Call Girl Confidential Read Online Free PDF

us feel sorry for them, because they fell for the clients who would say, “Hey, let’s go out to dinner” and “I really want to take you shopping.” Translation: Let me get sex for free, and you will never see it coming—and then you will get fired for seeing a client outside of the business and be out of a job. We always warned them, but they never wanted to listen. And it always happened.
    There was Allie. She was always falling in love. She was really good at her job. She was a little wild, but she had amazing natural breasts that made her a favorite of some of the clients. So, even though she was a little plain, those breasts were enough to keep her employed. We weren’t allowed to smoke or drink if we were at the Corinthian, but Allie did all the time, like it was a party. She was a student but she’d drop out all the time, then go back and then quit again.
    Then there was Lizzie, a very young girl from Minnesota who was a bit of a pathological liar. Actually, let me correct that: she was an outrageous pathological liar. If she wanted to see her boyfriend one night and didn’t want to work, she’d just say her grandmother died, forgetting that she’d told Kristin her grandmother had died the month before. Kristin wasn’t stupid andalways knew what she was up to. One day Lizzie said her sister died. Truly horrible. I am not sure it gets worse than that. I felt really sorry for her, but before I knew how much of a liar she really was (because all of the girls wanted to get out of schedules), we were actually pretty decent social friends. Notice I said “social friends.” Not close, but social. I always keep people at just the right distance to be safe. Oh, and to be clear: her sister did not pass away.
    One night Lizzie asked me if I would do her a favor and come along on a job at the Waldorf Astoria. She had been working for many different madams. I didn’t know her other madam this time, but the job seemed very simple: she needed another girl to come along to socialize at a party, and we would be paid to mingle. Easy enough. She said it was an easy job, so I had no problem doing that.
    A well-known media executive and his friends were throwing the party; that was all she knew at the time. We were told to wait downstairs in the lobby, where we would be greeted and then taken up to the apartment. We went up, and the apartment had a beautiful ornate door. When it opened, we walked in, and Lizzie and I were escorted over to the enormous dining area. I introduced myself and my friend to the others in the room. It was a bit confusing, because we had been told we were going to a big party, and there were only about four or five people in the room. We shrugged it off, as champagne was flowing and servers were bringing out hors d’oeuvres of oysters and shrimp.
    One of the guests poured me a drink and asked me my name, and I replied, “Why, my name is Ashley,” and smiled with my usual wink and giggle. It always puts someone at ease when I amp up my Southern accent. His eyes immediately brightened, andhe said, “You are a Southern girl!” He said he was Dr. Benjamin Chavis and that he was also from North Carolina. He had been the head of the NAACP and now directed the Hip-Hop Summit Action Network. We had a lot to talk about.
    Our client was the host of the party. There were framed photos of his family all around the apartment. Lizzie and I just mingled among the guests. Dr. Chavis and I talked all night. I never got the sense he wanted to “avail himself of the services,” though he did give me his cell number. He explained that a number of them were being inducted as ambassadors to the UN for something the next day and this was a mini celebration, without their wives and girlfriends. Ambassadors for what, I didn’t ask, but I acted as if I was impressed. That was my job.
    By the end of the night, nothing sexual had happened. We were