Confessions from an Escort Agency. Rosie Dixon
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strain on those who had not selected their colours and pinned them to the masthead.
I can think of occasions on which I have lain powerless before the onslaught of some gigantic pussy pummeller and yet been able to endure the situation – nay, even draw some strange satisfaction from it – because my mind was pure from taint. I was able to perceive that I was in a situation not of my own making, or, alternatively, one that I had entered into for reasons other than those of personal gratification. In such circumstances, how could it be said that my virginity – my mental virginity – was affected? When the base Geoffrey plied me with drink, or I intervened between my sister and the greasers, my principle was never compromised. I was an agent of circumstance.
I am sorry to digress in this way but I think it important to get what you feel straight. I am certain that many girls would get much more out of life if they assessed their position and took a firm stand.
‘I don’t like the sound of it at all,’ says Mum.
‘Make up your mind when I get back from Chedworth Place,’ I say. I had expected the mention of such a posh spot to be received with a mild attack of drooling but Mum looks even more worried.
‘Where’s that?’ she says.
‘It’s in the Cotswolds,’ I say. ‘I’ve been invited to stay by my friend.’
Mum follows the trail ruthlessly. ‘Is she something to do with this escort business?’
‘Yes. She knows somebody who runs it.’
Mum wrings her hands. ‘Oh dear. I don’t like the sound of this at all. It’s difficult to know how to put it, but—’
‘White Slave Trade,’ interrupts Natalie, eagerly. ‘They’ll drug you and then you’ll wake up in a brothel in Port Said. Thousands of Arabs will be tasting the fruits of your body at knockdown prices.’
‘Natalie! That’s quite enough of that!’
‘It’s true, Mum. I read about it in the paper.’
‘Not in the Sunday Telegraph, you didn’t.’
‘You’re both jumping to conclusions,’ I say. ‘I’ve known Penny since we were nursing together. She’d never get involved in something like that.’
‘Well, let’s wait and see what your father says. I don’t think he’s going to like it.’ Natalie shakes her head in time with her mother and I could drag my nails down her cheek. The little baggage has always been the favourite, especially as far as Dad is concerned, and it is always me who gets the blame for everything. I waste no time in making my feelings clear and retire to my room in tears. Somebody has been using the perfume that Geoffrey gave me, which does not improve my mood.
Some of you may remember that Geoffrey Wilkes is my long-suffering boyfriend who has stuck with me through thin and thin. I know I treat him badly but he is so eager to please that he turns me right off. If you see a door mat it is difficult to avoid wiping your feet on it.
I don’t know whether it is telepathy or something like that but while I am lying on my bed, and thinking about Geoffrey’s funny little ways, and how sweet he is really, I hear the telephone ringing downstairs – it would be alarming if I heard it ringing anywhere else. Immediately, I have a strange feeling that it is Geoffrey. Amazing, isn’t it? It just goes to show that there are so many things in this life we can never understand. I wait with bated breath as I hear footsteps coming upstairs and prepare myself for the inevitable.
‘It’s your friend,’ says Natalie’s sulky voice from outside the door. Just as I thought! A new eagerness pushes my body from the bed and I trip downstairs rehearsing my greeting. The telephone is lying on the hall table and I pick it up and place it to my lips.
‘Hello! Rose here!’ I trill.
‘Hello. Did you get home without being raped?’
‘Yes,’ I say, bitterly.
‘You don’t sound very happy about it.’
‘It’s not that,’ I say. ‘I thought you were someone else.’ Of course, it is Penny, not Geoffrey. How typical of her.
‘If you’re expecting a call, I’ll get off the line.’
‘There’s no need. I just had a feeling, that’s all.’
‘Lucky you, old girl.’ Penny has a very crude streak which I try to ignore. ‘I was just ringing up to see if you’d like to come down this evening. There’s a train from Paddington at six. I could meet you at Oxford.’
I begin to cheer up. When Dad hears the news about my possible new job he will make Mum’s comments sound like hysterical enthusiasm. I don’t feel in the mood for a long inquest and a speedy departure to Chedworth Place will solve all my problems.
‘That’s very kind of you—’ I begin, trying to be polite.
‘Of course, if you’d rather spend a bit of time with your family, I’d quite understand. It’s just that I got invited to this party at St Peter’s Hall and I thought it might be fun if you came along. Shall I ring you in a few days and—’
‘I’d love to come,’ I say hurriedly. ‘Six o’clock, did you say? Right, I’ll be on it.’ It occurs to me that I am veering to the other extreme of enthusiasm but it doesn’t matter because Penny is already describing the delights that the evening has to offer.
‘… bumps supper, throwing up everywhere, some of the younger dons aren’t bad but they spend too much time postulating.’ I blush at the end of the telephone line. Penny is a great one for indulging in revealing detail. As far as I am concerned, what the younger dons do in the privacy of their rooms is their own business. We live in the twentieth century and provided that it does not hurt anyone else I think that people should be allowed to do what they like.
Despite the questionable behaviour of the junior dons the thought of visiting Oxford appeals to me tremendously. I have always dreamed of going to one of those big balls when everyone dances on the lawns and drinks champagne till the early hours of the morning before climbing into a punt and rowing down to Rochester for breakfast. I wonder if Penny’s party will be like that? Whatever happens, it will be marvellous to see the inside of an Oxford College. By the time I put the telephone down, I am really excited and I can hardly wait to see the expression on Natalie’s face when I tell her where I am going. She will be green with envy. I am on my way to spread the good news when the phone rings again. Curse the thing! I have not got a lot of time to waste if I am going to catch that train.
‘Hello,’ I say, slightly irritably.
‘Rosie? Is that you? It’s Geoffrey here. What a smashing surprise. I was ringing up to find out when you were coming home?’
‘In a few days,’ I say. I wish I could sound more welcoming but I am a bit annoyed at how Geoffrey let me down when he turned out to be Penny. It is a very shabby thing to interfere with someone’s telepathy.
‘But you are home,’ says Geoffrey sounding puzzled.
‘I’m going down – I mean, up to Oxford,’ I say, practising the delivery I will be using with Natalie. ‘I’m going to stay with some people in the country.’
‘Are you free this evening?’ says Geoffrey. ‘I thought we might go to the flicks. There’s a smashing movie called Confessions of a Window Cleaner. Very funny.’
‘Confessions of a Window Cleaner!?’ I say. ‘Do you really think I’d go and see something like that? I can just imagine what it’s like. Nudity and filth.’ How insensitive of Geoffrey to mention something like that when I have told him that I am going to Oxford. He exposes himself sometimes.
‘It was just a thought,’ he says. ‘We could always go and see “Thud”. It’s a fearless exposure of the man behind all the fearless exposures of police corruption and brutality.’
‘Thank