Sometimes, in my line of work as in many others, rude clients float to the surface. I should say that the most awful clients I ever experienced were in banking, because when you’re dealing with people and money, greed comes before all else. Suddenly the bank charges they incurred were my fault, personally. Like I took their money and spent it on caviar. Or call girls. Allegedly.
In my experience, nine times out of ten when clients are chest puffing, it’s easily sorted. They swagger into the room with the “I’m paying you, you will do exactly what I say” routine and I just smile. “Oh dear, you’re terrified, aren’t you ?” Thereafter comes the crest fallen expression and apology. Every so often though, one comes along where the only solution is to play him at his own game, but do it with eloquence.
A few years ago, I had a request to do a dinner date in Glasgow. Perfectly civil emails, if a little abrupt, led to a brief telephone conversation and eventually, we met. Dressed to impress in a cocktail dress, heels and hair flowing, I tottered into the bar to be surveyed with a chewed lip and a turned back. “She’ll have a G & T too. Slim line.” Bearing in mind that I was advertising as a BBW (Big Beautiful Woman), that was uncalled for.
So to dinner. For some strange reason, Mr. Client decided to do anything and everything to make me feel uncomfortable, to the extent that I felt he might be a plant, from abolitionists. He began by asking what drove me to resort to my profession. It couldn’t be drugs, because hello ? Size 16. Was there childhood abuse ? I immediately switched from professional girlfriend to debate mode, and knew I was going to have to bring it.
From there, he decided to raise his voice so that anyone and everyone could hear what he was saying. “DO YOU HAVE A PIMP ? CAN YOU GET AWAY FROM HIM ?” To me, this felt like a man desperate to be seen in the role of rescuer, a very sorry state of affairs indeed. I sipped my non-fatty drink and smiled sweetly.
In time, the menu arrived and it was in French. Quelle horreur. Obviously, as an escort, I would be too dense to be able to interpret it, so he came to my rescue by snatching it out of my hands with the reassurance – “It’s in French, I’ll order.”
Coming very close to boiling point, I let him order, in spite of the fact I wouldn’t touch foie gras if my cat’s life depended on it. Once the starters had been served, my new best pal made great haste in handing over my fee in an envelope with a megaphone style declaration – “BEST GET THE FEE OUT OF THE WAY, EH ?” I’d had enough.
There was £400 or so in the envelope and I carefully removed it from it’s sheath. Standing up, I leaned across the table and whispered, “Au revoir”, before throwing the entire bundle of money into the air. As I flicked my hair and strolled out of that restaurant, I left behind me a stunned misogynist, caught in that moment between records at parties when it suddenly goes quiet, and with twenty pound notes gently flitting down all around him.
I never did get an apology, but the satisfaction ? Now that, you couldn’t put a price on.
LL xx
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Laura, I have read several of your articles tonight, and I really did appreciate and enjoy them.
Unfortunately, I as one of the 20% of married guys that chose to use an escorts service, paid the ultimate price in loosing a wife, she taking the five offspring with her fully poisoning them against me, in fact I just got illiminated from the prestige family home, which I haven’t been allowed to visit in almost 13 years. As a non drinker, and as someone who prefers female company, than a night out with the boys, feeling lonely and needing intimacy I digressed; I’m still trying to get that bond with my kids that has more or less been broken for ever, I don’t even have my 20 year old daughter’s phone number, and have only spoken to her person to person, for several minutes, less than ten times in ten years. The pain has given me a voice as a poet and as a creative writer.
Just yesterday I buried my mother, my talented children, each in their own way, came together and honoured her in pure Irish tradition, through the wake and the funeral with music, flowers and ceremony. One son who hadn’t spoken to me for seven plus years, hugged me back, as I hugged him, kissed him on the neck and told him I loved him, that on our first meeting in that time. I have sidetracked most possibly, but I support your stance against these new laws. I in no way condone trafficking of any sort, be it in the trafficking of young woman and girls, in the sex trade, or be it, in the trafficking of construction and general workers, male or female to be exploited in underpaid other trades and employment, which the politicians haven’t seemed to have acted upon. I have so much respect for all females in what ever line of business they are involved. I would like to again to have a relationship with some nice lady, however in the mean time until that happens, I would like to legitimately partake in the services of independent escorts who for a measured amount of time, make me feel whole and complete. Some who are more gifted than others given their natural beauty, and with their inner personalities provide the ultimate intimacy which is so iportant to me as a person. Laura, I’m not a wealthy man, but I look forward to making a contribution towards your fight against this unjust law; I indeed look forward to entering into conversation with you and indeed a meeting. Thank you for you magnificent imput to your blog.
Cheers – – – W.F.