‘I’m Amber and this is Chantelle, with a “C”. What’s your name?’
I sort of figured that Amber and Chantelle weren’t their real names, so I responded with Kate.
‘Is that your real name?’ asked Amber. Before I could answer, she said, ‘Because you know you don’t have to give them your real name don’t you?’
How did she know I was a working girl? Was it that transparent?
‘No, I gave them my working name,’ I said.
The clinic was government funded and the only people who frequented it were people in the sex industry. The classy agencies made it a mandatory condition of work. Places in the Cross didn’t care if you had diseases.
My name was called twenty minutes later and reluctantly I entered the room. Inside I found a middle-aged doctor and the same lovely nurse still wearing a welcoming smile. I felt dirty and cheap being there and I assumed they were judging me harshly for my choice of careers.
‘So what are we calling ourselves? Ah, here we are, Kate, that’s a sweet name for a sweet girl.’
How could he be so jovial, locked in this little room looking at pros’ vaginas all day? He did an internal and took a heap of swabs, he explained they had to test for chlamydia, gonorrhoea, hepatitis A, B and C, and syphilis. In addition to all of that he would have to take some blood for an AIDS test. The seriousness of the hazards of my occupation was starting to dawn on me. The doctor must have seen the look in my eye because he came and put his hand on my arm to reassure me it was all routine.
He explained that as long as I was careful, it was unlikely that I would contract anything. Most positive results arise from girls being too trusting of casual sex and their partners. He said that I should be proud of myself for being so cautious, and that most of the working girls he knew were more hygienic than your average woman. I’m sure he was just bolstering my ego, but it did make me feel better. I went and took my place back in the bleak hallway; ten minutes later the nurse came out, handed me a slip of paper and instructions for my next visit. I glanced at it and left, only to return thirty seconds later.
‘Is this date right, am I supposed to return every two weeks and go through this disgusting, intrusive procedure every time?’
‘Yes, honey, it goes with the territory.’
Deflated, I left.
That evening I fronted up to work ten minutes early and Louise greeted me. She took me into what’s called the ladies’ lounge. That’s where the girls put their feet up, watched TV, eat, smoked or just gossiped. Adjoining the lounge was the dressing room. I noticed there was no curtain or door between the two rooms. I later found out it was so that the management could scrutinise the girls while they were dressing. They were always waging war against drugs. Mind you, this day I did resemble a pincushion, thanks to the Randwick clinic, as we called it.
Louise told me to put my bag in the locker in the ladies’ lounge and get dressed. While I did that, she sat and explained the rules to me.
‘Don’t talk to the other girls. Don’t wear black. You must buy a new dress every fortnight, and bring it in for inspection before wearing it. Don’t socialise with the other girls outside of work. Hand in all tips. Do not exchange personal details with clients, this includes accepting business cards. No drinking unless your client is partaking. No personal calls in or out during working hours. No leaving in the middle of a shift, for any reason. Refusal of a client must be based on medical reasons, for example he has warts or VD. The only other reason you can refuse a client is if you know him, like he’s your brother or so forth.’
I thought if I just watched TV and fucked I should stay out of trouble.
We went on a tour of the place. It covered at least four other three-storey terraces. There was a bar room that adjoined the office and a formal lounge that extended the length of two terraces but had concertina screens separating the rooms if need be. Also on ground level were four small TV rooms that played hardcore videos all day. Louise explained that one of the receptionists always answered the door and brought the client into room one, if that was busy he would go to room two and so on. If all four rooms were taken he would be escorted to the main lounge. If we were still filling up, the screen would be pulled across and the second lounge could be used. If everything was full, gentlemen could sit in the bar and be offered a drink. Louise didn’t like the place getting this busy but it often did. Some evenings you could find ten to twelve men sitting in the bar.