Eventually Mr Peters called out: ‘Hey Bosnia, Sabrina and Austria, come.’ He always referred to us as countries except if there were more than one girl from a particular nation present. If a gentleman walked in while we were all seated in the lounge he went around by nationality, men would say, ‘Excuse me, Miss Russia, may I have a word to you?’ At first I was insulted but it sort of grew on you.
Mr Peters’s business partner was named Warren, a lovely man I grew very fond of. He would sit behind the desk all night taking calls from potential clients or girls calling in. Warren did all the dirty work: if a girl had not shown up it was Warren’s job to phone her and give her a severe ear bashing. But he never really intimidated anyone. One evening he had to correct CoCo for not wearing any stockings, and she simply laughed at him.
In the sexiest Hungarian accent you ever heard, she said, ‘But Warren, I have such nice legs, why should I hide them? And it is so hot, I get all sweaty between my legs if I wear stockings, you don’t want that to happen, do you?’
‘CoCo, what do I say next time I correct a girl for not wearing stocking and she says but CoCo doesn’t have to wear stockings, so why should I?’
‘Easy, just say that I am sleeping with you so I have different rules. Then maybe all the girls will want to sleep with you to not wear stockings, this will be fun for you, yes? If they do not be wanting sex with you at least they will always want stockings, yes?’
How could he argue with logic like that?
‘Just next time wear stocking, please.’
‘Oh, you are no fun.’ The following day CoCo would come into work with her long, brown legs fully exposed with no comment from Warren.
The only person everyone was afraid of was Mrs Peters. She was impeccably dressed, and always looked as though she had just stepped out of a beauty salon. But in truth I think that was just the impression she liked to give off. I was sure that Mr and Mrs Peters were a self-made couple who never forgot their beginnings. Mrs Peters and I would sit for hours discussing anything and everything. I liked the way she thought. She had a brilliant sense of humour as well. I seemed to be the only girl who liked her, and for this reason she showcased me to the more lucrative clientele. She was all business. If you obeyed the rules and showed respect, she was nice to you, but go against the rules and Mrs Peters would be on you. Her aggression was not just taken out on the girls: she would flare up just as quickly at a client if he was found to have mistreated any one of her ladies.
Most of the clients who frequented the establishment were friends of Mr Peters. I assumed they had begun as clients but over the twenty or so years they had formed bonds. His lists of clientele ranged from royalty, country leaders of all varieties and dignitaries, to movie and rock stars, oil barons and business men.
Some men would genuinely come in to chat with Mr Peters for hours. Once he had ascertained that they were not there to select from his harem he would send us to the lounge. There were always a few men who said they were there to choose a lady but would sit with Mr Peters for hours, drinking his expensive scotch and flirting with us, then say, ‘I’ll come back later in the week and see who else is on.’ This annoyed Mr Peters no end. But he was too polite to say anything.
Occasionally he would say, ‘In his heyday, that Mr Singe would spend $10,000 a week here. I must be grateful to him.’ He was ever the gentleman.
When business in the office was slow you could always hold out hope that trusty Warren could get you a phone job. That’s where a client will ring up and request a girl or two to visit him at his home or hotel. Most men had particular ideas about what they were looking for. They may have a favourite girl or nationality. Sometimes it was simply a hair colour. A lot of the time, Warren or Mr Peters knew the client so well they knew exactly what type of girl to send. Occasionally it was gauged by price: ‘Don’t send me one of your $900 girls, tonight I am too drunk to appreciate her. I have $700, what can you do for me?’
Warren would call one of us over and instruct us to go to a certain address and to only charge him $700. He’d smile and say, ‘See you in an hour.’
Warren picked me more often than not and on one occasion I even had to go to Malaysia to see one of Warren’s old school friends.
It was such a joy to work there. Girls were forever flying off to India, Kuala Lumpur, Jakarta, Bali—anywhere and everywhere. It wasn’t uncommon to come home with a new Tag Heuer or at the very least some expensive new outfit or piece of jewellery. Asian men could be difficult clients but they could also be terribly generous.