Soul Destruction Diary

Taking Advantage – 28 December 2000 – 1.05AM

Soul Destruction - Diary of a London Call Girl

Mickey’s on my mind. Lorna’s in my bed. I didn’t want to have sex with her again but it’s happened. I didn’t realise what was going on until I found her with her head between my legs. She must’ve undressed me while I was gouched out. I don’t want her. I want Mickey. I know she’s not going to give me his number. I’m going to have to wait until she’s gouched out, and then see if it’s stored in her phone.

“Why are you putting that on?” Lorna sits up in the queen-sized bed.

Wearing my nightdress, I slip back under the duvet. “I’m cold.”

“Me too. Turn off the air-con.” She leans over to the bedside table and tips a small heap of white heroin into a spoon.

Reluctantly, I push myself up from the bed. I open the drawer in the bureau and take out my pastel blue nightdress. “Wear this,” I say, holding it in her direction.

“I like being natural.” She drips water from a syringe into the spoon. “It’s what nature intended.”

I’d so much rather we were friends without the sex. The more I’m getting to know her, the less attractive I’m finding her. And I hate it that she’s shaven. I haven’t had a flashback so far tonight, but that’s probably because I haven’t been there yet. I know she’s going to want me to. And I really don’t want to.

“I’m sorry about your punter.” Lorna passes me my filled syringe. She gets up from the bed and walks over to the air conditioning unit on the wall. As she turns the control, the dull humming sound stops resonating in the suite. “At least you got your fifty dollars back.”

“Fifty dollars isn’t compensation for a missed job.” I shouldn’t have said that, but I’m so into the lie, I’m nearly believing it myself. If it was a missed job, I wouldn’t care less. But it was Mickey I missed, and I’m fuming with myself about that.

“If you need work while you’re here, I can set you up.”

“I don’t want to work in a brothel. No offence, but I can’t do that many punters a day, and I don’t work for pittance.”

“It doesn’t have to be a brothel. That guy in the Cross, he knows people.”

Wrapping my tan belt around my arm, I look for a good vein. “He’s a pimp, you mean?”

“Not exactly. I’ll introduce you to him. He can explain what he does.”

“Why don’t you just tell me?”

“I’m not involved. I don’t know. Next time we’re there, you can meet him.” Lorna injects her hit. Her eyes close. She lies down next to me on the bed. Her long, blonde hair splays over the pillow, fanned out like the feathers of a peacock.

I insert the needle into a vein on my lower arm. I need to give the one on the inside of my elbow a rest. It’s not healing and I don’t like the mark there. “What do you do for money?” I ask.

“This and that.”

“Did you make much working in the brothel?”

“Yeah, quite a lot over the years. Put it all in my arm though.”

“Didn’t you–?”

“What?”

“Doesn’t matter.” I don’t want to cause a row, but I’m sure she said before she worked in the brothel for two months. I can’t question her on it again though. Last time I did, she was upset with me for not listening to her properly.

I push down on the plunger. The rush pulsates in my body. Somehow, I need to keep alert. If she gouches out for long enough, I can look in her phone for Mickey’s number.

Controlled – 27 December 2000 – 5.25PM

Soul Destruction - Diary of a London Call Girl

I take a sip from my bottle of coke. There’s vodka mixed in with it. I need that. I’m anxious. I’m dying for my hit. I’m also worried I’m not going to make it back in time for Mickey. If I didn’t dream the conversation with him, I’m meant to be meeting him at the Radisson at seven o’clock. Me and Lorna have only just got on the ferry from Manly heading to Circular Quay. We need to catch a bus to Kings Cross at the other end, have our hits, and then make the return journey.

“Are you sure we’ll be back in time?”

“You’re doing my head in.” Lorna sits down on a bench on the deck. “Why don’t you just call your punter and rebook him?”

“I told you. His mobile doesn’t work here. It’s a UK phone.”

If I had Mickey’s number, I would call him. And if Mickey was a punter, I wouldn’t care about missing him. I’m so angry with myself for getting on this bloody ferry. I should’ve stayed in Manly. I’ll be lucky to get my hit an hour before I would’ve probably had one with Mickey anyway. I can’t bear being driven by the powder like this. It makes me do things I don’t want to do.

Arriving at Circular Quay, me and Lorna walk to the bus stop and wait. Time is dragging. Unusually, I’m wearing my watch. I keep checking it. Eventually, the bus comes and we take the short ride. When we step off at Kings Cross, I’m infuriated by Lorna’s slow pace. I’m the one wearing high heels, as always, and she’s in flats. She should be walking faster. I can’t even pull her along. I don’t know where we’re going. I came with her once before to score here, but I never paid any attention on the way.

At last, we reach the turquoise door by the side of the barber’s shop. Lorna rings the bell. “Wait here,” she says, as the door is buzzed open. She disappears inside.

Smoking a cigarette, I watch the passersby. There’s a mix of people. I try to avoid focusing on the parents pushing buggies. It makes me sad, thinking about the babies I should have. I take a slug from my vodka and coke. I look at the prostitutes. They’re dressed the same as the streetwalkers back home in London. You can see the suspender straps of the women wearing stockings. They fall below their nearly non-existent skirts.

A young, blonde girl catches my eye. She’s wearing a jean mini-skirt and a black bra. I know I’m staring at her, but I can’t avert my gaze. She looks about fifteen. I ache in my heart for her. I ache for the young girl I was at that age. Fifteen’s when I started working. It was terrible then. I cried all the time. Doing a punter was like being raped. I didn’t have a choice back then. My pimp made me work on the streets. At the time, I thought he was my boyfriend. I was so naive. I thought he loved me. He was evil. So were the paedophile punters who bought me. They fucked a crying child. That is rape.

I stamp my cigarette out on the pavement. Lorna’s taking ages. I hate not having a phone on me. If I was back in London, I’d call her to tell her to hurry the fuck up. I can’t ring the dealer’s doorbell. I don’t think I can. It’s not the done thing when you’re the friend of a dealer’s customer. You’re meant to wait outside discreetly. That’s the rule.

I look at my watch. There’s no way I’m going to make it back in time for Mickey now. I’m not even sure the arrangement was definite. It might’ve been in my dream that I heard him say he was coming back. I can’t check with him though. I don’t have his number. I should have stayed in Manly. Now I’m going to have to get his number from Lorna. Considering she’s trying to keep me away from him, it isn’t going to be easy.

Using People – 27 December 2000 – 2.40PM

Soul Destruction - Diary of a London Call Girl

I’m sitting on a rock. It’s not comfortable but the sound of the waves crashing close to me makes me feel more alive and I love my feet dipped into the sea while the sun warms my skin. It’s a hot day, really hot. Although the sun on my body feels good on the outside, the heat makes me feel colder inside.

Mickey left the hotel sometime this morning. I don’t know when. I didn’t look at my watch. I was half-asleep in bed. I don’t think I fell asleep until after 8AM. That was when I last remember seeing the time. He said something about taking his mother shopping. I think he said she was blind but I’m not sure if I dreamt that part. I also think he said that his father usually takes her but he’s flown out to Perth as his mother is ill. I’m not actually sure how much of what I think he said he did in fact say, and how much was my dream. I’m hoping that I didn’t dream he said he was coming back tonight. I feel stupid for feeling it, but I miss him. I want a fix as well, and he might have gear with him.

My bony arse is aching from perching on the rock. I slither down into the sea then wade to the shore. Back on the sand, I lie down on my Betty Boop towel. I close my eyes and think of Mickey. He’s taking over my thoughts. I guess it’s all right though. It makes a change from the bad memories and images that usually play.

“All alone, Nicole. Mickey not with you?” I recognise Lorna’s voice.

I open my eyes and look up at her. “You’re looking better. What happened to you last night?”

Lorna plonks herself down on the sand next to me. Her hair isn’t wild today. It’s neatly pulled back in a ponytail. And she’s not wearing ripped clothes. She’s in a tiny, fluorescent green bikini – a terrible colour on anyone. “I had a fight with some loud mouth bitches. You should see the state of them though. Knocked two teeth out of one of those cunts.”

“And ruined my dress. Don’t ask to borrow my clothes again. They’re all designer. They’re not cheap and they’re not made for fighting.”

“Budge over.” Lorna nudges me with her backside, imposing on my small towel. She lays down next me. Although we’re both anorexically thin, there isn’t room for two on this towel. I’ve got one leg and one arm in the sand. Her body, sticky with sweat, is making my body damp too. “You got a smoke?” she asks.

I take two cigarettes from my packet and rest them both between my lips. I light them then pass one to her. I dig in my handbag for my watch. I never wear it; time drags when I do. Discretely, I check how much longer it is until seven o’clock – the time I think Mickey’s meeting me at the Radisson. I’ve got a little over three hours to get rid of Lorna. I don’t want her knowing I’m seeing him tonight. She’ll only try to stop me. Or if she doesn’t do that, she’ll be wanting to hang out with us. I want it to be just me and him. The pair of them don’t seem to get on with each other anyway. But even if they did, I’d still want him to myself.

“I’m going to the Cross soon. You wanna come?”

“Not today, thanks.” That’s a relief. I won’t need to make up an excuse to get rid of her.

“I’m getting my poison off this guy who owes me. He’ll have your fifty dollars for you too.”

I don’t need the fifty but I do need a fix. I haven’t had one in about twelve hours. “What time will we be back here?”

“Dunno, depends when we head off.” Lorna buries her cigarette butt in the sand. She rolls sideways off the towel then stands up. She walks away towards the sea.

I’m glad to have my towel back to myself. I change position and direction. I lie on my stomach with my head facing the ocean. Lorna’s up to her waist in the sea, talking to a group of male surfers. I hope she hurries up. We’ll need to leave soon. We have to get to Kings Cross, have a hit, get back here, and I need to have gotten rid of her, all in three hours.

Maybe it’s too tight. I’m always late but I don’t want to be late for Mickey. Part of me wants to wait for him. I’d rather see him and have my hit in his company. I prefer being with him than with Lorna. But I’m craving a fix now. Three hours is a long time to hold out. Of course, I understand he has to take his mother shopping and I’m sad his grandma’s ill, but I wish he wasn’t coming back for me so late. That’s if I’ve even remembered rightly that he is coming back. And if he is, he might not have any smack on him. We might have to drive somewhere to score. It could be four or five or six hours until I have a fix. And what if that whole conversation with him was a dream? I’m probably best to go with Lorna.