Free Ambition by Julie Burchill Page A

–
sentences who you are and why you are a whore. WHORE. I don’t want to hear any lily-livered euphemisms like
good-time girl, gigolo or poor deprived victim of exploitative economic system.’ He clapped his hands again. ‘Ladies first.’
    A small girl in a white bikini stepped forward. ‘My name is Maria. I am a whore because I have no education.’ She looked at him uncertainly.
    ‘A common tale of woe but a convincing one. Let this be a lesson to you. Next.’
    A tall girl in a white beach dress stepped forward. ‘My name is Rosana and I am a . . . whore because I have a sick mother and many small brothers and sisters.’
    Tobias Pope blew a loud, lewd raspberry.
    The third girl stepped forward. She wore black heels, black pedal-pushers, a black off-the-shoulder T-shirt and a black look. ‘My name is my own business and I am a whore because it pays
well. Just like every one of these chickenshits that’s too scared to say so in case you send for a replacement.’
    Pope threw back his head and laughed appreciatively. ‘
Brava, senhorita
! That’s the spirit. I happen to know from your good supplier that you are popularly known as Thalia,
but we’ll let the pass.’
    Thalia scowled.
    He gestured at the three boys who lounged against the wall, grinning at Thalia’s performance. ‘You, you’re all men and therefore anonymous. I will call you One, Two and Three.
And I certainly don’t want you to tell me why you’re whores. You’re whores because you’re lazy and stupid, like all your
compadres
.’
    They sniggered and nudged each other.
    Susan looked at Thalia. If she had had the bad luck to be born poor and Brazilian, she might have been this girl. Thalia was slightly larger than life but only in all the right places, her
sullen face full of a bitter intelligence. The girl, who had been glancing around the room sizing up various portable objects – lamps, radios, vases – suddenly caught Susan’s
eyes, and her stare was like three short sharp plunges of a knife in the face, breasts, groin. Susan blushed. Thalia looked again into her face and sneered.
    ‘This is my friend Susan. She wishes to be fucked. By each of you, one at a time, and then
uma tortilla
as a grand finale. Queue up, please, no shoving.’
    The Brazilians slouched into line. She could tell as a people they were unused to queuing as they grinned and pushed foolishly at each other. The boys at the front, impatient and eager, the
girls at the back, Maria and Rosana examining each other’s cheap costume jewellery and fingernails, comparing prices and varnish. They could have been waiting for a bus.
    Thalia stood at the back, immobile, silent, still sneering. Looking at her, Susan felt suddenly frightened.
    Pope walked along the line, handing condoms to the boys. ‘Once only offer, never repeated. Next week you’ll be back servicing sixty-year-old widows from Florida, so make the most of
this. On the other hand, don’t make too much of a meal of it if you can help it. There’s no hidden camera here – no
maquina –
so no movie director is going to spot
your hidden talent.’ He looked at his Patek Phillipe. ‘It’s just turned seven now and I want dinner at eight. I am an old man and need my sleep.’ He sat down in the leather
armchair and looked again at his watch ‘Ready, steady – GO!’
    The first boy came towards her, unzipping his jeans. Her numbness became relief on two counts: he was both small and erect. The idea of either stimulating one of these strangers or trying to
take a party-size penis filled her with dread. He was handsome, but not in a way that she liked; too smooth, too young.
    He climbed on to the bed and kissed her, kneeling on all fours. Their teeth clinked and she turned her head in embarrassment, looking straight into the smiling face of Pope who had left his
chair and was standing by the side of the bed with his arms folded. ‘No sloppy stuff!’ he called fussily, like an irked referee.