Free Game Girls by Judy Waite Page A

you
don't work the streets, you're OK.'
    Fern manages to look up at last. 'What does
"working the streets" mean?'
    'You know, women on street corners, trying
to get kerb crawlers.'
    'Trying to get what?'
    'Guys in . . . oh look, doesn't matter. Just
trust me. You shouldn't do it outdoors. But
inside . . . ' Alix can feel the laugh wanting to
spill out of her again. She feels elated with this
whole conversation. High on it. 'Inside, it's
actually better to charge for sex than it is for
cooking. You need certificates and inspections
and things to sell cooked food.'
    'That's true.' Fern reaches for her wine. 'We're
always being checked up on at home. We have
to—'
    'Exactly.' Alix cuts her short. 'And if the
food's rubbish, I bet your guests send it back.
And if they end up with a jippy tummy, they'll
probably even sue you. But I can't see anyone
wanting to complain to any sort of legal
watchdog if they've had a bad screw.'
    'What about people you know?' Courtney
stabs a tomato, the soft flesh squirting pips and
juice. 'Even if the law doesn't catch up with
you, your family or friends are bound to find
out.'
    She looks across at Alix and their eyes lock
and Alix can see that she knows where this
discussion is headed. She smiles. 'I don't see
why. It's that "watchdog" thing again – if
anyone you knew ever turned up at your door,
they're not going to broadcast where they've
been, are they? It's a secret thing. Private. And
you could get a new mobile phone – just for
business purposes. That way no one will ever
even recognise your number.'
    'Diseases?'
    'Condoms. That would be a basic every
time.'
    'And what would be on offer? You know –
what would you actually do?'
    'It's a client-based business strategy, so
obviously you try to meet the customer's needs
– remember that triangular sales diagram we
looked at in business studies the other week?
But you can say "no" sometimes, too. You
draw your own boundaries.'
    Courtney is watching her carefully now;
they are talking across Fern, as if she isn't even
in the room. 'I still don't get how you can do it
without a pimp – or someone starting you off.
How would anyone know how to come to you
in the first place?'
    Alix shrugs, stabbing up one final stray
kidney bean. 'Word of mouth, perhaps. That
would be safest. Fern's right about the phone
box thing, you wouldn't know who you were
getting. But if everyone who came knew
someone else, like a sort of long chain of
clients, it makes it a bit more exclusive. And I
don't think that would be dangerous at all.'
    Courtney's eyes search Alix's, but her
expression is closed. It is impossible to tell how
she's reacting.
    Alix makes her argument sound speculative,
choosing her words carefully. 'Maybe you start
off with someone you've been with already –
offer them something extra. Explain you're a
bit desperate for cash.'
    'Bit of a risk, surely? How would you know
they'd be up for it?' Courtney raises some meat
to her mouth, and then drops it down on the
plate without eating it.
    Alix shrugs again. This is the only clouded
area. Is it gut instinct? Or is it already knowing
something dodgy about them – already sharing
a secret?
    The conversation hovers, unfinished, as they
all eat in silence.
    'They're not called prostitutes anymore,
anyway,' Alix says suddenly. She finishes her
wine, pours herself more and then tops up
Courtney and Fern. 'They're called Sex
Workers. It's more like a kind of social service.
I've been looking the whole thing up on the
internet.' Pushing her plate aside she slides
another look at Courtney. Maybe she should
let the whole thing drop – for now at least.
She's planted an idea – she should just be
patient and see if it grows. But she's not feeling
patient. She's feeling buzzy. A strange
dangerous anticipation is razoring through her.
'I've got a suggestion.' Her voice is now
practical. Businesslike. 'Let's call it a social
experiment. Aaron's two mates want to come
over Wednesday afternoon – and I