Free Call Girl Confidential by Rebecca Kade Page B

He also denies that he ever met me and that he ever had any connections to or dealings with Kristin Davis or her operation.

TEN
the last great madam: anna gristina
    K ristin was too flamboyant, and she was becoming too unpredictable. When she got drunk, she’d pitch hissy fits and do things like throw her phone against the wall. The longer I worked for her, the more convinced I became that she would get busted.
    The job had become less and less outcall, which meant less money in my pocket and an even bigger hit to my soul. I felt like I was becoming less and less of Rebecca, and I didn’t know who I was. Things were not going well in court; money was not coming in; and my heart and love of my life, my daughter, Isabella, was still not back home with me. I was working eight-hour shifts atKristin’s apartment, and I felt like I was going to a job. I couldn’t believe I had gotten to the point where I had accepted that this was my job. It was depressing. I was lying to everyone about how I was making money, and it was getting really hard to keep up with who I told what. I’d go home after a long day of incall work and Kristin or her booker, Lucy, might suddenly call and ask me to go back out on an outcall.
    One night Kristin sent me on an outcall to a client’s apartment. We went to clients’ apartments all the time, passing photographs of their wives and children in silver frames on the grand piano on the way to the master bedroom.
    This client was a major New York real estate developer. He liked to wear women’s underwear, so we called him Panty Man. He had a whole case of silk panties, albeit very large panties, in his apartment. There was a lot of hush-hush about it. Kristin didn’t want a lot of discussion because she was afraid that new girls wouldn’t want to go. He was one of Kristin’s regulars and paid by credit card.
    I went to his apartment on the Upper East Side. He answered the door in a thong. He was a very overweight man, and his stomach was in rolls. You couldn’t see the thong at first. He looked to be in his forties.
    His apartment was huge and beautifully decorated, but that night it was in disarray. Perhaps his wife had taken the kids for a ski vacation; who knows? He had video cameras mounted all over the place. We passed his teenage daughter’s bedroom; it was immaculate, like a neat little fortress against the weirdness.
    He then brought out the cocaine. He did so much blow. He asked me if I wanted some, and didn’t mind when I said no. Some clients do.
    He asked me to use sex toys—on him. He wanted it to go on for hours, but I just said I couldn’t extend the session because I had another appointment. I think it was the thong.
    The job just seemed to be getting worse and worse. I worked briefly for a different agency that operated like a factory. It was ridiculous. They wanted me to rent my own hotel room and have sex with as many guys as possible, all day long. I made $6,000 or $7,000 in a day. It was a time when I really needed cash to get up-to-date with my bills, especially for Ms. Alter. I did it for about ten days straight. I made a lot of money, but my body was completely torn apart and exhausted. I was a mess, physically and mentally.
    Another escort at Kristin’s, Olivia, told me she secretly worked for another madam. She didn’t want Kristin to know. But her competitor had operated totally under the radar for fifteen years in New York City, with business around the world. She had the most beautiful girls flying in from around the country, and the wealthiest clients would book them in advance like a celebrity junket. Olivia bragged about how much money she was making with this other madam. I said, “ Please give me her number.”
    I called her the very next day and explained my situation. The woman had an accent; was it Irish? No, Scottish. She called herself Caroline. Only later would I learn that I had been