Destiny at Mollie's Brothel

If you have never heard of Putaville, the capital of Povera, then you likely haven't read Mollie Buys a Brothel. You've never met Mollie Grossman, Jim Grinsted, or Ronaldo. You have no clue about the hi-tech, ten-storey building full of sex known as Lagarde's Hotel & Spa. So my advice to you is to go back and read Mollie Buys a Brothel, by JimGrinsted. But failing that, I still hope you enjoy this story.

Chapter One

Ruthie did what Ruthie always did every day before breakfast -- she walked with her little sister to fetch water.

The shantytowns of Putaville had long since outgrown the water mains, so Ruthie and Rachel walked for nearly a mile to the communal tap. And there they waited their turn, sometimes for an hour, before lugging the liquid home.

Ruthie has been fetching water since she was three years old. It's a chore for girls and young women. Old women can no longer do it, and men never carry water. Not even gay men carry water.

That particular injustice didn't cross Ruthie's mind this morning, though she was thinking about men. In particular, her marriage prospects sucked, as her mother had just made explicitly clear. At 19 years old Ruthie was washed up -- nearly a spinster. By contrast, Rachel, 15, was already betrothed. In Poveran custom girls were married on their 16th birthday.

Tribal traditions made Ruthie's task even harder. Women had to marry men from certain clans, and once you factored in all the other constraints (geography, age, suitability), there were exactly three eligible bachelors for Ruthie to choose among. Except they weren't all eligible -- two of them had already tied the knot. So Ruthie had to marry Tommy if at all.

She didn't dislike Tommy. Quite the contrary -- he had charm and good looks.

"He's a lush," said her mother, bluntly.

"He'll outgrow it," argued Ruthie.

"You know better than that! Just remember your father. I did all the work, and he spent all the money. Before I kicked him out, that is. Is that how you want to live your life?"

"So what do you want me to do?"

"Find somebody else to marry. Putaville is a big city, and you don't have to follow the custom anymore."

"Mama -- you know that won't work. I have a past."

That was the problem. Few of the world's women are still virgins at age 19, and Ruthie had lost hers at 17. But the event had been public -- it happened in a bar when for the first and last time ever she'd gotten drunk. Half the town had seen her stumble off with Mr. Maponga. That one mistake rendered her damaged goods. No respectable man could marry her now.

"So maybe you should go visit Mr. Lagarde?" offered her mother, nervously.

"What? You want me to be a prostitute?"

"No. Of course not. But it beats marrying a lush. Take it from me -- it really does. Besides, I understand they teach school there. Maybe you could learn how to read. By the way, how do you think I supported you children?"

"You're a housekeeper," answered Ruthie, restating what she'd always been told. Her mother worked as a cleaner for the Spanish embassy.

"Yes, I'm a housekeeper. But housekeepers have opportunities, if you know what I mean. There weren't a lot of them, but they made up half my income. Do you really think we could all live on $18 per week?"

That was more information than Ruthie really wanted to know. She silently left the room to go fetch water. The two girls carried the empty jerry cans on their heads.

Fully loaded, water in a jerry can weighs 44 pounds, and including the can itself it's closer to 50 pounds. Rachel helped Ruthie lift the filled can on to her head. The next person in line offered the same assistance to Rachel. Then, with straight backs, eyes facing forward, and a smooth, even gait practiced over many years of carrying water, the women gracefully and seemingly effortlessly started the trek back home.

The weight on her head didn't take the load off her mind. When she got back to the house she pulled her mother aside.

"I think you're right, Mama. I will go to Lagarde's tomorrow. Just to see, mind you. I'm not saying I'm going to work there."

"You do what's best for you, Ruthie. I will love you always, no matter what you do." Chapter Two

Jim Grinsted, used to making phone calls, thought hard before dialing this one.

"Hi Mollie. This is Jim Grinsted. Do you remember me?"

"Of course I do! Gee, it's been a long time -- maybe a year? It's good to hear from you! How are you doing?"

Jim deflected her question with another. "I was just wondering if you were still in the brothel business? And if so, how's it going?"

"Yeah, I'm still in the business. It's going OK. I've made lots of changes, and we're making a profit. But it's a small one, and always at risk. Why do you ask? Are you trying to sell my business." She laughed.

"No. This isn't a business call. I've just been thinking about you a lot recently, and thought I'd give you a call."

"That's sweet, Jim. What's going on?"

Jim hesitated, but he had to get it out. Otherwise why make the call? "A couple of months after we got back from Putaville my wife was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. The doctor gave her six months, but she only lasted for three. She died about six months ago." He started to tear up.

"We'd been married for 35 years. We have three grandchildren now. At least she got to see them."

"Oh dear," said Mollie. "I'm very sorry. Have you kept working?"

"Oh yes. I worked very hard, mainly to get out of the house. It kept my mind off of it. But it wasn't any fun. And I don't need the money anymore. I got plenty to retire on. So I hung up the rolodex last month. I'm having some trouble adjusting. That's why I'm calling you. Hope you don't mind."

"I certainly don't mind! I'm happy to help. What can I do for you?"

"So I was wondering..." Jim hemmed and hawed. "...if I could visit your brothel. I miss female company, and I don't want any entangling relationships right now. So that's why I'm calling."

"Of course you can visit my brothel! We've made a lot of changes, though." She went through the list.

"We're trying to get guests to stay for longer than a day. Putaville is in the middle of nowhere and it takes a long time to get there. We have to give them something to do besides fuck. So I've worked hard to come up with attractions.

"We found some really good bird watching sites, and they're close to the city. We offer excursions with a talented guide. Guests get a free guidebook, and lend them binoculars. They can bring their hostess with them if they want to.

"Then I've tried to turn it into a health club. We converted one of our restaurants into a low-calorie, healthy eatery. We advertise the locally-grown produce. The tag line is Povera: the mainland's organic garden. We have athletic trainers, fitness counselors, and nutritionists on staff. (All of them are female, and all of them put out -- for an extra fee.)

"Part of the fitness effort is our new dance studio. We turned Gloria into a full-time dance instructor. And do you remember Rose? She's become the best dancer in the building. She's too young and attractive to be anything other than a hostess, but she's one of our best teachers. Do you remember the rooftop penthouse? That used to be a business center. We've turned that into a real dance studio."

Mollie continued. "I think you once mentioned that Putaville has some good restaurants. That's true. We offer daily dinner excursions to local eateries -- all expenses paid. Again, the guests can bring their hostesses with them. Of course that won't work for those on the fat farm. But many of our guests aren't, at least not seriously.

"Then we started a school. Our hostesses can attend on days they're not working. Unlike any other school in Putaville, there are no school fees. We hired a full-time teacher. But she gets lots of help because we ask our guests to assist with instruction. Really, her job is to organize and supervise their effort. They LOVE doing it. The schoolgirl they're laboriously instructing in English, reading (in French), or long division today is the one they get to fuck tomorrow. It's a great turn-on. Some of them extend their stay just so they can teach school. Indeed, I think the school has actually become a profit center. Beyond that, guests contribute money for the school, which hopefully will let us educate hostesses' siblings and relatives.

"The bottom line is the average visitor stay has gone from 1.5 days to over 3 days. That's partly because we raised the price. Now we charge $1495 for the first day, and $995 for each additional day. And we have a special offer -- five days for $4995, all inclusive. That includes free transfers from and to the airport.

"And then we've converted the eighth floor to guest rooms. We can now accommodate 30 guests. That's helped with revenue a lot. But we're going to have to build out facilities for the hostesses. Those are substandard.

"One more perk has become very popular. Putaville is a long flight from either Europe or North America. Visitors arrive tired and jetlagged -- they're not up for a night in a brothel. So for $99 we offer guests an initial night at the international hotel, and then they're delivered to the brothel at noon the next day. That's a night to sleep well, rest up, and recover from jetlag, without spending $1500. Again, all transfers from airport to hotel to brothel are included.

"I can't give it to you for free -- we're just not that profitable yet. But I'd be happy to give you a discount."

"No. I don't need a discount," said Jim. "As I said, I have enough money. I'm just wondering if you were still open, and how things might have changed. When would be a good time for me to visit? Will you be in Putaville any time soon?"

"I just got back last week. I won't be going for another couple of months. (I should go more often, but I've got so much on my agenda here that I can't get away.) I don't think you should wait for me. Why don't you go, and then after you get back we can get together and you can tell me all the stuff we're doing wrong."

Jim laughed. "It sounds like you're doing most of it right. But OK -- I'll go by myself. I'll take the five day special -- let's shoot for two weeks from now. But you owe me a date when I get home."

Mollie giggled. "It's a promise."

"Can you make plane reservations for me?"

"Yes. Of course."

"Good. And I'd like the stay at the international hotel, too. That's a good idea. Geez, from Chicago it's a 24 hour trip door to door. I wouldn't be able to get it up after that."

Jim requested Business Class seats, gave Mollie his credit card information, and rang off. The next day he had e-mail confirmation of his reservation. Chapter Three

Ruthie spent an hour on the jitney bus before alighting at the central bus park downtown. She'd had to borrow the fare from her mother -- already a humiliating start to the day. Lagarde's Hotel was at 34 rue Rene Blaen, a fifteen minute walk away. She knew she had to be there by 1pm.

If Ruthie expected a big sign in neon and red lights, she'd have been disappointed. Quite the opposite -- Hôtel Lagarde et Spa tried very hard to stay out of the limelight. Besides the number '34', the only sign was

Hôtel Lagarde et Spa -- l'entrée de visiteur / Visitors' Entrance

stencilled onto the front door.

She walked in only to be met by a guard. "The women's entrance is around the corner." He pointed outside and to the right.

Walking that way around the corner she found a big, steel door that looked like it was locked. The sign was even simpler: "Hôtel Lagarde -- entrée des employés / Employee Entrance". She tried the door, and to her surprise it opened.

When she was unable to produce an employee ID card to swipe through the turnstile, the guard ushered her into an adjacent waiting room. There she waited. Poverans are used to waiting. She waited some more.

Finally she heard dainty footsteps outside the door, and a middle-aged, effeminate man came to fetch her.

"Hello. My name is Ronaldo. And with whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

"My name is Ruthie," she said, shyly.

"Hello, Ruthie. Welcome to Hôtel Lagarde et Spa. We're very happy you've come to visit us. Are you interested in working here as a hostess?"

"Yes Sir." Her mouth was so dry she could barely speak the words.

She followed him out the door. He swiped her through the turnstile, and they walked down a hallway past machinery, security guards, cleaning ladies, and other employees. Ronaldo led her into a large room with lockers on all four walls. A woman stood in front of one clad only in her underwear.

"Hello, Joan," said Ronaldo. "Were you late getting off stage today?"

"Yes Sir. A guest detained me. I had no choice."

"Then that's alright -- as long as you haven't broken the rules," he said. "Joan, I'd like to introduce you to a possible new hostess. Her name is Ruthie."

Joan smiled in greeting, though she eyed Ruthie suspiciously. "Welcome," she said. "Lagarde's is a nice place to work. I hope you get the job." She smiled again, now more genuinely.

Ruthie smiled back, so nervous she could hardly speak. "Thank you," she said, very softly.

Ronaldo walked to a door on the far side of the room and bade Ruthie to enter. "Welcome to my office. Please take a seat in front of the desk." He pointed to a row of simple, wooden chairs lined up about five feet in front of a metal desk. Ruthie sat down.

Leaving the door open, Ronaldo walked around the desk. "If a girl is late off stage without a reason she gets fined. We can easily check Joan's story from the computer, though I have no doubt it's true. She won't be fined."

Behind the desk was an old office chair on wheels. It squeaked when Ronaldo sat down, as if he were farting. Ruthie couldn't conceal a giggle.

"Again, welcome to Hôtel Lagarde et Spa. I need to ask you a few questions, Ruthie. I hope you don't mind?"

She nodded.

"First, how old are you?"

"I'm 19, sir." She reached into her bag for her government ID. She was fortunate among Poverans that she actually had a birth certificate, which made this a lot easier to get.

Ronaldo took the ID and looked at it very closely, examining it under a lamp with a magnifying glass. He carefully compared the picture with her face, though how he could tell anything she didn't know. Nevertheless, after several minutes of scrutiny he made a photocopy of the ID and handed it back to her.

"It looks genuine to me, but our security people will check on this. We have to verify your age. My next question might be a little more uncomfortable. Please answer honestly, and don't be afraid of hurting my feelings. You can't offend me. Can you please tell me what you think a hostess at Lagarde's Hotel does?"

Ruthie was nonplussed. She didn't expect this explicit question -- somehow she thought some things were best left unsaid. It took her a few seconds to formulate a response. "I have heard they are prostitutes."

"That is exactly right! Lagarde's Hotel is actually a brothel, and if you work here you will be expected to serve as a prostitute for our guests. You will be well-paid for it, but at bottom, that's what it is.

"Do you still want to work here?"

Ruthie wasn't so sure, but she still managed to say "yes, sir."

"Good. So now comes the next hard part of this interview. I need to ask you to take off all your clothes for me and let me see you naked."

"Please, sir. I wasn't expecting that right now. I'd be much more comfortable doing that in front of a woman."

"You have half of what you want," laughed Ronaldo. "I'm gay, so I'm definitely not going to molest you. I couldn't do this job if I wasn't gay -- it'd be much too frustrating. Now with the security guards -- that's another story. I get so horny when I look at them. But you? I know what straight men like, but I don't much care for it myself. Call it the queer eye for the straight guy."

His chair squeaked as he sank back into it.

"Can we at least shut the door?" she begged.

"You can if you want, but after this you will have to walk through that door and across the hall naked to the doctor's office. So it won't really help you any."

Ruthie looked stunned. She started to cry.

"I'm not asking you to do this just to be mean. If you work here you will be spending a lot of your days being naked in public. If you can't do it here and now, then I can't hire you. So you have three choices. One is you can strip naked and do as I ask. The only person who's going to touch you is the doctor, and she's a lady. Or you can decide you don't want to work here. Or you can go home and think about it, and if you decide you want to try again, please come back any time."

Ruthie chickened out. She chose the last option. Though as she walked out onto the street and heard the big steel door close behind her she instantly regretted her decision. Where could she again get enough money for another trip on the jitney bus?

Chapter Four

Jim called his old friend Bob Scheinberg to meet for drinks at the Pump Room on Chicago's Gold Coast. It was a few blocks from where Jim lived.

"Hi Bob. How're you doin?"

"I'm still working. Business has slowed down since the recession, so I've got more time for golf than I'm used to. I don't really mind. I envy you, what retiring and all."

Bob and Jim were longtime business buddies -- competitors, actually, but they really liked each other. They'd attended the same high school on the Northwest Side, but didn't know each other then. Bob was a few years younger.

"Yeah. When Janet died work wasn't fun anymore," said Jim. "That forced my hand. But I'm going to try to snap out of it. She's gone for almost a year now -- it's time to move on."

"I'm glad to hear that, Jim. Frankly, I've been worried about you. Who's the lucky lady?"

Jim laughed. "No, no. Not that. No way am I ready for that. I got something a lot more subversive up my sleeve."

"Out with it, man. I'm waiting."

"About a year ago I brokered this business. The lady who bought it was Mollie Grossman -- she's based up in Toronto."

"So you like this Mollie lady?"

"No...well, yeah, I guess I do, but that's not the point. The business she bought is this brothel in Putaville, Povera. So I called her up the other day and asked if I could visit. She said yes, of course. Then I asked if she'd be there at the same time. That answer was no. But she promised we could get together and discuss my adventure after I got home again. I'll take her up on that."

"So you gotta go half way around the world and back just to get a date with this broad? Is she worth that much to you?"

"No, not just that, though I guess I'm making it sound that way. But I want to go to the brothel anyway. I've been short on female company lately, and I don't really want any relationships right now. If something develops with Mollie later, well, that's fine. But I'd like to fuck some girls, and they got other things to do there besides."

"That does sound like fun," admitted Bob. "My wife would never let me do that! Again, I envy you."

"Don't tell your wife about this. In fact, don't tell anybody. This is just between you and me."

"Yeah, sure. I understand. So what are some of the other things you can do there?"

"They got birdwatching. That doesn't interest me at all. And then they have excursions to local restaurants. I've been to Putaville and they've got some good restaurants, so I'd like to do that.

"They have a really good dance teacher. Her name's Gloria. I'd like to learn how to dance better, though I'm so uncoordinated it might not help. But the girls can dance with you with no underwear, or even naked if that's what you want."