diary

Unlike the Rest – 26 December 2000 – 6.10PM

Soul Destruction - Diary of a London Call Girl

I flick my cigarette ash out the window. Me and Mickey are sitting in the front of the van. We were in the back for hours. I was stuck there. I felt frightened. As soon as he held me, that’s when it happened – I went off somewhere in my head.

Dissociation – that’s what Dr Fielding says it is, when I disappear like that. It’s taken a longer time than usual to come back. Piece by piece, it’s happening slowly. I can speak again now and I can move my body. Mickey was patient and understanding. I don’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t that. I’m used to men criticising and judging me. I’m used to angry men, men who only want one thing from me. Mickey’s different. He’s a good man.

We’re still parked on the side road near where his connection lives in Narrabeen. It’s peaceful here. Cars are parked up but there’s none driving by. The street is lined with trees. The trees in Australia seem brighter shades of green than the trees back in England. I could imagine living here, being near the sea. I like being by the sea. I like the sound of it.

We shot up the last of the heroin before coming to sit in the front. We need to score some more. My money’s at the Radisson. I didn’t put my purse in the white handbag I’m using today. Mickey said he’d drive back to the hotel as soon as I felt ready. I feel ready now. I tell him, and he starts the engine.

He’s been completely hands-off with me since what happened in the back of the van. I’m sure he’s going to keep it up. But there is a part of me that’s scared he’ll do something that makes me disappear again. I can manage him holding my hand. When he did that at the party, it wasn’t a problem. It was okay when I woke up with him this morning as well. It was the expectation of something sexual that caused it.

It’s so strange because if Mickey was a punter, I could’ve acted the part and done the job. Being with a normal man in a normal way isn’t something I’m comfortable with. It fucks up my head that I’m more comfortable being with a client even though I hate it.

Earlier, Mickey said we could just be friends, but I want more than that if it’s possible for me. He said he did too. But it won’t work between us if I keep disappearing. He won’t put up with that. What man would? And I’m sure I can’t cope with it happening either.

I know I’m not cursed but that’s how it feels. I want to be like most other women. But can a woman who’s had a life like mine ever be like other women?

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.