As she lay there, trying to ignore the headache, she remembered a question
one of her clients had asked her the night before. He�d asked, as he
lay beside her naked, " What are you doing here?"
She�d shrugged the question off the way she normally did with clients.
Yet as she lay there this morning the question had come back to haunt
her. What was she doing here?
At twenty-six, she�d been on the streets for quite a while now. It
was thirteen years since that fateful night her father had entered her
room, the night the lightning ripped the branch off the tree outside
her window back in the summer of 1980 in the small town of Terrigal
on the Central Coast. Since then, a lot of water had flowed under the
bridge, she�d picked up a habit or two, and her body wore the evidence,
if you had a keen eye.
But, what was she doing here?
Well she was comfortable, that was for sure. She had a roof over her
head, heroin, to relieve the pressures of life and a body that still
knocked clients over in their tracks. Yet she knew, she wasn�t getting
any younger. Life�s roulette wheel wasn�t spinning her number just yet,
but she knew deep down she was pushing her luck a little too far.
She resolved to let the question hang, think about other things for
a while, and relaxed once again. After a while she glanced at the clock
on the wall and saw it was 11.40 am. She�d only had five hours sleep.
Clothes were scattered over the floor, empty beer bottles lay at the
side of her bed, and a full ashtray sat on her bedside table. It had
been a big night; her bulging purse lay fallen amongst the debris. She
got up, her toes walking over the clothes as she went from her room
to the kitchen.
Her home was a small two-bedroom apartment in a security block in Rose
Bay with a permanent security guard at the entrance. The streets of
the infamous Kings Cross where she worked nights, was only a brisk five
minute walk away. The unit, although fairly unkempt recently, was homely
and comfortable for her purpose. It boasted a magnificent view of Sydney
Harbour, a vantage point over looking the Garden Island Navel Dockyard.
Sparsely furnished, with a leather lounge suite, a couple of bookshelves
and an entertainment unit, the lounge-dining room didn�t have much to
it. The carpet was thick and worn from a constant flow of people, in
and out of her bedroom, and caught in the right light, one could see
a little worn track. A couple of Australian artist�s paintings adorned
the walls whilst nothing else really stood out. Summed up, the unit
had a spare bedroom and the lounge was practical and suited Sharon�s
needs.
Upon entering the kitchen, she set about searching for a clean glass
in which she could have a shot of vitamin C enriched orange juice. This
process, however arduous every morning, seemed to distil the fears,
that her lifestyle of drugs, alcohol, and sex could destroy her. She
knew this pretence of drinking orange juice was just a facade and even
doubted that it had any beneficial effect, yet it had it�s place in
her routine, nonetheless.
After a couple of minutes searching for a glass frustration seemed
to build and she gave up trying to be civilised, grabbed the orange
juice out of the refrigerator and drank it in a few gulps from the container.
This action was something her mother had thought she had beaten out
of her and she laughed in a rebellious way, between swigs, as she contemplated
what her mother would say if she saw how she was living now.
With the orange juice container in one hand she walked back into the
loungeroom and over to her stereo unit, taking another swig. Using her
free hand, she opened the glass cabinet and put on a compact disk. The
sound of Billy Joel�s Song "Big Shot" blasted into the room
and Sharon began singing as she returned to the kitchen. She rustled
up a couple of Mersyndol for her headache and washed them down with
the juice.
The song went on to say, " you had to be a big shot didn�t ya"
and generally was a song from a guy�s perspective, of how a person he
knew was always making a fool of himself. The impression was that this
big shot was nothing but a loser and a loud mouth, who always had to
have the last say. Sharon liked the song because she could relate to
it. Not only was it evident in the lives of some of her clients and
the other working girls who were outspoken, but also it was even more
applicable in its message to her. It reminded her of herself and cut
close to the bone.
With Billy Joel singing his melodies of life, she began cleaning up
her unit with an enthusiasm that surprised her. She methodically worked
her way from the kitchen to the dining area, the loungeroom and then
into the bedrooms. By the time she had cleaned the whole apartment the
compact disk was on its third way through.
Feeling impressed with her efforts and grateful that her headache had
subsided, she took out her gear and rubbed her arm. She walked to the
kitchen whilst tightening a belt around one arm and slowly heated some
heroin in a teaspoon from a naked flame on the stove. Bringing her hand
to clench a fist and releasing it under the restraint of the belt, her
veins popped to the surface. Simultaneously, whilst clenching her fist
she drew some heroin into the syringe. She placed the needle into an
exposed vein and began to draw some blood into the needle. As her blood
entered the needle it changed it�s colour and became a little milky
as it mixed with the heroin, and when sufficient blood had entered she
pushed the new liquid home.
Walking to her bed was always fun, as the heroin started to circulate
through her body more quickly as she exercised. Her legs started to
tingle, as well as her other arm and Sharon half floated, half walked,
into her room and lay down. Closing her eyes she drifted off to a drug
induced nirvana.
As the drug took hold of her body she slipped into a state where she
felt comfortable. Like the protection of her room when she was a girl,
heroin provided the state of mind in which she could cope. She�d grown
up into an attractive woman, with striking brown eyes, a figure approaching
perfection, olive skin, and a pleasant smile. Her eyes closed
*******
The air was fresh, the sun hot, yet in the shade of Sydney�s George
Street, both were lost in the bustle of the street. A blonde haired
man, athletic in stature and with a determined stride, was weaving his
way towards the Hilton Hotel.
In a coffee lounge, part of the Hilton�s complex on the ground level,
an older male with grey thinning hair, sat shifting uncomfortably in
his seat. He lifted his hand periodically to look at the time, and returned
it to resume playing impatiently with a salt shaker. He�d been waiting
half an hour now.
Across from him at the counter, a slim, fine-featured waitress was
hard at work preparing the shop for a busy morning. She glanced from
time to time at the man waiting. He struck her as a fairly patient man,
waiting far longer than she would have for a casual breakfast with a
friend. She could see his face lined with a look of intensity, his eyes
fixed on the front door. �Whatever the meeting was about it certainly
must have been something important,� she thought to herself.
The front door opened and a striking blond and attractive younger male
entered, anxiously looked around. When his eyes caught the waitress,
she motioned him with her arm to a table at the back of the room where
his friend was sitting. Relieved that he wasn�t too late, he hurried
to the table where the older man sat, acknowledging the waitress with
a friendly wave of thanks.
"I�m sorry I�m late! " He said, as he approached the table.
"It�s Okay. " The elder man sighed. "Take a seat! "
The colour returned to the younger face. Happy that he was welcome,
although late, he pulled a seat out from the table and sat down.
"How did it go? " The elder man started, anxiety still written
on his face.
"Fine ".
The elder man looked over to ascertain the whereabouts of the waitress
and once satisfied, leaned closer to the table and asked. " So
did you give her the heroin? "
"Yes, amongst other things." The younger male said chuckling.
"We will get to that!" The elder man admonished. He continued.
" So will it knock her about?"
"I�d imagine she may be sick. She certainly won�t die, although
she won�t have much strength all the same."
As the words left his mouth he could see the older man sit back and
become more relaxed. � This must have pleased the old fella,� he thought
to himself. The older man had an intensity about him but slowly he felt
the tension in the air dissipate slightly.
"Did you get her phone number?" The old man inquired.
"Certainly." Reaching into his wallet he produced a business
card and handed it to the old man.
"Do you want anything to eat?" The blonde man asked, motioning
the waitress to the table.
"Just a cold drink, thanks. I�d better watch my weight. The missus
is always on my back."
"What! You listen to her?"
"If I know what�s good for me."
The waitress arrived and when she had a pen and pad ready to write,
the younger man ordered.
"So how was she?" The older man asked, his gaze was penetrating,
quite disturbing, and the younger man shifted in his seat before he
answered.
"Great." Prompted by the eagerness he saw in the older man�s
eyes he continued. "So what do you want, a blow by blow description?
"
"Of course! "The more refined of the two, coughed, a sick
deep cough typical of a smoker.
"Let�s see. I approached her about five thirty yesterday afternoon.
It seemed exciting to me, to be her first client for the day, even more
so because she was fresh. She had just spent an hour or so with her
friend in Joey�s, the cafe they both frequent."
"Go on. "The older man urged.
"I approached her and said I�d like to hire her services. I must
say she really is a beautiful looking blond. Very bubbly and at ease,
something that took me by surprise, with what I�d heard about prostitutes."
As he said this, he checked the old man�s reaction, quickly, to ascertain
how he was taking it. He didn�t react negatively to the personal touches.
In fact, leaning forward in his seat he seemed very interested. Seeing
this he hurried on. " She took me to her apartment. Quite flash,
I was impressed. I had a couple of hours so we took things quite slow.
She sat me on a barstool and poured me a drink.. I couldn�t help but
stare at a picture, on the wall of the bar, of her, in a schoolgirls
uniform beckoning with a finger, very suggestively.
"I don�t know what turned me on more, the picture behind the bar
or this blond nymph that was brushing herself against me, as she put
a stereo on underneath the bar. I sipped on a beer she had poured and
we had a little chat.
I was aroused. As if reading my thoughts, she took me to the balcony.
She told me to take a seat and as I looked at the view of Sydney Harbour,
her body stole my attention. She did a little striptease for me, and
when she�d finished with her own clothes she started on mine. As she
began to peal my clothes off, my excitement was becoming quite noticeable.
I don�t mind admitting that I was beginning to enjoy this little research
trip."
The old man was lost in another world; the world Mike had created in
the journey, and he had a distant look on his face.
"We went inside, cracked a bottle of wine and jumped into the
spa she had. It made for a refreshing interlude. With an invigorating
taste of a fine white on my lips, an effervescent young blond on my
arm, we moved to her bedroom.
I have never experienced in all my years, with all the women I have
been fortunate enough to get in to bed, anything that could remotely
be compared to what happened last night. It�s no wonder these girls
are called professionals.
After a wild time, when I was laying on my back, I told her what I
felt about the experience. It was fantastic. I told her that her performance
deserved a treat, and got up and returned to the bedroom with a tab
of heroin. She asked me what it was for, and I said it was a tip for
giving me such an enjoyable time. Taking it gladly, she asked if I wanted
some while I was there. I declined saying I�d have some later when I
got home.
She rolled over and thanked me in a very nice manner. I took a shower,
dressed and almost left before I remembered to ask for a card. When
I left her apartment I was feeling quite content. I was happy, invigorated
and tipsy."
It took a time for the old man to register that the younger one had
stopped his story. As the younger one looked at the man opposite him
he felt sick in the stomach. The older man was disturbed, he was sure,
there was something really sick about him. The prostitute he�d asked
him to sleep with was less then half his age, young enough to be his
daughter.
"Is that all?"
"As far as I�m aware, unless you want me to do something else."
"Yes, as a matter of fact I do. The old man looked him in the
eye and smiled. I want you to sleep with her friend tonight. That is,
if you�re up to it."
"Okay. What do you want me to do?"
"I�ll meet you this afternoon, say about one o clock?"
"Yeah, okay, where?"
"Manly, in front of the Steyne Hotel."
"All right then."
" Thank you, I�ll see you this afternoon. On time I hope!"
The old man stood up, placed a few hundred dollars on the table and
walked out of the cafe, tucking a sweaty shirt back into his trousers.
As the older man left, the waitress approached with the meal that had
been ordered for him. The younger man accepted it and said "Thank
you."
" No problem. " She said politely, and as an afterthought
asked" Everything go okay? "
" Yes thanks." He replied as he set to work on his meal,
feeling content.
The waitress, seeing the money on the table and hearing the type of
conversation she�d managed to catch parts of, as she�d brought over
the drinks, wondered what she�d been a witness to.
*******
The phone rang. Opening her eyes Sharon reached over to grab it. "Hello
Sharon speaking."
"Hi Sharon, its Jo "
" How are you?"
"Man I�m totally whacked, I�m off the planet."
"The receptions fine here. Which planet are you ringing from?"
Sharon joked.
"Ha Ha, you�re funny sometimes! "
"So you�ve taken a pretty good dose hey?"
"Yeah, you should feel this gear man. It�s amazing. So strong.
You should come over."
"I just had some thanks. Where did you get it?" Sharon asked,
her curiosity aroused.
"Off a client, that�s the weird thing. He just gave it to me.
Said the sex was good and he enjoyed himself, " Joanne said excitedly.
"Strange, they normally try and offer it instead of paying, not
use it as a tip. This business is full of surprises."
"Well I gotta go I feel a little sick". Joanne confessed."
I�ll see ya this arve. "
"Okay," Sharon said. After hanging up, she started to doze
off to sleep. As her eyes drew together though, she remembered something
that she had to ask Joanne, and dialled her number.
It didn�t answer.
*******
After half an hour, Joanne climbed from her bathroom floor, her hands
sweaty, eyes with tears in them, and walked into the kitchen. A roast
lamb greeted her as she opened the fridge door. She prepared a couple
of sandwiches with the lamb and salad to go with it, grabbed a fruit
juice and sat on a seat on her balcony.
It was hard, so hard to go through the motions sometimes. The sun was
beginning it�s decent and the night was drawing closer. It was a Saturday
night, a big money spinner and as she ate her sandwich, her strength
returned to a level where she could manage to face it. She took a sip
of juice and as she did, the phone rang.
"Hello, this is Joanne. "
"Hello, are you working tonight?" An older man�s voice asked,
vaguely familiar to her.
"Yes. Who�s this?" She asked in order to put a face to the
voice.
"You don�t know me, however a friend of mine passed your number
on to me. Said I should call if I have some free time. It�s my only
night in town and he�s shouting me. I thought I�d ask if you�re free."
The voice seemed familiar, yet he�d said he was a stranger, so dismissing
the thought, she asked. " My place or yours? "
"Yours would be convenient."
"Okay, what time? "
"Seven thirty okay for you?" The older man asked.
"Yeah. That�s cool." Joanne told him her address and hung
the phone up. The man had booked for three hours, and she smiled to
herself, as she hung the phone up. He sounded old and like most old
men, she knew it would be an easy four hundred or so. The sudden getting
up, and the effects of the heroin caught up with her for a moment and
she had to place a hand on the bar to steady herself. Heroin was a dangerous
necessity to help her to cope with life. It worried her that every needle
could be her last...
*******
An old man with grey thinning hair also steadied himself, due to the
excitement and anticipation of the night before him. Pleased with himself,
he walked to his hotel, a short way from the public telephone box, to
prepare himself, to once again taste the reality of a long awaited dream.
A dangerous dream to see the light of day, but one his perverted mind
dwelt upon.
