PARLOR DAZE ......(part one)

The road is long
With many a winding turns
That leads us to who knows where
Who knows where

But I'm strong

What factors choose us to make decisions that will affect the rest of our lives?  For me it was a combination of things which occurred during the early months of 1985.

My illness had cost me not only my job, but also my self esteem and my shield of invulnerability.  Being told that you have an incurable disease at the age of 22 is not something that is easy to come to terms with.  Luckily I didn't have to but the prolonged illness which lasted over 2 months left me feeling weak and vulnerable.


My relationship with Bill was starting to fall apart.  His main faults were vanity and selfishness. His extreme optimism and self confidence led me to question my own social skills.  Being sick and weak added to these feelings of insecurity.  My biggest problem was feeding my now out of proportion drug habit.  On a reduced income, Bill would often stay out after work, smoking with friends, while I stayed at home feeling wretched and physically having marijuana withdrawals if I didn't get to smoke at least once a day.

Bill also started a new hobby, ceramic arts.  This would be the death knell of our relationship.  The first week he was in the beginners group learning how to throw pots, the second week he had advanced to the 'professional' group, and by the end of one month he was creating ceramic tableware collections for 2 shops in Paddington.  Any chance of re-starting our clothes making stall was well and truly gone.  It had been Bill's flair for design and skill at printing which had really been the success behind our clothing range.  My dressmaking skills and design talent were rudimentary and our clothing sold on Bill's design appeal.  I had realized that early on in our venture, but while it worked and was fun I wasn't upset.

His friends also were not my friends, but rather people I socialized with and who tolerated me because of Bill.  I felt inadequate with my lack of skills and profession.  His friend's were all up and coming designers, wealthy Eastern Suburbs socialites, actors and artists.  My few friends were all outer suburban refugees, desperate to identify with a happening trend but without the skills or abilities to do more than dress up.

 While I was walking once a week 4 km up and down Sydney's hilly terrain to get a box of weekly groceries from a charity organization and then walking back again, Bill would be out with friends getting stoned and I was sure seeing another boy who he occasionally  would have at our apartment when I returned.  Always with other friends but after a few visits I could sense the closeness between them.

My ultimate reason for choosing the path I did was my desperate addiction which was now costing me $20 a day.  I had to be stoned from the time I woke up to the time I went to bed.  My friend from the diet company was returning to Queensland and offered me her two part time positions.  One was at a cake shop just off Darlinghurst Rd in Kings Cross, the other was cleaning jobs for 3 different elderly ladies living in either Kings Cross or Elizabeth Bay, which were all really, combined with Rushcutters Bay, part of the same big suburb.

The cake shop was fun and brought me back to my earlier days of working the streets.  I worked Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights from 4pm until 9pm, alone, and got paid $20 per shift.  On top of that I managed to always 'under-ring' the cash register by at least $10 each night, plus take home a litre of milk, a loaf of bread and cakes and pies to munch out on when I got home.

The bonus was that between 8 and 9pm the street girls would start their shifts.  Most were young girls already trapped into the world of pimps and heroin.  Many evenings when they started they had no money to buy food.  I was happy for them to pay later, or even better, for them to give me a handful of pills or some grass in payment.  Looking after the girls meant that I kept their pimps happy and whenever there was brewing trouble in the shop, usual in the Cross on a Friday or Saturday night, I wouldn't have to wait more than a few minutes before car doors started opening and the shop filled with big, scary pimps ready to sort out any trouble.  The bosses thought I was wonderful as I had managed to go for 2 months without being robbed.

The cleaning jobs were easy and enjoyable.  4 little rich old ladies who needed company rather than cleaning.  I would spend two hours chatting and doing limited cleaning as the places were spotless anyway.  Only the bathrooms and window cleaning were beyond them so I did that first before pottering around tidying and vacuuming generally propped up by lots of gin & tonic and chatter from the ladies.

With my government subsidy for sickness benefits I was earning about $180 per week.  $70 of which was my half of the rent...it wasn't enough to pay the bills and get stoned daily.  I only got through because of the extra drugs I exchanged for cakes and pies.

My decision to go back into prostitution came easily.  This was the only job I could do stoned.  This was the only job I had any real skill for, and this was the only job which would guarantee my lifestyle.  I didn't want to work the streets again so decided to try a parlour.  

I clearly remember the day I went for the interview.  It was raining and I stood for 30 minutes under a viaduct about 50 metres from the address.  Was I too old?  Would they want my look?  Could I really do this again?

I eventually summoned up the courage to enter and was immediately met by the owner, Graham.  I recognized him instantly.  He had starred in a really bad TV soap opera in the early 70's which I remembered distinctly.  He had played the part of the local butch thug.  The fact that I recognized him and that one of the drag queens recognized me from my Adelaide days got me the job.  He didn't even ask me any really personal questions.  He just advised me to 'tone down' my look for the clients.  'Be more boyish', were his exact words.

I was to start the next afternoon, Sunday, and work from 4pm till midnight.  The next stage of my life was about to spiral out of control, though I didn't see any of it until it was too late.