Madame Lola -- part II (original) (raw)

Author: in_xanadu
Point of View: Madame Lola
Chapter

I sat at my desk attending to the business of the day. Really, with all of the minutiae needing such close attention, I was generally always busy. But that is what I like to be: busy. Every morning Isaac brought me an exhaustive list of everything that needed my attention, everything from replenishing the supply of condoms to ordering more nail polish for the actual spa to replenishing our supply of Diet Coke. Sometimes it was tiring trying to balance the front and the back operation. And if the truth be told, I could live off just the profits from the legal operations. But I had become accustomed to living with a certain level of comfort and that comfort was paid for by the illegal operation. Anyway, my expertise lay in that realm.

My introduction into the world of prostitution was not the norm. I wasn’t some lost girl who was picked up off the street and taken care of by some random pimp. I always find it interesting that people talk with reverence and concern about all the poor girls sold into slavery and prostitution around the world. Charitable institutions are built up and for these poor children in countries like Vietnam and Cambodia. News reports regarding these atrocities air regularly on CNN and Fox News. But no one ever talks about how this is happening right here.

My mother sold me to Thick Rick for the equivalent of ten needles… She sold me, took her money, bought some drugs and promptly overdosed. Not that I blame her. When she sold me, I was eleven and she was twenty-six, but looked sixty. Her life had been short, hard and devoid of joy. She wanted out and found a means to that end. Once she was free of me, she was free to leave.

My strongest memories of my childhood are of the men my mother brought home. Their leering faces always reeked of alcohol, their grasping fingers were always greasy, the only thing that changed was their name, how long they stayed and the manner in which they left. Some just left for cigarettes and never came back, while others found it necessary to destroy as they retreated. I was six years old the first time I patched my mother back together. I was the parent in our relationship by the time I was eight. Needless to say, I grew up fast. School was a thing of the past before I was nine. Hard to go to school without shoes to wear, even harder to concentrate without food… I never knew enough to know I should want a new life.

I learned more under Thick Rick. And despite it all, I find myself more grateful to him than bitter. He took me in and gave me the first actual home I’d ever had. With him, I had a bed, toys, clean clothes. He took me to the doctor, to the dentist, had the girls teach me how to read and do simple math. Each day, they would bring me comic books and romance novels. They lavished their attention on me, telling me stories, giving me kisses and combing my hair. They treated me like their own living doll. And, I loved them. I even loved Thick Rick for all of his gruffness, because in the end, he saved me.

I was thirteen when Thick Rick told me it was time to become a contributing member of the family. I wasn’t naïve and I certainly wasn’t stupid. The torrid romance novels I read had taught me a lot. I knew what he meant. Thick Rick came to me one night. He smiled and told me it was better if he broke me than some random guy. He wasn’t gentle or loving, but he apologized as I cried. Quickly, I was over the worst of the pain… And when I was finally ready for the other men, I found out why he was called “thick.” Since I’d been broken by quite possibly the largest dick ever, other men were never any problem.

I worked twenty-four hours a day… But, I still had three meals a day, clean clothing, a bed to sleep in and books to read. I worked and imagined I was someone else or somewhere else as the men (and women) did the worst, most degrading things to me. I worked and was grateful for what I had. Because when I was out walking, I could see how much worse so many other girls had it. Thick Rick kept me safe, kept men from beating me, kept the real world at bay.

When Thick Rick was arrested, my life quickly became painful and brutal. I found myself living in parks and alleyways all over New York City, which was all well and good during the summer and early fall. But once October came, New York got cold fast. I decided that it was stupid that I was sleeping out on the street when I knew that Thick Rick’s converted warehouse was standing empty. I slipped through the padlocked gates and went around back to slip through the window with a broken latch in the kitchen.

As I wandered from room to room, I quickly discovered that while the electricity wasn’t working, but the gas was still on. I had a hot meal, hot shower and warm bed to sleep in that night. And as I fell asleep, I made a promise to myself that I would never, ever sleep on a street again. For the next few weeks, I slipped in and out of the warehouse to go out and walk.

The other girls who had worked under Thick Rick noticed that I was doing great. In fact, instead of wasting away the way they were, I was flourishing. They started coming to me asking me to help them, to give them money to buy food, find somewhere to sleep. I found that I had a certain talent for helping them. Soon, they were coming to me with their worries and concerns and bringing me their money. These girls had gone for so long working under someone that they had no idea what to do with their money or how to control it. Some of the girls gave me their money because they were scared that if they had too much money they would buy drugs with it and they wanted to stay clean. Some girls gave me money and said it was to pay for the rent.

Soon, I had quite a stash of money and I found myself surrounded by lost girls. Sure, they were all older than me, but they were all adrift trying to find a place to anchor. It wasn’t long before I realized that I had stepped into Thick Rick’s role in the lives of most of his girls. It was a role that I actually liked. I decided that the skulking in and out of the warehouse was just plain annoying. The chances of getting caught were heightened by where we were living. We were for all intents and purposes just squatting in a warm water flat with no electricity. And I wanted electricity.

Megan, one of the older girls, and I dressed like a mother and daughter and went apartment hunting. It wasn’t long before we found a place on the lower east side. It wasn’t huge, but it was big enough for me and seven of Thick Rick’s former girls. The girls had gathered around me, looking for the guidance that they needed, looking for something they needed. Again, I was thrust into the role of mother for women much older than me. The one advantage of being the one taking care of, well, basically, everything, I found it less and less necessary to go out and walk with the girls. I understood at fifteen years old that I had a black book that could bring down many very powerful men. It was a very good feeling knowing that I was in complete control of my destiny. Control becomes very important when you’ve never had any.

When the men saw me and were introduced to me as Madame Lola, I saw a moment of panic then, their demeanor would change. Almost as if they saw me as a pushover, someone they could easily outwit and take advantage of. The more they acted as if I were an annoying child, the more they ended up paying. Maybe it was naïveté from being so young, but I was shrewd and sure that I held all the cards. And eventually,
I did.

To say I was successful was an understatement. I made my common, everyday whores into escorts. And soon, my escorts became very high-priced, in-demand call girls. And I took excellent care of my girls, setting up trust funds, getting them in to see the best doctors and dentists, buying them beautiful designer clothing, sending them to rehab when they spent their money unwisely. And speaking of money, I hid my money well. It was hidden all over the world – free financial advice being one of the greatest rewards for having so many powerful men afraid of the knowledge I held. Still, I was wary of places where I could be found or traced. I hid my money in random places, in the cushions of couches, inside mattresses, in safety deposit boxes all over the city, in entirely untraceable Swiss band accounts. I understood that a fifteen-year-old girl with a bank account in the hundreds of thousands would raise – not just eyebrows – but red flags.

I paid my rent in cash, the doctor in cash. I went to the phone company, the gas company, the electric company. I paid the bills all the while explaining that my mom hadn’t been able to come down herself. The cashiers always smiled and painstakingly wrote out a receipt telling me to be sure and give it to my mother. I was sixteen years old and the surrogate mother to over twenty-five girls.

The actual number of girls fluctuated. I had an ever-rotating cadre of girls. They worked or didn’t work according to their will. The only time I required them to work was when they lived in house. Many of my girls came and went for years.

And soon, it was years. I was standing on the edge of thirty and I was the most powerful Madame in the New York area. My clients were the cream of the crop, the top moneymakers and power brokers. Thank God, a man who worked for the police department in the vice squad was very aware that I was being investigated and I could bring him down. I had enough warning to gather all of my money around me and get out of town.

I wandered the world for a while, going wherever the wind took me. The new world I didn’t know enough to want when I was a child was suddenly open before me. I discovered that there was a lot to the world besides work and taking care of someone. I discovered that $3000.00 dollar bottles of wine were a pure pleasure, that there is nothing quite like getting a massage as the sun set into the ocean, spending a week at a spa having my every whim and need catered to was one step from heaven. I lived a life of pure pleasure and luxury. Spending the fortune I’d amassed on whatever piqued my fancy at that time. I was thirty-five, single and enjoying my life.

In the south of France, I met my nemesis… I fell in love. Love being an abstract concept and the enemy of all prostitutes. And in the end, that’s what I was: a prostitute. Love was something I thought I knew, but quickly discovered that I had no clue. The man was tall and dark with an accent as thick as smoke. He whispered things in my ear that sounded like symphonies. Sex was about pure pleasure, not just a job or a pleasure for someone else. His name was never important, because it just wasn’t… He wasn’t what I loved; it was the life growing inside of me that became my sole focus.

By the time I realized what was happening with my body, I was fully taken by the idea of having a young life to mold, to influence for good, to have as my own. I sat on the balcony of my fabulous hotel room overlooking the beautiful white sand beach of Cannes and realized that as beautiful as all of this was, this wasn’t the life I wanted to give my child.

I wanted my child to have baseball, apple pie, Fourth of July and Yankee Doodle dandy. I turned from the window and looked at the dark man with a voice like smoke and knew that no matter how many times he muttered “I love you,” I simply did not love him. Nor would I ever. He was the smoke and mirrors of physical love… Not the deep emotional connection I craved.

I sat and watched the waves knowing that there had to be somewhere in the world that would be perfect for us… Because as I felt the flutter of butterflies in my belly, I knew I would never be a me again, but an us, forever. As I considered going back to New York, I knew there was no way in the world that I was going back there. I wouldn’t raise a dog there, much less a child. New York, LA, Chicago… All of those cities were out of the question. I watched the horizon brighten with the rising sun, searching my memories for the names of towns across the United States.

Then as the sun came out fully onto the water, turning the water into a swirl of refracted lights, I remembered what one of my girls, Melodie, had said years before, “Tulsa Oklahoma was the perfect place to grow up. I spent my days riding bikes, climbing trees, wading through streams… As a child, I thought nothing bad would ever happen to me.”

And as Melodie moved through my memory with her enormous blue eyes and long blond hair, I understood that with better parents who drank a lot less, Melodie could have been Miss America. She was beauty personified. And with the least amount of support she would have been amazing in ways I can’t even describe. Instead, she was a second rate whore with a fairly serious cocaine addiction. I was determined to be the mother that Melodie deserved. I was going to be that mother. I was going to raise my child with the knowledge that she could be whoever or whatever she wanted. She would know that she was loved. She would be the most important thing in my life. Nothing and no one would take that from me. I would do something right.

I tied up all the loose ends, said Au Revoir to the beautiful man with a voice like smoke and goodbye to the freedom of Europe. As the skyline of Tulsa filled the window of the plane, I knew that I was somewhere that I could call home. I found a house in a quiet neighborhood with big trees that hung over the street. The big oak in the front yard had a tire swing hanging off of it and the sycamore in the back yard had a tree house. I filled the house with the sort of things I imagined a child would want. I found myself immersed in the activities of a pregnant woman – whatever they may be. I spent hours sitting in parks watching children play, learned to knit, investigated the best preschools and schools.

I found myself completely wrapped up in the idea of being the mother that all the kids in the neighborhood thought was the cool mom, the one person that all of the kids could come to for advice, the patient and loving neighborhood mom. And all of these plans were all well and good while I was pregnant. But once I gave birth to Melodie Grace, I found myself getting more and more restless.

She was beautiful and perfect and the love of my life. I never knew that love could fill a person quite like the love I felt for Grace. But I found that all of the things that a mother should do didn’t fill my day like I wanted. I took yoga classes and baby Gymboree. I spent hours shopping and trying to learn how to cook. But it was all hopeless. I was in love with my baby, but not meant to be a stay-at-home mother. I needed to get out of the house and do something.

Unsure and unqualified for much, I noticed the “For Sale” sign on the front of a defunct spa. As I pushed Grace’s pram along, I stopped and looked through the dusty windows and saw a world I recognized. A world of decadence filled with the sounds and smells of pleasure… As I finished my walk, I began to formulate in my mind a plan that would keep me busy and make me money. I would buy the spa and immerse myself in the day to day running of the spa. I would find the best hairdressers and nail artists. I would hire masseurs who knew how to do Swedish massage, Shiatsu massage and hot rock therapy massage. I would get an aroma therapist, someone who specialized in Feng Shui and a color specialist who helped women dress for success.

I was filled with plans. Plans to become a legitimate businesswoman and start a new above board empire. I would create a world that would insulate Grace from the ugliness I had seen. I was filled with the possibility of my everyday life being filled with challenges. I even formulated a plan to have a day care on site so I could spend my days with Grace.

But as I turned a corner, I saw something I wasn’t prepared for. Standing on the corner was a wreck of a girl. Her lipstick was smeared across her chin, her blonde hair hung down in mats that approximated dreadlocks, but not quite so orderly, her hands were dirty and clutched a bent, unlit cigarette. As our eyes locked, momentarily, the recognition hit me like nothing else. “Melodie?”

“Yeah, who wants to know?” The mess slurred.

“Melodie, it’s me, Lola.” I said shocked at the way that five years had ravaged her.

“Lola?” She said turning towards me, adjusting her formerly beautiful designer dress. I noticed that it was full of holes and that her nipple was poking out of one of the holes. “Is that really you?”

“Melodie what are you doing?” I asked concerned about the sores I could see on her face and the fading bruises.

“I’m working…” she said her voice faltering. “Unfortunately, the guy I work for now isn’t as kind as you.”

“Melodie, you had a lot of money… You should have been set for a long time.” I said watching the wreck in front of me in broken high heels.

“Yeah, you’d think so.” She said stumbling even though she was standing still.

“You’re coming with me.” I said ordering her as if she were my employee still. “You need a shower, some clean clothing and to see a doctor.”

“My pimp won’t like me not working.” She said resisting me.

“Well as of now, you are not working for this pig any longer.” I said grabbing her elbow and dragging her after me. “You will come back to working for me… You are not trash. You are not a common hooker. You are one of the highest paid escorts in the world. You will not be brought down like this.”

“Madame, I’m scared.” She said pulling back.

“Scared of what?” I asked.

“What if I don’t remember how to be that?” She asked.

“It will all come back to you.” I said wondering how someone found people to pay for escorts in a city like Tulsa. But I knew that where there was a will to sell sex, there were plenty of people lining up willing to buy.

After taking Melodie back to my house, I got her bathed and cleaned up. I made an appointment for her to see a doctor and found myself listening to her tale of horror and wondering if the rest of my girls were in similar boats. And as I listened, I knew what I was going to do. I would buy the Garden of Eden spa. I would set it up as a legitimate business and then, I would start the backroom business that I knew so well. I had been a highly successful Madame for over fifteen years in the hardest city in the world, why couldn’t I do it here in the suburban heaven of Tulsa?

I bought the spa, hired a few young hairdressers just out of beauty school and began to network. I went to clubs, bars, seedy places. I got Melodie to talk to her fellow streetwalkers and recruited some of them. Basically choosing the ones that looked the least world worn and weary. I even flew to New York one weekend and found some of my old girls. All of them were happy to come with me, telling me that no one had ever treated them the way I had. I hired a nanny from England and bought myself another house farther from the spa and insulated Grace from the world I found myself immersed in again.

Now, I was a business owner, but not doing a very good job of it. My lack of education became painfully obvious as I tried to move through the legitimate world. I couldn’t keep track of bills and deliveries. I had too much of some things and not enough of others. The honest face of the business was suffering. I was struggling to make ends meet. Soon, I found myself unable to make things meet up. I was floundering. I needed an office manager. Someone special, someone young and just out of business school, someone with a good head for business and an ability to turn a blind eyes at illegal activities, that is when I met Isaac.

After hiring Isaac to work the phones and maintain the appointment book, I went from being a backroom Madame to an entrepreneur. Isaac helped me to get the Garden of Eden Spa running as a legitimate business. And as much as hate to admit it, Isaac was my saving grace. I had done everything on my own up to this point in my life. But now, I found myself in a position where I was dependent on someone else. His ability to remember the things I forgot was invaluable to me. Actually, pretty much everything about him was invaluable to me… And even though I didn’t think his talent lay in the area of escort, he had other talents that I was forever grateful for. I never told him this, but I was pretty sure he knew how I felt. Although, maybe it was time that I let him know exactly how valuable.

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, just taking a moment to relax, to recenter myself, to remember why I did all of this. The spa was actually very quiet at that moment. So quiet, that I heard the familiar ding of the door opening in the lobby. Isaac’s voice, greeting someone in a very familiar and offhand manner, let me know it was one of the employees. I slowly turned my chair towards the door wondering who was coming in so late in the day.

I watched as Susan Hanson came into my sight. She was a wisp of a thing, small and graceful. I often wondered how such a slip of a girl could possibly handle Zac and his enormous talent. I smirked imagining their wedding night and the horror that must have shown on her face when she saw what she had taken on by marrying Zac. Susan turned and looked at me just as I started laughing.

“Hello Madame,” she said a look of surprise on her face.

“Hello Susan.” I said the smile falling off my face. “How are you today?”

“I’m… I’m just bringing Zac his lunch.” She stammered.

“Well, I’m afraid it’s a wasted trip.” I said watching her squirm. I loved how uncomfortable she always acted around me. “He and Taylor left on a call just a few moments ago.”

“Oh, well, I’ll just leave this with Isaac.” She said holding up a brown paper bag that I could only assume held Zac’s lunch.

“That sounds like a good idea.” I said picking up a piece of paper. I turned my attention to the latest list that Isaac had made that morning for me. Some silliness about how if we were to expand the legitimate services that the spa offered, we could hire at least ten more escorts and make that much more money and not have it tip off the authorities that there was anything illegal happening in the back rooms. I was getting used to the smell of actual industry. Once this salon had only had the sour smell of old sex. Now it smelled like hair dye and nail polish. I made a mental note to buy Isaac another bottle of his favorite scotch. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Susan was still standing in the doorway watching me. “Can I help you?”

“Can I ask you something?” Susan asked a blush creeping up her cheeks.

“Of course,” I said watching her battle her own desire to run from the spa.

“Why do you do this?” She asked waving her hands around.

“Excuse me?” I asked. I wasn’t sure what she was asking exactly, although, I had a fairly good idea.

“Why this, why escorts?” Susan asked. “You are such a smart… Why… Why do you do this?”

“I think what you’re asking is why does Zac do this.” I said smiling at her extreme discomfort.

“No, I have a pretty good idea why Zac does it.” Susan said a smug look on her face. “I want to know why you do it? Why not just live off the earnings of the spa?”

“Ah, but if I did that, your husband wouldn’t be able to support you in such a glorious manner.” I answered. “I know you find what we do here repugnant…”

“But I don’t.” Susan protested shrugging.

“You must.” I said knowing that it had to bug her that the woman sitting next to her in the café could have had sex with her husband just hours earlier. “I do.”

“Then why?” She asked insisting.

“Because there are things in this world that are more important than being morally upright!” I said my voice raising, her cool insistence getting under my skin.

“Madame Lola, there is nothing worse than selling out your morals…” Susan said shaking her head.

“That’s what you think.” I answered. “I’ve saved many of the girls who work for me. I have saved them from horrible pimps and from drug dealers. I’ve taken them out of the worst sort of world. A world you can’t even imagine. A world I want to protect Grace from…”

“Grace?” She asked her face becoming curious. “There isn’t a girl here named Grace.”

“Grace doesn’t matter.” I said firmly.

“But you just told me that you do this for her.” Susan said. Her face was open and curious; she had a strength of character that shone out through her eyes. I saw the beautiful girl that Zac had described when he first told me he was getting married. Up until that moment, I’d only seen the mouse, the scared, easily intimidated girl. But here, before me, stood a girl who could easily be a match for Zac.

“Susan, close the door.” I said understanding that this was a young woman who deserved my respect and the truth. She slowly closed the door and turned towards me. I opened the bottom drawer of my desk and reached inside pulling out the most recent picture of Grace in her school uniform, her five year old face shining with happiness, her front tooth missing. “This is Grace. She is my daughter and no one knows about her. I keep her insulated and isolated from this world. Isaac thinks that he pays Margot to keep house for me. Taylor thinks the reason why no one is allowed to come to my house is because I have some sort of secret sex lab in the basement with slaves and everything… And I don’t know what Zac thinks, but I don’t think he cares much.”

“You have a daughter?” She asked her voice amazed.

“Yes.” I answered.

“YOU have a daughter?” She asked again.

“Yes and I would appreciate it if you would keep that in the strictest of confidence.” I said watching her closely.

“Oh, don’t worry, I will.” Susan said smiling. “I don’t think anyone would believe me if I told them anyway.”