nada que nada
Posted on: May 20, 2005 7:23 PM
Today I spent 1.35 hours waving my behind erotically around a divorcee's groin area whilst talking about his ex-wife (bitch) and children (8 and 10), 0.45 minutes laughing with two 30 year old lawyers on their way to the Emmy Awards (hot), 8.0 hours getting yelled at by the boss (bitch), eyed up by wolfish loners (not), serving cocktails, dancing occasionally, listening to Bambi the new fucking waitress who's just discovered sex.
"Oh my. That man is damn fine. I'm gonna be havin' me a piece o' that after ma shift ends."
"He payin' for you to go to the Champagne Room?"
Bambi sniffs and flicks a ringlet from her eye, dislodging her wig slightly so that her afro peeps out jauntily from underneath.
"No. We talked about it and he decided we should jus' hook up after work."
There's a ripple of disapproval through the ranks.
That damn bitch is givin' it out fer free now. What hope is there for the rest of us, y'all?
When I go into work I switch off. I feel nothing, I have no opinions. I have no sense of shame, no emotion, everything closed, tucked neatly out of sight. In that way you become a negated space, a void for people to fill in however they desire. I'm Mimi the walking, talking doll, the paint-by-numbers English chick, whatever you want, I'll name the price. I'm the cute, young, private table dancer who makes people laugh and does things men in their forties only wish their first wives had taught them...(incredulously) Where do the kids get it from nowadays? (curiously) How many people you slept with Mimi? (nonchalantly) Oh only 2 or 3. I don't really believe in sex before marriage, letting a sly knee slip between legs, a breast stroke the side of a man's face, a careless sigh escape, look deep into someone's eyes -
They say you can always tell a liar because they can look you straight in the eye. Someone should tell these pricks that. "You havin' a good time Mimi? You glad we met? I'm different to the average guy, right?" But of course, mi amor, but of course.
How do I find this job tolerable? I don't kiss. It's Julia Roberts, it's pretty fucking woman, and the time when one Champagne Room client did slip his tongue in my mouth, I got drunk on tequila and cried and cried and cried. My body is not my mind. But somehow my mouth is supremely intimate. I use it to tease but never to clinch the deal. You learn to let everything else wash over you. You learn to deal with loneliness. You learn how to dance like you believe it, with tricks and lies, wielded by the experts - women. Life is a lie, it's all about lying. I defy anyone who can claim to live without lying.
The other day I thought I heard someone whisper my name behind me. Not Mimi, my real name, the one my parents gave me. I almost didn't stop, until I recalled vaguely, 'That's me'. There was no one there, of course, of course. A cliche movie moment. It's almost too easy, giving up my past life to take on this new one. I leave her behind, the student, the scholar, the graduate, the good girl, and become Mimi instead - writer, traveller, sex-worker. Somewhere in between are the parts I prefer to forget. And as strange as it may seem, the pain is all the more pure because of it.
Although I wonder, sometimes, if I really have left her behind, or if every time I gaze steadily without seeing into someone's eyes as I murmur another lie, another name, the emptiness gazing back is just a confrontation with the other me.
very moving... ...mimi? now i feel funny calling you mimi...
anyhow. very well written. thank you :)
Posted by: james at May 20, 2005 8:53 PM
I can't imagine anything lonelier than putting aside your own name. It's like you take your whole life and just put it some place where no one can find it and then become someone without a past, without any connections to anything. Your existence seems so lonely, you and I might be the same age but you awaken all sorts of paternal instincts in me. I admit I didn't really love your style at first but you're a gifted writer and you have to not lose your soul in this soul-sucking industry you're in.
Posted by: Craig at May 20, 2005 9:45 PM
Haha, I win. I killed your comments.
That "paternal instincts" comment sounds overly patronizing.
You still seem very lonely to me, Eleanor Rigby.
Posted by: Craig at May 21, 2005 9:00 PM
Isn't anyone who lives in a foreign country they've only just moved to, working stupid jobs in order to fund writing and having to put up with bureaucracy every time you take a step forward? All the immigrants put their hands up, put their hands up... could be a 50 cent song...
Posted by: mimi at May 21, 2005 9:06 PM
Not all the party people in the motherfucking house (sorry, 50 Cent moment) go by a different name and only have sporadic(?) contact with their family. Perhaps I'm wrong about that last statement.
Posted by: Craig at May 21, 2005 9:17 PM
I'm glad. There is a Brooklynite in my living room right now arguing with my wife about...something. Religion, evolution, I don't know. They (people from Brooklyn, my wife) like to talk. A lot.
Posted by: Craig at May 21, 2005 9:29 PM
I read this again a few days later, and if the guys who fired 'mimi' saw UB, they should have read this too, instead of social security matters. Perhaps they'd have learnt something.
And now I wonder... Isn't it good for you to leave that work, 'mimi'?
Posted by: boggart at May 28, 2005 4:23 PM
I will make personal vow to punch any persons who will try to proclaim that this is just gratuitious sex.
Mimi, your words are touching me with more subtleties, perversions and contradictory emotion than you can ever touch these men.
Lyova
Posted by: Lyova Lyubov at May 20, 2005 8:48 PM