17 Thursday 3 August
I take the Victoria Line to Highbury & Islington, then get on the train: a journey I know well. I’m heading for an area that people might call a curate’s egg. It’s good for outcalls, many of them last-minute bookings: I’m often sat in front of the telly in the evening and then hey, suddenly there’s a phone call and I’m earning £200. The punters in this area are usually young, sometimes only my age, and they often call on nights that they were expecting to go out and pull a new girl at a bar, but it’s not worked out. But the downside is what Jazz and I call getting Shoreditched. That is, you sleep with some good-looking guy, the sex seems pretty good, he has two or three massive orgasms, then the next day he logs onto GirlsDirect and rates you 5 out of 10.
I’m coming out of Wapping station. I guess that once-upon-a-time people round here worked for a living, but now all the cobbles and old brickwork are so clean that they look fake, like I’m in an Old London theme park. I walk along Wapping Wall past restaurants, bars and clubs to the address I was given.
My Raw Silk party invitation is open on my phone. I flash it at the woman who stands at a little desk, just beyond the door. She checks the number on it, hands me a plastic mask to go over my eyes and nose, and waves me on in. I go through double doors into a room floored with polished wood, walls of bare brick. People sit around a scatter of round tables as if they’re at a wedding.
The mask is like a kid’s toy. It’s meant, I think, to look like something from an old-fashioned masked ball, but the main thing I notice is its thin elastic strap, which digs in to the sides of my head. And I feel over-dressed. Based on my conversation with the lady on the phone, I’m wearing a Little Black Dress, which I hate – black doesn’t suit me anyway, and worse, the skirt is too short and my thighs look like tree trunks – but most of the women I can see in this low light are more daring, they’re in lingerie: I can see suspenders, frilly pants, bras. The odd burlesque-style corset and, standing at the bar, a scatter of thongs: bare bums like pairs of pale ovals. I remember PantiesOff’s profile photo. But as I stand hesitantly in the doorway, I’m more struck by the guys. Because every one of them looks exactly the same. It’s not the masks that make them all identical, or even the suits. Or the fact that every single one of them is white. It’s the manner. Each guy is sitting, legs apart, leaning slightly back, and talking to one, two, sometimes several women. At each table, the women are listening.
“Can I get you a drink?”
“Thanks. Just a mineral water, ice and lemon, please.” He’s come over to me at the doorway: a tall guy, slim, about my age, and I see the shine of his eyes behind his mask. There’s a temporary bar set up in one corner of the room; we go over.
“Are you new at these parties? Despite the mask, I’d definitely remember you.”
“Yup. A total virgin. Call me Holly. Seems all very polite at the moment.”
“I’m a regular, and every party has been like this. Classy, civilised, and besides, no-one wants to make a scene and get barred. Any guy giving a woman unwanted attention is barred for life, period.”
I sip my drink, and ask him what he does for a living.
“I’m a social worker. I’m probably typical here – there’s a huge variety of career types. Accountancy right through to medicine and media, and everything in between.”
“Mmm – I’ve had some contact with your profession... I was brought up in care, you see.”
“Really?” He asks me more, and I tell him. I don’t tell him that I work as an escort now, of course. I say that I work in a shop, and that I’ve come out of a long-term relationship.
“I’d say you’ll fit in well. We have more and more single women coming to these parties. Wanting a bit of fun, maybe. Something without any serious side?”
A woman comes over and elbows her way into our conversation. “Scott, great to see you here again! Come and join us, Jemina’s here as well...”
So this guy is Scott. Well well. We go over to a table and join a group of about five women, all my age or younger, sitting round in their underwear. Scott’s the only man. They all seem to know each other, and they talk about their boyfriends, who each of them has come to this party with, but who are at a scatter of other tables right now. I can also tell by the words these girls are using that they’re clever, they’ve probably all been to university and stuff, but the conversation seems pretty boring to me. Soon I work out that four of these girls are newly-qualified lawyers. There’s talk of blue-chip clients, closing deals, late-night working. I look at them in their skimpy bras and pants. Scott listens politely, chipping in now and then. Meanwhile, another guy has noticed the amount of female skin on show at our table, and comes over. He seems to know one of the women, but not the others: he tries to draw her into conversation.
The masks are a pretty poor disguise. I suddenly recognise the new guy. It’s Julian Caunce. My solicitor.
Fortunately, he doesn’t notice me. I suspect that it’s not because of my mask: he’s forgotten me already, and anyway, he’s totally taken up with trying to impress the girl that he knows. She’s answering his enquiries, off-hand, while he stands over her, trying to appear tall, confident. Which he is not. Scott turns to me. “You see what these parties are like. Lots of young professionals, who work hard. Demanding jobs, long hours. Young people who need a bit of fun, need to let their hair down once in a while. A Raw Silk party is always a friendly atmosphere. Anyone can chat to anyone, as long as they’re respectful.”
“Scott – do you know a girl called Tasha? Comes to these parties? I was told she would be here tonight.”
“Tasha? Of course, she’s here already. Have you spotted her yet?”
“Actually, I’ve never met her and have no idea what she looks like. I was given her name, nothing more.”
“No problem, I’ll introduce you.” We go over to another table, where two men are holding forth to three woman. Scott gently interrupts one of the conversations: a petite, slim brunette listening eagerly to a young guy talking about cars. He introduces me to Tasha: she smiles at me. Scott and I join them, car man shakes my hand, then gestures to a waiter who brings us a bottle of champagne. The other man and two women get up, walk together over to the bar.
“Thanks for this champagne. Very kind of you, but I’ll stick with my water.” The others toast and sip the champagne. The conversation is not quite what I was after: we seem to have split into two groups, Tasha talks to Scott while I’m left with Car Man. He’s telling me how he drove round Silverstone once, a Driving Experience. “One of my girlfriends bought it for me.” I think he tells this story often. The champagne label is familiar, it’s a supermarket one that punters have occasionally brought along to bookings. As I pretend to listen to car stories, I try to catch bits of Tasha and Scott’s conversation. I hear Scott saying “Not a problem any more, I got on the phone to them and sorted it. It’s the usual set-up now, there’s viagra and cialis available in the Gents.”
Another girl comes over, practically naked in a thong and see-through bra. She flashes a big toothy smile at Scott, but she also seems to know Car Man, and he turns to talk to her, eying her nipples through the sheer material. I grab my chance, lean next to Scott and whisper “You work here, don’t you?”
He laughs, like he was waiting to be found out. “OK, you’ve rumbled me. I am a social worker – that’s my day job. But for two years I’ve been a regular Raw Silk customer, and I’m good at chatting to newbies – so they asked me after a while if I’d like some part-time work. I help see that it all runs smoothly. I’m also alerted to any Raw Silk virgins, the desk sends me an alert when they arrive. Newbie couples and the occasional single woman like yourself. Single blokes, of course, aren’t allowed, otherwise they’d be queuing round the block.”
“But letting single men pay to get in would make a lot of money, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes – and trash our reputation overnight. The whole Raw Silk business model depends on these parties
being where couples – and especially women – can feel relaxed. And, therefore, uninhibited. I meet them, chat, put them at ease. Otherwise, you might have stood in that doorway, nervously wondering what to do.”
“And Tasha?” The toothy-smile woman has moved on: Car Man and Tasha are deep in conversation again.
“She’s a regular.”
“She’s more than that. She’s like you, isn’t she? She’s paid to work here.” I smile, arch an eyebrow so it shows above my mask, inviting him to be confidential with me. “You yourself said, Scott – occasional single woman. So where do all these girls come from?” I glance at him, then around the room at the girls’ faces in the dim lighting, the skin, the underwear.
Scott tries to avoid my question. But he keeps on talking. “Mostly, my job is chatting to those couples, and I’ll normally take the couple over to a table with a girl or two on it, introduce them. The guy in the couple then gets chatting to those girls. My job, meanwhile, is to make the new woman feel at ease. Because the guys always want to be here, they’re excited, pumped up, a lot of testosterone – but I seem to have the knack of chatting to their girlfriends in a way that doesn’t alarm them. I’m a non-threatening but hopefully attractive and personable male.”
“Is that your way of saying –” I raise that eyebrow again “– that you look good in a mask?”
He grins, unsure whether I’m laughing with him or at him. So I take my chance and get in there with my real question.
“So you’re telling me that you work here… but she doesn’t?” I motion with my head towards Tasha.
“You’re not going to let this go, are you Holly? OK, I cave in.” He smirks like a naughty schoolboy, telling me secrets. “We do have paid female partygoers. There’s ten here tonight. An agency supplies a rota of girls, one of them being Tasha. They’re the girls I introduce to the couples, they talk to the newbie guys. Their job, at the beginning of the evening, is to be welcoming to them, lots of smiling, lots of listening, the occasional hand on the guy’s knee. So the guys feel like they’re attractive to the women here. It makes them feel confident about approaching other girls. But also, the agency girls...”
“They kick off the action?”
“Yes. You’ve guessed it. A lot of the women here are unsure. Most of them have come here because their partner wants to try it. Not many women, I guess, would really choose to go out for an evening knowing it will end up with her having anonymous sex with random guys in front of a bunch of strangers. Even though that’s exactly how it will end. For the men, of course, it’s a huge turn-on. But if a woman sees other women doing it, appearing to enjoy it...”
“It makes it seem normal to her.”
“That’s right. About midnight, some of the girls – the ones who are paid to be here – will start snogging guys or other girls, and stripping off. A few will unzip some of the guys’ trousers and play with their cocks. When women see that going on, like it’s the norm, then they’re more willing to give it a go themselves.”
I look across the room; it’s already started. Two women at a table are closely entwined, groping each other, while the two guys with them sit, watch and stroke their own trouser crotches. At another table a woman gets up and straddles a seated guy, and I can see his hands on her bum, under her pants. Scott speaks like he’s commentating on a sports event. “You can see how every woman in here is noticing what’s going on. In a few minutes, two of the agency girls will get out vibrators and start masturbating each other in the middle of this room, where it’s most brightly lit so everyone can get a real eyeful. It’s a kind of signal, and that’s when the women, even the more tentative ones, think what the hell, let’s go for it. All the men are ready anyway, of course. There’s thirty-odd iron-bar erections in this room right now. Soon, everyone will be upstairs. Although there are side rooms for foursomes, almost everyone goes for the big bed, it’s got twelve mattresses pushed together. The paid girls will strip off and get on the bed first, then usually the guys, and then the girls who’ve been chatting to those guys get on the bed with them. Which is all quite funny really, because after the first round of shags, anyone goes with anyone. Every party that I’ve been to, I’ve seen girls happily shagging with, or sucking the cocks of, guys that they ignored during the first half of the evening.”
Car Man is leaning over, stroking Tasha’s thighs. My time’s running out. “Scott, can you do me a favour? I need to talk to Tasha, before she gets too busy, and this guy...”
“No problem.” I see him look across the room, motion with his head. After ten seconds, we’re joined by a tall peroxide blonde in a basque who bends, kisses Car Man’s cheek, whispers in his ear. He turns to her, and Tasha is free for a moment. Scott gets up and goes over to another table.
“Tasha – we’ve not really had a chance to talk yet. You see, I know Jurgita.”
“Jurgita – you are friend? That is so good! She is my oldest friend, from Lithuania. We grow up together.”
“You both had a third friend, Klaudija?”
“Oh yes, Klaudija. She was at the orphanage too, my other friend. We all come over to England together.”
“Tasha, I know about Jonas, what he did to you. I helped Jurgita. I’m trying to find out about Klaudija.”
“Of course, I can tell you. Klaudija and I, we got away from Jonas. We took a flat in Plaistow. I go to Diamonds for agency work, very good work, good money. After a few months at Diamonds, they send me to Raw Silk – Craig, my boss, he says all Diamonds girls have to take their turn at these parties. But Klaudija did not like Diamonds, she argue with Craig. Then she tell me she has new job, escort at a hotel for rich people. Even better money. She told the boss at that hotel that Jurgita and I, we are beautiful girls too, she hoped they might offer us work as well. But they never contacted me. Klaudija had a boyfriend, you know, Emilis – but he was back in Lithuania. She told him she was a waitress at hotel, not escort. He came over once, he go to that hotel, sees her there, but he suspects nothing. She was always planning the wedding, looking at magazines, the white dresses. She said I would be a bridesmaid.”
“And then?
“She went away, I don’t know. No message. Emilis, he came over to England again. He used all his money to come here, to look for her. He told the police, just like I had, but they weren’t interested.”
Peroxide is standing over Car Man: she reaches down and unzips his fly. Her fingers probe inside. He turns towards her and stands up; they walk towards the stairs, hands moving over each other. Other couples are also heading that way.
“I need to go upstairs Holly, the other girls are going. I am watched here, you see. I won’t get paid unless they see me with guys.”
Scott’s back, bringing two shorter, less attractive men who haven’t managed to find themselves a partner yet: they both look hungrily at us. Tasha stands up, puts her head on one side, smiles at them. But I’m thinking: I don’t want to do this. I shag strangers for a living – but the idea of going upstairs with these guys, stripping off along with fifty other people, fucking anyone and anything for the next two or three hours – it just turns me off. What I’d like, right now, is a coffee and a nice quiet chat with a bloke like my punter Martin.
We’re all headed for the stairs, like a tide is sweeping me along. I’m arm in arm with Tasha. The two guys are right behind us; one runs his hands down my back, my bum, as we start going upstairs. I need just a few more minutes with Tasha. I don’t want to mess up her work here – but I have to do this.
“Tasha. Can you help me? I only need a couple of minutes, in the bathroom. With you.”
It’s cheeky of me, and selfish – this is her job – but she can’t refuse. I tell the two guys that we’ll be right back. The toilets are at the top of the stairs. As soon as the door is closed I say
“I need to know a little more about Klaudija. Did you take any other steps to try to find her?”
“We have to talk very quick. I don’t want to lose this work, h
ere. Scott is good man, my friend – but others will be watching me too, they will complain to Diamonds about me. But yes, Emilis went back to the hotel to ask. He told me, it was strange, what happened.”
“What?”
“He speak to the manager, the big boss. Boss was willing to see him. And that boss, he said, can you do me a favour? He said, if you are determined to find Klaudija, then anything you find out, I will give you money. You come back here, he said, and I will give you five thousand pounds if you have information. And if you find Klaudija and bring her here, I will give you ten thousand pounds. But you are not to go back to the police. In fact, he threatened him, he said if Emilis went to police, he would get beaten up. And the manager, he gave him two thousand pounds cash there and then, for Emilis to live on while he was in England.”
“What happened?”
“Emilis took the money, of course. He stayed with me for a while, until the money ran out and then he went home. But I was busy, Emilis he did all the searching. He looked and looked, but found nothing. Klaudija had gone like people say, off the face of the Earth. So there is nothing more I can tell you. Now, I need to go.”
“He found nothing at all?”
“Nothing. Speak to him, if you don’t believe me.”
“Speak to him?”
“Yes, in Lithuania. He speaks English, you know. We all do. It is 3am in Vilnius right now, but he won’t mind.” She hands me her phone; the screen shows a photo of a young man. “Just give phone back to me, later. Now I need to go.”
The phone signal shows one bar. I step out of the toilets onto the landing. Three bars. I call Emilis Petrauskas. Wait as I listen to the double-buzz, double-buzz. As I stand there, I rip off my mask, which has got itchy. More couples pass me, groping each other, tripping towards the main bedroom.
He’s picked up. “Labas?”
“Emilis, this is someone who knows Tasha. In England. I am searching, for Klaudija.”
There’s a second or two silence as he takes this in. Then a choking noise.
“Thank you. Thank you. You are police?”
“No, I’m afraid not. Just someone who’s trying to help. I’ve spoken to Tasha. I need you to tell me, what you found out when you were here in London? Did you find anything, when you were looking for her?”
“Nothing. My Klaudija – she was everything to me. I know about the Soames Hotel place, the other guys. And about that shit, Jonas Senkus. I don’t care that she went with those other guys, none of it matters. I just want to find her, or find out what happened. I still have her last message to me, on this phone, you know.”
“What was it? Her last message?”
“I have it here. She sent it to me exactly one year ago. Yes, here it is.” He’s reading and translating it into English for me, the words come slowly. As he speaks I gaze down the corridor into the bedroom, now a pink mass of writhing bodies. But despite the orgasms that are being had in there, there’s hardly any noise, and in the near-silence I can hear every note in his voice.
“Emilis, I am missing you as ever. When we meet I will be even more beautiful for you, because I have arranged to have the moles removed. I go for the treatment tomorrow. My body will be beautiful for you. I know that you say you do not mind the moles, but I want to be lovely for you. I am still at the hotel, I earn really good money, but because I do so well for them, there is a girl who works here, she has told me, I can have this treatment, and the hotel will pay. So when you next see me, my back, my tummy, they will be clear skin and good to your touch. I can’t wait, my darling Emilis. Your loving Klaudija.”
He stops there, and I can tell, he’s crying on the other end of the conversation. I feel empty in the pit of my stomach.
“I’ll do what I can, Emilis. If I find anything, I will tell you. I promise.”
I don’t even think of walking towards the bedroom. For once, I’m the paying customer, and it feels like bliss to have the freedom of being able to choose, to say No. I enjoy my job – but right now I don’t want snogging, touching, fingers exploring my skin. I’d rather think about sadness and loss. My choice makes me feel strong. I walk down the stairs with Emilis’ words in my ears. I explain to the girl at the desk that I have Tasha’s phone, could she look after it for her? I walk out onto the street, and it feels like I’ve been holding my breath all evening. Now I can take air into my lungs again: I can move freely.