Chapter 19

Monday, June 10, 2019

Flagstone, Nevada

“So, we’re currently filming at a brothel one hundred and seventy-five miles north of Las Vegas?”

“Yes,” Pamela said.

“Many people who’ve never been to Nevada believe that prostitution is legal in Las Vegas, but it’s not. But outside Las Vegas and its vicinity, outside of Clark County, specifically, it is legal.”

“Yes and no,” Pamela said. “State law mandates that in all Nevada counties with more than four hundred thousand residents, like Clark County, where Las Vegas is, prostitution – brothels – are prohibited. Four hundred thousand is the magic number, the strict cutoff point. But for counties with a lesser population, like here in Sulaco, it can be legal, but that doesn’t mean it always is. Meaning, each individual county, even cities themselves, can dictate whether brothels are allowed in their jurisdiction or not.”

“And how long have you worked here?”

“It’ll be thirteen years next month.”

“Thirteen years? Wow, that’s a long time.” Mark Fasick, a filmmaker based out of Carlsbad, California, was interviewing Pamela inside the parlor with a video camera trained on her for a documentary on prostitution that he was producing. This interview had been in the works for several months, with Pamela and Colt only consenting to it once Fasick agreed to ask a preapproved set of questions. If anything, they believed the exposure would be free advertising for their business (and Pamela herself) and help attract new customers. Plus, Pamela had a story to tell, and wanted the world to understand that not all prostitutes were horrible people who needed to be demonized.

“Have you worked at any other brothels here in Nevada or abroad?”

Her lips compressed. “No, I haven’t. No need to; I love it here.”

“How did you get your start in sex work? What made you choose this profession?”

“I grew up in Florida, and on my eighteenth birthday, I signed up on a webcamming site, got approved, and was doing live nude shows later that night. I mean, I enjoy being on camera, always have, and thought camming would be awesome because, hey, I’d be getting paid to be on camera. I’ve always been sexual, too, and I’m certainly not shy or bashful. In my mind, there is nothing wrong with that either. It was a perfect fit.

“Camming opened my eyes to the opportunities out there if I were willing to, you know, use my body as a vehicle to make an income. Just because you’re young, you’re in high school or fresh off graduation, you don’t have to be broke.” She sniffed and made a face. “You don’t have to be the French fry girl at McDonald’s like I once was, either, making minimum wage.”

“Did you webcam strictly for the money?”

“It was a major factor, and still is today in my current situation, I cannot lie, but I also enjoyed camming. I enjoy what I do now too; I’m an exhibitionist.” Pamela lifted her shoulder in a half shrug. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t do this because the pay would never be enough.

“When I was camming, I wanted to delve deeper because, you know, other opportunities were out there. So, in March 2006, three months before I graduated and two months after I’d turned eighteen, I started dancing at this strip club in Miami, where I grew up, on Friday and Saturday nights. People can’t believe it when I tell them I went to high school in the day and danced on a pole at night.” Pamela laughed, a hearty, genuine chuckle. “But I did, and the money was awesome, it was spectacular. I was making three thousand dollars, easy, over those two evenings on top of what I made on weeknights camming.” A smile tugged one corner of her mouth upward. “I was young and felt like a pop star, a billionaire, because I could go out and buy whatever I wanted. I was earning more in a week than what my parents made, combined, in a month.

“But working at a strip club, any girl is gonna get propositioned without fail.” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Some strippers will tell you oh, no, that doesn’t happen at my club, management would never tolerate it, but it happens at every club. There are rare exceptions, I’m sure, but these places are a front for prostitution and if you’re young, if you’re saving for college or struggling to pay the rent, it’s difficult to turn down five hundred or a thousand bucks to sneak into the back room or go to some motel after your shift ends and have sex for an hour or two. Being naïve and stupid, not understanding the dangers because, you know, everyone that age thinks they’re invincible. Oh, nothing bad will ever happen to me.

“But my issue was word got out I was working at the club, and suddenly, classmates and school faculty members began showing up and seeing me naked, buying lap dances from me. Some even propositioned me.” She drew in a long breath. “Awkward, to say the least, and once I graduated, I needed a fresh start.”

“Knowing there was more opportunity out there, and I’d already sold my body, anyway, I hopped in my truck and drove cross-county to Nevada and took a job here at the brothel. Again, I was eighteen, and had this brand new, decked-out Ford Ranger that I’d paid for in straight cash thanks to the camming and stripping I’d done in high school. I loved having sex more than anything – still do – and back then, when I started here, I was getting paid to have it in a safe, legal environment. No laws were being broken, there was zero risk involved on my end. Life couldn’t have been any better.” That’s because I met Colt and fell in love with him too. But Pamela wasn’t about to divulge that in the interview. Mongers need to believe I’m single and available because it adds to their fantasy.

“What are some other reasons you’ve heard girls start doing sex work? Whether it be webcamming, in a strip club, a brothel, or on the street? I’m sure you’ve heard it all over the years.”

“Yeah, I have. I’ve heard everything. Some come from broken homes. I never experienced that myself, thank God. I have a solid relationship with my parents, and always have. They did their best while I was growing up. I cannot complain. They were hard-working, typical middle-class folks, and treated me and my siblings well. Other girls? Some get mixed up with the wrong crowd and need the money to support an abusive boyfriend or husband, their pimp, or maybe foster a nasty drug habit.

“I’ve known some who have a sick family member – a mother, a father, a child – who is in desperate need of medical care, and sex work provides the necessary financial resources to get them said care. Single moms do this to give their kids the best life possible. And others, well, they want the money so they can waste it on frivolous things.” Her tone went flat. “Those are the type of girls who flop and fizzle out and leave the industry more broke than they were when they first entered it.

“As someone who has been doing this forever, I try to educate all the turnouts who cycle through about finances, about being smart, and thinking about their future. But not everyone wants to listen, which is understandable. I was once their age too. When you’re young, you have the all the answers, and you don’t need anyone’s help.”

“Do you have any children?”

“No. Maybe one day, but not anytime soon.”

“Can we circle back to your time as an exotic dancer? You were still a senior and had classmates, even faculty members showing up, and that was difficult to deal with, but what were some of the other downsides?”

“The stigma that went along with it. It was terrible, disheartening.” Pamela bowed her head and went silent for a moment. “Somehow, I was able to hide the fact I was stripping from my parents but had to skip my graduation ceremony because I didn’t want them to go there and hear from others about what I did on the weekends. I wanted to keep my mom and dad away from any of that because, by then, the entire school knew. Yet another reason I moved so far away, got that fresh start. It was a huge deal for me, too – graduation – because I’d worked hard, I’d studied, and had straight-A grades. I was so looking forward to the ceremony and hated having to skip it.

“Stripping was exhausting. I did twelve-hour shifts – five at night until five in the morning. It wore on my body and everyone was smoking, and I would go home and feel all grungy and gross the next day. I would take multiple showers to try to get the nicotine smell off.

“And it upset me because other people in my life knew I was stripping – again, the stigma – and the way they treated me was unfair. Going to the bank, for example, and turning in my ones was such a terrible ordeal. Oh, my goodness, don’t get me started.

“But here, everything is confined and because of the industry-wide regulations and other issues, we stay here twenty-four/seven. This is our own little world and being judged or ridiculed is never a concern. This is so much better than a strip joint.”

“You never leave?”

“Once or twice a week. But if you’re gone for more than thirty-six hours, Sulaco County rules state you must get retested for safety’s sake, and that gets expensive. I’ll take a trip to Vegas, or a little town up north I enjoy, but I’m often back the same day.”

“So, back to the club. How did you get started?”

“There was this quote, gentleman’s club, three miles from my high school, and I noticed online they were looking for new dancers. I was interested enough to go and audition. The guy who got me my start, his name was Adrian, suggested I stop by that Saturday night, chill out, and watch how they did their show, get some ideas, and see if this was the right move for me.

“I watched about one song, and I said, Adrian, put me up. He goes, are you sure, and I said, put me up. I already had my lingerie, some minidresses and heels. I’d come ready to go. I fed off the energy; it was exhilarating. I’d been a ballet dancer, had years of cheerleading, and used those skills as a basis for my striptease. There was this circle stage and they had the chairs around it, you know, and I was hooked. I made eight hundred bucks and never once looked back. They wouldn’t let me use my real name, so I was Lexus there.”

“How did the money payouts work?”

“I’m sure the rates are higher these days, but back then, the house fee was seventy dollars. Meaning, just to walk in the door and show up for work, I had to pay seventy dollars. I had to hand it over right away. Then, for every lap dance, no matter if it was the twenty-, twenty-five- or thirty-five-dollar variety, the club took ten bucks. But I kept all my tips. So, I would keep the cash on me all night or stashed away in my locker, and at the end of the shift, Adrian, for example, would come at me and say, Lexus, you did forty-four dances, you owe us four hundred and forty dollars ... or whatever.”

Fasick turned to the next page in his notebook. “So, we’re at Happy Ending Ranch, two-and-a-half, three hours from Las Vegas, in Flagstone, Nevada. Do you know how many prostitutes this brothel employs?”

“We currently have seventeen in our ecosystem, but there are only six to eight here at any given time. Four or five of us are what I would consider full-time – we’re here three weeks out of every month. The general manager, Colt, mandates we take one week off every month, else we’d be here nonstop. The other girls, those who aren’t here as often, rotate in and out as needed, maybe tour for a week or two every couple of months.”

“Do you live in Nevada as well?”

“No, Florida.” I don’t need anyone tracking us down in Maryland. “I moved home to Miami eight years ago and commute between here and there every three weeks.” She tilted her head to the side and smiled. “Lots of frequent flyer miles.”

“What is the process for a customer when he or she walks into a brothel? Is Happy Ending Ranch open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week?”

“Seven days a week, yes, and our hours are from ten in the morning until three at night. There are more customers at night and it can get quite rowdy at times, but we have our share of business in the mornings and afternoons too. Oftentimes, I’ll sit at the bar in the morning and read a book, or work on my laptop, and I’m the first girl a customer sees when they walk in the door.”

“Describe the typical man who comes into a brothel. What is he like?”

“Most are respectful. They’re complete gentleman, and it’s a stark contrast to the type of guy, I promise you, who propositions a streetwalker at midnight in North Vegas, for example, or downtown Los Angeles. I could never do that. I’d never put myself in a vulnerable position.”

“This is a clean, well-run place,” Fasick said, glancing around the parlor. “I could tell when I spoke with the owner earlier. What emotions do you cycle through working here? Do customers make you angry, or offend you? Do you go through bouts of depression and anxiety? Ever feel disrespected?”

Pamela shook her head. “No, can’t say that I do. I have in the past, for sure, when I was at the strip club and dealing with my issues in school, but I’m older now, more mature, wiser, and I’ve learned to roll with the punches. I’m a people person, a positive thinker, and always filter out the negative. Life is too short, you know? I have wonderful relationships with my clients. Many are recurring; they buy me gifts, treat me like a princess.”

“The session, the time these men purchase to be with you is called a party, right?”

“Yeah, it’s a party, not a session.”

“How much does it cost to party?”

“Every lady is different in that she sets her own prices, but I cannot say anything specific because I could get into a lot of trouble with the law if I did. The sole place pricing can be legally discussed is in a girl’s bedroom between client and provider only. Anywhere else, even over the telephone, it’s considered illegal. We have customers who call all the time and ask the bartender, the general manager, what’s the price for a certain girl, but they’re never allowed to tell. It turns some away, but employees here, they’re not going to jeopardize their freedom. I will tell you, though, parties can get super expensive.”

Fasick steepled his fingers together in front of him. “Brothels attract a higher, more refined clientele than, say, some downtrodden, angry drunk guy cruising the Las Vegas Strip at night after he just lost his life savings at the blackjack table. Do you ever feel endangered here?”

“Oh, no, not at all. The house has security measures in place and the sheriff’s station is a block away. They could be here in less than sixty seconds if needed. Plus, I meet and talk to my clients beforehand and if I ever get a bad vibe, I turn them away. That’s my right, our right. We’re not forced to party with anyone if we don’t want to.

“The way it works, to answer your earlier question, is a person comes into the house and requests what’s called a lineup. All the available girls go to a specific area, line up and introduce themselves, and the customer picks whichever one they want to party with. They talk at the bar, get to know each other, and go back to a private room and negotiate terms and prices.”