DARKEST DAZE....(part 2).

Just gonna stand there and watch me burn
But that's alright because I like the way it hurts
Just gonna stand there and hear me cry
But that's alright because I love the way you lie
I love the way you lie
I love the way you lie

There are times in your life which are forever burned into your memory.  That night would be one of them.  After the beating and humiliation I had to sit there all night with Matty, following his every order like a dog.  Surprisingly we had a good night client wise and for every client that came in Matty would order me to mull up another stick, go down to the bottle shop and buy a bottle of whiskey and order a pizza delivery.


Any money we made that night was either smoked, drunk or eaten and that was including our partners profits.  

Around 10.30pm Matty was so off his face that he went upstairs to bed.  I took the opportunity of taking the dog out for a short walk and when I returned the 'boy' who had comforted me was sitting in the kitchen with another bowl of marijuana which he offered to share with me.  I remember bursting into tears and the boy telling me that I was a fool.  That Matty didn't love me and that he was wrecking the business.

Around 11.30pm our partner arrived.  This was unusual and I immediately realised that he hadn't come for a social visit.  He asked the boys to go home and then asked my about my bruising.  When I told him I had fallen down the stairs he grabbed me and said 'don't lie to me'...Then he looked at the books and asked for his share of the night's takings.  Before I could even think of a response he told me to go and wake Matty up and bring him downstairs.

Long story short, he calmly sat us down and said he knew that we had not only been spending the profits on drugs but he also knew that Matty had been physically beating me.  In his defence I finally explained to him that Matty had been diagnosed as HIV and that his actions were a result of his trying to cope.

Steven (our partner) put it clear and simple.  There would be no more drugs left on the premises.  He would visit twice a day and sell drugs to the boys and Matty and I were not allowed to buy any drugs until we had paid back the money we owed.  He also gave Matty a warning that he wasn't to physically touch me again.

Matty accepted full responsibility for his wrong-doings.  He apologized to Steven and promised that he would not harm me ever again.  He even cried and told Steven that he 'couldn't cope with his illness' and he 'couldn't understand why he abused me when he got upset'.  Steven left convinced that Matty would be true to his word.  

Without saying anything to me Matty then went upstairs to his room.  I was terrified.  I had seen the look in Matty's face and knew that he blamed me totally for the night's actions.  The 'boy' had left me about half a bowl of marijuana in the 'outside shed'.  I waited for a while and then went upstairs to my room to smoke it.  I had a big heavy 1930's armchair in the room which I pushed against the door to prevent Matty from coming in.

So I sat in my room, terrified, humiliated and wondering what had happened to the boy who could face anything the world threw at him.  I had been the victim of school yard bullying, domestic violence, physical violence and rape. I had always stood up to my bullies or found a way to compensate and at the same time keep my sense of self worth.

I had stood shoulder to shoulder with some of Sydney's toughest underworld figures and commanded respect from nearly every boy in the game.  Now I was a dejected, pitiful person totally dependant upon the whims of the boy I thought I was in love with.  

At around 4am, the drugs finished and me beginning to doze off, there was a loud banging on my door.  I thought I was safe.  The chair was too heavy to push and I had the option escaping via the balcony and running to god knows where.

What I had forgotten was that I had left my dog downstairs.  Matty quietly informed me that if I didn't open the door that he would kill my dog.  I believed him.  I opened the door to find Matty holding my dog in a stranglehold, the dog was quivering in terror.  The next few hours would be the lowest in my life.

I was punched repeatedly in the stomach, my darling dog rushing to protect me, was kicked down the stairs.  At this point I gave up and let Matty do whatever he wanted.  Verbally abused, blamed for ruining his life, he dragged me by the hair downstairs and threw me onto the bathroom floor before kicking me countless times in the stomach.

Unable to move or barely breathe he then pulled me up by the hair and demanded that I begin scrubbing the bathroom tiles with my toothbrush.  In shock and possibly with a little bit of 'fighting spirit' in me I refused.  Only to be smashed into the wall and held there while Matty lit a cigarette and began to push the burning end of the cigarette onto my stomach and chest.  After the first few burns I stopped feeling anything.  I was numb with pain and senselessly allowed him to continue.  This was even more frustrating for him and it was then that he again threatened to kill my dog.

I remember blindly apologizing to him over and over again and starting to scrub the tiles.  For the first five minutes he yelled and abused me for not working fast enough.  He punched me again and again in the kidneys.  I worked faster and faster.

Eventually he left me with a warning that if the bathroom wasn't spotless by the time he woke up he would kill both me and my dog.  I carried on, like an Auschwitz worker, terrified, tortured and numb for at least an hour before I could take no more. 

I couldn't take my dog with me, I had only one place to go, to Steven's.  I didn't have enough money for a taxi and had to walk over a kilometre to Central Bus Station to get a bus there.  I realised that I had to take the chance - it was either my dog's life of mine.  So bruised, battered, burnt and totally in numb shock I literally crawled through the early morning light and eventually got on a bus to take me to Steven's.......

DARKEST DAZE...(part 1).

Where lies your heart?
It's not there in the buckskin, baby.
It's not there in the gin
That makes you laugh long and loud.

You're a coward, James.
You're running away from humanity.
You're running away from reality.
It won't be funny when they rat-a-tat-tat you down.

Our period of profitability and good times lasted no longer than 3 months.  Matty, after his initial illness, seemed to recover quickly but nevertheless gave up his job and went on sickness benefits.  He refused to do any driving jobs and his only source of income was his fortnightly sickness benefits.

On top of that he spent up to 12 hours a day in his room sleeping.  He would go to bed before midnight and refuse to leave his room before midday.  Even this was only because our partner generally arrived around 1pm to spend a few hours going over the takings and getting stoned with us.  Generally he would fill the first bowl and then we would take turns buying off him to keep the party going.

We were making reasonable money but with Matty now on a lower pay and refusing to do any driving jobs our share of the profits was rapidly diminishing.  Instead of changing his lifestyle and following the doctors advice he seemed intent on doing everything he could to make his health even worse.  During his waking hours he insisted the mull bowl be constantly full.  He began drinking and started popping pills (downers) constantly.  This was on top of the medication he was prescribed.

Consequently he began to have rapid mood swings.  The slightest thing would set him into a rage.  Mostly this was aimed at me, but quite often at the workers.  We had to be on tenterhooks from the moment he went to bed till the moment he woke up. No longer could I wake up at 7am and start cleaning the house or put the washing on, the few times I did he came down and physically assaulted me regardless of who was there.

Generally he would grab me around the throat and push me against the wall, verbally abusing and threatening me, but occasionally he would lash out and punch me.  The fear and humiliation became a daily phobia, never knowing what to expect from him and never knowing how to act as it seemed no matter how hard I tried to follow his orders he would tell me that I had yet again failed and the beatings and verbal abuse would start again.

My only solace was the early mornings.  I would wake early and quietly do as much cleaning as I could.  At the time one of the drag queens was staying with us, sleeping on the lounge.  She wasn't a marijuana smoker but would always buy a 'stick' so that I could have a quiet smoke each morning.  Then I would take my beautiful dog out for a walk enjoying the peace and solitude of the amazing suburb we lived in.

One morning I returned and Matty had woken up early.  Seeing the half full mull bowl he accused me of stealing profits from him.  When Tamara (the drag queen) tried to tell him that she had paid for the grass and shared it with me he smacked her in the face sending her across the room.  Then he laid into me, with each punch telling me how pathetic I was getting people to lie to protect me.

Tamara left that day...I never saw her again, but she was quick to pass the word around and from that day we never had another queen apply for a job.  Matty's anger left as quickly as it came.  He sat and smoked the remaining grass while he 'made me' finish the house cleaning.

At this point I am sure many of you are wondering why I didn't just walk out?  I was in love with Matty.  I was dependent on drugs.  I was on a good behaviour bond.  Matty was constantly threatening me that he would inform the police, that he would tell my parents what I was doing (they had no idea that I was running a brothel), that he would harm my parents, that he would kill my dog.  At the same time he was constantly re-enforcing his belief that he only hit me because I was doing the wrong thing - that I wasn't following his orders. 

I was in constant fear not only of his violence but of the consequences that might follow.  I could be thrown in jail.  My parents would be harmed or simply cut me out of their lives.  My beautiful and loyal dog would be harmed.  I would be out on the streets with no money and even worse no drugs! 

After any violent session he would be all full of apologies (while insisting that I only had to do what he asked to stop him from getting angry) and follow it up with a night of romance and love making.  I was hooked in more ways than one.

When the owner of our rented house turned up one morning and told us that he knew we were operating a brothel and demanded we pay him double the original rental price we were stunned.  He had every right as our lease was strictly for 'residential purposes' and as we were running a business he could legally give us one week's notice.

$150 a week was not an issue with our partner.  He was still making a profit on top of the drugs he was selling to our workers.  For us it was a calamity.  We were already living from day to day and an extra $75 a week was almost two days without smoking.  Our partner had already made it clear that he would not accept credit so any drugs we smoked had to be paid for on the spot.

With Matty's insatiable demand for drugs and refusal to do any driving jobs, I was forced into a corner.  I was working as a prostitute, which didn't make the other boys particularly happy, and often rigging the books and sharing the takings with the boys.  Never knowing if our partner would walk in and find out.  He was a nice guy, but definitely not someone you wanted to cross.  I was in constant fear of being caught out by him or not providing for Matty and getting a beating.

Then Matty started drinking more and more.  A bottle of whiskey a day which at that time cost around $20.  When he was drunk he would get even more abusive and want to smoke more and more.  We started dipping into our partner's profits to keep smoking, all the while I was desperately afraid of being caught out by our partner.  So I began to rig the books even more.  The boys would get $40 and I would get $10 and nothing would be recorded.

When the drink and marijuana wasn't enough for Matty he started on 'downers'.  Back at Brett's Boys they had been easily available.  All the drag queens had a constant supply.  We had no queens working for us and so Matty would send me out to the doctors to get a prescription. This worked for a while, until one day after visiting 3 different doctors who all refused me, the fourth not only refused me but threatened to call the police and also to inform all the doctors in the area about me.

I had no choice but to return home with no pills, all the while hoping that we had made some money from clients and could pay for marijuana and another bottle of whiskey to keep Matty happy and me both relaxed and safe from another bashing.

Of course when I returned we had had no clients and Matty was furious.  In front of the boys he grabbed me around the throat and slammed my head into the wall.  Despite the boys trying to stop him, he easily pushed them aside and then kneed me in the stomach. I fell to the floor where he kicked me in the ribs and then did a knee drop onto my face.  Only the utter humiliation of being so helpless in front of the boys who had once held me in such high esteem stopped me from feeling the pain of my cheek bones splintering.

Once done it was over as quickly as it had started.  I was left to crawl to the bathroom and tend to my wounds while Matty waited for me to come out and 'mull up' for him.  We had no money to pay for it but I wasn't going to argue.  I was much happier to face our partner than go through another beating.  My only solace was that one of the boys came and sat with us (the other boys hid in the lounge) and bought a stick to throw into the bowl.

While we sat and smoked, pretending that nothing had happened, the boy all the while kept his leg (under the table) against mine in silent support.  I don't even remember his name now but I can still picture him and am forever thankful to him for being there for me.

Later that night life would change yet again.....

DARK DAZE / CHANGING DAZE

When I'm stuck with a day that's grey and lonely
I just stick up my chin and grin and say oh

The sun will come out tomorrow
So you got to hang on 'til tomorrow, come what may!
Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you tomorrow
You're only a day away

I guess that's how I'd always lived my life and thankfully I always would.  With Matty facing a death sentence and me facing a prison sentence how else could I cope?  Yes, drugs got me through, but underlying all the calamities was a sense that something better was waiting.

 

 

Matty was continuously sick and after a month of his HIV diagnosis gave up his job.  This didn't make it any easier for me as he offered no help with running the business, only caring that there were drugs in the bowl whenever he wanted them.

So I was left to run the business.  Answer the phone calls, clean the house, do the washing, walk the dog, do the shopping, cook the dinner and ensure that drugs were always on hand. I started seeing clients again in order to earn extra cash, quite often aware that whilst I was upstairs doing the business, Matty would be downstairs letting the phone ring out.  It was only when our partner/drug dealer was there that Matty would get active and give the impression that he was working.

 

 

My trial date was fast approaching and I honestly don't know how I kept myself together.  My very expensive solicitor was telling me that at best I could look forward to was two years in prison, but I would be put in a protection wing.  That really didn't offer much comfort.

Eventually the big day arrived.  We drove down to Canberra in the morning with my parents following behind.  On the way I popped two Mogadon and we smoked two joints - there was no way I could face the reality of what was about to happen.

Strangely arriving at the Supreme Court of Australia, I was met by the prosecuting police officer who told me to be positive and things wouldn't be as bad as I had expected.  This was the last person I though would offer me comfort.

 

 

Even more strange was that when my convictions were read out the amount of drugs I had originally been charged with possessing had dropped from 27 grams to 11 grams!  The block of hash was still included and constituted the most damning part of my charges.  In a haze I stood and listened as the charges were read out, the police gave their statements and I was asked if I still pleaded guilty to the charges.

When I answered in the affirmative the judge sentenced me to two years hard labour at Berrima Correction Centre.  I was in a daze and didn't hear the rest of his decision.  It wasn't until my mother hugged me that I realized that somehow I had been given a reprieve.  The sentence had been re-imposed with a one year good behaviour bond!  Apparently this was largely due to the letter of recommendation from my mother's friend (still at that time one of the leading ministers in parliament) and the fact that Matty had submitted his medical records and a letter stating that I was his sole carer.

I had no conditions other than that I be of good behaviour for twelve months or otherwise the original sentence would be put into effect immediately.  The sun had come out!

 

Unexpectedly the sun came out in more ways than one.  In the weeks after my trial the demolition work on the neighbouring houses stopped and the rebuilding began.  Luckily for us the workers started at our end and moved from house to house so gradually the construction noise grew less and less.  Then our 'deranged' neighbours on the other side of us were evicted.  Admittedly in the first week they moved out we were inundated with hoards of mice, rats, cockroaches and fleas which we had to deal with by calling in the fumigators and closing down for a day.

 

This coincided with a sudden influx of 'new' boys wanting jobs.  Actually none of them were new - they were all ex Brett's Boys workers and friends.  I don't exactly know what happened but as I had expected with Colin in charge the place had started falling apart and the boys were desperate both for work and to get away from Brett's.

Even better was that quite a few of them came armed with phone lists of regular clients, something which I hadn't had the opportunity of getting and business started booming.  It was still mainly outcalls and weekend work but we were suddenly and happily beginning to make a profit and I had some support from my friends who were only too happy to pitch in and help with the running of the business. 

 

Our partner was delighted - not only was he making money after 6 months but he was also getting his former profits by selling marijuana tothe new boys. With no neighbours on either side of us we put up a tin covered extension at the back of the bathroom where we could not only smoke without the clients knowing but where we could also hear the phone ringing and door bell. It was almost like the old (new) Brett's Boys.

This period of profit and 'back to the good old days' was only to last for another 3 months.  Matty's sickness and coping strategies, combined with our landlord finding out that we were running a brothel would lead to the inevitable and traumatic crunch that always seemed to find me when I was 'at the top'.......