addict

A Place to Hide – 26 December 2000 – 12.50PM

Soul Destruction - Diary of a London Call Girl

Mickey’s parked the van on a side road near where we scored. I think he said it was Narrabeen. We’re in the back. It’s a little grotty with rust and dirt but it’s not too bad. There’s multi-coloured cushions spread on the floor. I’m lying down carefully on the cushions so as not to spoil my white dress. He’s sitting upright, leaning against the side of the van, which isn’t a good idea in a white t-shirt, but he doesn’t seem bothered.

He’s mixing up the shots in my spoon. He didn’t have his own with him but I always carry one. I’m disciplined like that. After he’s filled his own syringe, I pass him mine. He draws up my share into the barrel. I hope it’s strong.

I sit up to inject my shot. I fall down on the cushions. My eyes are closing. It’s a good hit. Using with Mickey is better than using with Stix. Mickey’s more generous with what he puts in. I’m thinking he’s not in my company for sex. He didn’t fuck me last night, and he could’ve done. It’s blowing my mind that I’ve met a man who wants to just be with me, and who I can kind of trust.

He’s lying next to me. We don’t speak. I’m dreaming. In my head, me and Mickey are dancing, an old-fashioned ballroom dance. He’s in a black tuxedo. I’m in a scarlet dress that cuts at the top of one thigh and has ruffles at the hem. He has one arm around my waist. I have one hand on his shoulder. My other hand is clasping his. He spins me around. I tip my head back. He pulls me up. We’re spinning around again. It feels like I’m spinning as I lie here. This is the best hit I’ve had since I’ve been in Sydney.

“So what’s the deal with you and Lorna?” he says. “Have you slept with her?”

I open my eyes. “Why are you asking me that?”

I stare up at the blackened ceiling of the van. I don’t want to discuss any sexual experiences I’ve had. I don’t want him to know anything about my past like that. Not knowing whether he’s aware that I’m a hooker is doing my head in enough. He doesn’t need to know I sleep with women as well. He might have an opinion on it. Most men do. They want to watch me with another girl. I don’t want to put on a show for him. I like him. I don’t want to know if he likes that. It’ll change everything. I felt content. Now I feel on edge. He’s ruining my hit.

“I guess you won’t be wanting breakfast?” I say to change the subject.

“No, I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Shall we go?”

“Let’s lay here for a while.” He stretches his arms out wide. With one hand, he scoops my body towards his. He has one arm wrapped around my back with his hand on my shoulder. The other arm crosses over my stomach with his hand on my hip.

My head rests on his chest. My eyeballs feel like they’re about to extract themselves from the sockets. What do I do now? If he was a client, I’d climb on top and sit astride him. I’d grind on his cock. I’d make him hard. I’d say whatever words that particular client wanted to hear. But Mickey’s not a punter. I’m not on a job. I don’t know how to act.

“You okay, Nicole?” he asks.

“Hmmm,” I force out a sound. I’m frozen, still. I’m in that place where I can’t talk. It’s somewhere in my head. It disconnects me from the world. It’s where I go to be safe. It happens quite a bit. I don’t know how to get back though. I’ve never worked it out. I’ll just need to wait for it to happen.

Another Day, Another Bed, Another Man – 26 December 2000 – 10.30AM

Soul Destruction - Diary of a London Call Girl

There’s a warm body pressed against my back. My legs are tangled with other legs. Opening my eyes, I see I’m back in my suite at the Radisson. I turn around in the bed. Mickey’s lying next to me. He’s naked on top. I peek under the covers. He’s wearing pants. I lift up my nightdress. I’m wearing knickers. I’m hoping we didn’t have sex.

While Mickey snores, I insert a finger inside my vagina. I bring it up to my nose and check it for scent. We haven’t had sex. What a relief. I am more attracted to him than any man I can remember. I would love to be able to have sex with him. But I’m not capable of normal sex – unpaid sex. It leaves me feeling cold, empty and used.

I lean towards the bedside table. I pick up my packet of cigarettes, pull one out and light it. Although I’d love to spend time with Mickey, I need to get rid of him. He’s a few days off heroin and I need to get some and use it. I can’t remember if I took Stix’s phone number yesterday. I can’t remember travelling back here. The last thing I recall is being in Stix’s lounge, drinking beer and getting stoned. I must’ve blacked out from the booze again.

Stretching my arm over the side of the bed, I pick up my hobo bag from the floor. I hope I’ve got Stix’s number. If not, I can always ask Mickey. That’d be a last resort though. I’m pretty sure he’ll try to stop me scoring.

The number isn’t in my bag. I don’t have Lorna’s number either. She usually just turns up here. She might not appear again since we kind of fell out the other night. The thought of having no connections panics me – not that I want to carry on taking heroin for however much longer I stay here. I don’t. I just need it today. I’ve got the sweats and the aching joints. I’ve been through cold turkey before. I can do it again. But not today.

I stub my cigarette in the ashtray, tumble out of bed then stagger to the bathroom. I still feel slightly drunk. I take a shower, hoping it will sober me up. When I’m done, I apply my make up, hiding a multitude of spots with concealer.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Mickey says as I walk back into the suite. He’s still lying in bed.

I remind myself that just because he calls me beautiful, it doesn’t mean he thinks I am. I let go of the towel I’m wrapped in and step into my white, Armani dress. I wonder how I’m going to get rid of him. If only I had some heroin here, I could take a hit and spend the day with him. I’d love to spend the day with him. He’s a good man. He slept in a bed with me and didn’t fuck me. He’s not like most men.

“What do we do here for breakfast?” He swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands up.

I look out the window and away from his toned, nearly naked body. “I don’t need food. I need a hit.” I didn’t mean to say that.

“Have you got any junk here?”

“No,” I reply. “I don’t know if I can get any. Lorna and me sort of had a row at the party.”

“Over me?” He grins, pulling on his jeans.

“Surprisingly not. She scored for me then used it all.” I omit to tell him that I had a hit without her. That was why she did it.

“I told you to watch her. She’s always after something that girl.” He slips his white t-shirt over his head. “I can get you junk. You got money?”

“Yes… Thanks.” I’m shocked he’s offered. He told me the other night that he’d stopped. I’m not going to question it. I don’t want to put him off. I step into my fuchsia high-heels and we leave the suite.

Walking towards to Mickey’s large, white van, I have a recollection of being in it last night. The seats are high up. I remember struggling to get inside. He had to give me a push. I dread to think what we were talking about on the journey. I hope I was too out of it to speak. I’m realising I’m too open when I’m drunk, like the other night when I told Stix I was a hooker. I’m still concerned Mickey knows that about me. If Stix didn’t tell him, maybe I told him myself.

As we drive away, I see Lorna crossing the road from the seafront to the Radisson Hotel. I duck. I don’t want her to see me with Mickey. She’s told me to stay away from him. I’ll spend my time with whoever I want though. I won’t be told what to do.

Deadly Road – 21 December 2000 – 8.50PM

Soul Destruction - Diary of a London Call Girl

“What do you do for work?” Lorna asks. We’re driving back to Manly after scoring smack in Parramatta. I’ve no idea where we are now. We’ve been driving for around fifteen minutes. There’s bad traffic. I wonder if there’s been an accident. It can’t be rush hour at nearly nine at night.

“I’m a hooker.” I twist a strand of my hair around my forefinger.

“No, really. What do you do for work?”

“Really.” I look at her. “I’m a hooker. A call girl in London.”

“I would never have thought it.” Lorna keeps her focus on the road. “I used to work in a brothel. That’s the lower end though, isn’t it? Not a call girl.”

“It’s all the same, just better money,” I say. “I started streetwalking at fifteen. I had to get away from my pimp so I got into escorts. Then a while after that, when I was seventeen or eighteen, I started working for madams. It’s all a blur now.”

“I know what you mean. Not exactly the things in life you want to remember.”

I enjoy being stuck in the Dolomite for a while. I stop feeling frustrated at the traffic that’s holding us up. My hit is being delayed but I might have found someone in Sydney who could be a proper friend. I’m missing Shelley so much. She couldn’t be replaced. But to have someone to really talk to here, talk to honestly, would be a godsend. The closest I have is my therapist in London, Dr Fielding, over the phone, but she can’t understand like another working girl can.

We’re talking about our experiences of working when we get near to the sight. I know I shouldn’t look because it’ll upset me. Things like that always do. But I look. I can’t not. It’s on our side of the road, a bit further up. Ambulances, paramedics, police cars and police officers are at the scene. Bodies are lying on the grass verge at the side of the road. There’s at least two children – the bodies are small. The others, I can’t tell if they’re men or women. There must be about ten bodies in total. There’s blood on the road mixed in with broken glass. Parts from the cars are strewn across the carriageway – a twisted bumper and some other black, plastic objects that I don’t know the names for. Getting closer, a policeman is diverting the traffic in our lane to the lane on the other side.

“God bless them,” I say as we drive past. I shouldn’t have stared. The image is burned into my mind. Whether my eyes are open or closed, it’s what I see. A bright-red saloon car on its side, a bottle-green hatchback smashed into the back of it and a white four-by-four behind that. The green hatchback is tiny, squashed in the middle of the red and white cars. The people in that car must have died.

Lorna parks the Dolomite down the road from my hotel. As we walk from the car to the Radisson, I pray I don’t have another flashback if we end up having sex tonight. I’ve decided that if I do, I’m going to be honest about it and tell her what’s happening. Because Dr Fielding told me, I know that most working girls have been abused as children. So the chances are that Lorna will understand. Maybe she has flashbacks too. I wonder if she wants to stop using gear. Perhaps I’ll ask her about that. We could help each other. We could be good friends. I need a good friend here.

I see past Lorna’s defects. I have the same – the blemished skin, the proof I’ve been shooting up written all over my arms, the lank hair, the dead eyes and the skinniness. It’s all surface stuff, external. Inside, she’s a good person. I can tell.