reports are inconclusive on whether or not the Republican National
Convention was a boon to New York City's economy. None, however, have
yet attempted to account for the bonanza in unreported and untaxable
income flowing into the city during the week of the GOP soiree. In a
quest for hard figures, investigate reporter I.M. Simpering called on
his contacts in Manhattan's escort industry. Instead he heard tales
of hard living and debauchery, which he has agreed to publish in The
The following isan excerpt from one of Professor Simpering's
interviews with an anonymous woman from Baltimore, who was working in
New York during the convention. The full text will be available in Simpering's
forthcoming book, "Bang For Their Buck".
Beast: Hi, how are you?
Hooker: I'll be fine. The Convention's over so I'm just
trying to get some much needed rest. It will be nice not to have to
deal with that shit again.
B: Right. You must have had some interesting experiences.
H: Experiences, huh?
B: Perhaps you met some prominent Republicans.
H: I don't follow politics.
You knew enough to come to New York during the convention.
H: Well, all the girls I know were talking about it beforehand.
Everyone from Maine to San Diego came to make some money.
B: Maine, eh. What do those girls look like?
H: [Laughter] There are some good-looking ones up there,
at least in the eyes of a lobsterman or maple syrup farmer.
B: So you heard about the convention and decided to
get in on the action
H: I was debating whether or not to come when some associates
from New York called and said that someone was asking specifically for
a girl from Baltimore and that I could make serious money.
B: Why Baltimore?
H: At first I didn't understand either. When I met the
John, or the "client" as he preferred to be called, he kept
insisting that someone named Liddy had said the best hookers came from
Baltimore. He was adamant about it.
B: Who was he, the client that is?
H: Let's get one thing straight: I'm not going to be the
Deep Throat of prostitution. I don't want to be the next Gennifer Flowers
or Monica Lewinsky.
B: I thought your job involved some Deep Throat-type
H: [Laughter] Yeah, that kind is okay.
B: Seriously, it sounds as though you know more about
politics than you're letting on. I mean, the Gennifer Flowers and Deep
H: In my business it's best not to know too much. All
I know is what this client told me, and then I've tried to forget most
of that as soon as I walked out the door. This job would be a hell of
a burden if I had to think about it all the time.
B: But you haven't forgotten about the week of the
convention, have you?
H: God, no! I remember a little too vividly every minute
I spent in the suite at The Plaza Hotel, especially when those lunatic
protesters climbed the building's façade. I spent five nights
in that hotel - it's wonderful, really - but I couldn't relax under
B: Why not?
H: Mostly it was the broad-shouldered men with military
style haircuts and sunglasses. They hung around the suite the entire
time and told me, "This never happened, understand? Because if
it did, you never happened. Get it?"
B: Did they have a go, too?
H: A go? No. They were asexual, but very threatening.
I think they may have been eunuchs.
B: Still, you're willing to tell your story. Isn't
H: This is anonymous, right?
B: Oh, yeah. [awkward silence] Why don't you tell me
about your week.
H: As I said, I spent five nights in The Plaza. I arrived
Sunday, and so did the client. Everything had been arranged through
intermediaries. I was watching TV in the suite with the security detail
just sort of hanging around in the background, which made it impossible
B: How's that?
H: They would press their fingers to their ears and then
whisper to one another. All I could make out was something about Ellis
Island. They were talking among themselves when the client burst in.
He had removed his glasses and was rubbing his eyes. "Goddamn filthy
pinko pacificists," he said. He reached into the mini-fridge and
lined up three small bottles of bourbon. He removed the tops, tilted
his head back, and poured the bourbon directly into his mouth.
B: All three?
H: Yeah. He just poured all three into his mouth at once.
Then he loosened his tie and turned to me with a big smile and said,
"Hello, my dear." It was creepy; his chin was shiny with bourbon.
He grunted at the security detail, and soon someone brought him some
coke and cut it up on the tabletop. The client sucked up a few lines
with a $100 bill. He had a fat roll of $100s.
B: What an appetite. This guy wasn't fooling around
about what he put into his body, huh.
H: [Laughter] You don't know the half. He stuffed all
sorts of things into his body. I did too, I guess.
H: There's a bit of a backstory. After the coke, the client
became excited. He licked my cheek several times and then ordered security
out of the room. "Give me some privacy, you filthy eunuchs,"
he sneered. "And someone please get some bananas immediately."
H: I'm getting to that. The security detail stepped out
and I began to undress, but the client snapped, "That won't be
necessary." Then he mellowed. "You're hot aren't you? Goddamn,
it's hot in here." He removed his shirt and pants. He had a large
purple scar on his chest. He was rubbing the lumpy tissue and whispering,
" He began doing more lines but
was interrupted by a knock at the door. "Will you get that my dear,"
he said, while trying not to breath through his nose.
B: Who was it?
H: The security detail with several bananas. One of them
stepped inside. "Lynne's been calling, sir," he said. "She's
done shopping and insists on knowing your whereabouts." The client
was agitated. He was sweating rivers. "This is really
he said. "Tell her that I'm in a top-secret security briefing."
Then he smirked and said, "Tell her I'm at an undisclosed location."
He sort of chuckled but the security man just nodded and closed the
B: Wait a second. This has got to be
H: No. No. No. I said I won't tell, and I can't. Otherwise
this interview ends now.
No problem. Just continue
where you left off - about the bananas.
H: Right. The security detail left us alone. The client
was wired and began dancing to a Garth Brooks song. When it ended, he
would just hit replay. I can't remember the name, though. The client
watched himself in the mirror. I was just sitting on the bed slowly
undressing because, frankly, the whole scene made me nervous. I was
hoping to get it over with.
H: The client was massaging his scar while watching himself
in the mirror. He was whispering, or chanting something that I couldn't
make out. "Why don't you come over here and relax," I said
while spreading out on the bed. He turned. "My dear," he said,
"you are a fine example of the female form." Then he added,
"Where are you from?"
I replied, "Baltimore." He got a far-off look in his eyes.
"Baltimore," he repeated wistfully. "Good
He continued to rub his scar and stare into the mirror. "Liddy
says the Baltimore girls are the finest."
B: What did you say?
H: I told him to come over and find out, but he replied,
"I have a very special task for you. See, I'm not well." He
walked over to the bed. "See this," he said pointing to the
scars. "There's no easy way to say this, but I have the heart of
an animal." He was looking deeply into my eyes. "I'll bet
you do," I replied. "Why don't you come and show me, Tiger."
Suddenly his mood changed. "Goddamnit," he yelled. "This
is fucking important." The security detail rushed into the room
at the commotion. The client screamed at them: "Get out, you fuckers.
I'll have you castrated with fishing line. Get out!"
B: Jesus, he sounds crazed. Weren't you scared?
H: I was terrified, but he seemed to calm down. At least
he lowered his voice so the security detail wouldn't come rushing in
again. He said, "I must tell you this, so you'll understand what
I'm about to ask you to do. It's the only way I can get any relief.
See, a commotion like we just had would have killed me a few years ago.
My heart would have seized up. Now I'm as strong as an ape." Then
he paused and gazed out the window. "But there's a tradeoff. In
fact, it could be called a curse, except that I've been getting so damned
rich lately that I cannot really complain." He chuckled. "You
can trust me," I said, because he was scaring me. I reached into
the front of his boxer shorts, but he knocked my hand away. "There's
no time for that," he snarled, grabbing the bananas and disappearing
into the bathroom. I could hear the water running in the sink. Soon
he emerged with wet bananas dripping onto the carpet. "Hungry,"
he asked, peeling one.
B: Were you?
H: No. He began eating the banana while pouring the rest
of the coke onto the tabletop. Then he rolled the other bananas in the
B: That seems strange.
H: Perhaps, but in my business you have to be shockproof.
I just acted like it was nothing unusual. Meanwhile, between bites he
talked about his heart. "I thought I wouldn't have more than a
few weeks to live," he said. "Fortunately I have some good
friends from South Africa. It used to be a lovely country, you know.
The first successful heart transplant took place in South Africa in
1967. This occurred before the kaffirs took over - that's what they
call niggers over there." He took another bite of banana. "DeKlerk
had no choice, really. He had to turn the country over to the kaffirs;
it was getting too expensive, and can you imagine if they had seized
power by force? South Africa had the bomb. Imagine if some black hand
was on the button. Terrible
They were all terrorists
- Mandela, all of them. I voted against
well, never mind that.
You don't want to hear about politics. Shit, I've had enough of politics
for today. Now it's time to scratch that itch, as it were." I said:
"I'll scratch your itch, baby. Come over here." He had calmed
down considerably. He grinned and took a bite of banana, and continued,
"My friends from South Africa are advanced in the medical sciences.
After years of experiments on the kaffirs, they were soon transplanting
primate hearts in humans with some success. It was still risky
but the benefits." He paused for a moment. "It's been a blessing
to me and my family," he said finally.
B: Wait. I'm sorry to interrupt, but this man has a
H: So he said.
Okay. Go ahead.
H: He set the banana peel down and picked up the bananas
soaked with cocaine and pressed one into my hand. "Now you'll earn
your money, my dear," he said. He removed his boxers and grabbed
his leather belt and a tube of lubricant. I heard the tube make a farting
sound behind his back. He folded the belt in half and clenched it between
B: Oh, Jesus.
H: Yeah. Do I have to draw a diagram for you?
B: No. I get the picture.
H: Good, because I don't want to recapitulate the details,
although it got easier during the subsequent days because I knew what
to expect. Also, the client became more pleasant after what we came
to call his treatments. The almost avuncular person people saw on TV
during the week was the result of some heavy action in a suite at The
B: So you've learned something about politics?
H: Not really.
B: Or the political animal anyway.
H: [Laughter] Yes, I suppose I learned that the political
animal has a baboon's heart.