Finally one girl piped up and said, ‘Welcome.’ Her name was Toni; I later learnt that she used to be named Anthony. But she was stunning and always friendly. ‘Darling, don’t listen to Louise, she’s a ball-busting lesbian who couldn’t cut it as a model because she wouldn’t fuck her way to the top. She’s never actually worked in the sex industry, but by the way she goes on you’d think she invented it.
‘Now, let me tell you the real rules: if you don’t want to fuck someone, just tell management he’s got warts. There’s not a girl here that won’t back you up, and we expect the same of you. You want to take a man’s business card, take it, then put it down your panties or hide it in a tampon box. Even management won’t look there. After work a lot of us get together at Bert’s Bar in Darlinghurst, sometimes it’s just to swap taxis to save on fare. We stick together here, you know what I’m talking about?’
A wave of relief came over me, I was glad to realise it wasn’t going to be like working in San Quentin.
Roberta the receptionist came in. ‘Paige, Ebony, Kate, Crystal, Jennifer and Sophia go to room one please.’
I didn’t think it was any coincidence that we were all blonde; I knew we were about to confront a wall of tourists. I was right. There were four men waiting, smoking and speaking Japanese. For some reason Asian tourists always went to brothels in packs. I knew I’d get picked; I was the youngest, I had the largest breasts and big green eyes—I was definitely gone, it was just a matter of to whom.
Our bread and butter were clients on holiday from Asia—and they particularly liked me, seeing as I was blonde and busty. You had to be particularly wary of these well-to-do high society men, as they had an aversion to condoms and a tendency to rip them off when a girl wasn’t looking.
Japanese custom dictated that the most senior man got his pick first, then down the pecking order you went. The discussion went on while we just stood there politely smiling. Then in perfect English, they asked something totally inappropriate like, ‘Are they your real breasts?’ Or ‘can you turn around please,’ or ‘Do you shave your twat?’
***
On average I took home about $700 a night, so within three weeks I’d earned enough to get a copy of a birth certificate, a Medicare card, and a hot tip about a guy who rented apartments without a lease, just cash in hand. Armed with documentation proving I was indeed who I said I was I went to secure my own abode.
To my great disappointment, he didn’t ask for any identification, just showed me the apartment. I said yes, handed him $480 bond and $240 rent for two weeks. With my cash burning a hole in his pocket, he handed me a key, then turned on his heel and left. I bought a house full of furniture in one day and had it delivered the next. My apartment was located in the swanky suburb of Neutral Bay. All the women working with me advised that I should have chosen an apartment in Bondi, ‘after all that’s where all the respectable pros live, sweetie’.
Unlike most of my fellow employees, I’d decided to go cheap. My apartment was a one-bedroom renovator’s dream. Before I moved in I had to paint every wall to cover all the stains. It consisted of a kitchen roughly the size of a shoe box, a large lounge room and a bedroom with an ensuite. Even though it was humble it was home to me and I loved every inch of it.
I only did four shifts a week because I was still dancing and choreographing, but that was plenty. I resigned from the bar-n-grill, but stayed on good terms with the management. They even got my dancers in on various occasions. Most of my money was being wasted, but at the time I thought they were all necessary expenses. After all, I was seventeen and earning over $2500 per week. Groceries, taxis, rent and utilities came to no more than $300 per week, so what was I doing with the rest?
Shopping became a daily event; I would go to the mall with the previous night’s wages and come home with loose change. There always seemed to be something else I needed: cutlery, linen, kitchen appliances, a TV, a video recorder; the list was never ending.
Friends were trying to encourage me to save, but I was almost possessed by a need for things. I felt that I would only have to purchase these belongings once. I wanted a comfortable home that was filled with my own things, and no one could ever take them away from me. I simply wanted to know I had something to come home to.