14th
Sacrificial lambs
I hate to portray myself as a victim in all of this. I knew what I was getting into, to a degree, and I definitely profitted off my manipulations, not only of clients but of other girls. When I didn’t want to deal with them, or they were getting more insistent I could easily find more willing, or more naive girls, ply them with booze and drugs, and toss them to the wolves. One time I had plans with one of my top three most annoying clients. R was obnoxious; a grabby, sloppy drunk, no boundaries, and a needy insecure liar as well. I hated him, but he was a consistent bottle buyer…and always had pretty good coke. Last Spring I went to meet R at the Oak Room at the Plaza Hotel, he was already slurring and three martinis in when we found this sweet young girl in Jackie O dress reading Baudelaire at the bar. She was new to New York fresh from an Ivy League school. R started to tell her how he went to Princeton (he did not) and I suggested she join us for a drink, than dinner at Daniel, than more drinks downtown, than a table at a club in Meat Packing where I could get commission for bringing R. I knew how to deal with him, she did not. He would try and kiss me, I’d playfully slap him and tell him to behave. He would try and kiss her, she looked scared and let him. He of course pushed farther reaching down her dress. I was just happy it wasn’t me tonight and demanded he give me more money for blow. She tried to get me to protect her, he alluded to her being a lesbian and wanting to sleep with me. I played along and ordered another bottle of champagne. She was slurring and wobbling more and more, he was pretty much holding her up as he pawed at her. Eventually I ditched them and ran off to visit friends in the dj booth and troll for new clients. I went back to the table and they were gone, I had some slurring voicemails later from R telling me to meet him at another spot. I never heard from or saw her again, though I found her Baudelaire book at the bottom of my purse.
