In the Service of Women Page 4

  Waxing was my next stop. Wait…waxing? I lay down on the table in the robe I’d been given earlier, interested in how they planned to make me completely hairless without a razor. When the robe was moved aside and warm wax was smoothed along my bikini line, it felt really nice. She smoothed some soft cotton pads over the wax and that was fine, too.

  However, removal of the wax must have been perfected by some Nazi bastard, because I actually threw myself off the table when the first of two strips came away with a horrible ripping sound. Damn!

  “Miss Sarah, you must return to table!” the Hitler impersonator said urgently. This was the woman I’d thought moments before would have been a perfect love match for Mr. Miagi from Karate Kid. Wax on…wax off, my ass.

  “What? Oh, no, I’m sorry! I’m really not into the pain thing.” I was backing towards the screen when Decklan poked his head around it. She was flustered and I wasn’t sure she’d understood what I’d said. That had been like the worst Band-Aid-pull in my life on the most sensitive area of my body. No, thanks.

  “Problem, Daisy?” He took in my open robe with utter indifference.

  “Everything is fine…goodbye…you’re not needed here.” I responded. He came around the screen and with absolute monstrous glee, slipped his hand around the robe, grabbed the corner of the wax strip, and yanked it off, all in less than five seconds.

  When I could see past my tears, I happily kneed him in the crotch.

  All the piss and vinegar went right out of Mr. Fantastic. He did the “oof” thing and leaned against the table to catch his breath. He eyed me warily and called for Vivienne. She appeared around the screen and summed up the situation without much effort.

  “Decklan! You didn’t!” Obviously Decklan had since he was still holding the little white strip with fine red hairs all over it. “Sarah, please tell me you didn’t.” I obviously had, as well. Bad behavior all around. What naughty brats we were.

  He stood, took a deep breath, and stretched his upper body. “You were right…she is a natural red-head.” He handed the wax strip to Little Hitler (who I came to know as Ma-Ying) and made a hasty retreat. Vivienne patted me on the shoulder, reminded me that the doctor was arriving in twenty minutes, and followed Decklan.

  Ma-Ying still intended to do my armpits, my legs, and my eyebrows. I accepted that I would not escape and definitely did not want Decklan coming back. I returned to the table and submitted myself to the sheer torture. She even did the tops of my feet and toes.

  People paid money for this? What was the world coming to? I did manage to thank her at the end through my tears and had to admit the new silkiness of my legs was hard to match with a razor.

  Dr. Reynolds was in his fifties with no intention of pretending I was just a patient of non-gender. He looked me over, checked all the vitals, took my blood, reveled in the breast exam, and damn near popped a nut when he did my vaginal. He declared me beautifully fit and in need of an older man, which I politely declined to his exaggerated sigh.

  As I left the screened area, he patted my ass, which caused a fit of giggles I barely contained until I reached the kitchen. I was doubled over with hysterics when Vivienne and Decklan entered with lingerie. I stopped laughing. I couldn’t believe Decklan was going to stand there while I tried on bras and panties.

  I wasn’t shy, I just didn’t like him.

  I took a different view when Vivienne came to me, gathered me in her arms, and kissed me. “Decklan is the best, Sarah. Let him work with you – he’s promised me to be civil. I have to meet a new admin for the office. Will you be good?”

  I nodded and watched her long legs as she left the room. Decklan saw me watching and asked flat out if I only went for women. I told him that would definitely be the case if he was the man in question and to hurry the hell up and dress me already.

  We gritted our teeth and got to work in the wardrobe room near the library. I blatantly dropped my robe and held out my hand for the first bra and panty set. I was heartened when he did a thorough once-over and looked a little less cocky. It turned out Vivienne was right, he’d chosen the perfect items to compliment and accentuate my positives.

  I prepared for my photo shoot once Decklan finished putting together what I’d wear in them. Vincent ran the actual photo studio and it did a damn fine business in its own right from what I saw over the years.

  Italian, eloquent, beautiful, and talented, Vincent was the perfect gentleman. He told me what we’d be doing and to let him know if anything made me uncomfortable. I assured him few things made me uncomfortable and he smiled happily.

  First the formal was shot on the massive marble staircase. I was dressed in a boned sequined gown of shimmering gold and my hair was done in an elegant chignon. I looked much older and sophisticated, a look I didn’t usually pull off convincingly.

  Decklan watched me from below. Between shots I stuck my tongue out at him and he laughed.

  We did a casual series on Viv’s balcony and I wore my own well worn jeans, a soft tank top with a button down shirt over it, a lovely pair of worn Ariat boots, and a straw cowboy hat set snugly over my loose curly hair.

  After those were done and I went to change, I told Decklan, “Really surprised at the choice of attire for that set after your Daisy Duke comment.”

  “Are you kidding? Daisy Duke was hot.” I laughed, Decklan didn’t.

  Then a spread of incredibly sexual shots in a tiny teddy of bronze silk with no shoes and my hair draped perfectly. Just me – stretched out on my favorite chaise from the afternoon spent with Vivienne – looking lonely.

  Vincent guided me through several poses, saying he was going to have a hard time choosing which one would be the best. I thanked him with a blush and stuck my tongue out at Decklan again. He didn’t laugh that time, just wiggled his own tongue at me suggestively.

  Hmm, okay, that just made me wet.

  Later, Viv would add one of me on my motorcycle at the beach, my helmet resting between my legs, in leather pants and matching bustier with motorcycle boots on my feet. It was so windy we wouldn’t need a fan to make my hair blow out behind me.

  By the end of the afternoon, I was amazed at how exhausted and sore I was. All the running I did didn’t wipe me out like this. I developed a new respect for models and actresses.

  Just as we finished the photo shoot, a couple of the other girls came in to prepare for their evening appointments. They smiled warmly and welcomed me to the company. They seemed so sincere I actually believed them. They were in a rush and said we’d be seeing a lot of one another as they disappeared into hair and makeup.

  I changed out of the teddy and slipped on the robe. I padded down the hall and the masseuse sent me into the steam room for ten minutes where I almost fell asleep. Finally, it was time for my first massage. It was glorious. I could have stayed on that table all day.

  Georgette’s fingers pulled every ache and pain from each area of my body…replacing it with pure warmth. She removed stiffness I didn’t even know I’d had until I stood up and felt about as substantial as a toasted marshmallow.

  Afterwards, I took a quick shower and was about to put my daily wear back on, when Decklan asked me to try one last dress, chosen for my first client. I grumbled and whined about it the whole time I was in the wardrobe room.

  I returned to the living room, in a pair of heels that made me almost 6’ tall. The photographer and his equipment were gone, leaving no trace he’d been there. In the long mirror at the elevator, I studied my appearance.

  The emerald green dress came mid-thigh on me, with an empire waist and cap sleeves, flowing loosely along the bottom. The neck scooped low enough to be seductive, without looking cheap. There was even matching jewelry. Very nice.

  “I have to admit Vivienne was right about you, Decklan. This outfit is perfect.”

  He came to stand behind me, gathering my hair in an upswept style. “This is how you need to wear this mane of hair when you wear this dress, or it will appear bigger than the dr
ess and overwhelm it.” His smile was warm over my shoulder and I saw the look in his eyes I’d seen a thousand times.

  He was still a bit taller than me, even in the heels. He was a dark god. Dark brown eyes, hair, and skin…muscular in all the right places. The dress wasn’t the only thing that was perfect.

  Decklan’s problem was conceit. He knew his affect on women and exploited it. He figured he’d have a little sample of the newbie. Expected me to fall all over myself to get to him…willing to do anything to turn him on. That just wasn’t me.

  I never did the begging. I was begged.

  Decklan was working his charm on me, but honestly, I liked men who weren’t completely wrapped up in themselves.

  “Decklan, Daisy Duke is going to change and take a nap until Vivienne gets back. Then I’m going to take her for a ride on my bike, maybe get something to eat, and very likely, get seriously fucked later tonight. You just don’t figure in my plans right now. Maybe another time when you aren’t expecting me to drop to my knees and worship the ground you walk on…among other things.”

  I winked at him and walked to one of the guest rooms to change, shutting the door with a snap. When I emerged a few minutes later, he was gone and the only sounds in the condo came from the salon as women talked and laughed.

  My predictions for the evening proved accurate, and fucking on the bike was well worth it if you have good balance.

  I happily have excellent balance.

  Chapter Four – The Others

  Over the course of my first week with the agency I met the other escorts and Vivienne’s key staff. She chose women who were unique in some way, sometimes only in a way she could sense. I guess the “small town girl” quality was my thing. I’d been that girl most of my life so I didn’t mind.

  She’d had some interviews over the years that had gone badly, a few girls who didn’t work out, but her overall success rate was uncanny. Viv knew people. She knew which girls to match with which clients and always keep them coming back for more.

  Ezbeth was from the United Kingdom, had been with Vivienne about three years. She vowed to never return to the cold and damp she’d been raised in outside of London but swore prettily if you dared to disparage her homeland. She was a dainty lily, pale and blond. She was one of those people who could discuss any topic intelligently and I often envied her grasp of the world at large. She also had the flexibility of Stretch Armstrong and could literally kiss her own ass if requested. It was quite the party trick.

  Rolande was from Kingston, Jamaica and had grown up in the heart of poverty and violence. She oozed relaxation and primal body heat. Her hair was usually done in tiny plaits down her back and her skin shimmered like melted caramel. She was big into politics and wanted to change the world, sooner rather than later. Her laugh was infectious and her passion unrestrained.

  Paige was Connecticut born and raised. She couldn’t help her charm, good breeding, and sophistication…it was like the air she breathed. She was beautiful in the Audrey Hepburn style with shiny dark hair and alabaster skin. She knew everything there was to know about art, and would be happy to go on and on about it all damn night if you let her. She came from money but worked for Vivienne as a sort of life experience. The wealthy could be strange like that.

  Sonia hailed from California and the term “blond bombshell” was made to suit a woman like her. Sonia’s mom had been a top supermodel and saw nothing wrong with her baby girl living the same life she did for the most part. There was not an outfit created that could conceal her ample curves. Sonia was never without cherry red lipstick, perfectly applied. She was studying to be a physical therapist, which was good since I’m sure her clients needed it when she got through with them.

  Lera was born and raised in Chicago and was a huge environmental activist just like her parents. She’d been raised on activism for just about every cause. She wasn’t annoying, unlike some ‘do-gooders’ who liked to guilt trip anyone not willing to chain themselves to a bulldozer. She did her thing and wasn’t pretentious. When she wasn’t working, Lera’s style was very Bohemian chic. She wore clothes made of natural fibers, sandals for the most part, and volunteered at the local animal shelter. She had extremely curly black hair, blue eyes, and sported a perpetual tan from one community project to the next.

  Katie drove the Town Car and was positively adorable. Short blond curls and brown eyes gave her a younger appearance than her actual twenty-seven years. Both of her parents were dead and she’d been raised by an older sister who’d gone to school with Vivienne. Katie wasn’t a working girl, but I had the feeling she might have been once.

  Max, short for Maxine, drove the limo. There used to be a pro wrestler named Chyna and I think Max could have taken her. She topped six feet and owned it, maintaining an unbelievable air of femininity and sexuality. She had straight black hair to the back of her thighs, but it was always wrapped in a complicated knot at the base of her neck. Since some appointments actually took place inside the limo, Max was the assigned driver. If there was ever trouble, she was prepared to handle it.

  Both drivers had licenses to carry concealed weapons and they never left home without them.

  Mrs. Quincy was the housekeeper and personal assistant to Vivienne. She was a widow with no children who looked on Vivienne as the daughter she’d never had.

  Vivienne had cooked up her current “business plan” while still in college. Mrs. Quincy had been an overworked, underpaid administrator in the registrar’s office and had jumped at the chance to start a new life. She kept a separate, sound-proof apartment in the back on the ground floor. Her duties included scheduling of all appointments and keeping the books. The rest of the staff reported to her.

  I learned a lot of details over the years I worked with Viv. Ma-Ying’s daughter was once one of Vivienne’s girls – which had given her the money she needed to bring her parents from China. She’d been discovered through her photos at the studio and now did modeling work for magazines around the world. Ma-Ying stayed on to help with beautifying the rest of the girls and lived in a condo paid for by her devoted daughter.

  Dr. Reynolds was Vivienne’s doctor when she was a young girl. She trusted him completely and used the retired caregiver to keep her girls safe and healthy. His part of the deal was enjoying access to some of the most beautiful young women he’d ever laid eyes, or hands, on. He happily took the little blue pill just going mainstream and fulfilled his naughty fantasies with the widows who lived in his 55-plus community.

  Lucia had unbelievable skill with any type or texture of hair. She also did the escort’s makeup. She’d had a husband who brought her to the States from Puerto Rico and promptly abandoned her for greener pastures. She took courses at night to learn better English and was eternally grateful to Vivienne for giving her a job.

  Vincent was found in a club, working as a flash bartender. He’d been disowned by his family when they found out about his sexual orientation but he’d never lost his positive attitude. He was incredibly skilled behind a camera and made a sizable living on the side doing weddings and bar mitzvahs. Women tended to fall for him despite his being gay and he was an amazing sport about it.

  There were never more than six escorts at a time. Vivienne believed in keeping things simple and not getting greedy. The system worked very well for her over the years, and kept her pretty ass out of trouble. When other madams were being indicted, Vivienne’s business thrived and survived.

  After many years, she finally retired. She’d made a lot, invested a lot in smart ventures, and knew when it was time to get out of the game.

  Chapter Five – The Attorney

  April 1999

  The week passed quickly and before I knew it, Friday had arrived. My first appointment would be that evening and I could barely contain my nerves and excitement.

  The entire week had been packed with activity. I aced a biology exam, turned in a kick-ass term paper for English Lit, and picked up my paycheck from the law office. The afterno
ons had been spent studying and cleaning my place since I’d neglected a lot during the week with my new job.

  Doing my laundry in the coin machines of my apartment building was always guaranteed to deliver a dose of reality.

  I showed up at Vivienne’s place Friday evening, early as usual. The nerves were really beginning to kick in. I figured it was normal, though not for me, which Lera later verified when she admitted to almost puking on her first client. God forbid!

  I had a facial, another lovely massage, a manicure, and a pedicure. After my shower, Lucia gave me an upsweep that added necessary years to my appearance. Then she applied makeup artfully to enhance my full lips and the shape of my eyes. She stuck with my less-is-more request and I was grateful. I hated to feel like a clown.

  I slipped into an emerald green bra and panties set with heels. When Vivienne joined me she looked as nervous as I felt. “Do you think the shoes are too much? With the height, the straps, the beading?” I asked, pondering them in the full-length mirror. I suddenly felt self-conscious, a foreign concept for me.

  She smiled as she looked me up and down. “No, Sarah, they’re perfect. You just aren’t used to wearing such things. Are they comfortable?”

  “Sure. I couldn’t go dancing in them but they’re fine. I want to be elegant, not feel like I’m on stilts. I’ll talk to Decklan about it for future selections.” I paused, “Is my client tall?” I wanted details about my appointment but was honestly afraid to ask.

  “She’ll probably match your height. Are you nervous?” She deftly changed the subject and moved behind me, smoothing her palms along my upper arms.

  “Not really. I just don’t want to make an ass of myself.” And I was serious. “Also, what if I’m not what this person is expecting?” Probing again.