Any Way You Want It (Brand Clan #2)(34)
She’d received the cautionary advice, filed it away, then formulated her own approach to dealing with her escorts. Even though they were independent contractors, she considered them employees. And as any smart employer knows, happy employees are the key to a successful and highly profitable business. From the very beginning, Zandra understood that if she treated her escorts with decency and respect, then they would be happy. Happy escorts produced satisfied clients, and satisfied clients were repeat customers.
So once a month, Zandra booked a private room at an upscale restaurant and treated her escorts to dinner. Attendance was not mandatory. She knew that the women led busy lives that had them juggling the demands of a career, college and, in two cases, single motherhood. So she never required their time beyond their availability to clients. But in the five years she’d been hosting the dinners, no one had ever canceled. The women looked forward to getting together.
Over dinner, they didn’t discuss clients or dates or anything that would breach confidentiality. It was simply an opportunity for them to unwind, become better acquainted, and draw strength and support from one another.
It was through these monthly gatherings that Zandra learned how much she had in common with the women who worked for her. Relaxed by good food and wine, they often let down their guards and opened up to one another. Secrets were shared and commiserated over—the sense of loss and regret after an abortion; righteous anger caused by a nasty divorce; the pain and despair suffered in an abusive relationship.
The women were ethnically and physically diverse, came from different backgrounds and ranged in age from twenty-five to forty-two. But that didn’t prevent them from being able to relate to one another, a bond strengthened by the shared experience of working as an escort.
Seven months ago, Zandra had changed the venue of their outings to a luxury day spa, where the women could be pampered with manicures and pedicures, lavish massages and sauna treatments. It seemed a fitting reward for women who made a living catering to the needs of others.
That Saturday afternoon, they sat soaking in the spa’s thermal whirlpool as they sipped champagne and luxuriated in the soothing fragrances of jasmine and lavender wafting up from the steamy water.
“I finally did it,” announced Yana, a Russian college student who’d immigrated to America two years ago in pursuit of a modeling career that never panned out.
“Did what?” the others asked.
“I finally called home and told my mother that I’m an escort.”
Everyone stared at the dark-haired young beauty. “How did she react?”
Yana grimaced. “She said she didn’t raise me to be a blyadischa.”
“Ouch. Sounds bad. What does it mean?”
Yana sighed. “Whore.”
A chorus of groans swept around the pool.
“It’s really a shame that she said that to you, Yana,” Zandra said, her voice laced with sympathy and anger. “It’s hard enough hearing that word from strangers. It has to be worse coming from your own mother.”
“It was,” Yana admitted forlornly. “She’s been asking me if I’ve found any modeling work. I was tired of lying to her, so I just decided to tell her the truth. I knew she wouldn’t be happy, but I never expected her to call me a whore.”
“I’m truly sorry about that, kiddo,” Zandra consoled, gently rubbing Yana’s shoulder. “She’s just concerned for your welfare. Give her time to come around and accept what you’re doing.”
Yana nodded despondently, sipping her wine.
Claudia—a petite, voluptuous blonde and single mother—glanced around the circle. “Angry mothers aside. Is it just me, or does that word hurt more coming from other women than men?”
There were nods and murmurs of agreement.
Claudia frowned. “Why do you think women seem so quick to use it against others?”
“Spitefulness,” Yana proposed.
“Jealousy.”
“Insecurity.”
“Ignorance,” Zandra contributed. “I think it’s easy to be judgmental of something you don’t understand. When most people hear that a woman is an escort, they naturally assume that she gets paid for having sex.” She shook her head ruefully. “I went to college in the UK. I think Americans are way more uptight about sex than Europeans.”
More echoes of agreement went around the pool.
“That’s because Americans tend to have more conservative religious values,” opined Laurel, a black beauty pageant veteran. “I belong to a large Methodist church on the South Side. I would never tell any of the members that I moonlight as an escort, or they’d run me out of there so fast my heels would leave skid marks.”
“Damn,” some of the others lamented, and chuckled. “That’s a shame.”
“I know. Now, I’m not saying congregations everywhere would be so judgmental,” Laurel added. “That’s just my personal perception of my own church.”
“That’s why I don’t tell anyone that I’m an escort.” This was from Noelani, an exotic beauty from Hawaii. “I know they wouldn’t understand or approve, especially my family. They’re very traditional and conservative. Hell, my parents just want me to hurry up and finish my doctorate so I can get married.”
“Mine, too,” Laurel commiserated.