If you have never heard of Putaville, the capital of Povera, then you likely haven't read
Mollie Buys a Brothel
. You've never met Mollie Grossman, Jim Grinsted, or Ronaldo. You have no clue about the hi-tech, ten-storey building full of sex known as Lagarde's Hotel & Spa. So my advice to you is to go back and read
Mollie Buys a Brothel
,
by JimGrinsted. But failing that, I still hope you enjoy this story.
Chapter One
Ruthie did what Ruthie always did every day before breakfast -- she walked with her little sister to fetch water.
The shantytowns of Putaville had long since outgrown the water mains, so Ruthie and Rachel walked for nearly a mile to the communal tap. And there they waited their turn, sometimes for an hour, before lugging the liquid home.
Ruthie has been fetching water since she was three years old. It's a chore for girls and young women. Old women can no longer do it, and men never carry water. Not even gay men carry water.
That particular injustice didn't cross Ruthie's mind this morning, though she was thinking about men. In particular, her marriage prospects sucked, as her mother had just made explicitly clear. At 19 years old Ruthie was washed up -- nearly a spinster. By contrast, Rachel, 15, was already betrothed. In Poveran custom girls were married on their 16th birthday.
Tribal traditions made Ruthie's task even harder. Women had to marry men from certain clans, and once you factored in all the other constraints (geography, age, suitability), there were exactly three eligible bachelors for Ruthie to choose among. Except they weren't all eligible -- two of them had already tied the knot. So Ruthie had to marry Tommy if at all.
She didn't dislike Tommy. Quite the contrary -- he had charm and good looks.
"He's a lush," said her mother, bluntly.
"He'll outgrow it," argued Ruthie.
"You know better than that! Just remember your father. I did all the work, and he spent all the money. Before I kicked him out, that is. Is that how you want to live your life?"
"So what do you want me to do?"
"Find somebody else to marry. Putaville is a big city, and you don't have to follow the custom anymore."
"Mama -- you know that won't work. I have a past."
That was the problem. Few of the world's women are still virgins at age 19, and Ruthie had lost hers at 17. But the event had been public -- it happened in a bar when for the first and last time ever she'd gotten drunk. Half the town had seen her stumble off with Mr. Maponga. That one mistake rendered her damaged goods. No respectable man could marry her now.
"So maybe you should go visit Mr. Lagarde?" offered her mother, nervously.
"What? You want me to be a prostitute?"
"No. Of course not. But it beats marrying a lush. Take it from me -- it really does. Besides, I understand they teach school there. Maybe you could learn how to read. By the way, how do you think I supported you children?"
"You're a housekeeper," answered Ruthie, restating what she'd always been told. Her mother worked as a cleaner for the Spanish embassy.
"Yes, I'm a housekeeper. But housekeepers have
opportunities,
if you know what I mean. There weren't a lot of them, but they made up half my income. Do you really think we could all live on $18 per week?"
That was more information than Ruthie really wanted to know. She silently left the room to go fetch water. The two girls carried the empty jerry cans on their heads.
Fully loaded, water in a jerry can weighs 44 pounds, and including the can itself it's closer to 50 pounds. Rachel helped Ruthie lift the filled can on to her head. The next person in line offered the same assistance to Rachel. Then, with straight backs, eyes facing forward, and a smooth, even gait practiced over many years of carrying water, the women gracefully and seemingly effortlessly started the trek back home.
The weight on her head didn't take the load off her mind. When she got back to the house she pulled her mother aside.
"I think you're right, Mama. I will go to Lagarde's tomorrow. Just to see, mind you. I'm not saying I'm going to work there."
"You do what's best for you, Ruthie. I will love you always, no matter what you do."
Chapter Two
Jim Grinsted, used to making phone calls, thought hard before dialing this one.
"Hi Mollie. This is Jim Grinsted. Do you remember me?"
"Of course I do! Gee, it's been a long time -- maybe a year? It's good to hear from you! How are you doing?"
Jim deflected her question with another. "I was just wondering if you were still in the brothel business? And if so, how's it going?"
"Yeah, I'm still in the business. It's going OK. I've made lots of changes, and we're making a profit. But it's a small one, and always at risk. Why do you ask? Are you trying to sell my business." She laughed.
"No. This isn't a business call. I've just been thinking about you a lot recently, and thought I'd give you a call."
"That's sweet, Jim. What's going on?"
Jim hesitated, but he had to get it out. Otherwise why make the call? "A couple of months after we got back from Putaville my wife was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. The doctor gave her six months, but she only lasted for three. She died about six months ago." He started to tear up.
"We'd been married for 35 years. We have three grandchildren now. At least she got to see them."
"Oh dear," said Mollie. "I'm very sorry. Have you kept working?"
"Oh yes. I worked very hard, mainly to get out of the house. It kept my mind off of it. But it wasn't any fun. And I don't need the money anymore. I got plenty to retire on. So I hung up the rolodex last month. I'm having some trouble adjusting. That's why I'm calling you. Hope you don't mind."
"I certainly don't mind! I'm happy to help. What can I do for you?"
"So I was wondering..." Jim hemmed and hawed. "...if I could visit your brothel. I miss female company, and I don't want any entangling relationships right now. So that's why I'm calling."
"Of course you can visit my brothel! We've made a lot of changes, though." She went through the list.
"We're trying to get guests to stay for longer than a day. Putaville is in the middle of nowhere and it takes a long time to get there. We have to give them something to do besides fuck. So I've worked hard to come up with attractions.
"We found some really good bird watching sites, and they're close to the city. We offer excursions with a talented guide. Guests get a free guidebook, and lend them binoculars. They can bring their hostess with them if they want to.
"Then I've tried to turn it into a health club. We converted one of our restaurants into a low-calorie, healthy eatery. We advertise the locally-grown produce. The tag line is
Povera: the mainland's organic garden
. We have athletic trainers, fitness counselors, and nutritionists on staff. (All of them are female, and all of them put out -- for an extra fee.)
"Part of the fitness effort is our new dance studio. We turned Gloria into a full-time dance instructor. And do you remember Rose? She's become the best dancer in the building. She's too young and attractive to be anything other than a hostess, but she's one of our best teachers. Do you remember the rooftop penthouse? That used to be a business center. We've turned that into a real dance studio."
Mollie continued. "I think you once mentioned that Putaville has some good restaurants. That's true. We offer daily dinner excursions to local eateries -- all expenses paid. Again, the guests can bring their hostesses with them. Of course that won't work for those on the fat farm. But many of our guests aren't, at least not seriously.
"Then we started a school. Our hostesses can attend on days they're not working. Unlike any other school in Putaville, there are no school fees. We hired a full-time teacher. But she gets lots of help because we ask our guests to assist with instruction. Really, her job is to organize and supervise their effort. They
LOVE
doing it. The schoolgirl they're laboriously instructing in English, reading (in French), or long division today is the one they get to fuck tomorrow. It's a great turn-on. Some of them extend their stay just so they can teach school. Indeed, I think the school has actually become a profit center. Beyond that, guests contribute money for the school, which hopefully will let us educate hostesses' siblings and relatives.
"The bottom line is the average visitor stay has gone from 1.5 days to over 3 days. That's partly because we raised the price. Now we charge $1495 for the first day, and $995 for each additional day. And we have a special offer -- five days for $4995, all inclusive. That includes free transfers from and to the airport.
"And then we've converted the eighth floor to guest rooms. We can now accommodate 30 guests. That's helped with revenue a lot. But we're going to have to build out facilities for the hostesses. Those are substandard.
"One more perk has become very popular. Putaville is a long flight from either Europe or North America. Visitors arrive tired and jetlagged -- they're not up for a night in a brothel. So for $99 we offer guests an initial night at the international hotel, and then they're delivered to the brothel at noon the next day. That's a night to sleep well, rest up, and recover from jetlag, without spending $1500. Again, all transfers from airport to hotel to brothel are included.
"I can't give it to you for free -- we're just not that profitable yet. But I'd be happy to give you a discount."
"No. I don't need a discount," said Jim. "As I said, I have enough money. I'm just wondering if you were still open, and how things might have changed. When would be a good time for me to visit? Will you be in Putaville any time soon?"
"I just got back last week. I won't be going for another couple of months. (I should go more often, but I've got so much on my agenda here that I can't get away.) I don't think you should wait for me. Why don't you go, and then after you get back we can get together and you can tell me all the stuff we're doing wrong."
Jim laughed. "It sounds like you're doing most of it right. But OK -- I'll go by myself. I'll take the five day special -- let's shoot for two weeks from now. But you owe me a date when I get home."
Mollie giggled. "It's a promise."
"Can you make plane reservations for me?"
"Yes. Of course."
"Good. And I'd like the stay at the international hotel, too. That's a good idea. Geez, from Chicago it's a 24 hour trip door to door. I wouldn't be able to get it up after that."
Jim requested Business Class seats, gave Mollie his credit card information, and rang off. The next day he had e-mail confirmation of his reservation.
Chapter Three
Ruthie spent an hour on the jitney bus before alighting at the central bus park downtown. She'd had to borrow the fare from her mother -- already a humiliating start to the day. Lagarde's Hotel was at 34 rue Rene Blaen, a fifteen minute walk away. She knew she had to be there by 1pm.
If Ruthie expected a big sign in neon and red lights, she'd have been disappointed. Quite the opposite -- Hôtel Lagarde et Spa tried very hard to stay out of the limelight. Besides the number '34', the only sign was
