One may be old in years, but not in spirit, or poor in wealth, but not in ambition. – Chinese proverb
Though Rosemary wouldn’t have admitted it, she was very relieved to have a date for that night. It wasn’t that she doubted her plan; she was an intelligent and resourceful girl and realized that, though it might seem counterintuitive, one of the surest ways to succeed as a call girl was to pretend one already had plenty of money. So she had left the brothel at which she was formerly employed, invested in a new wardrobe, taken a small but fashionable apartment with her sister as housekeeper and secretary, and even had a private telephone installed. She then let her regulars know she was out on her own, took out personals ads in the papers and waited for the results.
In these black times, it was an incredibly bold move; but as her Grandmother O’Malley had always said, the only thing she had more of than spunk was luck. And though some of her friends thought she was crazy, Colleen had faith in her and the two of them kept each others’ spirits up for months as her assets dwindled and her new clientele failed to materialize. Oh, they weren’t in danger of starving; Rosemary had some good regulars and always made the rent on time, though it often took spending more time in bars than she would have liked. But unless she started attracting the kind of gents she was aiming for, sooner or later she would become financially unable to project the high-class illusion on which her image depended.
She also felt ashamed of being unable to buy her sister the same sort of nice things she bought for herself. Of course, every time the subject came up Colleen just pooh-poohed her concern and pointed out that it wasn’t important because the gentlemen never saw her, and that she was lucky to have such a generous sister now that jobs were so hard to come by. That was the sort of girl Colleen was; loyal and uncomplaining, as their mother had been…and it just made Rosemary feel worse. So much worse, in fact, that she had spent entirely too much money on Christmas presents for her. And after that, and filling the icebox with food for their Christmas dinner, there wasn’t exactly a lot left in her bank account; the call had therefore been a godsend.
Luckily, this had been the warmest autumn Rosemary could remember, so their heating costs had been almost nonexistent; the mild weather also made it possible for her to save cab fare tonight by walking to the client’s place, which was only eight blocks away. She hesitated a bit upon seeing the building; though it was certainly no tenement, it also didn’t look like the sort of place in which a man who could afford to blow $20 for an hour with a good-time girl might live. But she trusted her luck and her instincts, and the latter told her to go inside.
She was admitted to a well-kept apartment by a young man who, despite his mature demeanor and clothing, couldn’t have been a day over 17. This was unexpected; Rosemary had sometimes been received by valets or maids, but never a client’s son! Still, times being what they were, she subdued her expression of surprise. “Hi, kiddo! Where’s your dad?”
“He died in the war when I was just a baby.”
“Gee, I’m sorry! Your older brother, then.”
“I’m an only child; it’s just me and Ma here.” At the mention of a woman Rosemary started to retreat with a mumbled apology, but the young man stopped her with, “Oh, she’s not here, she cleans an office building at night.”
“Look, I’m sorry, I must have the wrong address.”
“Aren’t you Rosemary?”
“Yeah, but who are you?”
“I’m Bill.” It was the name the client had given. He certainly hadn’t sounded as young on the telephone as he looked in person.
“Wow, Bill…look, I’m sorry but…aren’t you too young to be engaging in this sort of pastime?”
With an air of seriousness which belied his age, he asked, “What difference does that make if I can pay?”
“No offense but…$20 is more money than most guys your age can afford.”
He was unperturbed. “I left school two years ago to help Ma out; the man who owns the radio shop down the street hired me and taught me to repair them. He says I’m a natural. One day I want to have a shop of my own, so I’ve been saving up.”
“A smart, good-looking young guy like you probably has every girl in the neighborhood after him!”
“Yeah, but I can’t stand girls my age; they’re too silly. Not a one of them has the brains to talk about the sort of things I’m interested in.”
Rosemary had already noticed the stack of Amazing Stories, Weird Tales and other magazines of fantasy and scientifiction. “What makes you think I’m not just as silly as they are?”
“Because my boss told me about you.”
“He what?”
“Don’t get angry; he knows I’m trustworthy and tells me things he wouldn’t tell his own brother. And besides, he was drunk at the time. He sees you often and he really likes you.”
Rosemary now knew who the boss was, and what sorts of things he had probably said. “Bill, you understand that this isn’t like a regular date, right? I mean, I charge by the hour.”
He looked a bit sheepish. “Well, I was sort of hoping that once I hired you a few times, you might get to like me and maybe we could just go out together sometimes. Like as friends, I mean I wouldn’t expect the other stuff. Just like movies or dinner or…” he trailed off.
In spite of her annoyance, she had to admire his moxie. In a way, they were kindred spirits; both were unconventional dreamers with a yen to succeed on their own terms and the drive to make it happen. After a short pause, she said, “Well, what are you waiting for?”
“Excuse me?”
“Get your hat and coat. You called me for a date, remember? And if we’re going to get good seats for that new Boris Karloff movie, we’d better step on it.”
His face broke into a huge grin, and he hustled to get his clothes, then suddenly stopped with a crestfallen look. “I can’t afford two hours.”
“Keep the money, except for cab fare and the cost of my ticket and my popcorn. Save it for that radio shop, or get your Ma a new coat for Christmas. I can always use another friend, and besides I’ve been thinking of buying a radio, and maybe you can help me pick one.”
The grin returned, and in seconds they were out the door and on their way toward the future.
One Year Ago Today
“For the Record” tells about my first conflict with another sex worker rights activist and explains my position on child support.
Readers, my stories often contain clues to time setting, but I was unusually careful with this one; a clever reader will be able to determine the exact date on which this story takes place. Bonus points if you can name the movie they’re going to see. 😉
I really like this 1! Mainly because it’s about a whore who helps out to a degree a man who doesn’t have a lot of $. THIS is the place where I 1st learned that there are whores who do give discounts and free services at times (I think it was Kelly on here who said she does this at times, but don’t remember for sure the exact “Kelly” it was) and that broke my thinking that it was NEVER done. Yes, I’m guilty of ASS-umptions sometimes and not proud of it. But, if even 1 person breaks that assumption, stereotype, etc., I’ll give credit where it’s due and I resolve to work more on not having bad assumptions to begin with. Thanks again for this story.
You’re welcome, Laura. 🙂
I’m going to take a wild stab and say the year is 1932 and the movie is ‘The Mummy.’
I’d say why I think it’s ‘The Mummy’ and not another movie, but I think I’ll wait a bit.
‘The Mummy’ was released Dec 22, 1932, so if you’re right we’re down to a very tight time frame.
Exactly right! The date is December 22nd, 1932 and the movie is indeed The Mummy. Another, more obscure clue: the autumn of 1932 was one of the warmest on record in New York City.
Ha! I knew it! I wonder how many people were going to say ‘Frankenstein’ first? I almost did until I remembered that in ‘Frankenstein’ the identity of the monster was kept secret as part of the publicity campaign, to the extent that Karloff didn’t even receive screen credit. On the credit slate ‘The Monster’ was billed simply as ‘?’.
The “Amazing Stories” magazine shown is dated December 1932 so maybe that IS the date when the story takes place – although it’s probably a carefully placed red-herring.
No, not a red herring. I didn’t want to make it too difficult!
I think it’s later than 1932. What have we got here? ‘Bill’ is no older than 17.. His dad was killed in ‘the war’, which doesn’t mean much as you yanks are forever having wars someplace or other, having run out of wild west to kill folks in. At which time he was a baby, which in the case of the US could mean any age under 30, when you all become geriatrics.
BUT, assuming it’s referring to that tiny fragment of the First World War that you kindly deigned to turn up for, he was a baby between April 1917 and November 1918. If we add 17 to those we get April 1934 to November 1935. So how old’s ‘a baby’? I think we’re talking about the period pre-Xmas 1933 or pre-Xmas 1934. But then you’re 17 for 365 days…
Gotta find some other clues here…
Actually, Bill is 16 and was thus born sometime in 1916; Rosemary was estimating and figured he can’t be even a day past his 17th birthday, but he was actually a bit younger.
Sorry to threadjack, but I thought you, Maggie, might want to know that a group of particularly corrosive anti-prostitution commenters, citing the fallacious “research” that you have blogged about, have just today invaded an otherwise rational discussion on legalizing prostitution at a highly reputable and widely read legal blog.
If you and any other knowledgeable people you know care to join in the ‘fray, here’s the URL:
http://volokh.com/2011/12/21/should-prostitution-be-decriminalized/#comments
Thanks, and now please return to your regular intelligent and informed discussion.
You raise an interesting issue. Blogs and forums are forever cropping up in which we need to marshal reliable facts fast, with sources, and none of us have time to respond to all of them.
The Honest Courtesan has a post index tab at the top of the home page, a search (bottom of right hand column) and also this (if you know where to look for it):
http://maggiemcneill.wordpress.com/index/subject-index/
As it so happens, I came across the above when looking for clues on this post by using the search function for ‘Rosemary’.
There’s enough ammunition on this blog to win WWIII (or at least that part of it the USA is likely to turn up for), and it’s not for want of trying on Maggie’s behalf that we can’t find it easily.
That said, I was looking for ammo for a small Scottish blog debate, and I was looking for material to debunk the myth that average starting age in prostitution is below 18. ‘Age of consent’ appears in the subject index, but not age when starting prostitution, though the blog addresses it, of course, and it’s here:
http://maggiemcneill.wordpress.com/2011/11/27/the-law-of-averages/
..and probably elsewhere as well. A comprehensive subject index is, I think, hard work!
The Scottish blog debate is here, and I hope the data on heroin is better than its source material on prostitution:
http://villageaunties.org/2011/12/12/one-sure-way-to-reduce-prostitution-heroin-prescription
Thanks for the index plug, Stephen! Yes, it definitely takes work to keep up (though not as much as it took to set up initially!) and one of these days I need to go back and fill in some weak spots and omissions. The catch-all entries for debunking of prohibitionist lies are “bogus studies” and “myths, prohibitionist”. Other helpful ones are “whore as criminal” and “whore as monster”.
I like this. It reminds me of other stories. I have a question.
Given that I know exactly one prostitute, though this number is now increasing, but as far as personally, I know exactly one prostitute, I have a question.
How common IS IT for prostitutes to have boyfriends/friends who are male and who may or may not be involved with them/husbands to be?
Many people – myself as well, at one time – presume that this is uncommon or impossible. But this is clearly not true.
I’d like Maggie’s input as to how common it is for a prostitute, even one in a situation like in this brief story, to hang out with guys as friends, pseudo-mates or boyfriends or even just talking partners?
i was one such person who graduated into boyfriend, but to be honest I always thought that much of the time I was sleeping with ex largely because this was just how she interacted with men; she was paying for my time by having sex with me, though I presume she enjoyed it; I never really did clear this up. And yet, it made me uncomfortable in the end, precisely because it *did* feel exactly like a “real” relationship – like having a girlfriend. It even had all the same politics (with a few extras) and petty personality problems. No more and no less. There were even petty jealousies. She would claim her loyalty to being with me in various ways, noting that paying jobs were utterly different from overall promiscuity; she was angry a couple of times when I was unreachable, and it went unsaid but it was because I was with another woman (of course). And she was jealous, though in a milder way than other girlfriends. She justified it by saying I was her only concern, but this baffled me. She clarified that saying her work didn’t count, though she didn’t press the issue.
So:
Given the nature of such things, and this story Maggie has penned, I’d like to know what Maggie thinks about this particular aspect of prostitution: Relationships. And what she sees around her.
A good number of hookers – perhaps 50% or more – have regular boyfriends or husbands, and many know what she does for a living. Whores have the same need for human companionship as anyone else, and outside of romance many of us have male friends.
I’ll be your friend, Maggie. 😉
MC & HNY to the smartest lady on the web.–
Thank you, N/A! 🙂
Okay, so I can accept your 50% observation. I have a further question.
How does the dynamic work out between BF/Husband and whore? I mean, what form does friction take when petty jealousies arise?
Is it the same as with non-prostitutes?
It depends on the people. But I’ll tell you this; if either of them is subject to jealousy, it’s doomed from the start.
Jealousy will doom any relationship, even if that relationship is entirely platonic *and* with the non-preferred gender of the jealous person.
Jealousy in an erotic (or erotically charged) relationship is terminal unless the jealous one can get past it.
The old green eyed monster suffers no logic, ignores protestation, interprets jestures of affection as guilt in the giver, sees infidelity at every turn, and views all contact with the partners’ preferred gender as threats.
In the end, the evil prophecy *creates the circumstances that make it come true* as the jealous person behaves more and more irrationally, alienating the desired partner.
Then the jealous fool says “I knew I was being cheated on!!”, reinforcing the delusional belief, having made it come true themselves.
I’ve seen this exact thing happen with a former partner of mine (we’re not together anymore: our circumstances involved age gap, continents and our medical circs too. If we’d lived on the same continent, well, history would be different. I couldn’t go to her, and wasn’t prepared to ask her to sacrifice her family life that was important to her. V, I still 💘you. But I digress)
Her live in boyfriend, a man with some serious sexuality issues, and a tendency to violence and jealousy, made her life hell. V and I shared a common passion for alot of stuff: Cooking, Music, Literature, and World of Warcraft, which is how we both met, conversed, and consoled each other thru some difficult times.
I was in love with her *before* we exchanged pictures; Hand on heart, may my balls shrivel and I never mate again.
The truth? All I had to do to make her happy was be kind, decent, funny and smart. This, I have got in spades. I’m still her Big Cuddly Teddy Bear. I reminded her that “bears are strong and fierce too, but yes, I’m your bear”.
In the vernacular of the lame, we fell into each others arms. *le sigh*.
As far as I was concerned, her personality made her smoking hot to me, tho objectively she was not a stunner, she was stunning to me. Sailor’s Love Goggles, thanks for that idea matey 🙂
So Jealousy? Not smart.
Well, that was fun, hope we have some more fictional interlude puzzles lined up for Xmas and NY, great way to keep us readers happy….
I’m afraid one fictional interlude a month is all I can manage! However, most of my fictional interludes to contain clues to at least a year, though not generally a more specific date.
Lovely work, reminded me of some of O. Henry’s short stories–real sense of character and place with just a few words. Rosemary is a person you want to succeed and the bit about her sister as housekeeper/secretary is perfect.
Thank you, eWaffle!
Scientifiction … Wow. That reminds me of my mother’s last “boyfriend,” who was dating her in the 1970s and early 1980s. He was a member of “First Fandom,” a “scientifiction” fan in the days of Amazing Stories and Hugo Gernsback.
Brings back memories of Friday and Saturday nights when I was at home waiting for my mother, even though I was quite old enough and had the money, car, etc. to go out on a date myself. Even better, now, I recall the night when I took a wondrous-and-rare “new girlfriend” to dinner at the Officer’s Club – celebrating her promotion to a GS-grade above mine – only to be greeted by my Mom’s boyfriend as we were brought to our table. Surprise, surprise!
I wanted to say “You go, girl” – then segué that to “Hugo, girl” – meaning, of course, Hugo Gernsback. Your story might not win you the hood-ornament from an old Oldsmobile, which is the “rocket” of the World Science Fiction Association’s “Hugo” award, but it’s a lot of fun and I enjoyed it!
Thank you, BeijaFlor! I just wanted to do something sweet and nice for Christmas. I’m glad you caught the “scientifiction” reference; I like to be as authentic in my stories as possible. 🙂
Hey, Maggie,
Let me know what you think of this rather one-sided critique of radical feminism.
http://www.avoiceformen.com/feminism/the-destructive-logic-of-radical-feminism-2/
Sorry, here was the link.
http://www.avoiceformen.com/feminism/the-destructive-logic-of-radical-feminism-2/#comments
I’m a lucky fella
And I’ve just got to tell her
That I love her endlessly
Because love grows where my Rosemary goes
And nobody knows like me
From the song “Love Grows” by Edison Lighthouse, I meant to include.