My first two days as a hostess for the golf tournament went about as expected. There were many exciting and engaging opportunities to meet celebrities as well as wealthy, seriously dedicated golf fans. Many knew each other well from attending all the major golf events around the country. Dragon Lady introduced me around as a hostess -- not be confused with escorts or the caddie babes -- which meant, supposedly, "here to be helpful, look pretty, friendly" but essentially, "hands-off." I started to blend in like all the wannabe MAWs (model, actress, whatever) at Hollywood parties.
I've never wanted to blend in. The shy exhibitionist side of me preferred to stand out if only just a little.
Before I reported for work on the third day, I stopped by a seamstress' shop that advertised "one day service" and asked the owner if she could hem my shorts so my bum would peek out just a tad more than slightly. She laughed at me. But, she had me put the shorts on, chalked and pinned them, and told me to come back that afternoon.
The woman was an artist. My tush never looked as good as it did in those shorts. Wearing them between 5 pm and 8 pm at the resort, my "blending in" ended. I got three invitations to dinner that night.
On the fourth day, I took my polo shirts to the seamstress/artist. "Can you crop these?" She did it on the spot, 30 minutes, two shirts. Why crop the polo shirts? Polos with shorts was the official uniform of hostesses. Dragon Lady never said we couldn't crop them.
Fourth day at the resort. My tips exceeded my salary. Dragon Lady says, "Cute, but dial it back. Try golfing attire if you want a change. That is a little too California." I had dinner that night with a group of Scottish couples who were crazy for a current young Scottish golfing sensation, Carly Booth. At 17 she was the youngest woman ever to qualify for the women's European tour. They showed me a picture of her (above). I remembered the words of Dragon Lady, "...golfing attire...."
On the fifth day, I bought a red plaid mini kilt, black tee shirt, and matching OTK socks at Pac Sun in the Tucson Mall. When I got to the to resort at 5 pm, I made a beeline for the bar where the Scots normally hung out. As the afternoon and evening progressed, I was made an honorary Scot, a member of their "links society," and received numerous invitations to visit Bonnie Scotland. When it came time to change into a dress, one of the Scottish women took me to a boutique in the resort. There, she bought me an exquisite, white lace blouse to wear with my kilt for the evening. It is still the finest blouse I own.
Dragon Lady pulled me aside just before 11 pm. "There are tournaments in Phoenix and Las Vegas soon if you want to expand your horizons. I can connect you." I had heard that term before, "expand your horizons" and knew what it meant. "Thanks, but no," I said, "this tournament was more than enough for me."
She stared at me for a moment and with a quizzical look said, "You know, I keep up with the hostesses, who they are with, what they do, how late they stay, and what is being said about them. And I've heard that each one of them, except you, has hooked up with at least one person here."
"Oh wow," I said, blinking innocently, as poker-faced as I could manage.
She burst out laughing, "Okay, okay. Be sure to wear that outfit again tomorrow. It's a hit"
The next day, the final day of the tournament, all of the hostesses wore mini skirts and OTKs.
With tips, I made nearly $4,000 that week (cash), ate at the best restaurants, drank the best in wines and liquor, and met some genuinely terrific people. All for just looking cute, being nice to people, and having fun.
And, although they offered to pay me, I couldn't take money from the lovely Scottish couple I did hook-up with the last night of the tournament. Dragon Lady was right. I hadn't hooked up with anyone when she talked to me. Yet.
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