'She was gorgeous.'
'Were you happy with the service?'
'Yeah. She was gorgeous.'
That's my line, and I'm sticking to it.
And anyway, John pretty much fills in the rest of my hour for me: 'Did she give you a shower? Was she enthusiastic? Because some of them just lie there. Was she shaved? They're very clean, don't you think?'
I nod knowingly.
'What was the name of that girl again? Linda? I'll have to remember her: Twenty-four. Lives in Prague. No kids—and no scars or anything?'
I couldn't say, but the best answer is probably no.
'Good. No stretchmarks. A lot of clients don't like that.'
|Sweet Paradise club: Catering to pigs|
I can't help but feel sleazy. Just one night of this warps me; maybe that's what happened to the nice guy John used to be.
At my insistence, though, we round out the night by returning to Wenceslaus Square and an upscale strip club that used to be a Communist hangout.
Ladislav Bittman told me he took the KGB's chief of disinformation to the Alhambra during a night on the town in 1965, joking that by leaving their panties on, the girls had performed a 'socialist striptease.'
But even that was too decadently Czech for the visiting Soviet. 'During the first break indicated he was ready to return to the embassy.'