Monthly Archives: August 2014

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I am not at home because I am typing this from Italy. Lucky me!
My long weekend break, returning tomorrow morning, with Giovanni, started as “coffee soon?” and became “take your passport and meet me at Heathrow at 13:00 hours. Giovanni was born in the West End to Sicilian parents and emigrated there in 1990 before making his home somewhere between Tuscany and Paris. He has an ex-wife, five children, three dogs, a villa in the Tuscan countryside, and a mistress in Paris with one child. Before you ask how he manages to afford to keep them all, his six-figure salary seems to be that.

How do I fit in? Well, he does like to keep up appearances with the Italian social elite and to rub his ex-wife’s nose in the fact that he hasn’t lost touch with the ladies. Ex-Mrs. Giovanni is unaware of the Parisian mistress or the half-brother of her offspring, so I step in as the model girlfriend. I don’t mind; I love Italy, and I’m accustomed to being discreet.

So we came to Italy for proper coffee, ground from good coffee beans, in an authentic restaurant by an adequate barista. I used a small amount of Italian vocabulary on him – enough to say “grazie” – and flashed my most dazzling smile. Red-blooded Mediterranean men do like to feel appreciated by red-blooded British women! And how do I want my coffee? Well, I am partial to a cappuccino, but I prefer a latte – especially when it’s homegrown.

I discovered that the barista training is conveniently located right around the corner from the hotel. How exciting!

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What a miserable and wet day here in Mayfair, far from yesterday. The sun was shining and beautiful, but we were in England, I suppose. I did think about taking a trip down to Oxford Street to see my sister, but the size of the raindrops falling into the puddles convinced me that staying indoors was a better option.

And what a good job too! I received an in-call from Marcus at 11.30 a.m. asking if I was at home as he desperately needed to see me, and I was all too eager to a) have the company and b) know his fetish for women’s shoes, have him come over and help me. Maybe he could persuade me to keep some and donate others to my auction. By the way, I’ve decided to do that on the last Friday of the month – the 27th – to allow for payday and credit card payments.

Marcus hot-footed it over to me from Bayswater in a taxi. As he shook out his umbrella, he complained that the stormy weather was playing havoc with his bike riding. “I just don’t trust these London motorists”, he said as he bounded up the stairs to my apartment. “They’re absolute maniacs!” I tutted my sympathy, handed him a mug of my finest coffee and pointed him toward the cupboard.

Honestly, you’d have thought all Marcus’s birthdays had come at once. He dropped to his knees and fell upon the boxes of heels, boots and pumps like a man dying of thirst on the banks of an oasis in the desert. I hardly got a word out of him for ten solid minutes.

Between us, we caressed and licked (Marcus), sorted and stacked (me) the contents of my shoe cupboard in readiness for the auction. We managed to weed out the ones I wear from the ones I definitely would never wear again, and I let Marcus keep a couple of pairs for the odd lonely night. In return, he told me to grab my coat as it was past lunchtime, and he wanted to treat me to “something delicious” from a celebrity restaurant. Armed with my Burberry Mac and designer umbrella, how could I possibly refuse? I’m a very lucky escort 😉

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I have an acute sense of smell. Most women do, let’s face it, but my nose could smell a rose in a perfume factory. This brings me nicely to today.

I have a client who works as a perfumer in Fulham, South West London, manufacturing on behalf of Gucci, Prada and Chanel – my three favourite brands. When asked what his profession is, he describes himself as a ‘Nez’ (nose), which incites confusion in the uneducated and a look of delight in others. As an expensive escort, I have many gentlemen friends in high-end professions, but nothing compares to Harvey.

As I am a “special friend”, Harvey says he wants to create a signature scent just for me – something that would be my essence in a glass bottle. I was thrilled and joined him at his workshop, bouncing with full excitement, determined to create something genuinely intoxicating that I could wear whenever I went out.
As a girlie-girl, I love smells like Emporio Armani ‘Diamonds’, Prada ‘Candy Girl’ and Givenchy ‘Truly Irresistible’. Granted, I have so many bottles of perfume on my dressing table that I could own a counter at Selfridges, but I can’t help if my clients want to spoil me. When we go out shopping, it seems to be a safe purchase, vetted by yours truly. I always carry a small bottle of Chanel No. 5 in my overnight bag because it pairs well with most clients, and it reminds me of Katherine Hepburn and Grace Kelly.

So, we spent the day sampling as many smells as my nose would allow. Harvey made me inhale coffee beans to cancel out the scents (like a sorbet between courses), and I decided that despite my penchant for sweet smells, I am drawn to oriental, warm fragrances. By the time we had finished, I had a bottle of amber-coloured liquid laced with musk, vanilla, exotic resins and wood, accompanied by exotic flowers and spices. Yum! We called it “Chameleon” for all the different faces I wear and my adaptability. And it earned Harvey many brownie points in my little black book!

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Now I’m not being biased, but I must say I do have some damn good ideas when it comes to pleasing my clients and those of my colleagues. I have been known to wow my peers on my own, which has led to them asking me for advice on all sorts of things. Whether they are new to the company or have been with it for a long time, I get pounced on during our monthly catch-ups, and no more so than during the one we had today.

One of the team’s newer members, a sultry Blonde, asked me not only for advice but also to join her on a big client date. Dan, the client in question, is a regular at everybody’s! He loves women, and in his eyes, the more, the merrier. He also likes to have a mix-up from week to week, so he may book you twice a month and then not call you for a few months. So, when you have a date with him, it’s essential to keep his interest and make him want to return for more. “Dan” is an international playboy in his spare time and must have a few girls in every city. I accompanied him to what he initially described as a business meeting in New York, followed by a cocktail party in the Waldorf Astoria Hotel. However, this meant Dan’s private ‘cocktail ‘party with two escorts while he watched us.

So, my platinum friend asked me to devise a plan to wow, astound, and wear him out. He has booked a suite in one of Knightsbridge’s classiest hotels and has given her a budget of…whatever she wants. So, we decided to go shopping and talk as we shop. We’re women; we can multitask!

Dan is 42, gorgeous, loves women and money, has power, and owns 14 businesses, ranging from fashion to a successful restaurant with his beautiful dining room in Sloane Square, overlooking Tiffany and Links. He is a busy man, so I wanted to pamper him so he wouldn’t have to lift a finger unless we placed something strategically in his line of sight, and he wouldn’t have to move too much to reach it. So we went to Harrods to buy some sumptuous champagne, chocolate truffles and other luxury goodies to spoil the over-testosteroned male!

He won’t know what hit him after we finally stopped to look at our purchases and gave each other a well-deserved high five. We will keep you posted.

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Today, I am going to an Auction. Well, it was an early start. My right-hand man, Franco, was in Mayfair with a cardboard carrier of Americano coffees and some croissants to go. As I had my hair in a towel and my stress head on, this was a very welcome sight! My door was wedged open with a shoe – not being auctioned off – and some burly and tasty young men were moving in and out of it. Sometimes, I almost said, “Oh, not that one,” but Franco shook his head wordlessly at me, and I had to let them go.

And then we were off to Oxford Circus! I could feel the adrenaline as we watched the crates and rails being unloaded by a team of highly organised young women. I have no idea where they came from, but they had something to do with James and his abundant knowledge of fundraiser organisers. They treated me like royalty, and I could almost taste the palpable aura of garment lust. “If you want it, you’ll have to bid on it, darling, Franco said to one young, sexy blonde pawing a limited edition Pucci silk jacket.

At ten o’clock, the doors were flung open to the public. The rows of seats were immediately filled, the edges of the warehouse flanked by assistants on the phone and other buyers. I recognised a few faces from my regular haunts (Kensington, Fulham and Chelsea) – a few gave me the thumbs up. My beautician was right at the front with her life savings to bid on one of my pink fur coats.

There was an expectant buzz, and then Franco introduced the cause, and then… me! I was waved to the front to say a few words, and my mouth went dry, but I managed it. And after deafening applause, it began…

Money, running into tens, hundreds and thousands, flew across that warehouse. A pair of strappy Jimmy Choo shoes from SS07 sold for £900 within the first ten minutes. Scraps of silk, lace, satin and feathers exchanged hands like hotcakes. A few Japanese girls were in the audience battling for Chanel and Chloe, whom I thought might get ugly at one point. Thankfully, James had the sense to hire me some security guards when he was dishing out the employment for the day.

And by 13.30, it was all over. The cash tin was counted, the cheques and credit card slips bundled, and after checking three times, the total for my designer goods at auction was….. £327,089! And no, I’m not kidding. Bear in mind that I have (had!)My collection features some affluent clients and a selection of retro, authentic pieces; it’s still quite impressive!

Enjoy St. Barnardo’s and SCOPE – two worthy causes.

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