Survival sex

So turning to a new criminal enterprise -- using her body for the first time -- was an admission, as she likes to say, that "anatomy is destiny." And a chance to be good at something where "it's all about being a chick."

One of her pot customers, a good-looking pimp called Rico, started boasting to her about his business. A number of his girls worked for small private houses in Manhattan. The second-tier private madams weren't as stylish as Liane, but they were equally security conscious. Jasmine wanted in, and she wanted to work safely. But Rico dismissed her offer when she suggested that he take her on for six months.

"I could learn that business in less than six months," she assured him.

"Well, that's the problem," he said. "You'd make trouble with my other ladies. No, thanks. I don't need it."

Then she offered him $500 to introduce her to a madam, and he accepted.

Jasmine worked in a very private, high-turnover house for about three months -- an apprenticeship she insists was worth every cut she paid. She learned how to get some guys in and out the door in less than 10 minutes. She managed to make some good connections and, at the first opportunity, bought a book from a girl who was moving to Florida. And that's how we ended up meeting in a luxurious 35th-floor apartment overlooking the U.N.

We both knew Jean-Paul, a French bachelor who saw girls and entertained his colleagues on a regular basis. So there we were, at a small party with two good-looking Dutch guys (whom every girl avoided because they seemed so young and energetic) and three mysterious diplomats, somewhat more senior, from the Gulf States. The girls had all been hand-picked by the host because Jean-Paul didn't like leaving his party arrangements to a madam. He was one of those self-sufficient bachelors who could decorate his own apartment and arrange a successful evening with a few call girls. Probably knew how to cook as well.

The girls kept pairing off in the powder room to compare notes -- banknotes. We all wanted to make sure we were getting the same rate. Jasmine was relieved when I assured her that she wasn't undercharging.

But there was instant tension between Jasmine and a pretty redheaded girl, an adventurous Mormon who had escaped from Utah to New York by way of Nevada. When a client asked Jasmine and the redhead to join him, Jasmine balked. I ended up doing the scene and listening to the redhead's giggling assessment as we undressed together: "That girl, Jasmine? She's sooo uptight! I worked with her before, and she thinks every girl she meets is a lesbian!" She was playing with my bra strap, stroking my hair. "It's like, everybody's supposed to be 'after her'! Can you believe it?" I smiled politely. Our client was getting an eyeful and an earful. After we were done, the redhead whispered, "I don't usually get into it with girls, but you turned me on. Here's my number." I called her the next day, and we exchanged a few dates. If she hadn't been such a cocaine addict, we would have done more business together. She was pleasant to work with, had soft hands and an interested tongue. I'm happy to fake it with another working girl, but if she insists on the real thing, why not?

Jasmine, on the other hand, is highly paranoid around other working girls. She won't cop to being lesbophobic, but she refuses to see married couples because she won't "do a girl for real." You don't learn how to be smooth and "European" about these things by working in a high-turnover house. Even if it's in a nice building with a doorman, as it had been in Jasmine's case. You can make good money seeing the cheaper, faster dates, but it's not the kind of work that broadens your mind.

Eventually, I introduced Jasmine to Liane, who decided to work with her occasionally but did not take a deep liking to my ambitious new friend. Jasmine was too well established by then to curry favor with Liane. And it was never in her nature, anyway, to look up to another woman, even if that woman was old enough to be her grandmother.

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From the forthcoming book "Diary of a Manhattan Call Girl" by Tracy Quan. Copyright (©) 2001 by Tracy Quan. To be published in August by Crown Publishers, a division of Random House, Inc.

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