(estimated reading time: 5 minutes)

I could not see her face. In fact, I could not see anything at all. The air was warm and humid. It smelled of incense and vintage perfume. Somewhere at the far end of the corridor, a stained glass lamp cast a soft golden halo on the wall.



“Hi Eve, it’s nice to meet you finally. I’m sorry I could not properly speak when you rang earlier, this cold is just refusing to go!”

The Madam tried to clear her throat only to be smothered by a violent coughing fit. She spoke softly in a hoarse voice like rotten velvet. I followed her down the dark corridor into a brightly lit room. The room had a vintage-looking bed in the middle; velour curtains draped all around the walls and a soft, plush carpet. There was a mini-fridge by the window with a tray of mineral water bottles and glasses sitting on top.

Elvira Mistress of the Dark. Copyright: Dynamite

The Madam sat on the bed and gestured in the direction of an armchair opposite, inviting me to sit. Somehow, she looked exactly like one would expect a French Madam to look. She wore a tight-fitting, black jump-suit with an extremely low-cut cleavage. Her dark and luscious locks framed her elegant facial features. She reminded me a lot of Elvira – Mistress of the Dark without the heavy eyeliner. The pair of augmented breasts and vampy nails completed the look. I couldn’t help but wonder whether I imagined it or whether she really did look a little mournful and exhausted.

“Anyway, I am Dominique, nice to meet you. Do you want something to drink? Water? I have mineral and sparkling right here.” -she waved in the direction of the fridge – “I also have tea, herbal tea, wine…all right, it’s a bit early for wine, although my late father-in-law would have probably disagreed.” – she giggled nervously.

“I am sorry, I’m a bit of a mess today,”- she continued with a sigh after a brief, ponderous pause – “It’s been a rough week for us here. This girl… she caused us so much trouble and made us feel crazy. I still feel crazy. Anyway, sorry, thanks for dropping by anyway. Do you want to tell me a bit about yourself?”

I didn’t really know where to begin. As hard as I looked online the night before, surprise surprise, it turns out not many career-coaching websites teach you how to pass an interview at an escorting agency. I told her a bit about my background, my studies, my day job and the disaster that was my other agency.

“Bah, plenty of those around these days.” – she nodded sympathetically – “People think they can set up a website and voilá, make some quick cash. I’m sorry, that’s not how it works. Things were so much more proper twenty-thirty years ago when I started working. You really had to win your clients’ trust and build your clientele. Well, we are not like that here, don’t worry. I know most of our clients personally. I’ve known some for two decades. Do you do drugs by the way? Good! Because we also do not tolerate any drugs here. Most of the girls we work with have regular careers, and they do this on the side to supplement their income. “

For the next couple of hours, we talked extensively about the state of the industry, different agencies, malpractices and handling demanding clients. Occasionally the phone would ring, and she would excuse herself to respond. Over the course of those two hours, I heard her speak on the phone in five different languages. There was clearly a lot more to her than just being an average agency Madam. The more we talked, the more at ease I felt. When talking about escorting, her tone was incredibly matter-of-fact and professional. She was galaxies away from all those agency owners whom I had the (dis)pleasure of chatting to on the phone. Gradually, she began to open up to me about her life. And what an exciting life she’d had! Her twenties were spent air hostessing as well as working in various corporate jobs and living in different countries. Like many girls endowed with her looks and figure, she sometimes fantasised about becoming a pin-up model. It was never something she seriously considered, until one day, when she got scouted to model for PlayBoy. Although it felt like a massive break-through at the time, unfortunately, after appearing in a couple of issues, her career did not really take off. Despite being drop-dead gorgeous (she showed me her PlayBoy photos – can confirm, she was stunning), she didn’t quite seem to fit the bill. I am still, a little hazy on the details of how she ended up in London in the early nineties and how she became an escort. Still, one thing that became clear from her stories is that before she became independent, she had experienced her fair share of sleazy agents who treated her like trash and sent her to dangerous clients. Eventually, when she transitioned into owning her own agency, she vowed to stay true to her principles and create an alternative agency that would not cater to the drug-fuelled party scene and protect the girls working for her.

“My clients” – she explained – “are looking for a bit more than just a shag. You need to have a decent brain, pay attention to current affairs and culture as well as have some empathy. Clients need to feel comfortable with you and be able to talk to you about their life if they feel like it. You really need to be able to uphold a decent conversation.”

I was trying to make a good impression by listening intently, attempting to ignore the fluffy, meowing monster sharpening his claws on my armchair and rubbing his head against my leg.

“Ah, oui mon petit chou, come to mama… hey he likes you… come to mama…he has a good taste usually.” – she cradled the kitty like a baby in her arms. “That girl, the one who made us crazy; he was so scared of her. He could not be in the same room with her from the beginning. I think he could sense that she was a psychopath. Oui…oui…mon bébé, you are so smart, you are such a smart boy.” – she gave the cat a loud smooch.

“Interesting. Why do you think she was a psychopath? Sorry, don’t mean to be intrusive, it’s just that, let’s say, I have some experience…” – I had no idea who or what she was talking about and felt like I was missing out on some crucial context.

There was a knock on the door, and a dishevelled rugged-looking man peeked through.

“Dominique, you busy? Oh hello there beautiful lady, what’s your name? ” – he said with a smirk in a thick French accent, and a growly voice which I imagine was a real panty-dropper for some women. Although he was friendly, being referred to as a “beautiful lady” somehow made me cringe. He was around Dominique’s age, dark-haired, with bulging muscles under his t-shirt. He came in and sat on the floor like a child with his legs outstretched. The body-builder physique made his pose ever so much more comical. Despite his flirtatious manner, his eyes were also full of grief and hurt.

“Ah this is Thibaut, he is our photographer, and we run the agency together. Also, my ex-husband” – Dominique giggled.

“It was a long time ago and it’s a long story”- explained Thibaut in response to my raised eyebrows.

“Thibaut, this is Eve, I was just telling her about the psychopath! And she says she has some experience with them… Tell her what happened!”

At this point, I began to wish that I hadn’t said anything about my psychopath experience. Thibaut clasped my wrist with both hands, and thus began an intense and chaotic tale of a personal/professional relationship that turned sour and abusive. I will omit the details for confidentiality and brevity’s sake. Let’s just say, that 6 hours later, we were all still sitting in the room, eating cookies, drinking Moroccan mint tea, and I was playing the role of a therapist. Although it felt good to be able to emotionally help a couple of people who clearly went through a deeply traumatic experience, I also legitimately did not know what to make out of them. Compared to James, they did not seem sleazy. They both seemed pretty educated and clearly knew their way around the industry. There was no fake charm. They were a bit weird, sure, and emotionally on edge, but there did not seem to be any ulterior motive or malice.



We parted after midnight, with both of them giving me giant bear hugs and thanking me profusely for listening to their story. Both seemed to have completely forgotten that this was supposed to be an interview for an escorting job.

This was hands down, the weirdest job interview I had ever had. What was even weirder – was that I got the job.

I decided to proceed with cautious optimism. Now, it was time to deal with James…