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Recently in Salon Health & Body

Urge: Naked World
Sexpert Bright sues Virginia!
Last July, a Virginia law began banning any Internet content it deemed "harmful for juveniles." Now free-speechers and cybersex gurus are fighting back.
By Hank Hyena
[10/25/99]

Column
Flush of the future
Tokyo's Toto makes toilets that do everything -- whether you want them to or not.
By Mary Roach
[10/22/99]

Urge: Naked World
The changing fates of working girls
Germany greenlights its red-lighters, but Zambia says hookers mean trouble.
By Hank Hyena
[10/22/99]

Pentagon points a finger
Anti-nerve-gas pills may be a culprit, but in general, Gulf War Syndrome is still a mystery.
By Arthur Allen
[10/21/99]

Waiting room
For the great numbers of uninsured, the care may not be bad -- but the wait is.
By Scott Harris
[10/21/99]

Complete archives for Health & Body

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Tuesday morning, September 7

My romantic weekend with Matt was a blessed escape from Friday's nightmare revelations -- I turned all the ringers off, stashed my cell phone in the dresser and buried all thoughts of johns, government snoops or talkative girlfriends. I was glad Matt didn't want us to hang out in the Hamptons with his sister. We both felt smug about avoiding the mosquito-menaced Labor Day crowds. Gazing at Matt through the toasty glow of two pomegranate margaritas at Rosa Mexicana, I smiled at the thought that I have a secret lover -- Randy -- who intends to ravish me later in the week. For an entire dinner, I forgot that I am also a hooker with worries and responsibilities -- a weekly quota to meet, clients to maintain, an IRS agent questioning my colleagues. My universe regrouped itself around just two guys -- an attentive boyfriend with a future and a delicious young lover -- and me. When Matt made love to me, I was reassured by his long, hungry kisses -- as if some mysterious force was driving him to re-possess my body.

Then I spent Labor Day Monday, boyfriend-free, in a soul-searching funk -- wondering who I can really trust, besides Jasmine. I could feel her closing in on me when I told her about the messy, incomplete tax records sitting in my vintage hat box. "A charming hiding spot for your infantile secrets," she said, rather acidly. "Now I know what you and Allie have in common -- more style than substance. Let me see what you did with 1996 ... Where's 1997?"

Nancy Chan: Diary of a Manhattan Call Girl appears in Health & Body every Monday and Thursday. + About Nancy Chan: Diary of a Manhattan Call Girl -- with links to all episodes to date. + Read the Diary from the start.

Shades of Mom -- demanding a detailed account of my financial practices, which I vainly attempted to fudge when I couldn't remember how much I spent on shampoo (a "necessity" according to Mom's system) or fan magazines (a "frivolity"). Along with my new allowance, Mom had provided me with a neatly organized list of Personal Necessities, School-related Expenses (like bus tickets and notebooks) -- and Frivolities. I've never forgotten how tiny and forlorn was the amount allocated to "frivolities." I tried to argue that I had spent most of it on sanitary pads and Clearasil but didn't have enough of a stockpile to show for it.

"You can't go near those IRS thugs without getting your paperwork in order," Jasmine was telling me. "God, I wish they'd come after me instead of pestering the bimbos and cowards of this town."

Yes, if you could volunteer for government harassment, Jasmine might actually sign up -- she has developed an unnatural interest in Tom Winters, even going so far as to comb the residential phone listings for the snoop's whereabouts, starting with Manhattan.

Tuesday night

I met Allison this afternoon on the steps of the Jewish Museum, where the Freud exhibit is about to close. There was a small mob forming in the foyer when I arrived -- Allison, decked out in her museum-hopping gear, was, for once, on time for a social encounter with a girlfriend.

Next page | The return of Allison's book