The girl was almost nineteen and she’d been a prostitute for nearly two years. She was a blonde, pretty girl with a good figure. Not so long ago she’d been much prettier, but the heroin had taken the edge off her looks. Her skin beneath the makeup now lacked bloom, and there were shadows under her eyes. Still, she attracted her share of the blokes who flocked to the Cross for sex.
The girl’s name was Rosa. She’d once belonged to parents who loved her and who would never have envisaged her in her current surroundings. That was before Rosa’s mother died and her father remarried. Rosa’s stepmother didn’t give her the love she’d received from her mum, but she did what she thought was best for Rosa. She was, in fact, overzealous in her concern for her stepdaughter’s welfare, trying to put the brakes on Rosa seeing boys early in her teens. Rosa’s father sided with his new wife, who was younger than him and attractive into the bargain.
The atmosphere in the Craig home became so oppressive and restrictive that the high-spirited Rosa decided she could stand it no longer. She’d discussed the situation with her best friend Prue, who was in an even worse situation: Prue had a drunken father who mauled her and brought women to the house.
Rosa and Prue decided they would go to Sydney, where they were sure it wouldn’t be too difficult to obtain employment. They’d been told by other girls that it was relatively easy to find jobs as waitresses. Once they’d earned some money and could dress well, they reckoned they could hold their own with most girls their age.
And they were right—they didn’t have much trouble finding jobs as waitresses at a swanky restaurant. They rented a flat and got a big kick out of togging themselves out in the latest fashions.
And then Rosa started chatting to Alan, one of her regular customers at the restaurant. He was a ruggedly handsome bloke who seemed to have lashings of money, yet didn’t work. They had sex the second week, and it was Alan who introduced Rosa to heroin. Prue tried it too. When the opportunity arose, Alan had sex with her as well—by then, the girls cared more about the drug than him.
Rosa and Prue soon discovered that they needed more heroin than their wages could purchase. That was why they started taking men. At first there were only a few men in Alan’s flat and then, as they needed more money for heroin, they had to take more. Alan told them they had to do whatever men asked of them, and do it well because there were plenty of other girls to compete with. Ideally, he said, they should be so good in bed that the same men would come to them on a regular basis.
The first week was the worst for both girls. But after they survived that, the numbers of men and the requests that had to be obeyed didn’t seem to make much difference. Well, they did, but the heroin compensated for what the girls had to do.
It became a matter of trying to attract as many men as possible, because that gave them the money to give Alan for the heroin their bodies craved. He passed on some money to his supplier, kept a percentage for himself and amassed a tidy pool from his two girls. He’d had other girls, but they hadn’t lasted as long. Rosa and Prue gave him free sex—and if they didn’t give it to him satisfactorily, he would threaten to cut off their supply for a period. This brought them to heel and they would do anything he asked.
Alan had been the quasi-leader of a gang of street kids before he came to Kings Cross, and he’d built up a reputation as an enforcer. One of his earlier girls had died from an overdose, another had been knifed, and yet another—the only one of that trio who didn’t use drugs—had mysteriously disappeared. The rumour was that Mavis had saved a lot of money from screwing and got out. If so, she was one of the few who was able to exit the game.
•
Greg Baxter had seen Rosa several times. Despite her tight, low-cut blouse and skimpy skirt, she reminded him very much of Elaine. She had the same look of gentility. Baxter resolved to meet her.
A few nights later, Baxter was across the road from Rosa, talking to a good-looking brunette who usually worked that side of the street. Rosa later told him that she’d had her eye on him and hoped he wouldn’t go off with Carol, because he was the best type of man she’d seen in the time she had been on the game. If a girl could do it with men like him, she said, the job wouldn’t be so bad. It was having to endure all shapes and sizes of men, and men of all ages, that got her down.
Rosa was well aware that she’d fallen a long way since she left Albury. A prostitute was as low as a woman could get, she believed. But that night, she saw Mr Wonderful cross the road and walk towards her. He’s coming to me, she thought with a surge of interest. He was exactly the kind of man she’d always dreamt of meeting.
‘You want something special, handsome?’ she asked as Baxter walked up to her.
He looked down at her gaping cleavage and wondered for the umpteenth time why a nice-looking girl like this one would take up such a degrading business. ‘Okay,’ he said, thinking if he told her what he really wanted from her, she would probably refuse to leave the street. He’d have to wait until they got to her room.
It wasn’t far to the flat Rosa shared with Prue and Alan. The rooms were better than Baxter expected, though the furnishings were garish.
‘I’m Rosa, handsome,’ she said, smiling seductively and batting her lashes. ‘I won’t be a minute.’ She made a quick trip to the loo and then came back to the bedroom, reached down and started unzipping her skirt.
Baxter put up his hand to stop her. ‘I didn’t come here for sex. I want to talk to you and I’ll pay you for your time. Is it a deal?’
‘Are you a cop or a do-gooder?’ Rosa asked, wide-eyed.
‘I’m neither. I’m a writer. How much do you usually charge?’
‘It depends. Sixty dollars for nothing special,’ she said and shrugged.
Baxter fished out his wallet and extracted a hundred-dollar bill. He handed it to her and she took it, lifted the mattress and slid the note underneath.
She sat down on the edge of the bed and looked up at him. ‘Are you from one of the papers? There’s always someone from the papers or the telly poking their noses in up here. When they need a bit of news, they come to the Cross.’
‘It’s a famous place,’ Baxter said and smiled. His smile seemed to do a lot to put Rosa at ease, and she opened her bag and took out a cigarette.
‘Do you have to smoke?’ Baxter asked. ‘I’d rather you didn’t.’
‘All right. You some kind of health freak?’
‘In a way,’ he said. ‘I’m an athlete of sorts.’
‘You’re the healthiest-looking bloke I’ve seen in this place,’ she said, running her eyes over him lasciviously. ‘So what do you want to talk about?’
Later she’d tell Baxter that it was a new experience having a man who simply wanted to talk to her. Some men would talk a lot, but they always wanted sex.
‘You’re right, I am a journalist,’ he explained, ‘although I’d like to write books. I don’t work for the gutter press but for a respectable broadsheet, and I’m working on an in-depth investigative piece. I’ve talked to some of the other girls and they’ve helped me a lot. I’d appreciate it very much if you’d help me too.’
Rosa stared into his eyes—it seemed she was still sizing him up. Then she shrugged again. ‘You seem all right to me. You don’t come across as a man who uses a girl badly and leaves her feeling rotten. How can I help you, mister?’
‘I’m Greg. Greg Baxter.’
‘What do I call you? Mr Baxter?’
‘You can call me Greg. I’d like to know what influenced you to get started in this business. If I had to make a guess, I’d say you come from a good family and that you didn’t plan on becoming a prostitute. So what went wrong?’
Rosa thought about this question for a while. ‘No,’ she said finally, in a quiet voice. ‘I didn’t plan on becoming a prostitute when I was going to school in Albury.’
She looked at Baxter, who was now sitting on the end of her bed. He was wearing new clothes, and he hoped he seemed clean, decent and honest, because that’s what he was. And it seemed Rosa knew it, because the whole story fell out of her—Albury, her stepmother, Prue, Alan, heroin. And the endless men and their endless wants. ‘Once you get on the roundabout,’ she concluded with a sigh, ‘it’s hard to get off.’
Baxter nodded. ‘Ever thought about trying to give it up?’
Rosa’s hands clenched in her lap. ‘What would I do?’ she asked, her voice strained. ‘Where would I go? I haven’t got much money. I often don’t have enough to buy food. That’s when I have a slack week, and I need what I earn to buy heroin.’
‘You must earn a fair amount?’
‘Yeah, sometimes I do, especially when there’s a Yank ship in port. But heroin costs big bikkies, mister.’ She sounded tough, but her smile was sad. ‘If I don’t get it I’m a wreck and I can’t work.’
‘There’s places you can go if you really want to get off the roundabout,’ Baxter suggested. ‘I can point you to them, if you’d like.’
Rosa shook her head and stared into the distance. He’d never seen a young woman look so lost and full of despair. ‘I think I’m past all that,’ she said. ‘I’ve sort of given up. There’s not many ways you can leave the game. One is by dying, and I’ve thought about that. That happens.’
Baxter nodded solemnly. ‘But you’re still here.’
She quirked a half-smile. ‘I’m still here. Look, there’s the odd girls who are married and do it to earn extra money. If I was lucky enough to be married to a decent fellow, I wouldn’t do that to him. I’ve seen the odd girl get an offer of marriage.’ She gave Baxter a hopeful look under her eyelashes. ‘There’s all kinds of men come here. There’s men who’ve lost their wives or could never find a wife—and there’s some who want to take it out on all women by being as rough as possible while they’re with you.’
Baxter tensed, wishing he could get his hands on the bastards who’d hurt this lovely girl. ‘I hope you can steer clear of them in future.’
‘Tell me about it. And once you lose your looks and figure, you’re ready for the scrapheap because most men won’t look at an old piece. The younger, the better. A young girl fires them up. After a few years at this game, you get to look old.’
‘What will you do then, Rosa?’ Baxter asked gently.
She gave him a strange sort of smile as she got up off the bed. ‘I reckon I won’t live that long, Greg. The thing is, what do I have to live for now?’
‘There might be more out there for you than you think,’ Baxter said, getting to his feet too. ‘Well, the hour’s up.’
She looked him up and down again. ‘You sure you don’t want sex? You’ve paid me enough for it.’
‘No thanks,’ Baxter said, holding up both hands and taking a step away.
‘All right.’ Her smile was a little too bright. ‘I’ll have to go and earn some more money now.’
‘Would you mind if I come again? I’ve got a few more questions.’
‘Your money’s as good as the next fella’s.’ Rosa’s smile turned wicked. ‘And if the other girls see you coming to me, my prestige will go through the roof.’
As they went down the stairs, a tall, tough-looking man passed them. He had long fair hair tied in a pigtail and a bony face with peculiarly hollow cheeks. Was this the man Rosa had described as being ruggedly handsome?
‘Another client?’ Baxter asked, to make sure.
‘That’s my, er, boyfriend. Alan.’
‘The fellow who got you started on drugs?’ Baxter asked harshly. ‘The one who brings you heroin and takes your money?’
‘Yeah, that’s what he does, Greg. But he also looks after Prue and me—sees that the men do right by us. Anyway, see you around, handsome.’