Mattress Actress (23 page)

By this stage I had moved in and out of Austin’s home. I had lived there for eighteen months and had never unpacked my suitcase. I wasn’t allowed to as his deceased wife’s clothes still hung in the wardrobe for Amanda to grow into. It took me eighteen months to figure out that he wanted intimacy and a homemaker but was not ready to replace his wife. I had moved out but had not moved on. We both still loved each other, and just because we had no future together didn’t mean the present ceased to exist. I still saw him far too regularly. But I needed a clean break.

I had heard about girls going to work in Singapore where white women were in high demand. Many of my regular clients were from Singapore and had told me about an agency they frequented in Orchard Road, where the girls earned serious amounts of money. I had handed one of these Singaporean clients one of my best photographs and asked him to forward it to the manager of this agency. He never got back to me. I tried again with two other Singaporean clients, also to no avail. The only response I got was: ‘Just go over there and give Mr Peters a call.’ I had no idea of the name of his agency, nor a phone number.

Poppy was in the best private girl’s school Perth had to offer so to go overseas was going to be nearly impossible. I spoke to my brother about my financial woes, my emotional stress and my need for a break. Without thinking twice, he offered to fly straight over and relieve me of my parental duties for a few weeks. I hated the thought of abandoning Poppy but had little choice—I needed to be more than driving distance away from Austin. I was so close to another nervous breakdown, as well as complete financial ruin, that I made a practical decision to go and ignored my conscience.

Soon I was unpacking my suitcase at the Randang Hotel in Little India. I had no work lined up so before I had even removed my jacket I started pounding the Singapore Yellow Pages. Within an hour I had three interviews lined up. Everyone I spoke to took my full name and hotel name and room number. I only had $300 on me so it was imperative that I land some work straight away. I was instructed to go and buy a pager as without that they wouldn’t even talk to me. So still in my Perth autumn fashions I trekked off to buy a pager. In order to have a connected pager I had to be a resident of Singapore. The sales assistant assumed that I was an expatriate so connected my new pager immediately. Thank god!

My first interview went really well. She was a nice old lady who seemed kind and told me to call her Mrs Chen. She didn’t ask me any questions, she really just wanted to see what I looked like and explain how she worked and what her cut was. She went on to explain that she would receive the booking then page me with the client’s hotel and room number. I’d then collect the money, call her to confirm that I had the money and everything was fine and we’d arrange a place to meet where she could collect her cut. It was all very straight forward. We shook hands and separated, and I was confident that she would contact me again.

The second interview was not as comfortable. I had to go to a shopping mall to meet John. He ran his escort business from a store in the mall. I knocked on the glass door then entered. I encountered two of the seediest men I had ever met. Both were Asian and one of them was smoking a bong while the other snoozed on a dirty lounge that fifteen years ago would have been a cheap piece of furniture.

‘You must be the Australian girl who call, hey?’

I wanted to say no and run out, but I was too desperate to refuse any sort of work.

‘Yes.’

John went on to give me the same spiel as Mrs Chen, but the difference was the prices he quoted were a joke. I had no intention of selling myself so short, but how could I tell him that without insulting and offending him? He did not strike me as a man who took kindly to women turning him down.

‘All right that all sounds fine, so I suppose you are going to need my pager number then? Have you got a pen?’ After an intensive search he managed to find a biro under the lounge suit cushion. I quoted my pager number, fudging a few of the numbers.

‘OK then, I’ll let you get back to work, it was nice meeting you both and I look forward to hearing from you.’ I turned on my heel and made my way to the door. The moment I heard the door close behind my back I practically ran to the elevator.

Later that afternoon I had a message on my pager to call yet another agency. The madam I spoke to was named Vivian, and she asked me to meet her out the front of the Hard Rock Café at midnight. I was to call her from the phone box there, then she would come by in a blue car within two minutes. It all sounded very cloak and dagger to me. But the thing that really made my ears prick was that she expected me to bring $300 deposit. She told me that she was sick of foreign girls doing six or seven jobs a day then doing runners. So from now on before she sent you on a job she insisted on a security deposit.

I followed her instructions to a tee and just as she’d said, she swiftly pulled up right in front of me in a blue car. We sat in the car and she gave me her spiel about what she expected and how much she charged. Her prices were very fair but her cut was a lot higher than Mrs Chen’s.

Vivian was a very polished woman, but there was something not quite right about her. I suspected that she was on speed. She threw all these details at me so fast that it was impossible to take them all in. There was one number to call from the client’s room, another to call her directly on, yet another to return pager messages on, and she expected me to absorb all this without being able to write it all down. She showed me a book that listed all the jobs her girl had taken that day, and at first glance it looked very convincing. It appeared that the girls in her employ were making a serious amount of money. So reluctantly I invested my $200 with her. She reminded me that she had said $300. I decided to test her. I knew I was attractive, well-spoken and multilingual, and she needed me. I knew she wouldn’t let me walk for a mere $100.

‘Sorry, Vivian, that’s all I have. If it’s not good enough, I’m sorry for wasting your time. I’ll try my luck with the other agencies.’

She gave me a serious frown, like she knew I was testing her and did not appreciate it. She stared so intently into my eyes I could almost hear her brain ticking over. I couldn’t stand her stare any longer, so I put the $200 in my purse and went to leave, but she grabbed my arm and said, ‘I will give you a go, but don’t try fucking me around. Believe me, I am not someone who likes to be fucked around or played. You got it?’

Casually I answered, ‘Sure, no prob.’ We exchanged money and I left.

It only took Vivian two hours to get me a booking; coincidentally, it was in the same hotel as I was staying in. I had already gone to sleep but had left my make-up on just in case this happened. She had told me to collect $300, $200 of which was for me. I was not impressed as she had told me that for white girls she never quoted below $350, but I wasn’t game to argue on my first job. I made my way up to my client’s room. He was rapt with me, so instantly a plan came to mind.

‘Well let’s get the business out of the way then we can have some fun, I need to collect $350 from you.’

‘I was told $300,’ he stammered.

‘Yes, $300 for me but there is a booking fee of $50.’ He was not happy but the thought of me leaving for a mere $50 seemed to make him even more miserable.

‘I tell you what, between you and me, I actually live right here in this hotel, so tomorrow why don’t we do this again but just come and knock on my door. That way you don’t involve my boss and save yourself $50.’ He gladly parted with the $350, of which I took $250.

The next day I took another $300 from him, and Vivian had no idea. It was so sweet getting one up on Vivian, because I knew I was never going to see my deposit again.

I did this with every client she sent me. I either gave them my hotel room number or pager number. I loved the way men could be so predictable and easily swayed by money or a nice cleavage. All I had to do was tell the men I was with that this was my last three days in Singapore and I wasn’t coming back because business had been so slow. Their response was the same every time: ‘Oh no, I was hoping to see you again.’

‘Yes, that would have been nice but I have to return my pager to my boss this afternoon. But I’m sure the agency will have someone else just as nice for you.’

‘Would you allow me to contact you at your hotel, or can we arrange something now for tomorrow?’

Signed, sealed and delivered. They even gave me huge tips because they thought it was my last night. Of course you only pulled that stunt with the out-of-towners.

On about my third night in town, Mrs Chen sent me to a job in one of the swankiest hotels in all of Singapore. The hotel was so prim and proper that any non-key holding visitors had to have their passport photocopied before they were allowed to enter the elevator and they had to be escorted up by a security man.

When I entered the room there were two men, one on the bed and one on a chair beside the bed. The gentleman on the bed was sitting with a girl, a very pretty girl. He told her to leave but thanked her for her time. She stood up very elegantly and gave me the most beautiful, knowing grin.

He patted the bed indicating that he expected me to sit beside him.

‘Now, who sent you, my sweet, we have called so many girls tonight I forget who is who?’

‘My agency has so many ads in the Yellow Pages that I lose track, tonight is my first night so please excuse me for being a little ignorant,’ I lied. I figured that if he couldn’t remember the agency he may forget what price he was quoted.

‘So, my sweet, what price are you going to charge me to share some time with you?’ This room had to be costing him over a thousand a night. I decided to dig a little more before I quoted him any rate.

‘Where is your gorgeous accent from?’

‘My friend and I are here from Saudi Arabia on business for a week.’

‘I’ve heard that’s a very beautiful place, but you asked me a question and I was rude to not answer. For that I apologise. The price you were quoted was $500.’

‘Well, I can’t remember being quoted that price but I am sure you are worth it so I won’t insult you by disagreeing.’ He pulled my money from his briefcase, and it was at this point that I realised I could have got away with a lot more. He must have had at least $10,000 stashed in his briefcase. I pocketed my money and took to the job at hand. It was all over in ten minutes.

‘Now, Annika, you are welcome to leave or could I invite you to join me for some room service.’

I had been conserving my cash by avoiding meals except for cheap noodles so I took him up on his offer. I ended up chatting over a truly magnificent meal until sun up. He was a wealth of knowledge when it came to the Singapore sex industry. He told me that I was going about it the wrong way, that I should be with an agency ran by a man named Mr Peters in Orchard Road. I instantly recognised that name. My client gave me Mr Peters’s phone number and vowed that he himself would call him tomorrow and recommend me.

So with a full belly and a full wallet I left a lot wiser and more connected.

Considering the late hour that I got to sleep I woke reasonably early. Before showering I called the agency that my client had suggested and made an appointment that afternoon. I spent a long hard hour in the gym, then ran over to meet Mrs Chen. When I told her that I had managed to get more out of last night’s client she was very happy but felt it was her job to chastise me, all the while with a big grin on her face. She would only accept a mere $50 extra, saying that I had earnt it not her. She was so sweet.

I was fifteen minutes early for my meeting with Mr Peters. Once I was there I was glad for the extra time because I was convinced that I had come to the wrong address and would have to start all over again. It was an office like any other: fax machines, photocopiers, a reception desk, a waiting room and a secretary answering calls.

I turned to leave and check the floor number, when the receptionist yelled out, ‘Can I help you? Do you have a three o’clock appointment?’

I couldn’t believe that this was an escort agency.

‘Take a seat, Mr Peters will see you in a minute. Can I get you a coffee?’

Before I had a chance to answer she had let Mr Peters know I’d arrived. It turned out that she was not the receptionist but one of the working girls. She was extremely chatty, and made me feel right at home. By the time Mr Peters called me in she had told me everything that I needed to know and more. She even told me stuff that I didn’t want to know.

Mr Peters turned out to be an Indian in his mid-fifties. He was very polite and business like. He exuded a fatherly quality. His first question was to ask me how I had heard about his business. I told him about my client from the previous evening, and all the clients who’d visited me in Perth. He asked me a few other questions, which were more personal than professional. It struck me that his inquiries seemed heartfelt rather than probing for background information or character. He asked me why I was looking for work, and where my family were from.

Then he seemed to change and the business side of him resurfaced. He went on to explain how he ran things, he took a few notes about me and wrote some things down for me to memorise. One was the address of a photo studio where I was to go and get photos taken, which would then be made available to overseas clients requesting girls to visit them. He told me what to wear, what time to show up and what room the studio was in.

He told me what to charge clients and what his cut would be. The last bit shocked me so much that I had to ask him to repeat it just in case I had indeed misheard him.

‘Your client pays $200, usually that is paid directly to me before you leave the office, but if it is an out call you collect it from him. That entitles him to two hours of your time, which includes dinner, drinks, dancing and coffee, but no sex. It is your job to talk him into a little extra. The white girls usually charge between $600 and $900 for short time sex. You should be able to get $700 no trouble.