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Recently in Salon Health & Body

Urge: Naked World
Gays coming out of the bamboo closet
The spread of the Internet and fear of the AIDS epidemic prompt China to embrace a new openness toward gay lifestyles.
By Hank Hyena
[01/26/00]

The joys of anorexia
Not everyone is destroyed by eating disorders.
By Georgie Binks
[01/27/00]

Urge: Naked World
Beauty and the beak
Philippine women turn to nasal inserts for longer, "whiter" noses.
By Hank Hyena
[01/27/00]

Column
Turning orange
Raw carrot abuse is nothing to laugh at.
By Mary Roach
[01/28/00]

Urge: Naked World
Ugandan sex slaves released
After four years of sexually servicing rebel soldiers, kidnapped Catholic schoolgirls are finally freed.
By Hank Hyena
[01/28/00]

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Barry steepled his hands and picked up the thread: "I'm what?"

Nancy Chan: Diary of a Manhattan Call Girl Final episode + About Nancy Chan: Diary of a Manhattan Call Girl -- with links to all episodes to date. + Read the Diary from the start.

"Nothing!" I moaned into his hankie. "I just remembered something formative that happened -- my first sun-shower! I think you're one of those male mother-figures I've heard about."

He liked that. "Well, you're the first woman who ever called me that. You really think so?" He opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle of scotch and two paper cups. "Here."

After a sip, I said, "You're the only guy in my life right now who's not fucking me. And you're the only one who has a clue how to help me."

"You think that's a coincidence?" he said. "Anyway, it's nothing to cry about -- here," he poured some more scotch. "Sun-showers," he mused. "If only my clients' days consisted entirely of sun-showers."

Friday

I spent Thursday in a sober mood, with my business phone off, poring over the reports about April, determined that my sex life, love life -- men -- would not prevent me from staying current. Especially since I've literally been in bed with someone who's in the news. That's always reason enough to keep up.

At the health club, Randy was nowhere to be found. A distracted receptionist told me he was still out of town. With a great sense of purpose, I got into my exercise drag and spent an entire hour on the Stairmaster, wondering if I could ever renounce my romantic life and let myself go. But I'm still working -- I have at least another decade, I thought, staring at the control panel on the Stairmaster. So I'm immature! Disorganized! Attracted to men! Did Randy mean all those things that he said while we were fucking? Did he just say them to turn me on? Did I fall for the cheapest line in the universe?

It occurs to me that, boyfriend-free, I could accomplish great things: I could work most week nights, save money, even do the occasional coke date -- without putting any coke in my nose, of course, but those type of johns pay by the hour ... I could abstain from handbags, hot new restaurants and love; lead the pragmatic life of a spinster-slut, only putting out for money; could Milt, my favorite client, be a satisfying romantic outlet?

At dinner, with Jasmine, I was subdued, contemplating my new lifestyle. "So you broke up with Matt," she said, frowning. "After all that investment -- a year, almost!"

"He didn't exactly want to fight for me," I told her. "Boyfriends are a professional liability. I'm better off. My nights are free!"

"Yes but late-night johns -- they're a bunch of crazy freaks. Do you want to take my phones tomorrow night?" Jasmine offered. "Call-forwarding. You might pick up some extra business. We can split it 50-50. I'm taking David out -- it's his birthday."

"You're what? I thought --" What did she call David's job? A crime against nature because women shouldn't pay for it! She adopted a primness I've never seen before and opened her compact.

"I'm afraid to ask," I finally said. "What made you change your mind?"

"I told you," she said, applying gloss to her lips. "He's a symmetrical male. Blue birds --"

"Oh, please. We're mammals, not birds!"

"Don't you, of all girls, understand? I saw the way you were looking at Randy -- Anabel didn't understand what was going on, but I did."

"Let's not discuss Randy."

There was a faraway look in her eyes that I found very disturbing.

Saturday

When my phone rang last night, Matt's voice threw me off. I was still waiting by the phone for Randy's call. "I need to see you in person," Matt insisted. "You have an extra set of my keys."

"I'll mail them," I said, hanging up. The phone rang again.

"Don't you dare mail them!" he said. "I need to get into my apartment! Don't make me call the locksmith!"

"You -- uh -- are you serious?" The sheet from my last client was still draped across my bed, littered with condom wrappers. "You lost your keys?"

"I locked myself out. Look, whatever you might think of me --"

"All right!" I replied. "But we can't -- you can't --"

"I know you don't want me to stay over. I'm not stupid. I'll take my keys and get out of your life if that's what you want."

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