Chapter One
Dianne’s Daydream
Claire didn’t say anything when I told her that I wanted a girl who could swing either way. There was just the slightest pause at the other end of the phone, long enough that I felt compelled to add: that it was something my wife and I had talked about, as though somehow that made it all quite respectable. Claire smoothly assured me that she understood perfectly; I’m sure she did.
That was one thing about Claire. She had seen it all. In her line of work, one soon learned to take such things in stride. Of course, she assured me in that cool professional tone of hers; it would certainly present no problem. And; ‘When did I need the young lady’s services?’ I gave her the time and the name of the hotel, and it was done.
That was how it was — doing business with Claire. Things were always arranged quietly, competently, and with the utmost discretion. These qualities permeated the entire operation. That quiet competence was the hallmark of the stable of the bright, attractive, young women whom Claire employed.
***
You might see one of them on the streets of the city, making her way in her high heels with that brisk, purposeful stride of a city girl on her way somewhere, perhaps to some fine hotel, or some fashionable address on the East Side. A self-assured, confident woman, dressed in a sharply-tailored business suit, a briefcase clutched in one gloved hand, or a large bag slung rakishly over one shoulder, she might easily be a businesswoman hurrying to make some important luncheon meeting. She would turn a few heads, but she would excite no more interest than any other well-dressed, attractive girl on her way to the office. And if that case she carried so easily on her shoulder should be found to contain a wicked leather outfit, handcuffs, a pair of stiletto heels, there wouldn’t be the slightest hint of that incongruous cargo in the young woman’s sober, business-like appearance.
Claire was the proprietor of the finest call girl service in the city, and it wasn’t easy to get your name on her list of clients. You had to be referred to her, and then wait to be checked out before you were accepted as one of her clients. Once you had established yourself among her clientele however, your name (and your credit card number) remained on file with her, as though you had been granted lifetime membership in some very exclusive club.
And like any of the better clubs, membership might be revoked for conduct unbecoming a member. Claire was fiercely protective of her girls, and although she could supply a willing companion to satisfy the most peculiar, some would say even the kinkiest tastes, it was the girl herself who had the final say in the matter. Claire would never allow one of her girls to be coerced, or abused. Should one of her employees be threatened into doing something she was unwilling to do, the offending party’s name was quietly dropped from Claire’s list.
I had explained something about Claire to Susan, who, after seven years of marriage, suddenly appeared to have developed an insatiable curiosity about my sex life before I met her. One day, I had casually mentioned Claire. And for some reason it seemed to fascinate her — what it was like to be with a whore, a professional, someone exquisitely skilled in the art of making love. At first I didn’t give it much thought, but then the idea began to take shape that