was Brindle. The client, Kevin, lived clear across the country but would still come to visit her every two to three months. He’d been doing it for years, long before I started working here. And Brindle was the only girl he was ever interested in seeing.
“Anyway, one day, Brindle took Kevin to her room for a party. It was like the dozens of times they’d partied together in the past. Nothing was out of the ordinary.
“But a few hours later, they walked out with all her bags packed and Brindle told Colt’s father, William, that she was quitting the house and moving off to North Carolina to be with her john. They were getting married.” Pamela witnessed the exchange firsthand and smiled at the touching memory. She and Colt were dating, and Brindle’s stunning declaration gave Pamela added hope a bona fide relationship could materialize within a brothel and manifest itself into something spectacular. “They’d been planning it through e-mail and text messages for a long time. Last I heard, Brindle and Kevin are living the high life near Charlotte. They’re married and have two children.
“Point is, I guess, clients aren’t the only ones who fall in love when they visit a brothel. Sometimes the provider does too. I know of stories about the same thing happening in other houses as well.” I remember that day well. William was pissed. Not only did he lose one of his best girls, but also a high-spending customer too. Oh, he was angry. Pamela skedaddled back to her bedroom and hid there out of fear.
The next day, William had a tech company come out and install microphones all throughout the house so every provider-client interaction could be monitored and recorded from that point forward. Strict rules for interactions with customers were added and vowed to be enforced, unlike before, through constant monitoring.
Nowadays, about a third of those microphones need replacing. They still work, but some not as well as others. Colt has been looking to upgrade the entire system and I hope it’s done by year’s end.
Inexplicably, Scarlett somehow ignored all those words about Brindle and Kevin. She was far too immersed in the e-mail and paced about next to the table. “I think I have it bad with Randy, that fat-ass who comes to party with me every month and talks about marriage, though he doesn’t really mean it, but he ain’t got nothin’ on this guy. Charlie picked you out of a lineup three days ago!” Sweat beaded Scarlett’s forehead and she dabbed at it with a tissue. “He didn’t even know you existed until then.”
Did you hear a word I said, Scarlett?
“And now, three days later, he sends you this?” Her jaw ticked and her eyes cut to the monitor, then back to Pamela. “He must be really fucking hard up and lonely. Mentally deranged too. You’re the first girl who was ever nice to him, I bet, and he thinks you should drop everything and go visit him. Marry him, too! Wow. Some people.” She put her hands on her hips and spoke with a deadly calm. “What a miserable loser. A fucking nerd who’ll never experience pussy again unless he pays for it.” Her lips pressed into a firm line. “And Detroit? Detroit? Who the fuck wants to go to Detroit anyway?”
“He’s not deranged. It’s okay, Scarlett. God, lighten up, will you?” Pamela flexed her fingers. “You’re always so cynical and distrusting of people.” Charlie is such a good guy, an incredible guy. He doesn’t mean any harm. But he doesn’t know any better either. She took a slow breath to dispel all this negativity. “Honestly, I don’t mind his e-mail.”
Pamela dealt with older virgins like Charlie – vulnerable men – regularly. This isn’t anything new.
Like most seasoned sex workers, Pamela was an expert at drawing clients in and distorting the lines between fantasy and reality. Virgins like Charlie don’t have the experience to realize there’s a line to begin with. Everything became blurred and they wound up with irrational thoughts and ideas and, worst of all, expectations.
It was Pamela’s job to make her tricks feel love, to feel special and cared for, but they also needed to understand they were paying for a service.
It. Wasn’t. Real.
And once the service was over, whether it lasted thirty minutes, an hour, or fourteen-and-a-half hours, it was over. That was the unwritten rule every customer was expected to understand. The service didn’t extend beyond the walls of this house.
Sure, like many of the other ladies, Pamela kept in contact with her regulars through the website, but that didn’t mean she wanted anything to do with them in the “real world.” I have a husband and love him. Her sole purpose in being active on the bulletin board was to help promote Happy Ending Ranch – she was the co-owner, after all – and attract new and returning clients alike for herself. Colt says the bulletin board is the best, most potent advertising campaign we have. It’s why I check it eight to ten times a day and am always posting and responding to private messages. Relationships, even camaraderie, could be forged before a face-to-face meeting took place.
“Stuff like that, it doesn’t spook me. I have thick skin.” Pamela stood before Scarlett, putting an end to her frantic pacing. “I mean, think about it: Charlie is thirty-six and has been alone his entire life. He babbled on and on to us about how lonely he is and how he wishes things were different. His story made me cry. Lost his virginity and spent an entire night getting pampered by two women who submitted to his every whim.” Of course, he is going to be high-strung and say something he may not mean. “The man went through a life-altering experience, the most enjoyable experience he’s ever had.” Her shoulders slouched. I understand his reaction. He’s only human, and truth be told, I led him on. It’s what we do here as sex workers. “People can become emotional, go overboard. Overreact. It’s okay.”
Scarlett grabbed Pamela’s arm. “So, you’re saying a customer sending you an e-mail like this doesn’t concern you? Scare you? Because it sure as hell would scare me.”
It concerns me to an extent. I had my initial reaction, and it wasn’t good. But… “Considering who sent it, no. No, it doesn’t. Charlie wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
Pamela differed from most courtesans and had her own unique way of looking at and dealing with things. She possessed a keen fascination for the human mind, hence her major being Psychology, and its behavior. Pamela characterized herself as having an INFP personality, meaning she was an eternal optimist who looked for the good in everything, and even in the worst of people and situations. She was caring and compassionate and encouraged others to be the same way.
Pamela’s easygoing, live-and-let-live attitude came naturally, and she always gave others the benefit of the doubt. Good exists in everyone and too many times, as people, all we want to do is focus on the bad.
“What did Colt say?” Scarlett’s lips pursed tight. “I imagine you told him?”
“Not gonna lie, he had his concerns.” Pamela fisted her hands and bristled. I feel bad for Charlie and the fact he’s lonely. She wished she could do something more to help him, but that wasn’t going to happen. Not outside the confines of these walls. “Colt understands how I am. We had a long talk about things and he’s fine with me sending an e-mail back to Charlie and explaining the ground rules for any future visits. I must remind him, nicely, that what we offer at the house is a fantasy, nothing more, and he cannot develop any legitimate, long-term love attachment.”
If Charlie can’t accept that, I’ll have to cut ties and ask Colt to bar him from the premises. Heck, he wants to do that already. Pamela never wanted to blacklist a recurring client but would if she had to. I must protect myself and all the other girls here too.
“You’re too nice, Pam-Pam. Way too nice.” Scarlett clenched her teeth and reached for her smartphone. “I cannot stand it when these fuckers ask us for things we cannot or do not want to give to them.” Scarlett had received a text message and began typing out a response.
It was from Sammy.
“What am I supposed to do?” In Pamela’s mind, Charlie deserved an opportunity to redeem himself. What did he do wrong? Anything? All he did was put his heart out there and ask if I’m interested. Scarlett doesn’t understand what it’s like to be lonely. Nor does she have the heart to look at things from his point of view. “Take all the thousands and thousands of dollars he gave us and run? Have no contact with him again because of something he said in an e-mail?” Plus, Charlie stressed toward the end of the e-mail he’d be fine seeing Pamela exclusively at the house. It’s not like he demanded I go visit him in Detroit.
“I’d run as fast as my legs would take me.” Scarlett’s eyes, usually soft and peaceful, resembled an impenetrable brick wall as she gazed up from her cell phone. “You’re insane if you agree to party with that man again. Totally batshit insane.”
“I’ve always tried to be extra nice and attentive to virgins. If the roles were reversed and I were Charlie, I’d be crushed if I had such a wonderful experience, spent all that money, and the courtesan refused to see or share e-mail with me ever again.” It would be the ultimate “fuck you” and a slap in the face. I’d grow to resent the courtesan over time and may wish bad things on her.
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