DARK DAZE...(part 4).

Out of hospital and six weeks before the cast on my hand was removed.  Thankfully I was eligible for 'sickness benefits' which allowed us to continue paying the rent on our house and buy food but not much more.

During that time I began searching for a new rental which we could use as our new business.  With Matty working and my drug dealer 'leaving it up to me' to choose the right premises I spent nearly every day visiting real estate agents and combing the classifieds for the 'right place'.

Eventually I found it, or at least I thought I had.  A beautiful late Victorian detached house located in the suburb of Summer Hill, about 6km away from the city.  It was everything we had been looking for.  The first/last house in the street, with 3 downstairs reception rooms and kitchen plus 3 upstairs bathrooms and bathroom.

To add to it's suitability it was hedged on both sides providing total privacy from the neighbours and directly opposite was a warehouse which fronted the adjoining street.  A driveway led from the front to a garage which had been turned into a 'rumpus room' complete with a toilet and shower - the perfect place for the workers to hang out and for us to smoke without the clients being aware.  The only downside was the location - still considered some distance from the 'gay scene' and the fact that the downstairs rooms were an abomination of period styles which clashed in every room.

At that time the 'gay scene' was still considered to be happening only in the eastern suburbs which was true for clubs and partying, but both Brett's and the only other gay brothel were both in nearby suburbs west of the city.

Matty was happy with the place but our partner (drug dealer) was not.  He wanted something closer to the city.  It was impossible to convince him that not only was the place perfect in terms of privacy and potential, but also that at least half of Brett's regular clients were living in the area, plus a great many lived even further west so this was an ideal location.  He didn't say no but he was adamant that we keep looking for a closer to the city location.

So we submitted an application form and with a promise of being notified of within a week we continued looking at dozens of houses. Maybe things would have been different if it hadn't been for my damaged hand, still in a cast, which started getting painful a few days later.

Strangely enough it was not where the tendons had been torn and repaired but in my fingers.  After a few days not only was the pain becoming unbearable but an awful smell was emanating from my hand.  On Friday morning I returned to the doctors only to be told that the cast had been fitted without 'spacers' between my fingers.  This had caused my fingers to push together and with no air space I had developed gangrene between my fingers.  Eeeeuuuw!

I was immediately put back into the hospital and on an antibiotic drip after being examined by the doctors. Being the weekend, my attending doctor was not returning to work until Monday and so I stayed, alone and unvisited by Matty until lunchtime on Monday, where the doctor assured me the gangrene was arrested and my cast was removed.

On returning home I had to wait until 6pm before Mattty returned from work with the news that he and my drug dealer had signed a lease on a house in Glebe and that we could visit the following morning.  I was really anxious about  setting up a parlour in Glebe - the same suburb as Brett's Boys.  After my 'home invasion' by Louise I had no desire to upset her anymore.

That evening my dealer arrived and assured me that the place was perfect and that he would have no problems dealing with Louise if the need arose.  I had no doubt that he was capable and began looking forward to our following day's visit.

I had misgivings from the moment we drove into the street.  Not only was the house in the poorer area of the suburb, where half the residents were in public housing, but the building itself was tiny and run-down and offered no client privacy at all.

The houses fronted the street with only a metre between the footpath and the front door.  Inside the house was a typical victorian working cottage - 2 up and 2 down as they call them.  The front door opened directly into the lounge dining area which was no more than 4 metres wide by 5 metres long and separated by a staircase which lead to the upstairs rooms.  At the rear of the house was a tiny kitchen leading through to the tacked on bathroom.  The rooms upstairs were equally tiny and offered no noise protection either from the neighbours or other rooms in the house.

Clients would have to walk in directly off the street in full view of all the neighbours and as the downstairs area was so small, the reception area would have to be the middle bedroom upstairs - it was so small that a double bed wouldn't have fitted in.  As for using the bathroom, clients would then have to walk back downstairs and through the kitchen in full view of both the workers and anyone in the kitchen - which became the only room where we could smoke dope.

With no option we went ahead and started advertising to clients and also for workers.  I came up with the idea of offering the workers a 60/40 cut instead of the usual 50/50 cut and we had a flood of boys and trannies within the first week.

The clients too were also interested.  Our first week was unbelievably busy with both in calls and out calls.  Then reality hit.  The downstairs rooms had sea-grass matting as floor coverings which were infested with fleas.  The clients could be heard grunting and groaning and even worse our neighbours were a family on welfare who had mental issues and spent their waking hours screaming at each other which could  be heard throughout the house.

As the weeks went by our in calls became fewer and fewer and most of our jobs were out calls which happened in the evenings.  We ripped up the flooring and polished the floor boards.  We put up bookshelves to separate the lounge area so clients could walk through without having to see all the workers, we painted the walls and did everything we could to make the place more welcoming and private.

All the while we were spending our days in the kitchen smoking ourselves senseless to alleviate the boredom and both Matty and I and the workers began running up credit with our dealer.  While we were busy it didn't pose a problem with him but as we grew quieter and quieter he began limiting credit to only Matty and I.  The workers soon realised that they could get better money at the other parlours and so began a cycle of new workers who lasted for a few weeks before moving onto other parlours where better money could be had.

It was a total failure,  Even more so when the adjoining terrace houses to our left were bought by the government and earmarked for 'public housing'.  Within 3 months of starting the business we were in the middle of a gigantic demolition and reconstruction project which made daytime work practically impossible due to both the construction noise and the constant cat calls from the workers whenever any of our staff left the house.  The clients began avoiding us in droves.

3 months in and we were going nowhere.  Louise didn't have to do anything except sit back and laugh.  Our workers were desperate and looked like it and half our clients would walk in and straight back out after seeing what we had to offer.  I'm sure that we actually helped Louise and Brett's boys as it was only 10 minutes walk away and our clients most likely headed straight there..

We were still optimistic and in our drug filled haze we truly believed we could make a go of it.  That all started to change dramatically when Matty began having sick days from work and at my urging went to the doctors.

5 months before I had caught him shooting up at Brett's Boys and knew then that something bad was going to happen as a result.  Matty returned from the doctors saying they had given him an HIV test and the results would be back within a fortnight...both of us knew what the tests would reveal.

Sure enough, two weeks later, Matty's results showed that he was HIV positive and had been so for around 6 months. Stupidly I reminded him of the 'shooting up incident' and his response was to beat me senseless - until I apologised.  Given his traumatic circumstances I believed that I had deserved his violent reaction and was soon consoling him and promising to stay with him and look after him, no matter what it took.

I would soon regret those words. Life for both of us would change in a way I could never imagine.....

CHANGING DAZE.....(part 2).

McArthur Park is melting in the dark
All the sweet green icing flowing down.
I don't think that I can take it
Cause it took so long to bake it
And I'll never have that recipe again.....

Nothing would be the same again. I consciously made a decision that my past life was my past life.  I had to convince the Federal court that I was a 'decent' person who had made a mistake and for this reason I rejected both Louise's offer of  work and another offer of working at the only remaining boy's parlour in Sydney.

Matty who had given up his customs job a few months previously, made one phone call to his previous employers and they immediately re-hired him.  That was part of his charisma.  Not just on me but on everybody he met.  I, on the other hand was left to endlessly search for jobs in the 'classifieds' which left me feeling unwanted and unskilled.

My secretarial certificate was a joke as I wasn't a girl.  My past experience in retail and kitchen work were over 3 years old and nobody wanted to look at me.  In the end I took a job with a furniture restorer!

Initially he told me that I was not only unqualified, but also to old to qualify for the apprenticeship position that was offered.  In the end, my ability to classify furniture styles and name tools (my father had been a carpenter), and his inability to find anyone else, got me the job.

it was hard work and poor pay.  I spent my days applying paint thinner to old furniture and sanding them down.  The fumes were suffocating, as was working in a tin shed. I was earning a mere $140 a week ( less than I had been earning per day at Brett's) and working my fingers to the bone (literally).  The only high lights were the occassional visit to clients where we would spend the day in million dollar houses while we sat and delicately polished antiques for hour after hour after hour.

I was so poor that I couldn't even afford the bus fares to get to work (or forgo buying my now diminished supply of marijuana) and had to ride a bicycle through the narrow and busy streets of inner city Sydney.

My only break came when we visited a clients house during my second week of work.  He turned out to be a regular client of Brett's and when he got me aside and asked my why I was no longer there he then offered to visit me once a week at home.  His weekly visits and extra $50 made the difference between maintaining  both my drug habit and our beautiful rented house.

Six short weeks later it ended abruptly.  On Saturday morning after I had finished the house cleaning Matty and I sat down to enjoy our now rationed marijuana supply ( we were down to one stick a day).  Having used up our 'morning half' Matty insisted I mull up the remaining stick.  We got into an argument because I knew that if we smoked the rest of the stick we would have nothing left for the evening.....

Matty wouldn't take no for an answer, and I stupidly (even now I can't accept the fact that I was in the right), not only refused but picked up the drugs and went and hid them in my bedroom.  Matty's response was to drag me back from the room and smash my head on the coffee table.  In defence I put my hands out to stop my head from hitting the table.  I don't really remember feeling anything but the next thing I knew was that both me and the table were on the floor and I had blood shooting out from my right wrist.

My hand had hit the ceramic bong and as we crashed to the floor it smashed cutting my 'mound of venus' and wrist deeply. Blood was spurting everywhere.  I didn't feel any pain, only shock.  Matty was telling my it was my fault and even refused to call an ambulance, which after I had wrapped a towel around my hand to try and stem the bleeding I did.

Then I tried to ring my parents.  Matty just lunged at me, hitting me in the face as I desperately pleaded for him to stop and somehow managed to hold onto the phone and let my parents know I needed help.

The ambulance arrived and rushed me to the nearest hospital.  Here I told them that I had been cleaning out the garden shed and tripped over while carrying a box of bottles.  Whether or not they believed me I don't know but that was the story I kept to.  After finally getting to see the doctor where I was poked and prodded ('does it hurt' they asked. 'Only when you stick your fingers in'. I replied) They announced that I had severed two tendons and would transfer me to Royal Prince Alfred Hospital where a surgeon was available to re-attach my severed tendons.

I remember my father arriving at the hospital just before they anaesthetised me and sent me to surgery.  I stuck to my story of falling onto a box of bottles but I'm sure he didn't believe me.  All I know was that again, after a childhood of anger, violence and humiliation, my father had again stood by me.

Matty didn't visit me until the next day.  Even then he came with my drug dealer and his wife who brought me chocolate, flowers and two joints.  Contrary to popular belief that marijuana is a pain reliever, I actually found that it increased my pain levels and only smoked the first joint before succumbing to waves of excruciating pain and spending the rest of the night begging the nurses for pain relief.

It was during this visit that my drug dealer suggested that he would be willing to finance the opening of a new boys parlour if I was willing to run it for him.  With little option of working in a job for months (at least until my damaged hand had healed) and at Matty's enthusiastic urging I agreed......

To move away from the story of my life I want to let my readers know that the next (I don't know how many chapters) are dedicated to the victims of domestic violence.  We all associate domestic violence with the traditional images of men abusing their wives or girlfriends.  However in my experience, and I'm sure I am not alone, domestic violence frequently occurs in gay relationships.

How do you justify letting some one (especially someone who apparently loves you) abuse you both physically and mentally? How do you find yourself believing that not only are you the victim, but the cause of the abuse?  How do you change from being a confident, happy go lucky, ready to take on the world individual to a scared, humiliated and terrified of everything and everyone personality and allow yourself to be trapped in a nightmare world of abuse and torture?

Hopefully the following chapters will give you an insight into not only how it happened to me, but how it happens to millions of people. Love (or the incorrect interpretation of love), dependence (in my case on drugs and the fear of living in poverty) and emotional blackmail are just some of the reasons why victims put up with the violence and are too terrified to take the initial step to get out

I dedicate the next chapters to all of us who have been in this position and urge anyone who is currently suffering in an abusive situation to take the plunge and walk away.   I was to scared and dependant to for nearly 6 years....but almost 30 years on I am still here.  The physical scars are still visible and a daily reminder of my torment, but the emotional scars haunt me to this very day.  What happened to me changed my personality, changed my beliefs in human nature and set me on a course of life-long dependency on both drugs and the need to be appreciated and recognized.

You will be surprised, perhaps even scornful, to know that even today I still think of Matty as my one true love....this was the power he managed to have on me.

CHANGING DAZE...(part 1)

A goddess on a mountain top
Was burning like a silver flame,
The summit of beauty and love,
And Venus was her name.
She's got it,
Yeah, baby, she's got it.

Well I had it and in a few short minutes I lost it all.  I lost my position, power, financial security & lifestyle.  More importantly I had lost my friends and my sense of personal security not to mention my sense of trust.

For 3 days after my bashing I was a nervous wreck.  Jumping at every noise, every car door slamming and even jumping when the phone rang.  Matty was scathing in his response to my fear and poor Betty was torn between her guilt at having played a part in what had happened to me and having to keep her position at Brett's.

I probably made it worse for her as I stoically insisted that I didn't blame her for what had happened and understood that Louise had given her no option but to collude in the event.  So both Betty and Matty continued to work at Brett's while I tried to get myself together and decide on my next step.

I didn't only have the decision of a new career to make but I had to cope with the fact that in six months I would be in court and possibly in prison.  My stupid pride led me to believe that all would be forgiven and forgotten within a few weeks.  I really believed that Louise would realise how essential I had been in the success of Brett's Boys and would re - instate me.  So for nearly two weeks I lived in a drug filled haze where my world revolved around my house and garden and my dog.

Sure enough within a fortnight Louise rang me and asked to meet me for coffee.  Confident that Louise couldn't do without me (she had already shut down the second parlour) I met her and was determined to return only if she offered me my previous position.

Her revelations and offer were not what I had expected, but looking back I understand how I had cornered myself and played into everyone's hands.  Firstly she apologized for what she had had done to me but informed me that that was the only option she had.

According to her 'investigation' with the boys (and I assume it was mainly Colin and the other boy who fabricated the story) I was accused of running a hit squad amongst the workers and using force and blackmail to sell drugs.  Apparently my 'heavies' had forced the boys to buy drugs and only boys who were good buyers were given the priority shifts.  That I had fallen hook line and sinker into taking action by using violence in front of Louise was all the evidence she needed to confirm these totally false accusations - my own worst enemy!

Louise offered me a receptionist position at her girls parlour in Kings Cross. Even though she assured me this would only be for a few months and eventually I could return to my former role at Brett's I was too proud to accept.

I had done nothing wrong to her.  I had only ever tried my best to make Bretts the best parlour in Sydney and had done my utmost to ensure all the boys were treated equally and fairly - as much as the client requirements allowed.  I had even been accused of giving Matty the lions share of the driving jobs. Again this was untrue.  Matty had always been the 'second' driver and only given jobs when our regular driver, who had been with us since the Paddington days, was unavailable.

I felt betrayed by everyone.  All the boys who I had mothered and loved.  The boys who I had happily offered credit when they wanted drugs but couldn't pay for at the time.  I never once pushed for repayment, and often had to wait weeks to get my money back.  The only limits I had put was that I wouldn't let any of  the boys go over $100 in credit. This was not for my benefit, but rather for the benefit of the boys. I figured if they weren't making money then I shouldn't allow them to in-debt themselves to a point where they were financially 'in the shit'.  I had even given some of the boys free drugs when they were in this position.

Mostly I felt betrayed by Louise.  Without my loyalty and hard work her take-over of Brett's would not have been the windfall that it turned out to be.  My stubborn pride refused to see that she was also in a position where she had to act in a certain way.  Taking me back would have undermined the boys accusations and possibly led to a mass walk out with Colin leading the way.  She was a business women after all.

Here she was offering me a lifeline and quietly intimating that my lowered status would only be temporary.  In the back of my mind though were the words of my mother's friend who, only a few short months before had read my tarot cards. 'Beware of a tall dark haired woman and a fair headed man'.  In my eyes this was Louise and her husband.

Probably I was correct in assuming that the tall dark haired woman was Louise.  Looking back I know I was totally wrong in believing the fair headed man to be her husband. Combined with this prophesy and my own stubborn pride I politely refused Louise's offer and that was the last time I saw her.

Within a few short weeks Matty was told his driving position was no longer needed.  He came home and bashed the hell out of me.  This was the first time in nearly 3 years that he had hit me.  Foolishly, although stunned, bruised and battered, I accepted his apology, Later in the evening when he took me in his arms and led me to his bedroom I allowed him to make love to me and foolishly believed that we were again a couple in the true sense of the word.

With our money running out it came as a total shock when Betty announced that he would be returning to Queensland and his family.  I don't know whether it was his sense of guilt seeing me every day - by this time I was running out of both money and drugs- or that he was being given a hard time at Brett's by Colin who had taken total control of the business. 

So not only had Betty betrayed me and been an accomplice to my punishment but now my best friend was also deserting me when I was most in need of a friend.  I didn't take it well and Betty left without either of us saying goodbye.

A week later I received a phone call from his mother.  Betty had committed suicide by overdosing on sleeping pills. My gorgeous, full of fun, best friend and only confidant was gone.  I blamed myself totally.  Two lives changed and one beautiful life gone for ever all because of my actions.  It couldn't get worse.......