Journalist Clarissa Sebag-Montefiore spends a night in a flourishing Perth brothel. Young, size eight, double D. Jane, the mumsy phone operator, places down the handset and puts on her specs to peer at her computer. She points to a profile photograph showing only an enormous pair of breasts. Bridgette is soon at the door. She wears gold sparkly stilettos, red lipstick, and thick foundation disguising poor skin.
Her brown eyebrows are painted on and her long, blonde, Barbie-doll hair is curled and slung to one side. Outside, in the brothel lounge, around 17 other womenβmostly Australian but also Asian, African, and Europeanβbide their time waiting to be summoned for house calls or clients who walk in off the street.
They gossip on glittery sofas and munch on chocolate bars from the snack machine under queasy, harsh lighting. In years past, this city of 1. Now, as residents have become richer, gleaming skyscrapers have sprung up in the business district alongside hip cocktail bars and swanky restaurants.
Contractors often fly into Western Australia from homes elsewhere for fast cash. They work for weeks at a time offshore or in isolated mines. With scant chance of finding a relationship if single, or far away from their wives and families if married, many turn to sex workers for intimacy. Here, local newspapers are chock-a-block with classifieds ads for sex workers.
Langtrees, one of the oldest and most expensive establishments, is more upmarket. It is located a few minutes drive from Crown Perth, a vast Las Vegas-style entertainment complex consisting of a hour casino, plush international hotels, a nightclub, and numerous restaurants and bars.
