Rules for Virgins (3 page)

The most dangerous is the Lover of Blood-Curdling Screams. He would just as soon fuck a pig and your mother. Most of those men go to streetwalkers. But the wealthy ones can afford to torture even a famous beauty. He loves to give a woman pain—and it does not come from a few slaps on the buttocks. The conceited girls are his favorite. They refuse him at first and are lured by his money. The innocent ones are entranced from the start. He can only be satisfied when he sees a beauty’s eye bulge when she has no breath to cry out for help. A few years ago, that happened to a courtesan in the House of Vitality. She was young and naive, like you, only seventeen. She knew everything—no one could tell her what to do. The demon encouraged her haughtiness. He asked to be her humble servant. He came laden with gifts and threw a banquet in her honor. The attendant invited him into the beauty’s boudoir. In the morning, the attendant found her dead and went insane. I won’t describe what the monster did. I can already see you’re sufficiently scared.

The suitors I’ll find for you will treat you like a lily made of white jade. A few will even be so overly polite you’ll be bored to tears when they seek your permission for every peek and touch. Rich old men can be among the best suitors and patrons. They’re experienced, generous, and they know how to tip. They enjoy adulation, but don’t need praise all night long. You’ll know who they are by how warmly I receive them. “Come sit here,” I’ll say, “your favorite spot by the window. Eat this, it’s your favorite snack. Drink this wine, it makes you hearty. Violet will sing your favorite song.” In the boudoir, they’ll treat you like the Goddess of Mercy in a holy temple. They’ll place offerings on your belly so that you might grant their stem a longer life. You may have to apply some herbs to get their stem to stand up, and the potions I have almost always work. Often he will simply fall asleep and dream of what he couldn’t do. Tell him your dream of what he did. There is another good trait of old men: They are loyal. They won’t chase after flowers, one after the next. They don’t want to educate a new girl about their inabilities. The only problem with old men is that they die, sometimes suddenly. You may have one as your patron who gives you a handsome stipend. It’s a sad day when you hear his sons are burning incense for him at the family temple. You can be sure that his wife won’t be toddling over with your stipend in hand.

With all these things, I will choose the very best suitors and patrons, who will go crazy to have you. My plan is to pay off your debt to Madam in three years or less. The furniture, clothes, and rent already come to two hundred fifty dollars. And that does not include your share of the food, the sedan, and the telephone. Once you’re free, you can do as you please, as long as you pay the rent and give Madam a small portion. When your savings have mounted, we can rent our own house and start a business of our own. I already have one in mind.

For your defloration, I would like you to earn a full set of jewelry. Most beauties are happy with the usual two gold bangles and bolt of silk. If I have my way, you will receive much more than that. An expensive ring or necklace might be enough, but once he’s in your room, I’ll suggest that he celebrate by giving you the rest of the set. After your defloration, we’ll need to work hard to accumulate more sets. We may have to rent jewelry from older courtesans who are hanging on and in need of cash. All those necklaces and bracelets will show future patrons how popular you already are. Once a man is your patron, always wear your most expensive set. Praise it lavishly, but add a small criticism. Tell him dark rubies do not flatter your complexion. Mention that the style is a little old-fashioned for a girl as young as you. Say that you saw a beauty who wore a more modern set, and that it showed what good taste her patron had. Now he has the opportunity to offer you jewelry more to your liking. If he says nothing, then that will be the last evening he comes to your boudoir until he offers a suitable form of admiration.

If he offers to take you to a jewelry store, let him know that Eight Virtues, on Felicity Lane, has the best selection and that they are also very honest and never claim that gold over silver is pure gold, unlike Eight Precious Garden, over on Fourth Avenue. I know the owner of Eight Virtues, Mr. Gao, and he will have already set aside two sets, one quite expensive, the other not as expensive but also very nice. When you arrive, Mr. Gao will ask your suitor what he has in mind. If he does not ask for a specific piece of jewelry, Mr. Gao will bring out the expensive set—bracelet, necklace, ring, and hair ornament. You should murmur that if you had a set like that, you would no longer wear the jewelry you have now. If the suitor tells you to try it on, remove the jewelry you have on, throw it on the counter, and tell Mr. Gao to give it to the memorial fund for chaste widows. Don’t worry, Mr. Gao will later come to the house and return the set. Now that you’ve discarded the other jewelry, what can your suitor do? He should buy the set you love so much to show he values you more than anyone, and since you value this set more than any other, the feeling is mutual. At the very least, he should buy a set worth a little more than the one you gave to the faithful widows. You cannot accept anything less.

Yet you also cannot appear greedy. You should not bargain with him. However, you can bargain with Mr. Gao on his behalf. Take off the necklace and examine it. Call attention to a flaw in one of the jewels, a little blur. Mr. Gao will look at it and acknowledge this with dismay and immediately offer a lower price. You can admit you still like the set but are not sure if it’s the right thing to get. You should then ask your suitor what he thinks. Is it still worth it? Notice the way that question is phrased. You are not asking him to buy it; you are asking if it is worth the money. If he does not answer immediately, Mr. Gao will lower the price again, saying he does not want anybody saying his merchandise is flawed. He adds that he is willing to sell the set for such a small sum because you said you liked it more than anything you’ve ever had. And when others see it, you might tell them the same. They will also think you paid full price. So this is beneficial to all. At this point, your suitor will likely buy it. After all, he’s struck a bargain without even trying.

On the other hand, he could decline to buy the set, and now he has a reason to do so without losing face. The set is imperfect. You said so yourself. Ask Mr. Gao if there is anything similar in style that is without flaws. Mr. Gao will bring out the second set I selected. It will be less expensive than the first set but more than the discounted price. You can exclaim over this unbelievable price. If the suitor does not immediately say he will buy it, what does that mean? Whatever it means, so you do not lose face, look at the set again and find something else that is not to your liking that you had not noticed before. I will ask Mr. Gao if he will have new sets next week. He will say yes, and I will suggest we return. Then we can see what happens. You might be surprised.

One beauty told me that she was once confronted with a similar humiliating situation. She walked toward the door and tried for one last gift, stopping to admire a headband. It was decorated with small pearls and was expensive for a headband, but not extraordinarily so. The suitor said that it did not become her. She was disheartened and prepared to walk away empty-handed when the man called out to Mr. Gao to bring out the headband he had seen the other day. When she saw it, she wept. It was encrusted with large pearls and diamonds and more expensive than the entire first set of jewelry. Mr. Gao had been in on this ruse. The suitor knew how courtesans played the game, but he truly loved this beauty, and he showed her it was not her tricks that had won his heart. When he became her patron, he gave her enough money to pay off her debts and open a house of her own. She was more devoted to him than any wife could be, and when he died suddenly, she killed herself to be with him. None of his other wives did that.

As you can see, the strategies for winning a pledge from a patron must be carefully played. You don’t want to return home empty-handed too many times. That’s why I should accompany you on any visits to the jewelry store. And until you get a top-quality headband, study the one Vermillion has. It is almost as nice as the one I told you about, studded with pearls and diamonds and shaped to enhance the roundness of her forehead and the angle of her phoenix eyes. You should openly admire the headband. Say aloud how precious it is. Praise the patron who bought it. She will appreciate your flattery, because it will show in front of other men how valuable she is and that the gifts from her future suitors should be equal in quality to her headband. Her patron will also be encouraged to give her another nice gift. One day, Vermillion will do the same for you. Your flattery will also give your suitors an idea of the sort of gift that could win your heart. As you grow in popularity, you should eventually receive a headband worth ten times more than the one I gave you.

My own fault lay in accepting something less. You are lucky you can benefit from my mistakes.

* * *

The illusion of romance depends on a man’s willingness to believe, and his willingness comes from thwarted desires. All of your illusions should lead to one thing: to make him fall in love with you. If he does, time will stand still when he is with you. He will fancy himself immortal and be willing to give up his worldly goods for you.

A few men may wish for special illusions. I call one the Illusion of Tragic Love. Remember the songs I said you should learn? The one about maidens who died young? You might take on the role of a girl he grieves for, someone to whom he secretly pledged his love. You will become that girl and either allow him to fulfill the pledge or be released from it. He may even ask you to perform the role of the cousin who dies in
A Dream of Red Mansions
or that of the lover of the scholar in the opera
White Snake
. A real weeper. This will require flowing robes for a costume, more white powder on the face for a ghostly effect. You should memorize scenes from the novel and master expressions of betrayal and forgiveness. It’s harder than you think. You don’t want to look murderous or like a fool. But if you master the look of tragedy, you can make a fortune. If you have truly lost someone, as I have, you will not need to pretend. You simply remember. Someday I will tell you all about him. I can’t ever speak of him without having tears from my heart flood out from my eyes.

The most common request from suitors is the Illusion of the Noble Maiden. The man wants you to put on the same airs of a nobleman’s daughter, whom he can woo into bawdy adventure, and without the meddling of a gabby mother-in-law. To achieve the Noble Maiden role, you wear clothes that are rich and dramatic, refined yet also a little daring. Perhaps the undergarments are skimpy and shocking red.

Some courtesans are asked to play what we call the Illusion of the Night Scholar. A little kohl to darken the eyebrows, the Ming hat of a philosopher, long robes. If he wants a warrior, the hair is oiled, parted on two sides, combed over the forehead, and knotted tightly at the back. Everyone says that it’s become the fashion now, and all because of that courtesan who calls herself the Genuine Confucian Scholar. Ha! Such a clever slap in the face to real Confucians. When she sings at the storytelling halls, she damns those Confucian men who claim it’s tradition to fuck their maids whenever they want. You know what happened to me, so I admire her for that. Although maybe she says this only to be shocking. What else can she do at her age to call attention to herself? She must be at least thirty-five. I am not criticizing her antics. I admire her ingenuity. I say this even though she once stood up in her carriage and cursed me as I was going by in mine. She said I’d spread gossip about her. And I cursed her back, because the rumors were all true. Everyone knew she was cheating on two patrons at the same time. She jumped out of her carriage, and who knows what she would have done if two courtesans and their suitors had not held her back. She’s vile-tempered, but that certainly has not hurt her success one bit. Maybe she caused a scene to get more attention in the press. Practically every day there are stories about her in the tabloids. Everyone says she’s one of the genius courtesans, but it’s ridiculous that she masks her age by dressing as a man. I don’t need to do that. Without trying, at thirty-three, I still look younger than my years. My pudendum is still firm like a young girl’s, not droopy at all despite years of experience. Several lovers have told me so.

Because of that old courtesan, the Night Scholar illusion has become quite popular these days, even in a few first-class houses. I don’t know if the courtesans here do that. But it used to be done only in the second-class houses. That’s what the old bustard allowed in the Hall of Tranquillity. The customer asked her for the Night Scholar, and she called the courtesan who was known for performing the role with some enthusiasm. A lot of that enthusiasm came from being older and having a last chance to make some good money. The customers piled on the gifts for a few days, and the gates to heaven opened. When I reached thirty, I became the Night Scholar most often requested, even though I look nothing like a man. There’s no shame when you do it in your own boudoir. I didn’t boast in the storytelling halls like desperate old you-know-who.

The old bustard also came up with another specialty to draw more business: Two Scholars. I played one of them, and whoever was not so busy played the other. The customers did the usual wooing, but with two beauties. One of us would complain, “Hey, I do all the work. Why should she get the same amount?” Then the other of us made the same complaint. That’s how we both cooperated to get more money. But we made it worth it to the man. He would enter the boudoir, quaking and close to bursting, when he saw two stern Confucian scholars. I held the ropes while the other wore a girdle with an ivory stem. I threw him silky undergarments to put on and called him a wife-whore. While he dressed, we sat at the tea table with legs crossed, smoking Western cigars. We commanded that he put on a headband, that he powder his face and rouge his lips. Oyo! What an ugly courtesan he made. Still, we flattered his prettiness, his youth, and called him “Little Pink Lotus.” He had to call us “Lord Scholars,” and I would bind him seated in the chair with his legs dangling over the arms, the usual position, nothing that special. He cried and begged, but alas, it was no use, and the other beauty crossed the threshold with the ivory stem. Where, you ask? How can you be so stupid? Where else would a stem go into a man? In his little pink lotus!