heroin

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.

Ingrained Behaviour – 21 December 2000 – 5.25PM

Soul Destruction - Diary of a London Call Girl

I’m late when I walk downstairs to the hotel lobby. It took me longer to get ready than I anticipated. I’m a regular latecomer. All the time now. I never used to be. I was famously punctual before heroin. Not that I’ve had a sneaky fix today. Of course, I haven’t. I haven’t seen Lorna yet. Heroin has somehow changed who I am.

I look around the lobby. Lorna’s not here. I check the sofas around the corner. She’s not there either. I look outside the hotel. She’s not anywhere. By the clock in reception, it’s nearly five-thirty. I’m more than slightly late. But if she was here earlier, then surely she’d have come to my room. She knows the number. It was only last night she spent the night.

I walk outside. The air isn’t much cooler than it was earlier in the day. That’s Australia in December. I light a cigarette. I have to do something. I could do with a drink as well. Perhaps I’ll go to the bar. No, I’d better wait. If I want a hit, I have to wait. I don’t know anyone else who can get smack over here. Mickey looked like he would know, but Mickey never came back for me.

On the other side of the road, people are leaving the beach. I’m watching them when suddenly my vision is blocked. Hands are covering my eyes.

“Guess who,” a male voice says.

Who the hell is it? I rip the hands from my face and turn around. “Hello love! What are you doing here?”

“I’m here on business.” Greg straightens the collar of his white shirt. “Are you?”

“No. I’m purely here for pleasure.” I fake a smile.

“I’ll buy you drink. Come to the bar.”

“I’ll have to decline. I’m meeting a friend now. Another time though. How long are you here for?”

“I’m flying back on the twenty-third. I wanted to see in the New Year here but the battle-axe wouldn’t permit it.”

“You are naughty.” I give him a wink. “Do you want to see me properly? I’ll be free tomorrow night.”

“Eight o’clock, meet here. Dinner, dancing, then some rampant lovemaking. How does that sound, sexy?” Greg turns on the spot. He’s a wanker, but he pays well.

“Sounds perfect. I’m looking forward to it.” I have to do it. I don’t need the money. I have enough money to last for years, but I have to work when I can. I can’t not.

Greg dances his way up the street. I am good. He knows it. But what he doesn’t know is why. I’m good because I see through him, through all of them. I can tell what they want to hear and I say it. I can tell what they want me to do so I do it. It’s instinctive in me. No surprises how I picked up that skill and learnt the behaviour. Another present from my past.

Lorna walks towards me. Together we must look like a pair of defective Barbie dolls. The blonde hair is there but it’s lank. We have the blue eyes but they’re empty. We both have blemishes covering our faces. I have abscess scars on my arms. She has track marks on hers. The only thing that’s right is our height, our slim figures and our large breasts.

Lorna kisses my lips. “Sorry I’m late.”

“I was late too, but you’re something else.” I grin. She looks cute, particularly after bumping into Greg.

“How much do you want?”

“Same as last night, please.”

“We’ll need to go to Parramatta. My man in the Cross isn’t holding.” She takes my hand and walks me down the street.

“How do we get there?” I ask.

She waves a set of keys. “I’m driving.”

She wraps her arm around my waist and gives me a squeeze. I foresee a repeat of last night.

In Two Minds – 21 December 2000 – 3.00PM

Soul Destruction - Diary of a London Call Girl

I remember Angel telling Shelley that some people can only stop using gear when the pain of their using gets worse than the pain they’re running from. I can’t see how that’s going to happen for me. I can’t imagine worse happening than what I want to forget. And if it did, I’d rather be dead.

At Manly Beach, I’m sitting on the sand, close to the sea. There’s a greyhound racing across the shoreline. He’s barking loudly. His noise is increasing the level of pain in my head. I’ve got two more hours before I meet Lorna at five o’clock back at the Radisson. Part of me is thrilled at the thought of shooting up again tonight. Another part is dreading it – I’m worried I’ll have a flashback like I did last night when we had sex. A third part is hoping she won’t turn up at all. Then I won’t end up with a habit.

A young man, who looks like a typical Australian surfer type, walks towards me. “We’ve been sitting on that bench there, perving over you.” He points to a bench on the promenade. Some young men, with goatees and dressed in similar Billabong-type attire, wave at me.

“What do you want me to do about it?” I smile. He’s quite cute. Maybe he could even have me for free.

“I might need to think about that over a beer or two.”

“Well, you go and do that, and be sure to come back and let me know what’s required.”

“I’m Mickey. What’s your name?”

“Nicole,” I say, with a wink. “I’ll see you later, Mickey.”

“Catch you around,” he says, taking a couple of steps backwards.

I watch as he heads back to his friends on the bench. He half turns, looking back at me. I notice he’s giving them a thumbs up. He’s a bit overconfident. But he had a beautiful face. Actually, that’s not totally true. He had beautiful eyes. His face was unusual: sharp jaw line, thin lips, strong cheekbones, thick eyebrows. His face told me a story. There was something to him, more than his flirting. It’s strange how I can read people. I think he’s one of us.

I apply more oil to my body then light a cigarette. I’m careful not to get the oil on the cigarette as it spoils the smoke. Suddenly, I feel Lorna’s mouth on my vagina. Not her actual mouth but the sensation of it. I stub my cigarette into the sand and run to the sea.

I lie on my back with my arms outstretched and float. With the smallest of movements, I don’t need a lilo like the other people floating around me. A lilo would tie me down. It would mean I’d need to carry it. I like to be able to be spontaneous. Do what I want, whenever and wherever I decide to do it. I like to be free. That’s why heroin doesn’t suit my personality. I saw what it did to Shelley. I never wanted that for myself.

When I get back to my towel on the sand, I check my watch. I’ve another half hour to sunbathe before I need to start making my way back to the Radisson. Thinking of the heroin I’m assuming Lorna is bringing, my heart races. I do want her to come. I do want to see her. She’s a nice girl. I can tell her I just want to be friends. I can say I think I’m straight. I can tell a lie. It would be better than the truth in this instance – I’m sure.

I stand to leave. I look around for Mickey. Resident Over-Confidence might have lost his confidence. On second thoughts, perhaps he changed his mind. Seeing me close up – the blemishes on my face and the scars from the recent abscesses I’ve had on my arms – may have turned him off. He was probably embarrassed walking back to his friends. He was probably doing the thumbs up for my benefit, to make me feel better. What a fool.