Most of her tables had involved long conversations with very rich men.They told her she was beautiful so often she’d become inured to the compliment. She was grateful for her college studies thus far, as she found herself discussing world politics, history, sociology, film, and Latin American literature. At one table, she’d recited a poem by a 17th century Mexican nun, which had so impressed an old media baron that he’d pulled her into his arms until the security guards intervened. By the end of the night, he was so tipsy that he told Madison he loved her, and slipped her eight hundred dollars. Though she’d spent much of the time in conversation, Madison had done many table dances as well. The clients were all a little different: fat, trim, old, young, handsome, ugly. From an old man who couldn’t stop himself from nipping at her breasts with his mouth, to a boyish teenager who gently rocked back and forth, and had to sit on his hands. What she hadn’t expected was the effect it would have on her.
