addict

From the Inside Out – 28 December 2000 – 11.50AM

Soul Destruction - Diary of a London Call Girl

I’m so angry with myself for falling asleep last night. Now I’ll need to wait until me and Lorna score again, and take another hit, before I can sneak her phone from her handbag to look for Mickey’s number. He might not want to talk to me at all. Not turning up to meet him is bad enough but with the issues I’ve had around him touching me as well, he’s bound to think I’m not interested. I’ve given the opposite impression of what I want him to have.

Lorna isn’t taking me to score until much later. We’re spending today at the beach, but first, we’re having breakfast in the trendy cafe we were at last Sunday. We’re sitting at the same window table as last time. And she’s eating the same mammoth breakfast again – two fried eggs, two rashers of bacon, two sausages, fried tomatoes, mushrooms, baked beans, chips and toast. When she’s finished, I’m expecting her to do the same as she did on our last visit. She’ll disappear into the ladies’ room for ages then return with the smell of vomit on her breath. It’s a shame she takes her handbag with her.

“You didn’t seem into me last night… You going off me, Nicole?”

I look down at my plate of two fried eggs on toast. I have gone off her sexually but I can’t think of a way to word it without sounding harsh. “It’s the shaven thing. I thought you understood?”

Lorna reaches across the table. She lifts my chin with her finger. “As long as that’s all it is.” She slips the strap of her handbag over her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.” She walks across the chequered floor tiles towards the toilets at the other side of the cafe.

The sun shines directly on me through the full-length window. It’s a beautiful day. Every day since I’ve been in Sydney has been beautiful. I wish I could appreciate it but I can’t, not when I’ve got a habit. Getting my next fix is all that ever matters.

I eat another mouthful of fried egg. As I’m chewing, I look out the window. There’s a man standing outside with his back to me. From behind, he looks like Mickey. He has the same short, brown hair. I try to measure up his shoulders through the royal blue, floral patterned shirt he’s wearing. I haven’t seen Mickey wear that shirt before, but then I haven’t seen him many times.

Eventually, Lorna returns to the table. “Ready to get some rays?” Her breath confirms she’s been vomiting.

Although the plan is to go to the beach, I want to go straight to score again. As well as getting the opportunity to look in Lorna’s phone, I really want to have a hit. “I’d rather go to Kings Cross first.”

She holds out her skinny arm and stares at it. “I’m looking deathly pale, nearly as deathly as you, my dear.”

On the scale of looking deathly, Lorna trumps me. Her track marks are far worse than the three abscess scars that are healing on my arms. “We can go to the beach after.” I pick up the bill from the table.

“It’s our time for the sun. One mad dog,” she says, prodding the centre of her chest. “And one Englishman.” She points at me.

After I’ve paid at the counter, we walk outside into the heat. The man who I think could be Mickey still has his back to me. If I was alone, I’d sneak around to see if it was him. Lorna being with me, I can’t. She takes my hand and we walk down the side street towards Manly Beach. No Mickey, and no heroin for me yet.

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.