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.....