Out of Peoria Ch. 06

Out of Peoria: A Story of Innocence lost.

Copyright ã Ron Ryder 2003

Chapter 6: An unexpected proposition

It was well past mid-day when I awoke. At first I did not know where I was. The 'sleeping' room was not familiar to me at all. This was only the second night I had felt the need to retire to be on my own. Communal 'sleeping' was all very well if you were feeling horny. As long as someone wanted to have sex with you, you were available. That was how it worked out and that was why we had a separate room where anyone feeling the need of a decent sleep could retire.

The house was very quiet. I lay awake looking up at the ceiling and reflecting. Slowly, in snippets, memory of the previous evening and night's events returned. I felt disturbed, but in a sense also at peace. What a night it had been! Whichever way things evolved, I was moving forward, advancing myself. Possibly, I reflected, the speed of evolution did not have to be quite so breath-taking! However, forwards was always a better way to be moving than backwards.

I slipped on my dress and entered the living room. I had suddenly become conscious of hunger and thirst. Someone had left half a sub in the ice box and I grabbed it along with a bottle of water and plonked myself down on a sofa in the living room and proceeded to munch away. I had decided to ask Jane about what had happened with Lynda and what she, Jane, thought. Was I a lesbian or was I not? And if I was, what did this mean? I trusted Jane, and she had so much experience she surely would know one way or the other and have some sound advice.

As if by an act of clairvoyance, the key in the lock turned out to be Jane herself, returning with some groceries.

"So you've finally emerged," she said not unkindly. "I hope they weren't too nasty to you up there!"

"No! Not at all --- well, it was a bit heavy. I suppose you were trying to warn me it would be. But Lynda and I got on rather well."

"Yes!" Jane said. "I rather thought you might. She can get quite wild, though, but I see you survived."

"Yes!" I replied absently. "Er.. Jane," I continued.

"Yes!"

"Er, do you have a few moments. I'd like to talk to you about something."

"What a coincidence!" Jane replied. "And I'd like to talk to you about something too. Quite interesting actually. Who goes first. Wait – I see you've snagged my sub! Let me dump this stuff and get something myself."

Jane returned carrying a large plate of mixed salad laced heavily with slices of avocado.

"Tuck in," she said. "That sub needs stiffening up."

I did.

Jane said. "Me first. It's urgent. I suspect your's can wait."

Although it appeared we were alone in the apartment, Jane dropped the tone of her voice several notches, to an almost conspiratorial whisper. There had been an inquiry, she said. It concerned me, and it came through 'channels' that were absolutely trustworthy and above board. Jane made the appropriate movements with her eyes and fingers to indicate 'people in high places' and lots of 'moolah'!

"You did tell me you have some experience in accounting, didn't you?"

Puzzled, I nodded. "Yes, I took classes in accounting and worked in an accountant's office as a clerk for about a year. Er...?"

Jane held up a hand to still inquiry.

"All will become clear," she said. "As we discussed the other day, you need some kind of gainful employment. I mean, you did very well last evening. Very well indeed. There's no doubt we could arrange for you to make a decent amount of money from occasional 'parties'. But this would be a bit hit and miss -- there is a lot of competition and if we could settle you into something more stable, this could be even better. Do you agree?"

"So far so good," I said, munching on my sandwich. "Carry on."

An investment company of some prestige, she said, was looking for a girl, a certain type of girl. And Jane had been asked for a recommendation. In her opinion, I was perfect for the job. Was I interested?

"Well you have to tell me more than that, Jane," I said. "What kind of a job is this? Why is it 'special'?"

"Well I'm sure you can use your imagination on that!" Jane said.

"Well if you mean "Company whore", you can forget it, Jane. I may be into sex and I've even enjoyed being paid for it, but that's quite different from being the trollop every Tom, Dick and Harry gets to fuck as part of his bonus!"

Jane looked at me askance.

"You haven't quite got it, have you. When I mean ..." she made that motion again with her eyes "...and when I mean..." she made that motion again with her fingers, "you have at least the brains to figure out that I am not referring to a 'company whore' --- at least not in the sense you describe."

I gulped down a long swig of water.

"Yes. Sorry about that. I'm not thinking too clearly today."

Naturally, Jane went on, my main function would be to provide sexual entertainment, but definitely not for 'any Tom, Dick and Harry'.

"Companies in LA do this routinely, you know. There's nothing particularly remarkable about this one. They hire attractive women on regular company positions with nominal authority within the company, authority that entitles them to be present when corporate decisions are made, or when important customers visit.

"One's presence and, shall we say, putative availability, is designed to "create or enhance opportunities" -- that is I believe the way it's put in marketing terms. I did it myself for three years. It can be quite heady. You meet men of influence on a day to day basis. Naturally, this provides opportunities for sideline work that can also be quite lucrative."

I was silent for a moment. Then I said, "I'm not sure I could handle this. I don't have the experience. I mean, last night, where would I have been without you and Alicia coaching me? You are talking about going out on my own..."

"... as a 'company courtesan'!" Jane interrupted. "And of course you can handle it. I watched you carefully last night and you did just fine. And I've been watching you carefully ever since you joined our commune. You have qualities that make you almost uniquely suited to this job. You could do it off the cuff without batting an eyelid."

Again, I paused.

"Well thanks for your confidence in me, " I said. "But what are these qualities you refer to. And what's the difference between a 'company courtesan' and a 'company whore' anyway?" I ended up somewhat more brusquely than I had intended.

"There's no sharp dividing line, of course," Jane responded, carefully amd thoughtfully. "A prostitute makes her living with her body. The girls upstairs make their livings with their bodies, but they are very choosy. They are certainly not available to any "Tom, Dick or Harry", By choosing carefully and remaining attractive to affluent clients, you may say that they make their living as much with their brains as with their bodies. So you might say they are more courtesan than prostitute. You would be going up-market from them. One notch up the ladder. More brain than body. But when you come right down to it, I'd have to give it to you that the bottom line in all cases is sexual favors in return for financial gain..."

"But on the ground, Jane continued, "it is very different from what upstairs does. They are very good at what they do, but none of them could be a 'company courtesan'. I would not even think of recommending them. But you have a refreshing naiveté, an innocence. You can more than plausibly play the part of 'female executive'. And you have some professional experience." She paused.

"To put it in a nutshell," she continued, "a company courtesan has to have the appearance and demeanor of a genuine professional occupying a genuine high-level job, while at the same time, when appropriate, being able to transmogrify into a top-line whore. She must only be able to do this, she has to be able to sense when to do it and have the ability to seduce the person she is meant seduce without this being obvious to any third party. Furthermore, she has to be able to fend off the attentions of those --- the great majority I may add --- who would dearly love to play, and think they are "Mr. Big", but are not, from your companies perspective "Mr. Big Enough'.

I was silent. All I had wanted to do was discuss with Jane the matter of my sexuality, and now suddenly this! Talk about breath-taking pace! I could not quite take this in.

"And you really I think I can do all this?" I asked, probably sounding bewildered.

"Well, there would be a learning curve and I'm not trying to persuade you," Jane said. "You will have to adapt quickly at the beginning, think quickly and on your feet. I could well understand if you think you are not ready and it's no skin off my nose if you decide it's not for you. On the other hand, I do think it is a marvelous opportunity for you. And think what it might mean later in life to have on your transcript that you were a Department Head at a major investment company."

"But surely that is a joke?" I replied.

"Not entirely! To be effective you have to gain knowledge. Admittedly, the company wants your talents as a courtesan not as a business professional, but to be convincing a certain level of expertise is advisable. So you will learn quite a lot about how things work. And anyway, a transcript is a transcript. Depends who is reading it."

She paused. "Think of it this way. You are young, you have a gorgeous body, the world lies at your feet. Now go ten years along the track. This is where I am."

"But you have a gorgeous body," I protested strongly. "And you're fantastic at sex", I added, realizing suddenly that I may have gone too far! How well, really, did I know Jane, after all? "I mean..." I stammered. But she took my comment at face value.

"You mean I would make a first class whore," Jane finished off the thought. She smiled, diffusing any hint of offence. "Maybe, but the competition is ferocious. This is LA. There are pretty faces attached to gorgeous torso's all over the place, and fifty percent of them are for hire. It's not like in times past, when girls had little experience of sex. When I was in my prime, most of my competitors were ten years older than I was, and I wouldn't want even then to have been in their shoes! These days girls give their first blow jobs at fourteen! By the time they are eighteen they know as much about pleasing a man as I do, they have hard bodies and firm tits and many of them are as smart as apples. A cute girl with a college education who knows what she is doing has the world truly at her feet. Maybe I could still compete as a courtesan, but for how long? Like it or not, most of the men you will see are, shall we say, in the prime of life, and most of them would take a young firm body every time over 'a seasoned woman', even if she comes with that little extra touch of class. I'd last a few years max., and what am I supposed to do with the rest of my life? Find some rich old jerk and serve out my time? Not for me. I value my independence."

"So what did you learn when you were a 'company courtesan' that helps you preserve your independence?", I asked.

"I learned about the law and how to run a business," Jane replied. "It's certainly clear to you that I run a business. The business is supposed to be illegal, even in LA. But I run it within the law. There's a fine line, and it is not easy to find. I found it. It's a gold mine. In five years, I will never need to work again."

I was still silent. Jane said,

"Look, I am not trying to persuade you. However, you should be clear that this is an opportunity for you that will not recur. It's a once in a lifetime thing."

After a few moments I said "Can I have some time to think about it?"

"Unfortunately not," was Jane's immediate reply. "If you want a chance at this job I have to make a call immediately. It may already be too late!"

This time I did not hesitate.

"Go make the call!" I said, with bravura.

===============================================================

And so it was that early next morning I sat in a plush leather armchair in the Executive Suite on the top floor of an LA downtown office complex. To say I was nervous would be like saying that a gazelle being chased by a lion is slightly anxious! I was dressed in the business suit Jane had helped me choose the previous afternoon. My hair was up, my shoes were flat heeled, functional. They were for walking. I had wanted to wear high-heeled strap-ons that showed off my feet, but Jane was vituperative.

"The image is of a staid business person --- a 'power bitch'! Power bitches do not wear strap-ons!"

So to all appearances I was a 'power bitch' and no-one was supposed to know, or even conceive that underneath that veneer was nothing but me. No panties, no bra, no stockings.

"Those that matter will know," Jane had said. "And those that do not matter will only suspect!"

After a seeming age I was motioned to my feet by a subservient person vaguely of the female sex, who opened the door to his 'presence' and closed it silently behind me.

"Ah! Hello. I'm Cecil!" said the large distinguished looking, balding gentlemen crossing the room to shake my hand, for all the world as though encountering a new business partner. "Let's take a seat, shall we."

I did, moving slowly and with dignity, crossing my legs as Jane had taught me and saying nothing.

"Answer truthfully, but do not volunteer! Turn everything back to him. He is the focus, he it is you have to please" were amongst the myriad instructions I had received from her. "This is an interview. Everything depends on your demeanor. You have to show him you are truly a courtesan."

Cecil Witherspoon, his real name --- it was written on his door in gold letters --- was quite charming and immediately went about trying to put me at ease.

"Coffee, perhaps?"

"Will you be joining me?" Jane had schooled me well.

"Er, No! Unfortunately, the medical profession has turned coffee into a banned substance for people like me. However, if you would care for coffee, I would be happy to allow myself a small, a very small scotch. How is that for a deal?"

"Thank you. Then I'd love a coffee."

"Sugar, milk?"

"Black, please."

"Ah! How long has it been...?" Cecil's responses suggested I had started off on the right foot.

The obvious question "Coffee is a banned substance and scotch is not?" was on the tip of my tongue, but I held back, lacking the confidence.

Cecil rose, crossed the room and called for coffee to be brought. "Black," he said. "Please take extra care in the preparation. Blue Mountain of course ... " he glanced at me, I nodded (though if he had asked me where the Blue Mountains were...!?).

As we were waiting for the coffee to appear, Cecil said,

"Well, my dear, I do not believe in beating about the bush. So the first thing I need to know is your real name. I can't call you – er – "he consulted myopically a sheet of paper he had placed on the table before him "er.. Destiny! My name is really Cecil --- curse on my parents. What's yours?"

"Susan," I said directly. "Susan Sandersen. That's how I was christened" – which of course it was not, but that was the name on the documents Jane had magically procured for me, a lady with many 'connections' I had discovered. "And by the way," I continued, "I think Cecil is a nice name."

"Oh come now!" Cecil said, a shade crossly. "Don't patronize me. It's a hideous name. Everyone thinks someone called 'Cecil' has to be gay!"

"I understand," I said. "But what's in a name? It's the person behind the name that matters."

"Precisely, Susan," Cecil said. "Precisely."

"And I can see that you certainly are not gay," I dared to add a shade mischievously. A risk perhaps, but nothing ventured, nothing gained.

"Indeed no," Cecil said. "Perhaps alas! Sometimes I think gay people have it right and we hetero's are the ones who make life difficult for ourselves."

He asked me about my experience, and I recounted the story Jane and I had the previous afternoon invented, following to the letter her dictum not to volunteer!

"So you are accustomed to positions of responsibility?" Cecil said.

"Yes!" I replied. "But of course, I am just starting out. I was certainly on my way up the ladder, as I think you will see from my transcipt."

"Yes, I'm sure," Cecil glanced myopically at the file he had laid on the table, without looking at it! "I can see you have ambition."

This kind of small talk continued. I recounted the convoluted story Jane had invented for me as to why I had left the mid-west, how I had responded to an offer by a west coast company and been let down when this entered Chapter 11 following the disappearance of the CEO, Chairman and half of the board, following a whistle-blowing spree by a high-level executive.

"I was really shocked, of course, but I had burned my boats and what was I to do? I had of course several other interviews lined up, and I was confident that my current state of 'availability' was very temporary. But 'a friend' had strongly recommended Witherspoon Investments, and so here I was. Cecil did not question any of this baloney. He just nodded. It seemed like I was saying the right things.

A discreet knock at the door indicated the arrival of the coffee. The subservient person vaguely of the female sex set down in front of me a silver tray on which were arranged a silver coffee pot, a cup and saucer of pure Wedgwood china and two discretely arranged slivers of chocolate, in their wrappers. There was no sugar on the tray, neither was there milk. When the door closed behind her, Cecil said

"Don't mind her. She has the airs and graces of an arthritic slug, but she's been with the company for six hundred years. You'd think the Chairman would be able to do something. But No!" He sighed. "The power structure inside a California Corporation is something you have to experience to believe. Best I can do is stick fingers up when she isn't looking and call her 'The Ogre' behind her back. Imagine!"

So saying, he crossed over to his desk, fished deep into a drawer and drew out a bottle of Macallan 25 year old. Not that at that point in time I could distinguish a 25 year old Macallan from any other scotch, or even the veriest hooch, but there came a time when I could. And that's how I know that the healthy portion of liquor Cecil poured himself that morning was truly "The Macallan".

Back nestled in his chair, Cecil said,

"I can see you are no novice, Susan ..." (little did he know!) "... so we do not need to beat about the bush." He sipped his scotch, I my coffee.

"Indeed not," I said. "Please do be frank."

"You will be appointed "Head of Marketing: Special Accounts". Six reports. Your number one report, Jim Janacek, has been with the firm for 15 years. He is in the loop and is appropriately remunerated. He is, you will doubtless be interested to know, 100% gay and is also, shall we say, fully supportive of all company policies. Until you have gained experience and inside knowledge, he will be the person who will actually run the Department, though he will of course in all outward respects defer to you. He will also brief you thoroughly on all meetings. Be assured, he is an excellent person. "

"I am assured," I said. Gaining confidence, I re-crossed my legs. "I assume as time progresses and my experience grows, his role will become less central?"

"Er.. Yes! Precisely!" Cecil replied. (Was I overplaying my hand?) "Er.. When your experience grows commensurate with the business, or course."

"Precisely," I said. "Someone of such expertise, experience and sensitivity as Jim will always be essential." I smiled warmly.

"Er, quite," Cecil said.

Cecil continued,

"Your salary will follow the norm for the position you have within the company. We shall of course require the usual personal and professional information and references."