Brothel: Mustang Ranch and Its Women by Albert Alexa

Author:Albert, Alexa [Albert, Alexa]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780307554901
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2011-11-09T05:00:00+00:00

6 .. SISTERHOOD

Around noon one day a new woman named Heather approached me while I was eating lunch in the kitchen at Mustang #1. At first, she pretended to be making casual conversation, but she was clearly unnerved. She asked how my day was going, and before I could answer, she said, “I’ve sure had one hell of a morning.”

She sniffed and winced. “I was taking a shower. I reached for my shampoo. It had a strange odor, it smelled like perfume mixed with rotten eggs. Fumes filled up my nose and the back of my throat. The shower steamed up, and I felt almost claustrophobic. Then my scalp began to tingle, then burn. That’s when I knew. Someone had put Nair in my shampoo.”

Heather had been a victim of terrorism brothel-style, an attempt by colleagues to intimidate her, perhaps even chase her out, as they did frequently to new girls who threatened their business.

As she spoke, her body language—stooped shoulders, nervous hands, pain-lined face—spoke of her need for reassurance. Like other new arrivals at Mustang Ranch, she had no allies in place to protect or defend her. I wondered if she realized how little influence I, an outsider, had.

Heather and I had gotten acquainted a week earlier, as we found ourselves headed through the brothel gate together for a jog one morning. We were almost the only women who left the compound to exercise—the brothel strongly discouraged it and ordered us to stay on Mustang property—and we agreed to become running mates. During our runs, we talked, and I came to know her well.

This was Heather’s first trip to one of Nevada’s legal brothels. For more than four years, she had worked full-time in illegal brothels in Houston’s business district, until a recent crackdown by the city’s vice squad forced her to temporarily relocate out of state. Previous professional success had made her quite confident. “I’m big-time in Houston. I make easy money,” she told me on one run. “I didn’t think it would be like that here too, but it is.” She snickered.

Still, the move to Reno had been daunting. “I was really scared when I came to Mustang,” she said. “I knew what it would be like when I got here. I knew what the prostitute life was about—competing. You know nobody’s going to like you. You know it’ll be really cold and unfriendly.”

As Heather had anticipated, her reception at Mustang had been chilly. Her arrival, in May, coincided with an unusual lull in business; sometimes three or four hours passed before a customer rang the doorbell. Meanwhile, Mustang #1 was nearly filled with women, with almost fifty ready to work each day of the typically busy season. With wigs and makeup in place, dressed in tight-fitting bodysuits and dresses, women sprawled on parlor couches, fretted about their financial obligations, and bickered relentlessly. Tension mounted, resentment boiled, hostility permeated the brothel. This was no time for the likes of Heather.

A chestnut-haired Bridget Fonda look-alike, Heather was a

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