Early this evening I will venture into Kings Cross to find a suitable place to start my new career. I confess that at this very moment, I’m terrified of what could be the results of such a decision, but I feel strongly after my first casual experience with the Italian businessmen, I know that the future will bring equally good results.
I had a thought about what life as a prostitute would offer. I also tried to discover the reasons why a man was prepared to pay so much money to have an orgasm. I came to the conclusion that the orgasms weren’t the real reason. The orgasm was only the final result in the process. They needed a woman because they felt lonely and unsatisfied in their present life. They chased the dream of happiness, which in many cases, they couldn’t find at home with their own wives or at work.
But then I also continually dream of being happy. Everyone does, and yet no one is, because real happiness has never existed.
I thought about this job and I came to the conclusion that I wanted to become one…Yes, one of those women. At the moment I don’t have the courage to write down that word. It’s so crude, so degrading. When I was a child, they told me that those women’s lives were at the bottom of the social scale. In our modern times of promiscuity, this isn’t true any longer, provided you are in command of yourself and you know exactly what you want from it and for how long. I only want to do it for a short limited time.
The arguments in my thoughts, were: “Do I have anything to lose if I earn my living this way for a while? Would I lose honor, dignity, or self-respect? Thinking of it, I pondered if I ever possessed them. I’m alone and I haven’t anyone who loves me. Till now, I have only made the wrong decisions. I believe it’s time to let fate decide for me.”
I am surrounded by strangers. I admit that I’m terrified at the thought of becoming a prostitute, but then, I am already one for what I did a few nights ago.
At this moment I am somewhat euphoric and I’m feeling excited. Adrenaline pumps fast through my body.
I have to give away those religious principles that I learned when I was young. I must get into a new frame of mind. I must think only of the material benefits offered by this profession and not be ashamed of my body.
At the library recently, I read The Prince written by Machiavelli. He wrote a code of ethics for those princes governing Italy’s various states during the15th century. I found that those principles are still valid in today’s life.
Machiavelli summed up his theories by saying that ‘Il fine giustifica i mezzi’ means that the results are reason enough to justify the methods, regardless of how they have been obtained. I found there is so much truth in it. The money I would make would be enough to justify the way I earned it through prostitution. In this case, it would be nothing but the tool freeing me from the hassle of poverty and giving me back respectability and power in the future, upon my return to Brazil.
* * *
Kings Cross, better known to the locals as the Cross, is that part of the city that joins Darlinghurst. This city suburb has been tarnished by the trail of scandals and corruption since the beginning of the last century, where prostitution, gang-war, and other illegal business had been practiced. This is a common disease in the largest cities around the world and all of them have an area where corruption thrives. The fame of the Cross is well-known by the locals, as well as the many tourists crowding the streets searching for the local ‘Mecca of Sin.’
This was the ideal point to start my search and find a suitable place where I could achieve my objective. When I arrived at the Cross in the early evening, I slowly walked along both sides of the main street. I studied the signs on top of the many doors. Many of the nightclubs were situated on the upper floors, with a doorman downstairs, inviting the passer-by for the next show that, they said, would be starting soon.
Neon signs were everywhere, making the street colorful when it was dark, with large bright letters and designs illustrating what the public could expect in the clubs. Brochures with glossy photos of bikini girls dancing at the poles, or in sexy attitudes, were handed to the passer-by, while the porters extended a verbal invitation to visit the upstairs rooms and be part of the nocturnal exotic life.
I was overcome by uneasiness when I first ventured into one of these places. The name on the neon sign indicated to me the one I was looking for. I crossed my fingers in a good luck wish and I read again the name on the large sign, before going upstairs.
‘THE BRAZIL’ was written on the top in large red neon letters. The rest of the sign was decorated with palms and bikini dancers silhouetted across the rest of the board. I felt like I had reached home and I hoped to find some young Brazilian woman inside capable of helping me overcome the difficult beginning.
The club, in the early hours of the evening, was still closed to the public. I ventured upstairs where the large clubroom was lit only by a couple of fluorescent tubes, leaving the huge saloon in semidarkness. One man was busy cleaning and restocking the fridges with drinks. He saw me but kept silent, even as he threw a couple of glances in my direction. I sat on a high stool at the bar, but the man kept ignoring me and didn’t stop his chores.
I was there at such an unusual time and most likely, he knew what I was looking for. Purposely he left me in that sort of limbo. I found his attitude disturbing. Most likely, many young women like me buzzed around every second day looking for this kind of work. My uneasiness grew, the longer I waited for him.
Would he talk to me soon? I lit a cigarette and inhaled the smoke slowly to calm my nerves. If I waited much longer, I knew I would be overpowered by panic and leave. Was that the reason why that man hadn’t come to ask what I was looking for?
I thought that not many women would wait such a long time in that semi-dark place. They would easily be taken by panic and run away. Not me, I took the resolution to wait. I wanted to hear what answers he had to my questions.
My eyes had by now adjusted to the dim light and I could see more detail of what surrounded me. I noticed sets of tables arranged in a semicircle around the dance floor, and further down, along the wall, raised a little above the floor, ran a line of comfortable and intimate sofas, dominating the central stage which displayed two chrome poles used by the striptease entertainers.
Finally, the man came to the bar and started to tidy up this area and packed some glasses into the dishwasher.
‘I’m looking for work.’
‘If you want to work you must have a valid working visa.’ He replied without raising his eyes.
I took out my passport and I showed it to him. He looked at the red stamp affixed by immigration and finally, looking back at me with more interest, started to study my looks.
‘Do you have any experience?’
I didn’t have an answer ready. I hesitated, to choose a suitable reply. By saying yes, he would ask me where. If I gave a negative answer, he would tell me he was looking only for experienced hostesses.
‘I’m a university graduate and I have to write about this part of life.’ I could see his disbelief in what I said.
‘Before making any decision it is better if you talk to some of the other girls. There are three Brazilians working here and they can answer your questions. If that is what you are really looking for, we can finish this conversation later. I’ll send one of the girls over.’
* * *
The women started to arrive at the club. I saw the owner talking to two of the Brazilians, and he pointed his finger at me. Apparently, the two declined his request and sat at another table.
It was still too early for customers. That gave me time to study the group of hostesses. They were young and well-groomed with a mixed cosmopolitan background. The majority had an oriental look, representing different South Asian countries. Between them, I could recognize the Philippines and Indonesians, but at least two of them had an unmistakable Hawaiian look, familiar to me from some movies I had seen.
The Latinos were well represented by different South American women with the remainder being European. Studying this group of entertainers, I was pleased to note they were neatly dressed in smart fashionable clothes. They certainly didn’t have that look that many people imagine of prostitutes dressed in striking, revealing mini dresses. It was most likely a rule imposed by the club to create more decor and prestige.
The patrons were of a high social class and liked the atmosphere at the Brazil, and the refined and beautiful women who were capable of raising their sensual desires.
* * *
End Part 3