Not Very Vice

At this point in my story, I am wondering whether I should tell the

truth about the next episode of my life and risk being judged and

ridiculed. After giving this a lot of thought, I realised that my book

would not be complete if I left it out. It is crucial that I am rigorously

honest in every area of my experience to enable people who are

reading this to get a clear and precise picture of who I really am and

where I have come from. Of course, I am leaving myself wide open to

criticism, but this is a risk I am willing to take.

***

One morning I was flicking through the local newspaper, trying to

find some kind of work where I could get paid cash in hand; I could

not go on living on the bread line. I was sick of the hand-me-down

clothes I dressed my daughter in and was fed up with scrambled eggs

and beans on toast for my dinner. I came across an advertisement

for working as an escort. To be honest I was not sure what an escort

did, so I dialled the number. A Chinese woman answered the call;

she asked me if I had experience, which naturally I said I did. She

mentioned something about an agency fee I would have to pay out

of my earnings, which I agreed to. She asked when I was available

and said she would get back to me. Later on that day she called and

told me I would start work the next morning. She gave me a phone

number to call to arrange to meet my client and hung up. I called

the number and a very charming man answered, he asked me what

I looked like, what my measurements were. Was he going to buy me

something to wear? I did not have a clue what the hell this was all

about. He said he would meet me at nine thirty the next morning

outside the station.

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My alarm went off at seven. I got up and dropped my daughter at

my mum’s. I told her I had found a job and would explain later when

I picked my daughter up. I was so nervous; I knocked back three

quarters of a bottle of vodka which I got from the supermarket

downstairs. I had no money left for food now. I was flat broke. I

had no idea what to wear, I imagined I would be escorting this man

to a business lunch or maybe he just wanted someone to talk to,

so I put on a smart skirt and blouse and headed off to the station,

still baffled as to what was expected of me. I nervously waited for

this man to appear, I was paranoid that people were looking at me,

for I was slightly pickled from the vodka. My gut feeling told me

something dodgy was going on, but I could not put my finger on it

until a Mercedes pulled up with tinted windows, there sat a big black

man, he looked at me and asked if I was Gina. I was told to change

my name when I was inquiring about the job; I thought this rather

odd. Why did I have to change my name? It sounded a bit daft to

me. I took one look at him turned on my heels and headed off in

the other direction. I don’t know why I reacted like this; it must

have been my gut feeling trying to tell me something again. The guy

followed me down the road and asked me not to be scared and get

in the car. Well, I got in this big flash car that had a minibar in the

back, he told me to help myself and I did not need telling twice.

After a few glasses of brandy were swiftly poured down my throat,

my fear had been replaced by excitement. Ooh, look at me I thought,

feeling like a V.I.P. being carted off to a secret destination, maybe

a flash restaurant in London, or maybe the theatre to see a show,

the anticipation was growing at the same rate as the brandy I was

chucking down my throat.

After travelling for about half an hour, he pulled up outside

a huge house which was being renovated, there were builders

everywhere. Maybe he had to pick something up, no problem I

thought, I had my minibar in the back, he could take as long as he

liked. The door was opened for me, I was told to get out and follow

him. Not so amused now, I was wondering what on earth was going

on here. I found myself entering a bedroom with nothing but a bed

in. He poured me a large glass of wine, told me to relax and take

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my clothes off. You cheeky devil I thought and slapped him round

the face, what did he think I was, some kind of hooker? Yes, that’s

exactly what he thought. He told me it was obvious it was my first

time and there was nothing to worry about. What happened to the

slap-up meal, theatre, I was naively mortified until a big wad of fifty

pound notes appeared in his hand; I had never seen this amount

of money before in my life. The thought of all the money I owed

the building society and the little amount I was merely surviving on

made me question whether it would be so bad, considering the fact

I was rather promiscuous, at least I would not be giving it away for

free. A good few glasses of wine, combined with the three quarters

of vodka I had before I left my flat that morning and the amount

of brandy I had put away on the journey here, were starting to take

its toll. Before I had time to make a decision, the dreaded deed was

done and dusted. As I gathered my clothes from the floor and began

to dress, I felt very uncomfortable, but relieved at the same time. I

kidded myself I was fine with what just had occurred, but really I felt

cheap, dirty and rather disgusted with myself. I tried to rationalise

it in my head and tried to make myself feel better by thinking, at

least I wasn’t hanging out on street corners swinging my handbag

and chewing gum like proper hookers do, I was better than that,

wasn’t I? None of the justifications I could think of to make me

feel better worked. I began to think about my daughter, what kind

of a mother does this? How was I going to feel later on down the

line when she gets older? What would she think of me? Would she

believe me when I told her that I done this for her so we could keep

a roof over our heads and not worry about where the next meal was

coming from? Would she blame herself for putting me through this?

All these questions were spinning around in my head, I needed more

alcohol to cloud over these feelings which I could not handle.

With a big bundle full of fifties, I headed back to the station

where I was picked up and made my way towards my local pub feeling

like I had just won the lottery on one hand, but on the other, I felt

dreadful. I turned a few heads when I hung onto the bar for dear

life, for my legs struggled to hold me up. I offered to buy everyone

in the pub a drink and boy did I become popular all of a sudden. I

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must have passed out soon after going back to the flat, for I was

woken by my phone ringing, it was the Chinese lady who ran the

escort agency wondering how I got on this morning. She asked me if

I was available for work that evening and gave me another number

to call. I felt like death, the drinking session had done me in. After

a few liveners of vodka I was pickled again and off on my way to

meet my client. My stomach was churning and I felt sick, I knew

what I was doing was so wrong, but I just focused on the money

and kept thinking I would be out of debt before long then all this

would come to an end. My client took me to a large house out in the

country which was very secluded; I sensed this was not a good idea,

for there were no other houses around. A few more drinks and the

fear subsided as usual. Unusually, the fear returned not long after. I

closed my eyes and just wanted this to be over. After it was all over,

I realised I had not received the money up front. When I politely

asked my client for my fees, he pulled a knife from out of the drawer

and threatened to kill me. I was terrified and ran out the front door

as fast as my legs could carry me – he could have killed me. I did not

mention this to my boss, for I was worried that if I did he would

hunt me down. I started to question whether this was worth risking

my life for, my daughter could end up without a mother, I was

confused and my thoughts were all over the place. I was aware that I

had to consume larger amounts of alcohol to get me through this. If

I was sober, never in a million years would I or could I ever have put

myself through such an ordeal – not a chance in hell.

I had to re-evaluate my situation but the greed and hunger for

money overpowered my instincts and I continued to progress in

this seedy life of vice. I worked every waking hour I could, some

days I would easily earn a thousand pounds. This was all well and

good as I counted my stash every night, but the drinking, smoking

marijuana and the lack of sleep was having a terrible effect on me

psychologically and physically; I was burning out. Did I feel guilty

and shameful the way I was living my life? At this stage, no, I don’t

think I did. I had convinced my troubled mind that it was okay and

I was not hurting anyone else except for myself. In a sick kind of

way it suited me, not just from a financial aspect, but it also gave

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me a feeling of control. I hated men and, as I mentioned earlier,

I was going to make every man pay, now in more ways than one,

for the damage and torment my ex-husband had put me through

and the fundamental abuse I had suffered at the hands of many

men. I felt superior in a twisted kind of way, when the money was

exchanged I inwardly thought, you sad bastards, having to pay a

woman for sexual pleasures, there was only one winner here, and

that was me. Through lack of self-awareness, I was ignorant to the

fact that damage was being done. On top of the other baggage I had

carried around with me since I was little, I was an absolute mess. My

daughter was getting older now and I was thinking about how much

longer I could keep this hidden from her, regardless of the fact she

thought Mummy was at work, I felt my heart sink when I looked

into her innocent looking eyes – what she would think of me, kept

going round and round in my mind.

I met men from all walks of life, young, old, married men who

claimed ‘my wife does not understand me,’ – that old chestnut. I did

feel sorry for the wives who had no idea what was occurring behind

their backs. I was not ruthless and deep down I was deeply sad

and unhappy with my life and what I was doing with it. I had been

working for a few years and, inevitably, had to tell Mum what I was

doing for a living. She was not startled by my revelation but when I

helped her out with a few quid for looking after my daughter, she did

not want to accept, but I insisted. I am so grateful that my daughter

was not at an age to question what was going on. There was no way

that I was going to end up losing our home and living in a bed and

breakfast. I wanted my daughter to have a nice home and to be in a

position that she would not have to go without. More importantly,

my daughter knew how much she was loved; she had security,

stability, self-esteem and self-worth. Even if we ended up in a squat,

she would have the nurturing, acceptance and encouragement that

I believe every child needs to enable them to grow up to live a full

and productive life. I was the end result of the lack of these vital

ingredients and made damn sure I would give my daughter what

I lacked as a child. But how did I manage to keep my sanity and be

there emotionally for my daughter when I was an emotional wreck

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myself? Somehow, I managed to try and detach and separate myself

from this destructive behaviour when I was working. It was like

living two separate lives, being two different people.

I managed to pay all the arrears of my mortgage and replaced all

the damage that my ex had done when we moved back in the flat. I

had dated many men that I met through the agency, though it was

not encouraged to get emotionally involved. I had holidays abroad

which I ruined through my wild and reckless behaviour. I was, on

many occasions, given the choice to stop working by clients who

wanted to ‘save me’ from this destructive behaviour. As much as I

wanted to be saved deep down, it was more important for me at this

stage to be financially independent and stand on my own two feet,

regardless of what this lifestyle was doing to me.

As my destructive life of vice continued, every part of me was

breaking down physically and mentally, again, I felt that there was

only so much the human body and mind could take. I was missing

out on these vital important moments that I would never be able to

get back with my daughter as she was growing up. I needed to spend

more time being a mother and do all the things I should be doing,

like tucking her in bed at night, reading her a bedtime story. Sooner

than I anticipated, I decided to take a client of mine up on his offer to

be supported by him and leave the seedy life of vice behind. I know

I said I did not want to depend on a man to support me, but I guess

I looked at the pros and cons of stopping working, and thought I

would rather be financially looked after and spend more time with

my daughter. I also needed rest and to let my mind and body heal,

for it had been abused for so long.

This man was a Muslim who was devoted to his religion. I found

out he had a wife and children, which I was not too happy about,

but he would spend as much time as he could to be with me and

my daughter. He paid the bills and groceries and as far as he was

concerned, I was his woman. He had cast-iron rules – one being

I was not allowed out in a pub for it was not the thing to do, he

thought women should stay at home.

Turning my back on my life as an escort was a huge relief for me; it

was soul-destroying and degrading. Whilst I was working I was not

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really in touch with the extent of the damage (physically, mentally

and emotionally) caused by the abuse I endured during these years.

Life was not a bed of roses now either, having to depend on my

boyfriend to support me financially. He was a control-freak living a

double life which I was not happy with – not just for mine and my

daughter’s sake, it was not fair on his wife and children either. The

time came where I’d had enough of being controlled, bullied and not

being able to go out and socialise, this was not what I imagined it

to be. As I rebelled, the arguments would start, they were horrific,

and I began to notice that this man was extremely selective with his

religion. Having sex outside of his marriage with an escort, I would

imagine would not be welcomed. I was torn between putting up with

this nasty man or returning back to the life of vice, neither of which

I wanted.

One day, I decided to go to the pub and meet up with Mum and

some friends and thought to hell with him and his so called rules.

After an afternoon of some very heavy drinking, through the pub

doors he came and frogmarched me back to my flat. What happened

when my front door was closed will remain with me forever. I was

stripped naked and abused physically and sexually in every way

imaginable. I was beaten up so badly that my ribs were bruised

beyond recognition. My mouth was all over my face where he had

hit me. He kept me prisoner inside the walls of my bedroom for

four days. I had to use the floor as my toilet as he would not let

me use the bathroom. It was disgusting, the humiliation of it all

was soul-destroying. It crossed my mind throughout this ordeal

that this was how my life was going to end, naked with a few ten

pound notes surrounding my corpse. What a horrible way to die,

and how startling it would have been for anyone who had found me.

It crossed my mind that maybe I had brought this on myself, I was

being punished for my behaviour and for all the men I had taken

hostage, taken my rage and resentment out on, because of the hurt

and pain I had suffered all my life.

My nightmare eventually came to an end when he had to go back

and answer to his wife and children about where he had been all this

time. During this ordeal, unbeknown to me, my mum had somehow

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managed to get his home telephone number. I imagine he must have

called me from his home when I was at Mum’s and his number was

obviously not withheld. Mum being the shrewd woman that she was,

wrote it down just in case, she knew he was married and did not like

him at all. After a skinful she phoned him to give him a piece of her

mind. But it was his wife who answered the phone. Mum told her

everything, good old Mum. After receiving this devastating news,

his wife fled the family home and got the first flight back to India. I

really felt for that poor woman, yes, I was just as guilty as him, but I

guess at least she was free from this vile man who must have given

her a hell of a life, judging how he treated me. I eventually found

out that he also fled the country, and had lost his business, his

marriage and was living a life in squalor in Karachi. Thank God that

my daughter was with her Nan for a few days, I could not imagine

the effect it would have had on her to have witnessed the abuse that

was inflicted on her mother whom she cherished.

The emotional and mental scars and the humiliation reduced me,

at my lowest level, to self-harm, for the pain was overbearing. I slashed

my face with a razor blade and ended up in a refuge for battered

women. I had become a danger to myself. The embarrassment and

excruciating shame I suffered for months whilst waiting for my face

to heal was terrible. I isolated myself most of the time and only went

out for fresh air after darkness fell. My confidence was at an alltime

low, my counsellor at a women’s centre thought it would be

beneficial for me to attend a self-defence course. Holding my own

was not a problem for me, my father taught me how to defend myself

at a tender age, but the course offered me techniques designed to

defend myself if I found myself in a similar situation to those which

I had been in many times before.

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Chapter Fourteen

Best Friend Turned Enemy

My face eventually healed but the emotional scars from all I had

encountered since I was little remained inside of me and were really

getting in the way and preventing me from living a full, happy and

productive life. I was slowly committing suicide and drinking myself

to death. I had no one to turn to and could not see a light at the end

of this dark abyss that I was trapped in. I did not know what was

happening to me, I searched and searched flicking through the pages

of every self-help book I could get my hands on, seeking the answers

to so many questions that were running through my mind. Nursing

yet another mini nervous break-down, which most people would call

a hangover, I found myself looking through a phone book and found

a helpline for people who have problems with alcohol. I dialled the

number and cried like a baby, I begged them to help me. They told

me they would get someone to call me back; I waited anxiously for

the phone to ring with a drink in my hand. I remember putting the

phone to my ear and listening to a lady who started to tell me a little

of her experience with alcohol, the identification was astounding,

for the first time in my life I didn’t feel alone. She arranged to pick

me up the next evening and told me we were going to an AA meeting.

All sorts of things were running through my mind, did I really want

to be sitting amongst tramps who smelled swigging from a cheap

wine bottle with urine stains down their trousers, I didn’t think so,

but by a twist of fate, I decided to go and take a look anyhow.

The next evening came round pretty quick; I decided I would not

drink that day, which I seemed to manage, courtesy of a handful

of Valium. This lady appeared at the door, not what I imagined at

all; she was smartly dressed, looked respectable and did not stink

of booze. She drove me to the meeting and suggested I just sit and

listen, to try and look for the similarities not the differences.

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I walked through the door like a terrified kitten, head facing the floor,

my normal position. I sat at the back and looked around, I couldn’t

see any tramps or weirdos, just ordinary people who all appeared

to be happy and joyous, I did not understand. What am I doing

here, these people didn’t have a problem with alcohol, they couldn’t

have, because if they did, they certainly would not be laughing,

that’s for sure. I could not believe what I was hearing; everything

I heard, felt like they were talking about me. It was amazing, I had

this feeling like I had just come home. So many questions that

I had been searching for the answers to all of my life, were right

here in that room. I discovered that I suffered from a killer disease

called alcoholism; I learned that the illness is progressive, that it

gets worse, never better. I also learned that I could live a happy and

fulfilled life, one day at a time; I had a twelve-step programme that

provided me with tools to help me deal with problems that occur in

everyday life. The programme would help me become aware of my

defects of character, which I was not aware of before I came to AA.

Through applying these steps in my everyday life, my attitude would

change, I would see life through a different set of glasses, not the

rose-tinted ones that I had been wearing since the first time I put

alcohol into my system.

Since that first meeting, I had hopes for the future, I had people

who understood me and I began to realise that I was not going

crazy – what a relief that was. I took to AA like a duck to water, a

whole new world had opened up for me, and I felt alive for the first

time in my life. I had people in my life who accepted me for who I

was. Over the next few years my life changed so much, I began to

discover who I really was. My ego was smashed to pieces, I came to

realise that I was not the centre of the universe after all. What did

knock me sideways was that everything I thought I was, I wasn’t

– what a smack in the guts was that. I learned how to be honest,

firstly to myself and then to others. This was a huge turnaround for

someone like me, who spent their whole life lying to everyone about

everything. This revelation mortified me. When the pieces of the

jigsaw started to form a clear picture of who I really was, I could see

that I had allowed people to hold my happiness in their hands all my

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life, and that peace of mind had to come from within. The big one

for me was that I had to learn to say ‘no’. I was a