Monday, 1 September 2008


Fairuz was a very promising young woman from Morocco, beautiful brown face, tall, slim figure and an enchanting voice with a singing ability to match. I tried unsuccessfully to promote her. But fate wouldn’t have it. All TV producers and song promoters simply ravished her and threw her out in the morning empty handed, so to speak. She eventually came to the conclusion that she might as well go the whole hog and earn some money out of it. She joined the hordes of Arab hookers in Edgware Road, London.
No money to be earned out of me, we parted ways for a good many years as I wished her luck in her new career. In the mean time she made some good money, whilst I achieved some prominence in my writing career. As it were, I was puzzled and rather annoyed by her late telephone calls at night, some times past midnight.
‘ Hi Khalid, how are you? Haven’t seen you for a long time. Any new books you published? Oh, how thoughtless of you! Not sending me a copy! I shall cry. You don’t love me any more!’
All these niceties would go on for a minute or two and then she would bid me good night and ring off. This repeated rigmarole puzzled me. Why did she always ring me at those late hours, often waking me up from my deep sleep?
It didn’t take me long to discover that she did so whenever she was with some rich Arab Gulf client. I had attained some popularity as a columnist among the Gulf peoples. ‘ Oh, you know Khalid Kishtainy , that great writer! Fancy that! How do you know him, tell us.’ She would then pick up the telephone and repeat that conversation about neglecting her and not sending her my latest book. They would immediately change their tone and their manners with her. They stop mauling her private parts whilst she was eating her kebab. They certainly topped up her fees as a high class mistress who knew Khalid Kishtainy. Even more to the point, they would go back to their country, Kuwait or Dubai or Qatar, and recommend her to their relatives and business colleagues, ‘ Going to London? Oh London! Take my advice! Don’t mess about with low class street walkers. Go to the Kishtainy whore. A bit more expensive, but , oh my man! She will tell you so much about our beloved Khalid. She knows him well.’
I don’t mind Fairuz( her professional name), earning more money and having more oil rich clientele, but am I not entitled to some of her earnings out of her use of my name? Isn’t that part of free market ethics? I live by my pen as a word worker and she lives by her vagina as a sex worker, albeit I prefer calling her, as I know her well, a sex artist rather than a mere sex worker. I think I should be entitled to a certain proportion of every fee she receives per intercourse.
I am thinking now of seeking the advice of a good solicitor with enough experience in such matters. I don’t want to be prosecuted for living off the immoral earnings of a woman. But an author’s name is a commodity protected by law. I don’t want any silly Salma or tubby Fatma to play around with it whilst another man is impregnating her. I should also be entitled to compensations for the stress I had to endure whilst sitting in my gloomy study surrounded by my heavy books and hateful dictionaries and receive a call to tell me that another luckier man is having a glorious time on top of my beloved Fairuz. Surely a British English court would take cognisance under English Law of this mental suffering and emotional frustration I have to endure and allow me a portion of her fees as compensations.

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