Call Girl Confidential Read Online Free PDF Page A

sure my highlights were touched up frequently and had my hair blown out several times a week. I had to be immaculately manicured, pedicured, and waxed. Frequent facials. Eyelashes put on every two weeks, spray tanning every three to four days, so you have that perfect glow and look as though you just returned from St. Barts.
    But just as important was my wardrobe. A high-priced escort has to look sexy but elegant as soon as she walks in the hotel-room door or accompanies a client to a party or restaurant. Eventually I collected racks of pretty dresses, several hundred pairs of sexy shoes, and expensive lingerie. Building a beautiful wardrobe takes time and work. And, yes, my regular clients let me buy whatever I wanted on their dime all along Fifth or Madison. But it takes a lot of effort to look expensive .
    I know what you are thinking: Oh, poor little you . But I actually had to view myself as a business in which I was the major investor. Sure, I was pretty, but lots of girls are pretty. I had to be a full-fledged fantasy.
    I took some of those initial profits and bought things that would transform me into a woman that the richest men in the world desired, again and again. My outfits could each cost thousands of dollars. I learned quickly that this was a game, and decided I was going to be the queen of it. I had to be if I wanted to make the big bucks.
    The work was incredibly risky. Kristin had a knack for getting us a lot of work. But generally a man could call and give a creditcard number and he was in. That’s all it took to get a booking. He could have been a serial killer for all she knew. And I never knew who I was about to see.
    I did some incall work at the apartment Kristin had rented at the Corinthian. She also had a couple of other apartments that she would use as incall locations, and they would always be able to serve two customers at a time. Kristin wouldn’t be there most of the time. We girls would come to protect one another and keep each other company in the living room even if we weren’t scheduled to work. We stuck together.
    There were beautiful girls from all over the country and from all over the world, fate having brought them into this line of work for any number of reasons.
    There was a beautiful Ukrainian girl whom I’ll call Ekaterina—Kit Kat. I really, really liked her a lot. She was extremely intelligent and we could talk for hours. I always respected her because she knew this job served a purpose, unlike some of the others. Her family was from Chernobyl, and although she hadn’t yet been born when the nuclear power plant disaster happened there, her sisters had, and they were very sick. One of them had thyroid cancer. Kit Kat sent money back to her mother and sisters every month. They thought it was pay from the job she also had at a well-known public relations firm. She was like me, working days and nights. She made good money, but it was nothing compared to what she got at night, even after Kristin took half. Her public relations coworkers had no idea. She, too, hated the work at the Corinthian, but it was a means to an end, and she would do whatever it took to help her family. She was perhaps one of the strongest women I have ever met in my entire life. After I stopped working for Kristin, Kit Kat and I would meet fordinner or lunch just to make sure the other was OK. She was one of the few who knew my true story. She is also the one who sent me the text to read the article in the paper about Kristin’s arrest. I never heard from her again. I hope she is well.
    Some of the girls didn’t have a serious purpose like Kit Kat. In fact, a lot of the girls spent all their money on clothes, bags, and vacations. They would pay their rent and then blow the rest on the next Louis Vuitton bag. It was refreshing to be around them every once in a while because of their airhead mentality and total ignorance of the seriousness of our life-altering stress. But it also made