Two examples are Gayle and Gilda, both very intelligent girls and both knowing exactly what they wanted from the business.
Gayle got out when she married a very nice account executive from a big ad agency. She thanked me for helping her earn the money that made it possible to attract her man, and moved out to Westchester County with her husband.
However, three months later she was on the phone again saying her husband was gambling two nights a week and she needed extra money to pay some of his debts; also, she didn’t dig sitting around at home doing nothing. She came and worked for a while, but vanished when her husband gave up his gambling.
Gilda was working for a big brokerage house in Wall Street when her boyfriend got involved with the Mafia bad guys and was in debt to the tune of several grand.
Gilda, who had absolutely no head for prostitution and was basically very square, indeed prudish, turned out to be a great $200 dinner date whom men took on social-business dinners. She came to me knowing exactly what she wanted, and after earning it, left again. She had what I called willpower, because when I have called her up since to offer her a quick $50 or $100, she has refused.
Some little rich kids get into the business for kicks or out of a desire to be rebellious, but in my experience they get out quick and marry the guy back home whom they ran away from in the first place.
There is a saying that prostitutes make the best wives. This to me is definitely a myth.
Prostitutes either become nymphomaniacs or get to hate men, and it is almost impossible for them to settle for one man.
Madeleine has now been married four times, and each relationship has crumbled, sending her back into the business.
As for myself, many times I have been asked, “Xaviera, what’s a girl like you doing in a business like this? Why don’t you get out? You’d make someone a great wife.”
I am not so sure. For me the madam life has become a big ego trip. I enjoy the independence and what’s more, for me prostitution is not just a way to make a living, but a real calling, which I enjoy.
11. DIFFERENT STROKES FOR DIFFERENT FOLKS; OR: WALL STREET AND ME
I’ve got a friend at the Chase Manhattan, the First National City, the Franklin National, the Marine Midland, the Dime, the Greenwich, the Bowery, Manufacturers Hanover, Bankers Trust, the New York Bank for Savings, the Bank of America, the Bank of Israel, the Bank of Tokyo, and just about every other bank, major or minor, operating in this country.
In other words, bankers are among my very best customers.
These money men account for about ten percent of my business, and when you consider the dozens of other professional categories – from athletes to aristocrats, doctors to diplomats, publishers to politicians, lawyers to judges, company presidents and other businessmen, and even some clergy – all patronizing my house, this occupation makes up a substantial share of the market.
There is only one other profession that outranks bankers as dedicated clients, and that is the stockbroker. These are such a horny bunch of brothel-creepers that I would estimate fifty percent of my business is directly tied to the market trends.
If the averages take a significant tumble – the stockbrokers will not!
Happily, the reverse is true, and if it has been a good day on Wall Street, I can be certain that by eleven o’clock that night my phone will ring red hot, or groups of six or eight juiced-up stockbrokers will appear at my door. When the stocks go up, the cocks go up!
Brokers, as a group, are likelier to patronize my premises, whereas the more conservative bankers tend frequently to call up for take-out service. But no matter where, when, how, or why their desire, I always go out of my way to satisfy their demands, because if I don’t, there is always a rival madam who will.
One relatively quiet Friday night this summer I received a late-late call from a regular New York banker customer wanting six girls for the same number of out-of-town investment bankers he was entertaining. It happened that the girls who were not otherwise professionally occupied were already away for the weekend or relaxing with their boyfriends, so in order not to let the bankers down, I decided to take on the assignment by myself.
I was pleased to discover when I went over to the Hilton that they were all staying on the same floor and had appointed their New York host as treasurer, so it was just a matter of negotiating with him a package deal and zipping from one room to the next, boom, boom, fifteen minutes, in, out, and I was back home in two hours considerably richer.
Another time I took it upon myself to attend a mortgage bankers’ convention in Miami to further my goodwill, and, naturally, increase my wealth.
On that occasion last winter, I took along one of my stronger girls, Raquel, and checked into the Fontainebleau, where the convention was being held. During the day we would sit by the pool soaking up the warm sun and engaging in social chitchat, while, all the time, I kept my eyes open to see which cabanas the bankers occupied.
On the first afternoon we squeezed in a couple of customers before our late-afternoon nap, and after dinner that night we made our pitch in the Poodle Lounge, where the delegates were all relaxing. I would start up a conversation about being down from New York, and the banker would usually ask, “And what are you doing here in Miami?”
“I am here for entertainment purposes,” I would answer.
“Are you a singer or a dancer or something like that?”
“No,” I would reply, “I am here to entertain the mortgage bankers.” It was as simple and direct as that, and to show you what good customers they were, the first night we had about six men each, and the second night, after word spread like a brushfire, I remember going up and down in the hotel elevator ten times in less than three hours.
Business was so fantastic that we didn’t have the strength to last for the four-day convention. On the fourth morning I woke up so exhausted that I told Raquel, “Pack your bags, we’re flying back to New York today.”
At home in my own house I could earn the same money as administrator while my girls did the strenuous work. However, I believe I built up several lasting contacts in Miami, because many of these bankers still call me whenever they are in New York.
I first gained my good reputation with the stockbrokers in my fledgling days when I operated alone in my little studio and was known to be able to take on half a dozen at one time. While I would be screwing one, the others would be lining up in the kitchen boozing and joking. The more I screwed, the hornier I became, so that everybody went away happy and we all had a lot of laughs as well.
With bankers, and especially brokers, it is important that they are given a scrupulously honest financial deal, because if one of them felt cheated out of his money’s worth, word could spread along Wall Street, and you could lose a slice of your business.
Brokers, while they may be my biggest customers, are not necessarily my favorite ones, especially when they arrive at my house polluted and rowdy and arguing about who goes with whom and for how much. The loud behavior of this particular raucous type, I believe, is a reflection of their ethnic origins, because most of them are of Irish descent.
Last St. Patrick’s Day my house was like Belfast under siege. They arrived in drunken groups, and I had a difficult time keeping order, with them running around wearing nothing but green neckties or bright green ribbons around their cocks, boozing and carrying on more than they were using my girls.
I will say one thing for the American-Irish-stockbroker types, though – they are always horny, and even if the market dips, they still want to come around. But they try to get away for less money.
In a bordello, most ethnic or geographic groups conform to distinct behavior patterns, and I have compiled an alphabetical list of twelve of my most regular patrons and their sexual or social attitudes (otherwise known as Madam Xaviera’s dirty dozen).