Chapter Fifteen A Bridge Too Far #2
But still, everything about Epstein and Maxwell’s brazen request felt wrong.
There was no way I wanted to bring a child into the world for them to raise.
What if the baby were female? Was the plan for Epstein and Maxwell to have me bring that little girl up until she reached puberty, then hand her over for them to abuse?
I wanted no part of it. Epstein and Maxwell had made so many demands that I had met, ignoring my own feelings in the hope of pleasing them.
But this proposal would endanger another person: a helpless child. It was a bridge too far.
Today I’m sad that I found it easier to stand up for an as-yet-to-be-conceived baby than for myself.
With perfect clarity, I simply knew that I couldn’t agree to their proposal.
That said, I also knew I couldn’t just tell Epstein and Maxwell no.
That was too dangerous. For the first time in more than two years, I began actively seeking a way to escape, buying time by pretending to think over their offer.
After a few days, I came up with at least part of a plan.
I told the two of them that, yes, I’d have their baby, but first I hoped they would deliver on the promise they’d dangled in front of me the first day we met.
At long last, would they help me get formally trained as a masseuse? I politely asked them to consider it.
It was just before my nineteenth birthday when I got my answer.
We were on Epstein’s island again when Epstein gestured for me to sit on his lap.
“First of all, happy birthday,” he said, his face close to mine.
“We know how hard you’ve worked, and we agree you deserve something special.
So, we are sending you to Thailand.” I must have looked confused—I’d assumed if Epstein agreed to get me trained, it would happen somewhere closer to home.
But Epstein said that Maxwell had found a school in Chiang Mai, in the northern part of the country, where I could get certified in Thai massage in just eight weeks.
I started to thank him, but he wasn’t finished.
“Just one more thing,” Epstein said. “While you are in Chiang Mai, I will need you to get to know a particular girl.” He told me her name—it sounded Thai to me—and said if I thought she met his criteria, he would have her flown to the United States.
“So even when I’m far away, I’ll still be recruiting?
” I asked myself silently. At the same time, though, I realized this might be my only chance for an exit and I’d be crazy not to seize it.
So I smiled and gave him a warm hug. It was important to make Epstein and Maxwell believe I was on their side.
Over the next few weeks, Maxwell arranged for me to attend the International Training Massage School, which had a reputation as one of the best centers for the study of Northern-style Thai massage.
She bought me a coach ticket and reserved me a room at the Dusit Royal Princess, a four-star hotel. Epstein paid the bill in advance.
I was sent home to Florida to pack and say my goodbyes.
By this point, Tony and I had moved in with his parents, so I spent most of my time there, trying to decide what to put in storage and what I should try to carry with me.
While I didn’t know what the future held, I sensed that I should take with me anything I couldn’t live without.
I also visited my parents, and my brother Danny and his new wife, Lanette, came to see me off.
I remember I took Skydy—then fourteen—aside and told him I’d always be there for him.
For those few days, I pretended I was a normal girl preparing for an exotic vacation, not a prisoner plotting her escape.
In mid-September 2002, Epstein and Maxwell arranged for me to return to New York; I’d continue on to Thailand, solo, from there.
On the morning my commercial flight was leaving Miami for New York City, I said one last goodbye to my dog, Mary-Jane, and then Tony and I loaded my many suitcases into my Dodge truck.
I’ve never been a light packer, but this time I was even heavier than usual.
My luggage held every memento and photo that was important to me.
We wrestled my many bags out of the truck, which I was letting Tony use in my absence, and he helped me haul everything to the ticket counter.
Luggage finally checked, we headed for security.
That’s when I broke down, weeping. Tony was mystified.
Hadn’t I been away for several weeks before?
What was making me so emotional? I couldn’t explain it, even to myself, but I had an inkling that I wouldn’t be coming back.
I hugged Tony tighter than I ever had that day and told him how much I’d miss him.
“Take care of the pup,” I said, as I always did when I was jetting off somewhere with Epstein.
Tony said he would, and I gave him one last kiss, then walked away.
For the next several days in Manhattan, Epstein and Maxwell put me to work training Epstein’s new “assistant”: a Czech beauty named Nadia Marcinkova, who he said would be filling in for me while I was away.
Marcinkova was about three years younger than me—the same age I’d been when I’d first met Epstein—and he required that she and I “massage” him together, much like Maxwell and I had done back in 2000.
“Follow Jenna’s lead,” Epstein told Nadia that first session.
I could see how hungrily he looked at her then, and this stirred up some feelings in me.
All those stories I’d told myself about being needed, about mattering, about being the only one who could take care of him—all that was so obviously untrue.
As much as I wanted to disappear from Epstein’s life, it stung to be so easily replaced.
On September 21, Epstein and Maxwell were leaving New York on an extended trip to Africa.
Marcinkova was flying with them on Epstein’s Boeing 727, as were several high-profile guests: the actors Chris Tucker and Kevin Spacey and former president Clinton, not to mention six US Secret Service agents.
(Clinton has said the trip was a humanitarian mission that included stops related to the work of his foundation.) Before they left, Maxwell sat me down for a serious chat.
Once I landed in Chiang Mai, she said, I needed to immediately track down the Thai girl Epstein was interested in.
Maxwell wanted to hear from me regularly about my progress on that.
She handed me my travel documents, which included locations of Western Union offices where she’d be wiring me money.
I still have the envelope all this came in.
On the outside, Maxwell had written the name of the Thai girl and two phone numbers: her own cell phone and that of Jojo, Epstein’s New York butler.
“CALL MS. MAXWELL!” she commanded, in all capital letters.
“See you in two months,” Epstein said before he and Maxwell left.
I nodded, and as the door shut behind them, I felt a mix of elation and tension.
Freedom like this was rare for girls in Epstein’s orbit, but in truth, I felt I’d been trapped since the age of seven.
Run. Survive. Run. Survive. That had been my rhythm even before I met Jeffrey and Ghislaine.
After more than two years, I was about to break out of the gilded cage they had built for me.
Now I just had to keep them from putting me back in it.
Six days later, I boarded a commercial jet headed for Bangkok, buckled my seat belt, and closed my eyes. Everybody knew that Epstein was the one who ended his relationships with young girls—never the other way around. I knew that too. But there’s a first time for everything.
Skip Notes
* Kellen would later claim that she, too, was a victim of Epstein’s.
But at Ghislaine Maxwell’s trial, Kellen was identified by victims as having booked them for “massages” with Epstein.
And at Maxwell’s sentencing in 2022, Judge Alison Nathan named Kellen as “a knowing participant in the criminal conspiracy.”