"High" Society

  The last few months have been interesting to say the least. The heat is coming back and the temperature is steadily creeping up towards the triple digits. The weathermen are calling for 104 by Saturday. Brutal. Anyway, enough about the weather.

  Last time I posted I told you about how I was deceived by a hot hooker named Jamie.  A lesson in life that came rather cheap. After meeting her and spending the evening drinking up a storm, I had to see her again. Just to hang out of course.  As I said before, buying it takes the sport out of it.

  So, it took me all of 18 hours to call her. My intrigue had spiked and I wanted to get to know her more. I mean who can say that they're friends with a hooker? I had to collect on that distinction.

  We met for drinks and nachos in Plano. I was a little leery about this meeting. Curious on if she would try to sell her self again or if it would just be awkward given the circumstances surrounding the end of our first encounter. My concerns were for nothing. Our evening went great, she was as rad as the night before. As we were leaving she tells me she has a friend named Lisa (who is also in her line of work) that I need to meet. So we set a date for later in the week to continue building on this new found friendship.

  Upon meeting meeting Lisa, I was blown away. She's absolutely stunning. A kind of beauty you only see in magazines pushing designer labels. Much to my relief, she's got a personality to match. My initial thought was, this girl has to make a lot of fuckin money... She does.

  The evening went well and I end up partying with these chicks a couple times a week. Going downtown with them as they stalk the crowds for unsuspecting, or suspecting older wealthy gentlemen. They're professionals, and it shows.

  Now some might think that hanging around a couple of prostitutes wouldn't be they're ideal evening out. Think again my friends. There are perks to showing up at crowded place with two hot chicks at your side. Example A is, every hot girl with low self esteem in the place is looking at me wondering why? An easy in, as they're already curious. Work with what you got.

  Good times are being had all over the metroplex with my new friends. They inform me of a rooftop pool party they will be attending Downtown and ask me if I want to go... Duh.

  The party is to be held at a high end midrise. Luxury condos set in the heart of Uptown. Sweet. Prior to meeting up with them, they tell me I should dress accordingly. Accordingly? I wonder.. Apparently we're gonna go party with a bunch of Dallas' fancy pants. Not too enthused about having to dress up.

  With a few hours to kill before I meet up with them, I find myself anxious. Pacing the floors almost giddy with anticipation of mixing it up with some of the Dallas elites. So in true Jeff Kaufman style I get a head start on drinks. Placing phone calls to my friends, bragging up my night to come, chugging beers... When it comes time to get ready, I find myself shitfaced. Really no surprise there but booze does have an effect on my decision making abilities...

   Time to get ready. I'm supposed to be fancy pantsed when I meet up with the ladies but the Budweiser is telling me not to. I settle on a pair of jeans, cowboy boots and a super sweet white tee with a bitchin red, white and blue recycle symbol across the chest. I'm feelin good about this and head out.

  I show up at Jamie's condo, her and Lisa just shake their heads. "That's dressing appropriately?" They say, I tell them yeah, these fuckin boots cost me a couple hundred bucks! That's fancy... They're not impressed but love me by now so away we go.

  We hop off the train a couple blocks from the party. The ladies found it necessary to hit their flask while we were in transit to try and "catch up" to me. Good luck I thought. We stop at the corner market, I need smokes and I'm assuming beer. Chances are the fancy pants wont be doling out 12 ounce Budweiser cans. A case should be enough I think, as we set back out toward the place.

  As we enter the building I'm amazed at how nice the lobby is. Artwork surrounds us with heavily lacquered, real wood finishes from floor to ceiling. I'm impressed. We find the elevator and head up to the pool deck. Not quite on the top but about 10 stories up. Rad.

  The entrance to the pool deck is blocked by a smug, balding little man. Turns out this party is invite only. Oh how I feel special.

  The dude looks at the invite, then looks at me and shakes his head. The invite is a plus one only... They didn't tell me this. I'm thinking for a moment I'm gonna have to leave. The ladies come to my defense and try to convince the guy to just let me in, no one will know the difference they tell him. He's not budging. He looks to me and says "This guy looks like a cop." A cop! I blurt out. You gotta be shittin me! Little does this guy know, I'm standing with two hookers and have an utter disdain for any sort of authority. Not quite cop material. After a few minutes of arguing back and forth, I end up offering him twenty bucks to let me in and he agrees.. Hell of a deal.

  Strolling out onto the pool deck, Im walking with a swagger only capable with cowboy boots on. Picture it, 6 and half foot tall rube in jeans and recycle logo tee, carrying a case of cheap domestic like a brief case. With two beautiful women  in tow at a party full of your standard business types.. Winner.

  To my left is a fully stocked and free bar. Rad. I head that way to fetch a pail of ice for my beer. The tender working it playfully heckles me and hooks it up.  As I settle in to fully assess what I'm working with here I see why the door guy would be reluctant to let a "cop" into the place. There were literally piles of cocaine on every table. Free to the masses. All I could think about is how much money was sitting there just waiting to be blown away by a stiff gust of wind... Luckily for the supplier, the breezes were calm this evening. 

  My hooker friends spotted the piles right away. Without so much as an "I'll be over here" they jettisoned towards the coke like it was a cure for cancer and they were stricken with pancreatic. Are they coke heads? No. But they are savvy, "self employed" business women who know when to take advantage of a freebie.

  Sticking close to the bar, bullshittin with the bartender, I'm engaged by the coked out people lookin for another drink. I meet a wide variety of folks, most don't live there, but they work with the guy who threw the party.

  They like to talk business. Stocks, futures, derivatives... I really don't know much about those, but I do read the Huffington Post enough to know the latest scandals regarding those areas and how it plays into our political spectrum. I'm fitting in nicely, surprisingly.

  Chatting it upwith the party goers, I'm watching my friends work the party. From what I gather, no one there knows they are predatory hookers. It's funny watching these girls work. Poor bastards with they're pleated  slacks think these ladies are interested in something more than a "business" proposition.  I know the feeling..

   To my right, I see a guy walk in that looks more out of place than I do. He's in white sweats, a white hoody with sideways ball cap on. Most the people there start to cheer... Drug dealer... He pulls from his pocket a giant bag full of what appears to be press form Ecstasy. Booya.

  He's making his rounds handing out tabs to everyone. He makes his way towards me and of course, my hand is outstretched... An even ten in my palm, I'm amazed. That's a hundred bucks street value. I'm not about to complain. 

  Watching virtually everyone popping these tabs I cant help but think, in about 20 minutes... This place is gonna get weird... True to form, I partake as well. Reluctant to ride with two like everyone should, I take one to gauge the potency. High end partiers usually party with high end equipment... I was correct.

   As the euphoric feeling started to take hold, I could see my friends across the pool starting to lose interest in their hustle. Their giddy grins and the motion in their hips assured me that they were now on the ride too. As were most people there.

   With the party on cloud nine and the business types starting to giggle uncontrollably, the music was suddenly louder and the party goers were starting to shed clothing. Which is to be expected. A good MDMA ride will raise your body temperature considerably. Stay thirsty my friends.

  It could of been 5 minutes, maybe an hour into the ride, I don't know, when a couple of girls I was talking to at the bar area decided it would be a good idea to go swimming. Sans clothing. Their argument was valid. Nobody was utilizing this giant pool and it would probably feel great. They had a point. They tried to talk me into going in with them, but I countered with "Nobody wants to see a fat guy naked" and "I'm a grower not a shower, I dont want to embarrass myself"... Met with heavy laughter of course, they proceed... Again, no complaints.

  From that point on, time was not an issue. Everybody around was so into whatever they were doing and or trying to do, none of us noticed the sun starting to come up. Knowing that daybreak was a good time to call it a night, me and my hooker friends head back. 

  Riding the train, we're finishing off Jamie's flask and giggling like prom dates. I'm looking forward to the cache of booze these ladies stock to help hit the brakes on this ride.

  Back at Jamie's condo, we climb the stairs and they both start to look dispirited and down. The ride is coming to end for them and they want more... Luckily for them, and me, I've still got tabs... Two apiece for each of us with a renewed sense of impending euphoria we tackle her liqueur cabinet. 

  With Lisa's iPod on random we're met with an array of different music that cause the ladies to fuckin freak out, start jumping up and down like 12 year olds, just to start slow dancing with each other upon the next song.

  After back to back George Michael tracks, the ladies are treated with some Sarah McLaughlin. When they proceed to start deep kissing one another while playfully tugging at one each others clothes... Before I know what's going on here, they both have their shirts off, twirling them around their heads, like a couple of lesbian gypsies at a Lilith Fair...

  Content with my view and surroundings, I sip on my booze and cant help but laugh to myself... In the midst of another passionate kiss between the two of them, they stop, look towards me, and make their way towards the kitchen where I stand...

  From here I'll spare you the details but leave you with a bit of advice.

  When you need a job done right, call a professional.

  Better yet, befriend the professional and acquire their skill for free...

 




 

 






 

The Value of Perception.

"Life is a succession of lessons that must be lived to be understood" ~ Helen Keller

  An interesting quote from a woman who was deaf and blind. Hindsight leaves me feeling not far from both sometimes.

  Knowing that my one and only goal for the evening is to get obscenely drunk, I call my local taxi to haul me off to a watering hole. No sense in driving there when I know damn well that I'll have no business navigating a two ton manslaughter charge down the road by the time the night is through. I can be responsible sometimes.

  This evenings destination is a place called the Fillmore. Its located in "Historic Downtown Plano".  "Historic" is code word for "Lame". But! It's a nice bar and it gets a pretty diverse crowd every evening. Why not, right?

  With Happy Hour ending, most of the early crowd is filing out so there's ample seating at the bar. The tenders  looked rushed with multiple people paying their tabs and food orders coming up. Patience is a must at these times. Dont wave or yell to your barkeep, this will piss them off. They see you and will be with you when they can.

  Locally this place is known for their wide variety of beer and whiskey. It labels itself an Irish/English bar. Whatever that means... Budweiser only comes in bottles (which I hate) and dont dare ask for a shot of Rumplminze here. Their snooty refined taste in alcohol will leave you with poor service if they deem you unworthy. Found that out through trial and error... Not tonight though! Im ordering up a locally brewed wheat beer made in McKinney and what ever shot under 10 bucks my bartender recommends.

  Yuck and Yuck! This is gonna be tough. Kill the shot because it was the easier one and the beer seemed to taste great after having some 20 years of oak flavored fermentation on my pallet... With that over with, I go for a Stella. Its far from my favorite but it will do in a pinch. If I plan on consuming beer all night these thick beers will never do.

  After many beers and another terrible shot my bartender talked me into, I'm getting bored.  The place is filling up with the type of people I hate. Spiky hairdos, fake tans and WAY to much cologne. Lets not forget the types they're after, blond highlights, fake tans and a camera handy so they can add to the nine hundred pictures they already have on Facebook. Irritated, I tell myself that if one more of these dumb bitches poses with a "kissey face, sideways peace sign" I'm outta here... Ten minutes later I'm heading for the door.

  It turns out the best part about the Fillmore is that it's a stones throw away from the DART.  An energy efficient means of travel on the cheap, straight to downtown! A quick 30 minute ride and I have arrived!

  I always anticipate trouble when I head down here. Almost everyday someone is either getting shot, stabbed, beat within an inch of their life, raped or robbed. The mean streets of Dallas. I like it.

  Steering clear of the club scenes and the trendy pubs I head to the neighborhood of Deep Ellum. Deep Ellum is a little rough. This area of town consists of old warehouses converted into residential lofts, rad mexican food and more rundown shithole bars per capita than any other place in Dallas... Perfect.

  Don't get me wrong, Deep Ellum has its fair share of nice and respectable places but, they cant all be the new hip thing.

  I see a place called the Angry Dog. Has to be interesting at the least. Again, why not... Through the door and I'm hit with the typical tavern smell. Greasy food, cigarettes and beer spilled last week. Jukebox volume is tolerable and it's not packed. It is still early for the downtown area yet but I have a feeling this place isnt gonna be picking up anytime soon.

  A couple of dirtbags anchor the head of the bartop, followed by a long line of empty stools toward the can. It's dark but the neon lighting casts that familiar tavern hue. At the far end of the empty line of stools, sits an incredibly pretty woman. I head that direction.

  Pull up a stool, three down from hers and get a beer. Test the waters on their shot selection and settle on a Jager, double. Furtively glancing towards the pretty girl, while I aimlessly check my phone for the texts/emails/facebook updates that I know aren't there, I feel lame... Fuck it. Time to engage.

  Much to my surprise she initiates conversation first. A simple "Are you from around here?". I grin and say no, not even close... You? Local she tells me. I follow with a nod of approval trying to read her, she follows up with a "tell me about home." as she closes the gap to one stool.

  I set in with Eugene Oregon... You ever been there?  She laughs and says no. I follow with my standard next question. Do you know where Oregon is? Her smile vanishes. "Of course I know where Oregon is! North of California and west of Idaho!"  I apologize and tell her that she'd be surprised how little, people I run into down here actually know their map. She's not, and then goes into a 10 minute tirade on everything from stupid people to politics and the utter disgust she has for the stupid people ruining the political forum. I'm impressed and offer to buy her next round.

  When the bartender came back around I went to order hers but I was cut off by her ordering for the both of us. "Give this guy another double on my tab and put a Cosmo on his."  She looks back over and smiles. Is this girl for real? Intrigue is spiking.

  We carry on with great conversation and more and more drinks. Time flies by as I get informed on Deep Ellum's history and this girls incredible stories of the shit she's gotten herself into. She's articulate, intelligent and getting prettier by the minute. Have I hit the Jackpot? I'm thinking so.

  "One more round!" she calls out as she throws her head back and sighs. She levels here stare at me and says its late.  I agree and ask her if she's calling it a night. She is. She then asks me if I mind walking her home. She tells me she lives close and it would make her feel safer if she had a little protection on her short walk home.

  No wasn't even an option... I play it cool and pay my tab. We finish our last round and get up to make our way through a maze of people at the bar... When the hell did it get so packed in here? Obviously the attendance level was beyond any care I had at the time.

  We get outside and head west towards her place. She's pointing out old places that used to be "theee" place to be. I try to follow along and absorb the information but I cant help but be presumptuous. Where is this gonna end up? Will I end up spending the night with this woman? Am I reading this right? When it comes to batting average, I've been wrong about a situation like this WAY more than I've been right, so humility is key right now.

  As we arrive outside her place I realize I never got her name. I ask it and she laughs out loud. "Jamie!" She says. Yours is Jeff Kaufman. I read it off of the receipt you signed... Impressed again... She asks me if I'd like to come up for a drink... I'd love to...

 "I only have Vodka and Dr Pepper." She says as we climb the stairs to her apartment. "Do they mix well?" I ask.  She laughs, damn near hysterically... Im a little confused. 

  Her apartment was beautiful. It looked straight of a magazine. Smelled amazing and had an incredible kitchen area. Also... A wonderful mini bar area where she quickly goes to work on two cosmos. What does this girl do for a job I wonder?

  Two drinks in hand she approaches and hands me mine. Looking around, about to comment on how tasteful her place is, she says to me "My rate is"... A quick glance and a confused look... "Your rate?' I say...

  It's amazing how fast your mind processes information. Even given an extreme amount of  alcohol. I knew what she was about to say. The events of the evening suddenly took on a whole new meaning... I was the prey... And she was a hooker...

  Humility. An uncontrollable purse to my lips and a look to the side, I decline her "fee". She tries to reason by saying "Just consider it a monetary donation for our time spent together..."

  Well, that would take the sport out of it all wouldn't it? I say... She smiles, nods, sips her drink and digs around in her purse for her "business" card... Her name, number and her website...

  My honesty comes out and I tell her that I'm a little disappointed but I respect her and what she does for a living. I'd be happy to call her next time I'm in the hood but only for drinks. She's into that and we finish ours with recollections of funny shit that happened earlier.

  On my way back to the train I stopped by the Angry Dog for another shot. The bartender saw me and laughed. He knew the whole time and didn't give me a heads up. Our banter back and fourth consisted of a "Well, now you know" kind of theme... Yes... Now I know.

 
"Life is a succession of lessons that must be lived to be understood" ~ Helen Keller