I hadn't realized it would be a job just to get any service to answer the phone. Every escort number in the Yellow Pages rings and rings, until I let Burford pick one. I explain my needs to a woman at "Rocket Girls." Turns out she had a car in the Art Car Parade three years ago. (She painted the Rockets logo on the car--apparently this really is a "Rocket Girl.") This is promising, I'm thinking. Unfortunately, she's not a brunette. She says she has a brunette available, only she's "foreign." I ask what that means. "It means she's not white," says the Rocket Lady. I tell her I don't care what she is, as long as she's brunette and looks good in whipped cream. How much?
Ready for this?
$250 an hour.
$250 an hour?!? Even if all I want her to do is sit on her can & wave to the nice people?
Yep. It's $250 an hour, no matter what I want her to do.
Bag that. Now what?
Lady Kathy comes to the rescue. She knows someone called Felicia whom she describes as "exotically gorgeous" and may just be game.
Game? Oh, she was game all right.