Life there became a countdown, just waiting for those seventeen days to be up.  It became harder to get up and face the night ahead, but each day somehow I managed to get through it. 

The early part of the week, beginning with Sundays, meant things were generally slow.  Even so I was still making about five times the amount of money Candy was. The difference being she would only work to make the least amount of money needed to stay.  Not so surprising was how irritable I became from working so hard.  I went into the kitchen to check some money. 

"Hey Buffy, Serge's on the phone and wants to talk to you."  Candy looked depressed or something.

"Hello." I tried to sound cheery since I knew it was Serge.

"Hi babe." He sounded upset.  I could tell because he did not greet me with my usual nickname, Luv.

"I miss you."  He took a moment to reply.

"Candy tells me you are slacking off."

"Slacking off? I don't understand."

"You're not bringing in too much money lately."

"How can you say that when I clear $250 a night and your Candy doesn't even earn enough on some days to pay the room and board fee?"  There was silence on the other end; he was weighing the information.  I continued, "Besides, if take a look at the both of us--who do you think would make more?" I was furious at his accusation.

"I guess I knew that Luv.  Why do you think would she say such a thing?"

"Did it ever occur to you that she is jealous, or feels threatened? I don't know, Serge, you know her better than I."  I was trying hard not to cry.

"I guess I'd better have a talk with her.  Sorry Luv... just never thought she would lie to me."  His voice trailed off.

Guess he knew now.   "Serge, why is it every night she comes to my room to take the money after I get paid?  I don't even have money to tip the maids with so we got into a big fight about it." I wanted to spill my guts  now, instead my tears spilled.

"Doesn't she tip the maids for you?"

"Yes, but what's wrong with me keeping the money to give to you myself?  I think I'm the only one here who can't even keep her own money."  I was really hurt by the inequity of it.

"I think it best if we finish out this first time as it has been. There will be some changes made come vacation."

Why did I always come out on the losing end of this deal?  Oh I would go along with it for now, but he was right; there would be some changes made, some drastic ones.

It had not been easy to tell Serge of my thoughts, but since she opened the conversation with her lie, what the hell.  Things were so much different now that we were away from Serge and I was somewhat of a captive worker.  I wanted him to know how much Candy's attitude toward me had changed.  I was feeling the only thing binding us together was the money I  earned. The thought dared to cross my mind that perhaps both Serge and Candy were using me, but I fought it in my heart.  It was necessary to believe that Serge loved me, he had to.

What I could not tell him was how disappointed in him I felt.   He seemed to believe everything Candy told him, yet after he confronted me with her accusations, he seemed to side with me; telling me he would take care of her later.  It was as though he was treating her like a spoiled child, never wanting to upset her for fear of the ensuing tantrum.  I was not especially pacified by all this talk of handling our differences later, but I had to trust in him, lest the remaining threads of my hope and strength would dissolve.  He did manage make me feel like I was strong enough to handle any problems with her...at least until we got home and he could intervene.

I still believed he loved me, and I was proving to him just how much I cared. I told myself to be patient; soon it would be Serge's turn to prove his love to me.  He would need to tell Candy the truth of our relationship; we were in love, unlike the obligation he felt toward her.

The knowledge he would make things right in a few days, became the only driving force enabling me to complete this first three-week shift.  I still had a little bit of hope for us to fight for within me. 

Candy came into my room later to collect the money and openly  expressed her disgust with me.  I did not say a word back.  I knew it was only a little while longer until she would be taken down a few notches by Serge.

"Do you love Serge?" There it was, out in the open.

"You know I do or I sure as hell wouldn't be here."  Now what was she leading up to?

"Then why don't you just accept the fact I'm his number one woman and always will be?"

So that was it. She was jealous.  At this point all I wanted to do was forget the whole thing, but I nodded in acknowledgement.  Everything began to feel so confining.  I wanted to scream out loud, yet I knew she was always scrutinizing my behavior.  I needed to control myself for just a bit longer.

The closer it came to our vacation time the more changes I noticed the other women going through too.  Patience was wearing thin in all of us.  It seemed we never got enough sleep or any privacy.  The women were now talking openly about whom they did or did not like.  Dirty tricks like short-sheeting girls or stealing their favorite bikini-top were now commonplace.  The worst of the behaviors resulted in missing or ruined bathing suits.  Each girl had a "lucky" suit, one she seemed to be picked more when wearing it, therefore making the most money. 

I believed it too; because if you look and feel good it shows.  I chose to keep pretty much to myself, partially because of the house rule stating no girl should discuss her personal life with another, and partially because I had not really made any friends.  I really did not have time to, and Candy frowned on me going outside of our little “family” for anything.  It was all about control.

Candy and I barely spoke the last few days.  Her attitude toward working had grown so bad it reached the point of prompting one customer to make the comment loud enough we all could hear, "That one looks like she eats nails for breakfast." 

The particular look and stance she adopted assured her of not getting picked, except for a few scattered masochists.  She spent most of the early morning hours engaged in long games of Pinochle with some of the other old timers.  On Sunday nights were the big games;  it was the night Sally Conforte, the brothel owner, would limp in around midnight, assisted by her cane to join the others sitting at the table.  I guess part of the reason the games were so long was because every time the buzzer went off, everybody but Sally, would scurry into the line-up.  Inevitably one of the players would get chosen, forcing a halt in the game until she was finished with the trick. 

The phone calls from Serge were really becoming a farce with him constantly telling me to try harder.  I had a case of what is known as the "hooker blues".  It is something every new hooker gets, but also something they conveniently forgot to tell me about.  It is the result of the inner struggle with yourself about what you are doing, and trying to come to grips with the consequences.  Morally, I was brought up to believe this kind of life was wrong.  But in reality was it really wrong?  If you ask the men who come there, they did not express any feelings of wrongdoing.  In fact they saw it as sport, or depending on the circumstances, a necessity of life.  It was something guys did to bond; have sex without any emotional baggage to interfere.

This Sunday night was different from others; it was the last night before leaving on our vacation.  It had been decided Candy and I would take our vacations at the same time, at least for this first time.  According to Serge a lot of things would change after this vacation.  I knew some things would have to change if I was going to come back at all.  I mean now, since I had actually completed a whole seventeen-day shift, nobody could accuse me of not giving it a fair chance.  If I wanted to quit now I would, no matter what anyone else said.  I knew I could do it. I was proud of myself for making it to the end without giving up.  I was a much stronger woman than when I entered into this ordeal.

Two of the Mustang workers were there by eight on Sunday morning to drive us to the airport.  I remembered the fateful day when Serge drove to the ranch to pick Candy up.  Times were already changing.

There were a couple of personal good-byes I wanted to say, especially to Matt.  He was the man who did all of the personal shopping for all of the girls, and had befriended me right from the beginning.  He was old, smelly, and wore the same work shirt, pants and faded gray felt hat everyday, but when you looked in his eyes you could see forever.  They were a steel blue, and I was convinced a reflection of his innate goodness.  He never pulled any punches with anyone, just did what he was supposed to, and did it well.  I respected him for his directness and honesty.

The sign-out sheet in the kitchen had a line of girls all waiting to sign out; putting their names down on the day they expected to return.  Candy was next.  I watched closely as she filled in our names.

"Only four days off?" I asked incredulously.  I expected at least a week or two.

"This time of year it's good to work all of the weekends, while they are so busy.  Make our money now, the winter is not nearly so kind."

Didn't she ever let up?  Four days huh.  We would see about that when I got to Serge.

As I sprawled out in the back seat of the car the distinct smell of marijuana came drifting into my nostrils.  Candy had fired up a joint.  I was so happy to be out of there and to be able to just shut my eyes without fear.  I passed on the pot, so sure I would pass out in my current state of exhaustion.  I knew I would have to stay up even longer once back in Oakland.  Home.  Finally I was going home, back to my apartment, surrounded by my belongings; the green plants, a crackling fire in my fireplace, my own bed, and more importantly my friends.

What about Serge?  Well, honestly he was not exactly on the top of the list of things I was excited about.  I mean I did want to feel his arms around me, I wanted to be held, but I also now wanted the freedom to do as I pleased.  All of the rest was, frankly, an unknown.  I could do without any more of that for a while.  What I really wanted to do was simply go to sleep, for a very, very long time.  I was bone weary, and somehow being with Serge did not seem nearly as important anymore.