“Why don’t you drop over for coffee and a chat with us and see if you like the atmosphere, and if you do, we would be glad to have you as a guest occasionally.”

With Madeleine’s names and my enterprise, I made back my original investment in two months.

The book was such a little gold mine that it should have been locked in Fort Knox, but because it was required by the phone at all times to check out a customer’s credentials, I could not give it the protection it deserved.

As an indication of how important it is to take care of a book like this, I had a bad experience shortly after I acquired it – because I hired a girl who was managed by a black pimp.

The reason I acted against my better judgment was basically because Roberta was a college graduate, which I found was an interesting attribute for a hooker; she was also clean, pleasant, and attractive in a “Miss Cornfed U.S.A.” way.

A week after Roberta started working for me I had the opportunity to go out for a leisurely dinner, which is a rare luxury when you become a madam. However, this was a Friday night in the summer, and business was relatively quiet. In charge I left my trustworthy roommate, a working girl named Corinne.

I was gone no more than a couple of hours, but when I returned to the house it was an agitated Corinne who greeted me.

“Come into your room,” she whispered: “I have something important to tell you.”

She was worried about the honesty of Roberta. “I needed the black book to check out a caller, and discovered it and Roberta were both missing. Your bathroom door was locked for about an hour, and when Roberta reappeared, so did the book,” she told me.

I called Roberta in and accused her point-blank of copying names from my book, which she hastily denied.

“Then how did the book get in the bathroom; did it grow legs and walk?”

Roberta gave me some unsatisfactory explanation. “I cannot tolerate disloyalty to the house or to the madam,” I said, “so I will have to ask you to leave.”

Four times the next day her black pimp, Henri, phoned up begging me to take her back. He also sent me two bunches of yellow roses. He realized my house was the best in town, and nowhere else would she make a certain $150-$200 a night.

Again, against my better judgment; I agreed to give her another chance on the condition that she tighten up her game and not try any further deceit.

A few days later, as I was sitting in my bedroom going over accounts, I could hear the extension phone in the living room being repeatedly used. Normally I would never snoop on my girls, but Roberta was around, and I was no longer sure of her. Besides, it was my business phone she was tying up. As I lifted the receiver I heard her talking with another girl.

“Mr. Brennan doesn’t seem to know you, Roberta, and he wants more detail,” the other girl, evidently a little hooker, was saying. To which Roberta replied, “Just tell him you have been referred by Madam Xaviera.”

Not only was it my phone, in my house, but it was also one of my most regular customers. They were obviously approaching one of the names she had copied from my black book. I hit the ceiling.

I was so angry I was shaking, and Corinne had to restrain me from going out and throwing her bodily into the street.

“Get dressed, get out, and don’t bother to have Henri send me any yellow roses or make any attempt to contact me ever again!” was my farewell to Roberta.

Thankfully that kind of dishonesty is unusual, and generally speaking, my girls are very loyal to me. Because of our closeness in ages, we are more like girl friends than the traditional madam-prostitute relationship.

Whenever I can, I give the girls advice and assistance in both their professional and private lives.

It is known that most madams are bisexual, and I am no exception. Whenever a new girl joins me, I usually take her to bed and teach her some basic tricks of the trade, like how to eat, and simple hygiene.

Like most madams, I have my favorites and might tend to give her the pick of the customers or the best work, but each girl is dear to me, and I try always to be fair. I can also say I hardly ever cheat on my girls like some madams who tell them a customer was a $50 date, when in reality he paid $100 and she kept $75 and gave the girl only $25,

As much as I give them guidance in their professional life, if they require it personally I am there to help, too. Sometimes, if I think it is justified, I offer advice uninvited, as in the case of Sarah, a former employee of Madeleine’s and for a while a roommate of mine.

Sarah was a sweet-natured but lazy girl who earned the nickname “Dopey” because she was forever swallowing “up” and “down” pills. As a result, she was always half-doped and did nothing constructive with her private life. I hated to see such a waste, so I gave her the lecture: “Sarah, I would like to see you take more of an interest in life. Why don’t you pick up a book now and again and read it instead of lying around all day?”

As head of the household, occasionally I have to be tough with the girls, and with the customers as well, if one complains about the other.

If a customer tells me that a girl is uncooperative or crude, I call her aside and ask is something wrong. If more than one man complains, I have to caution her, and if it happens too often, I usually have to let her go.

On the other hand, if a girl complains that a customer is rough or drunk and giving a girl a hard time, I have to handle that, too. All she has to do is slip into one of the bathrooms that adjoin the bedrooms, call me discreetly in, and tell me.

I don’t scream or bitch the men the way Georgette would do with her drunks, or the way Madeleine would do to a man who rejected her. I knock on the bedroom door, respectfully request permission to enter, and tell him the young lady says he is treating her badly.

If I see her complaint is justified, I ask him to dress – or have a massage first if he wants to, and a coffee – but to leave the premises as soon as possible and come back again next week when he is sober.

The madam herself, generally speaking, is too busy to get involved in any sexual activity unless it is a complicated bondage scene that perhaps only she is qualified to do. This is especially so now that the complex call-line system has been installed and the client books have all been reorganized to correspond with each of the four different color phones.

So if a man specifically requests to have me and is willing to pay the higher fee, I might go to bed with him, but he has to put up with the phones ringing and me jumping up to answer them. Sometimes the phone interruptions can be a beautiful tease, and I laugh it off with, “Oh, darling, at least you can’t say I’ve rushed you, because we are going to start all over again.”

But if the coitus interruptus makes him mad and he says, “Screw the damn phones,” I give him this little talk: “Darling, you’re so nice and hard now, so cool it, cool it off a little bit, and we’ll start all over again.”

One great privilege of being a madam as opposed to a working girl is that she can choose for herself any customer she would like to go with. If a groovy-looking guy walks in, I can snap him up for myself. The perfect situation I try to engineer is for a great-looking guy to pay for a three-way scene with me and my favorite girl of the moment. That way I get to swing with them both and make money as well.

Being a successful madam has its liabilities as well as its rewards, as I tell any girl who wants to go into the business. One of the liabilities is that your time is no longer your own. When a working girl completes her “shift,” she is free to meet her boyfriend or husband and relax as she likes. When I was a single I took off Wednesday and Saturday, nights.