Another way she had invented to create a bit of extra gambling money was to offer to go shopping for us. She would casually say, ‘I must go shop now, you want anything?’
Without fail there was always something we needed but were too lazy to dress and get it ourselves. So we would hand Lilly $20 or $50 with a list of what we needed. Hours later a very drunk Lilly would return with a bag of groceries. Lilly never forgot one single item on the list but rarely remembered what denomination note each girl had given her.
‘Lilly, I gave you a fifty for bread, tomatoes, and cheese, why are you only giving me thirteen dollars change?’ Asking the question was a waste of breath.
‘Oh no! You only gave me twenty-dollar note, see I write it down.’
It was pointless arguing, it was easier to call it a delivery charge. Who could begrudge Lilly a few extra dollars after all? She knew what we made. And more to the point we knew what she made and couldn’t help feeling a little bad for her—how could we begrudge her a measly ten or twenty dollars occasionally?
On the lower level of the apartment there were two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, a lounge room and two verandas. The two lower level rooms housed four of the girls, two per room. Coco and Gina (Hungary) shared the master bedroom, Louise (Australia) and Veronique (the Philippines) shared the smaller room. Upstairs was one large room with a bathroom and we were packed in like sardines. Wall-to-wall cupboards, two make-up tables and six lockers. My bed was right under the air conditioner while Sabrina and Cindy (Bosnia) shared a double bed. Lola (the Philippines) had the bed nearest to me. On the far wall was Rene (Hungary).
There was no doubt that Sabrina dominated the room. She had a third of the closet space. She even made Lola keep her clothes in her suitcase under the guise that there simply would not be room for her stuff and if she did manage to squeeze it in her clothes might get crushed. Lola just did as she was told. Four of us shared a make-up table while Sabrina monopolised the only table with a light and power point. This meant we all had to get ready for work before the sun set so we could see what we were doing.
We all got very close—bar you-know-who. At the end of every shift we would all end up back at the apartment for a nice drink and supper. Everyone would bring something home: alcohol, chips, a salad or fruit. It all ended up on the table while we sat around talking and laughing. If one of us had had a bad client everyone would listen and commiserate. Mainly we talked about the boyfriends back home we missed, or our dreams of what we planned on doing with all our money. I would call this time of the evening the beer and undies hour.
I had never really done escorting before, because in Australia I point-blank refused to do it. Primarily it was a safety issue, you never really know who is hiding in a closet or who is going to turn up unexpectedly. Secondly, it’s one thing to invite a client to your home for a quick one on one, then send him on his way, no one is any the wiser. But when you do escorting in your home town, chances are you are going to run into a friend and have to explain why you are in a restaurant being fondled by this man twice your age. So escorting fell into the same category as sex with couples: you just couldn’t pay me enough to do it.
But here in Singapore, it was unlikely that I would run into any close friends and it was equally unlikely that I would make any money if I didn’t do escort services. The calibre of clients you saw in Singapore were a far cry from the gents you met in Australia. That is not to say they were all perfect. The beer and undies hours were very informative sessions as to who were good clients and who were not. One lass from Russia had spent five days in India with a client who had paid her half upfront in US dollars with the promise of the balance to be paid on her final day. He was true to his word: on the final day he presented her with a veritable treasure trove of fine jewels and gold by way of payment. She chose a select piece for her own use and took the remaining items to a fine Indian jeweller to sell in Singapore. She was beside herself when she learnt that all of the items were glass and the gold was not real either. The broker offered her US$100 for the lot. Then there was the story of the girl who had also been paid in jewellery by a client only to be arrested at the airport departure lounge for attempting to leave the country with stolen property.
Mr Peters refused to send any girls abroad with Saudi clients, no one ever knew why.