Chapter 54

It was one of Claire’s youngest whores, a 15-year old girl named Mary Cox, who came up with the idea. Although Mary had changed her name to Heather four years earlier. She explained to her mother, 32-year-old Martha, “I just feel like a Heather.”

“Whatever.”

“You dancing tonight?”

“No, just blowjobs.”

“That sucks.”

“Ho ho.”

When she herself had been hired, Heather went up to her boss, “Consuela, you know how they check IDs to get into Pussy.”

“Sure.” Age verification and private-club membership.

“They could take down their phone numbers too.”

“Why?”

“You know how we have special deals every once in a while. Half-price hummers before 10 on Monday mornings?”

“Ah, good idea! We could text them about our promotions. I’ll clear it with Miss S.”

Claire did a mental head-slap, “I’m getting too old, I missed the digital revolution. Toss Heather a thou.”

Surprisingly, it was Willow who urged caution, “Limit it to one or two texts a month, otherwise it’s like spam.”

Luke, “And make sure Consuela puts something discreet in the header — One-Day-Sale, Businessman’s Special.”

The result was an almost 15% increase in net revenue. Margarita Monday — free drinks up until 7 in the evening. A digital voucher for a half-price blowjob, good any morning for a week. The text spoke to 50% savings on mouthwash.

But the biggest promotional success came from an unexpected source — women customers. Women made up around 30% of Pussy attendees. About half came with a husband or a boyfriend. The rest in groups of three, four, or more.

Claire had been experimenting with a variety of promotions. Some were more successful than others, but each one made a positive contribution to her bottom line.

One of the more lucrative campaigns had revolved around the private-club membership. Most guys bought day passes, or weekly ones. The most profitable for Claire was the $2,500 yearly membership. Willow suggested, “Claire, let’s give ‘em a free BJ once a month for a year. Tips included. Just buy a yearly membership.”

Done.

Word spread — the guys talked to their friends. Pussy sent out quarterly text reminders. The whores talked it up. None of the girls would have considered complaining to Consuela about giving it away. But they understood that it was good for Claire, good for Pussy, and, eventually good for them. Research had shown that the men who shelled out $2,500 visited at a 35% higher rate than any of their other customers.

But Claire had always had her eye on the women customers. While they made up about 30% of the clientele, they accounted for only about 19% of gross revenue.

Very few women bought a yearly membership. On average, they actually tipped the strippers more than the men. Almost every bill they stuffed into a garter was at least a Lincoln. Usually a Hamilton, and often a Jackson. The higher the tip, the more likely they were to caress a pussy.

But the real money was in the trailers, and fewer than one girl in forty was nervy enough, or horny enough, to go that route. The whores were always happy when another woman paid for them. They were usually kinder, more sympathetic. Besides, it was a fun change of pace.

It wasn’t 100% of the women, but more of them than not, liked to cuddle with a whore after she had gotten off. Consuela told them, “Take an extra 10 or 15 minutes if that’s what they want.”

And that was what many of them wanted. After getting a girl off once or twice, the whores sometimes became a girlfriend, a psychologist, an empathetic listener.

But still Claire had a nagging sense that she was leaving money on the table.