soul destruction

Waking in a Stranger’s Bed – 25 December 2000 – 2.30PM

Soul Destruction - Diary of a London Call Girl

I open my eyes. I’m in a blue bedroom, ocean colour blue. Pink Floyd posters line the wall opposite me. I’m lying in a double bed. I lift up the duvet, peering underneath. I’m completely naked – no knickers, nothing.

Whose bedroom is this? Did I sleep here alone? I slide my fingers between my legs. I rub myself. Bringing my hand up under my nose, I sniff my fingers. I smell of sex. I feel sick in my stomach. I feel sick in my throat. I’m going to throw up.

Rolling out the bed, I look on the carpet for my clothes. They’re not there. I run out the bedroom, naked. This landing is not the landing I saw last night at the party. The bathroom door is open. I throw myself on the white floor tiles. On my knees, head over the toilet, I vomit.

I wipe my eyes with toilet paper. I blow my nose. I rinse my mouth with water from the sink. I run the shower. I need to feel clean. I’ve had sex and I don’t know who’s fucked me. Did they use a condom? I might have caught a disease. I’m sure they’ll find something when I get checked at the clinic, if not from using Lorna’s syringe the other night then from this.

I doubt I’ve been paid, but maybe I was. While I’m waiting for the shower to run hot, I return to the bedroom. My hobo bag is on a wooden chair. I check my purse. There’s four hundred and twenty dollars inside. I’m sure that’s what I had in there yesterday. I haven’t been paid. I’ve had sex with a man for free. Perhaps it wasn’t a man. It could’ve been a woman. That won’t be so bad but it isn’t as likely. Most women wouldn’t have sex with someone as drunk as I was last night.

Back on the landing, I can hear voices coming from downstairs. I’m going to have to go down at some point. I can’t stay up here forever. I tiptoe into the bathroom. I step into the bath and get under the shower. I turn up the heat. The water has to be as hot as I can take it. It’s the only way.

There’s a sponge on the side of the bath. It doesn’t look clean. How can I scrub myself? Tears are making their way into my eyes. I need to scrub my body. I have to scrub it. Ten or so times, I wash the sponge with shower gel under the scorching water. It’s not as clean as I want it to be but it’ll have to do.

I wash my hair three times then finish with conditioner. While the conditioner’s working, I scrub my body thoroughly and rinse. I rinse my hair. Then I scrub my body again. I rinse. I do it again, and rinse. I do it again, and again, and again, until my skin feels raw and I can’t bear the heat and the rawness any longer. I don’t even know who I’ve been washing off me. I don’t feel clean. I need to know who it was and what happened. That should help. Knowing should help. I hope it does.

I sniff the towels that are lying over the bathroom radiator. The black one doesn’t smell of anyone. It smells of fabric conditioner. Wrapped in the towel, I sneak out of the bathroom onto the landing and back inside the blue bedroom. With the door shut, I look around for my clothes. There’s a pile of clothes in the corner by the window. I rummage around and find my underwear and my black skirt and purple top in amongst them.

Before stepping into my knickers, I sniff them. I don’t want to wear them if they smell of sex. Thankfully, they smell clean. Fully dressed, I rub my hair with the towel. I slip on my six-inch heels then return to the bathroom. I replace the towel over the radiator.

Standing in front of the mirror, I open my handbag. I have mascara with me because last night Lorna wouldn’t wait for me to finish my make up before we left my hotel. I apply my mascara then dig in my bag for a lip gloss. I sweep the pale pink shimmer across my lips. I don’t look too bad, though concealer to cover the trademark smackhead spots on my face would have been ideal if I had it in my possession.

With my hobo bag over my shoulder, I wait on the landing. I hear the voices again. There’s at least one woman and two men. I can’t make out exactly what they’re saying. It’s too distant. Do they even know I’m up here? The person who had sex with me might not even be here now.

I will not be ashamed. These things happen. Holding my head high, I walk down the stairs.

Picking Up Stix – 25 December 2000 – 5.10AM

Soul Destruction - Diary of a London Call Girl

“What’s it like being on the game?” a man asks. He’s sitting next to me on the carpet. I turn to face him. His hair is short, dark blond, and looks a little greasy. He has stubbly cheeks and a goatee.

“Where did you come from?”

“You keep asking me that and the answers still the same – Elanora Heights.”

That isn’t what I meant, but I don’t want to appear rude. We’ve obviously been involved in conversation – a conversation I’m too drunk to remember. I’m furious with myself for telling a stranger what I do for work. I only do that when I plan to charge them. He doesn’t look like he can afford me. Another out-of-work, surfer type as far as I can tell.

“So what’s it like?” he says again.

I unscrew the cap on the bottle of Smirnoff in my hand. I gulp some down. It burns inside my chest. I look around the lounge. It’s spinning. We’re the only people awake. Others are curled up on the sofas, and dotted around the floor, asleep. “What’s your name?” I ask him.

“Stix.”

“Can you get any smack, Stix?”

“I knew you were on the gear.” He grins and his cheekbones become even more prominent. “People like us, we can tell.”

“We can. Can you get some then?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I’ll be back in a minute,” I say, standing up.

I already gave Lorna money earlier in the evening to buy smack. If she’s still here then I don’t need Stix, but it’s good to have a back up plan. I walk around the dimly lit room, looking for a body wearing my black, Moschino dress. There isn’t one. I go through to the hall and then the kitchen. There’s no one around. It would seem that the party’s over.

I’m too drunk to walk up the stairs in my heels. So I slip them off first. On the upstairs landing, all four doors are closed. The first door I open is the bathroom. There’s a woman on her knees, bent over the toilet. She’s snoring. I close the door quietly. In first bedroom, there’s four naked people entwined and asleep on the bed. None have Lorna’s long, blonde hair.

Slowly, I open the door of another bedroom. My black, Moschino dress is on the carpet by the side of the bed. Lorna is asleep under a duvet. There’s a man in the bed next to her. I can only see the back of his head. He has short, brown hair. I hope it’s not Mickey.

“Lorna,” I whisper, crouching by the side of the bed.

She doesn’t stir. I shake her shoulders gently. “Where’s my gear?”

“I’ve done it all,” she murmurs.

“But I gave you half the money.”

“You shouldn’t have had a hit without me then. You had one without me, so I had one without you. That’s how it goes big nose.” She turns in the bed, facing away from me.

Before I leave the room, I have to know if the man in bed with her is Mickey. I didn’t want to sleep with him before. Well, I did, but I couldn’t. But I don’t want her to.

I creep around to the other side of the bed. The room is dark. It’s hard to see. I take my lighter from my handbag. I hold the flame in front of the man’s face.

“What the fuck are you doing? Pyro-fucking-maniac!” Lorna shouts.

The guy, who isn’t Mickey, opens his eyes. Immediately, he sits upright. “Don’t do it, man.”

“I’m not… never mind.” Looking down at the carpet, I walk towards the door. “See you around, Lorna.”

Holding the banister, I carefully navigate my way down the stairs. I pick up my Louboutins when I reach the bottom. I’m not going to bother putting them on, not while everything’s spinning. I return to the lounge to find Stix. The goatee-surfer-man isn’t where I left him. I take my place on the floor again, sitting cross-legged, and wait.

My eyes are closing. I don’t know how long I’ve been waiting here for. I’m not wearing a watch. I never wear one. Time goes too slowly when I do. It feels like I’ve been sitting here for at least an hour. I’m in a stranger’s house where everyone else is asleep. I’ve nowhere else to go, not until Lorna wakes up. I don’t know how to get back to the Radisson from here. Lorna drove us. I don’t even know where I am. Some place called Dee Why. It doesn’t even sound like a real place.

It’s Christmas Day and I couldn’t feel any more lonely. I wish I was with my sisters and my brother back home in London. I don’t want to stay in Sydney anymore. I don’t want to be heroin addict. I don’t want to be a hooker. I don’t want to be anything.

The Meet with Mickey – 25 December 2000 – 2.15AM

Soul Destruction - Story of a London Call Girl - Mickey

About an hour or so ago, me and Lorna arrived at her friend’s house in Dee Why. We got here late, but other people are still turning up. The house is packed. I’m sitting on a sofa in the lounge. I’ve wandered around from the kitchen to the hall and back to the lounge. I’ve drunk too much vodka to walk anymore. I’m sat next to people who are gouching out. I’m not gouching though. Lorna won’t give me the heroin. She’s punishing me because she thinks I tried to overdose again. I didn’t though. It was an accident earlier. I told her, but she doesn’t believe me.

The music is loud. A Massive Attack song is playing – Inertia Creeps. I can’t make out what anyone is saying. Not that anyone is talking to me. They’re sitting in groups around the room. I can just hear that chatter sound. It’s drowning out the thoughts in my head. So is the music and so is the vodka. Heroin would be better though.

I’ve been watching Mickey since I got here. He looks less surfer-dude tonight. He’s wearing jeans and a white, short sleeved shirt. Lorna’s been speaking with him for ages. She’s left me alone here on the sofa. Another way to punish me. I don’t understand why it’s okay for her to talk to him but I’m not allowed to. If he’s as bad as she makes out, why is she spending time with him?

Lorna leaves the room. Mickey walks over to me. He sits next to me on the sofa. He smiles. I melt inside.

“Whatever Lorna’s said about me, it’s bullshit.”

“She hasn’t said anything,” I lie. I don’t want to cause any problems with my only connection in Sydney. I shouldn’t even be talking to him. If Lorna comes back and sees me, she might not score smack for me again. I had an inclination Mickey was one of us, but tonight he looks smart and his eyes are alert. I’m not sure if I should ask him.

“She said you’re a call girl. She can be a bitch.” Mickey squeezes my shoulder. “What did she say about me? I know she would’ve said something.”

Fuck it. If she told him that, I’ll tell him the truth. “You’re meant to be dangerous.” I try not to slur my words. “Are you?”

“I’m about as dangerous as you are a call girl.”

“Would that be right?” I lower my head then look up into his light blue eyes. “So, tell me, Mickey, can you get any smack?”

He stands up. I think I’ve offended him. It was too early to ask that. He wraps his fingers around my hand. He’s pulling me up from the sofa. This is promising. I feel wobbly on my feet. I hope I don’t trip in my six-inch Louboutins. He’s guiding me out of the lounge and into the hall.

“Do you want a drink?” he asks.

I remove my hand from behind my back and shake the bottle of Smirnoff I’ve been carrying.

“Let’s go then,” he says.

Still holding my hand, he walks up the stairs in front of me. I hobble behind. I hope he’s got some gear and not taking me upstairs because he thinks I’m going to fuck him. Not that I don’t want to fuck him. I do. But I don’t fuck for free. How is this going to work? I haven’t fucked anyone for free in ages. After having sex with a normal guy, it feels like I’ve done a job and not been paid. I don’t need to worry about this now. We’re probably going upstairs to have a hit, not to have sex. I don’t think he fancies me anyway. But then most men don’t care where they stick their dicks. Not the men I know.

On the upstairs landing, he opens a door. The bedroom is lit by a red light bulb. There’s a couple making out on the double bed.

“Time to leave,” he tells them.

They rush out the room. Who is he? I didn’t think this was his house. He sits on the bed. He pats the area next to him. He wants me on the bed.

Still standing, I say, “Have you got the gear?”

“No,” he replies.

I was right. He did bring me upstairs to fuck me. I can’t do this. I can’t get on a bed with a man and not get paid. This feels wrong. It feels alien. I feel like an alien. Although I find him attractive, I’m squirming inside. I head for the door. He gets there before me. He stands in front of the door, blocking my exit.

“I want to go downstairs.” I stamp my foot on the carpet.

“Me and you need a little talk first.”

“Just let me go. I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” I feel tears brimming in my eyes.

“Calm down. It’s all right. We’re only going to talk.”

He takes my hand. He leads me to the bed. I perch on the edge. He kneels on the floor, still holding my hand.

“Don’t be upset.” His voice is gentle. “I haven’t got any junk but I’m not judging you. I’m only three days off it myself.”

“Why did you bring me upstairs? You think I’m easy, some slut who’s just gonna fuck you?” Tears are streaming down my face. I’m more upset than I realised. Now I’ve really blown it with him.

He fiddles in the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a handkerchief. He wipes my eyes and my cheeks. I imagine the black lines that are streaking my face. That’s what happens when I cry with lashings of mascara and eyeliner.

“I just wanted to have a word with you about Lorna,” he says. “She’s up to something with you. I don’t know what, but I know that girl and I know when she’s scheming.”

I stop snivelling. “I don’t think so.”

“Why did she tell me you were a hooker then? Why did she tell you I was dangerous? I know her of old. We were at school together. There’s nothing about her that gets past me. I’m telling you, be careful with her. Watch your back.”

“Thanks for the heads-up.” I don’t want to tell him I am a call girl. Actually, Lorna wasn’t lying when she told you that. I am pissed off with her for saying it though. That’s my private business, not that I’m ashamed, but it’s my prerogative who I choose to tell. Sometimes I wish I was a normal woman, a normal person, with normal life and a normal job.

I’ve had moments wondering about Lorna, but that’s only when I’ve had anxiety. Looking at the facts, she’s really taken care of me. She’s helped me out. She’s been kind. I think Mickey’s wrong about her.

After I’ve cleaned my face in the bathroom, me and Mickey go back downstairs. I look for Lorna in the lounge. She’s not there. I walk through to the kitchen. She’s not in there either. I’m dying for a hit. She better turn up soon.

While I’ve been wandering around downstairs, I’ve lost Mickey. I’m alone again at a stranger’s party. I don’t even know whose house this is. Back in the lounge, my seat on the sofa’s been taken. I find a corner and sit on the floor. It was a relief Mickey didn’t want to fuck me. I couldn’t have done it. But it’s an insult too. I want him to want me, even though I can’t let him have me.