aggrandizing or autobiographical. After all, who really wants to read about me? However, an incident this week prompts me to relay several anecdotes in an attempt to wade through the stream of garbage that's been filtering through the Internet about yours truly.
I've been accused of being abusive towards women, prostitutes specifically. Really? The accusation is leveled in this manner: "statements attributed to Bill Margold..." then it goes on to say that two prostitution services refused to send me girls because of my reputation for being abusive towards women.
I called Margold about this, and Margold pulled a Clinton on me. He denied talking to Luke Ford. Margold said read the story carefully. I did. Several times. And you know something? It still says the statements are "attributed to Bill Margold" which means Margold said them. Who he said them to is another matter.
Now let's consider the source. Margold writes for a couple of esteemed LA hooker journals which, essentially make their money by advertising outcall services. You'd have to be pretty blind not to suspect this as where the source originates from. Given that context, the abuse charges, though total, utter nonsense, make sense.
Several years ago I made the acquaintance of a working girl named Trish. Trish was, at first, reluctant to see me but finally did. I asked her why was that. She said my name had been posted - Scarlet Letter-like - at a local publication's office as being someone who should not be contacted. However, within five minutes of conversation, Trish had to admit that that didn't make any sense. Why was that? Probably because she met me first hand. Trish and I had a good relationship until she had to skip town for reason or reasons unknown - but not before she tried to hit me up for a couple of grand - a "loan" if you will. I never gave her money [you don't lend money to hookers]. A girlfriend of hers contacted me several weeks later soliciting me. She explained that Trish was on the lam from the law and tried hitting up all her clients the same way. So much for Trish.
But I never forgot what she had said about my name being posted. How dare this particular publication slander me, I thought. I never abused a woman in my life.
But here's some of the ways outcall agencies can scam you, and you can't fight back. In the classic bait-and-switch, a picture ad is run featuring a girl who looks too good to be true. More times than not she is too good to be true. This is not the girl who comes to your door. I've yet to see this occur. Outcall agencies operate on the principle that a john is dying to see anyone and would be too embarrassed to squawk. Obviously they never met me.
There's another scam - the word ad which lends the impression you're getting Miss America. Miss America appears in pageants, not at your doorstep. Once in a blue moon you'll meet a veritable sweetheart. I've been so fortunate, but not with a batting average that would put me in Cooperstown.
The novice John attempting to answer some of these agency ads will invariably run into combinations of the above shenanigans. More times than not you're dealing with an agency, not the actual girl advertised in the ad. [By the way, one hooker might have ads under several different names with absolutely bogus physical qualifications.]
One evening I went a miserable 0 for 2. I was extremely horny and answered an ad describing a tall blond with a great tan. The girl who came to my door was about 5'1" and black. I politely turned her way saying she was not the girl in the ad. She insisted otherwise, then proceeded to turn the conversation into a civil rights issue. I was persistently polite. She was persistently accusatory saying I was prejudiced. I gave her carfare, and, for my troubles, discovered, the next day, that she had taken a key and scrawled cave drawings along my car door. [I had given her directions that would have parked her directly behind my car, so she knew it was my car. It wasn't a random keying.]
I should have taken the first incident as a cue, but I called another ad describing a tall blond. An hour later, a medium-sized raven-tressed woman shows up. Again, no way my type, but I figured what the hell at this point. The evening was shot.
This woman, however, was equipped with another agency scam-o-la: the driver. The driver insisted on taking the money. He leaves, the woman comes in. She starts making a big deal about looking for my CD player. Why I ask? "So I can dance." I said I wasn't interested in her dancing. She said that's what she does. I said that's not what we talked about over the phone. She begged to differ with me by copping a plea that the agency was "misrepresenting" her particular talents. On top of this, now, she says if I want to see her naked, a "tip" was involved. How much I asked? The sum matching what I had just given the driver. I told her to get out of my house. What seems to be standard operating procedure in the instance of agencies scamming the client, she immediately called her muscle. I met him at the door and demanded my money back. He played dumb with me claiming that he had passed the money on to someone from the agency and that I should take it up with the agency. Sure, you'll get satisfaction that way.
Another little outcall agency gem: the "let's see-some-form-of-ID-ploy." I had one hooker try that with me, once, and the next thing I knew I was being charged an installation fee from my cable provider for Mrs. Ross.
Understand something. These incidents of con artistry are what agencies perpetrate to blacken your name by reporting back that you were abusive. You have no say in the matter. You have no defense. I was an outraged consumer, no more, no less, and reacted in kind. But, somewhere, a publication was posting my name on a wallboard depicting me as some kind of woman beater. This kind of shit continues unchecked.
And, for Bill Margold to be passing along stories about me without substance is, at the very least, a gross invasion of my privacy. I'm not saying Margold is a party to these scams, but he certainly knows what goes on in the twilight world.
Next week: Gene talks about "Madame X" and the voice synthesizer; and Traci, the hooker with the wooden leg.
[If you want to hear more about Gene's tales of prostitutes, e-mail me at [email protected]]
