Call Girl Confidential

by Rebecca Kade

  R: Say that again?

  A: OK, my ex-boyfriend, who I dated for three years. He looked out for me a lot. He’s the guy, he’s on television a lot; he’s very well-known and he’s very powerful on two sides of the coin. His best friend was chief director of the FBI for the entire country. When Itzler started shaking people down, he tried to shake me. Itzler called me up and said, “You need to shut down, or else I’m going to shut you down.” I said, “Oh, really, motherfucker? Let’s see what happens when my friend fucks up your face. Try to understand, you have an electronic bracelet on your ankle, right? You could go back.”

  You know he was arrested for drug dealing? Three thousand Ecstasy pills. [Itzler was sentenced to] a year and a half. He ratted out the Colombian drug cartel down in Miami because, before he came to New York, he was in Miami in the 900-number business. He was the number one guy in Florida, or so he alleges. There was another guy who was his competitor. I for one did not shut down. Itzler was partners with one of the Colombians. You know how these guys do? The Colombian necktie. The guy says he wants to close him down. A couple of months later he disappeared. They found him and his girlfriend decapitated in the trunk of their car. Out in the swamps, the Everglades. And suddenly Jason left town. He came to New York. He got on a plane to Amsterdam. You can go online and look at his parole record. He got a year and a half for international drug trafficking of 2,800 Ecstasy pills.

  R: That’s incredible!

  A: Jason Itzler threatened me years ago, when I had a company with a different name. I got in a big pissing match with him. I said, “Listen, fuckface, you want to play the game?” I said, “You have an ankle bracelet, motherfucker.” I picked up the phone and called my guy. My guy sent two guys down to [Jason’s] office to make it very clear to him. When my guy spoke to his guy, he got it. That’s why I was the only one who never went to jail when Jason was turning in all the names to Vice. There were eleven agencies busted in four months. That was all because of Jason. He went through the back of New York magazine, and all the agencies. He was meeting girls who worked for these agencies. And getting all the information and giving it to Vice. They’d go right in and close them down. He didn’t do it with me. One, I didn’t use credit cards. And two, I think my people made him very nervous.

  Jason’s guys thought they were pretty tough. But my guys were not the type of guys they wanted to bother. Jason did threaten me. But he never bothered me again.

  Jason, the day he gets arrested, he gets out the next day. You don’t think that’s kind of coincidental? Now you see why I kept my distance from everybody. I’m paranoid about everyone I hire. It’s craziness . . .

  [Anna’s sister] Elizabeth is just chilling out. She was worried about you. She said, “Please tell her not to be scared.” When the storm blows over, she said you’ll be on our list. Here’s my new number: ———.

  R: She’s so sweet.

  A: She’s a nice lady. Her heart is good. She’s very patient. So that’s the latest gossip. Remember American Beauty and Femme Desire? They all got busted because of Jason. He was getting info from all these girls. He has his business up again. It’s called DNA Diamonds. He’s fucking running it.

  R: It’s pretty clever.

  A: No, it’s not pretty clever! Because he cannot control himself, his mouth, and his inability to not promote himself. He cannot be across from you: he has to be “I’m number one. I’m the biggest and the best.” He’s on all these radio and TV shows, telling everybody. They flew him to California. He was on Geraldo. I’ve never seen anything like this. He was on Channel 7; Channel 5; he was on CNN. He was on Anderson Cooper talking about Ashley Dupré. Do you even know that Ashley Dupré was with the Victoria’s Agency? And just so everybody knows, she had a special thing to market: “she had the most beautiful pussy in New York.”

  R: Oh, really?

  A: That’s what he was saying on Howard Stern. It was just gross.

  Anyway, I’m going to be honest: I don’t think Kristin is going to mention your name. You’re so far removed [from working for Kristin in the recent past]. I think she’s going to be thinking about girls from the last six months. Do you know there’re girls turning themselves in, like you thought you wanted to do? I told you that was a mistake. I knew girls were going to get scared, like you were feeling . . .

  R: That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Like, what am I supposed to do?

  A: You go on with your life. You wait. Somebody shows up, you say, “I need an attorney.” I’ll be more than happy to come to the station with my attorney. I don’t think they’re going to look into you. My gut tells me you’re safe. They’re going to look at the last six months because it’s more of an active time to nail her. It’s so hard to track people down from a couple of years ago.

  R: Jessica?

  A: Yes, she would advertise. I hope you’re sleeping a little better. I swear, if you need a place to stay—if it comes to that—you can come to my place. I have a two-bedroom. It’s five hours from New York City by bus. It’s not a big deal. I’m in a really nice area.

  R: Oh, really?

  A: It’s nice. So if it gets crazy . . .

  But about the media: if you really feel you’ll get a knock at the door, and your name’s going to come out, you will call me, right? Because I think I might be able to keep your name out of the papers.

  R: Absolutely.

  A: That would be my biggest concern if I were you. Forget the police. They’re not going to arrest you on something you may or may not have done, going back two years ago. So the only thing you really have to worry about is the media. I think that’s your biggest fear. Right?

  R: Having my name in the papers is a major concern.

  A: [Chuckles.] OK, one of my best friends is the chief editor there. The head editor. One of my very closest friends. You understand? I’ve never asked for a favor, other than my daughter. They were giving out student internships for the summer. That’s the only thing I’ve ever asked, and I’ve known him for fourteen years. And, no, he’s not a client, but, yes, he knows what I used to do. Put it this way: they’ve gotten a couple of their biggest stories from me, ever. And it was nothing to do with the adult industry. Do you remember the sultan of Brunei?

  R: I can’t recall.

  A: That’s how I started my business. I used to send the girls to Brunei.

  R: Oh, wow.

  A: I stopped booking them because I learned a lot of weird shit was going on there. A few years later, there was a huge scandal. Miss America—Shannon Something. Mamaroneck? [Marketic.] Allegedly she was sent over there and they tried to hold her hostage.

  All the girls were totally gorgeous. They submit to HIV testing as soon as they arrive. They have a clinic. You fly into the private airport and they take you right to the clinic. They do all your blood work before you get sent to the harem. They do, honestly. She sued them for an undisclosed amount, and they wanted media coverage. An attorney who was co-counsel with the attorney on record knew that I was friends with the editor and said, “Can you get it into the paper?” I said, “Sure.” It was a huge story for the [New York Post]. I’ve given them a couple of big stories that are not related to the sex industry here. I won’t do the sex industry here because I think it’s bad karma.

  R: It is bad karma.

  A: I was speaking to my friend who’s a DA, and I said, “What do you think they’re going to do with [Kristin’s] case?” He tried to get an attorney’s number for you. And who better to ask than one of the DAs? [Laughter.]

  I know that you feel you’re trapped in this world and you can’t share it with many people . . .

  R: That’s the problem, you can’t talk to anybody about it. Who can you talk to?

  A: I’m here. I don’t know if we’re all just paranoid. Don’t be scared to call anytime.

  Call anytime? If only Anna knew.

  * * *

  1. Not his real name.

  FIFTEEN

  going undercover

&nbs
p; The assistant district attorney’s office couldn’t believe the information I provided in my first wiretap. But my work was far from over. It was clear to them I was an invaluable asset, and so they encouraged me to keep my connection with Anna.

  If I stopped seeing all clients, however, I would have been broke. Anna continued to send clients my way. One of my heavy hitters at the time was Brent. Brent was a complete sicko, but money was tighter than ever and I was compromising myself in ways I never thought possible. But if Brent wanted to see me twice in one week, I was $20,000 richer by Friday.

  They weren’t all bad. I had one client, an Asian billionaire who preferred to be called Henri, who was incredibly generous and easygoing. Henri was living in New York for about a year to sort out some banking problems, and his wife stayed back in their home country with the children. Henri had to have companionship, so he would have his chauffeur come pick me up in his Bentley. It was a bit awkward because his driver, John, was an off-duty cop, my client revealed with a chuckle. One night, John picked me up, and as we got stuck in a midtown logjam, I decided to break the barrier of silence. I didn’t know if he would respond or not, but I asked him about himself and chatted amiably. But surely he knew what was going on.

  Having someone who works as a police officer during the day drive me around, knowing full well that I was an escort, was not a comforting feeling. In fact, I was nervous each time I saw him. Henri always laughed at me and said, “If you pay those guys enough, they will do anything.” That wasn’t true, and I knew it. John needed the money to help pay for child support and was currently in the middle of a custody battle. Bingo! Right then I felt his pain and understood why he would take the demeaning commands from Henri and work ridiculous hours, only to wake up and go and be one of New York’s Finest. A lot of police think prostitution is a BS crime and a waste of their time. I never told John why I did what I did, of course, and he probably did judge me, but for that night during the drive, we were not driver and escort. We were just John and Ashley.

  Later that evening I told Henri that he had a wonderful driver and that I thought he was very kind. “Kind?” he asked. “What do you mean, kind? How would you know that? Did he talk to you?” I froze. A stream of thoughts and scenarios went through my head. Why was he so upset? All of a sudden I was nervous for John and his job, so I quickly said, “No, of course not. He is just a very good driver and always makes sure I know how far away we are from you when you are not with me in the car. You know how much I can’t stand to be away from you and wait all by myself in the backseat.” I put on my pouty face and cozied up to him so as to reassure him that there was nothing to worry about. Henri could be the biggest baby. After that, he refused to go out for the evening, so we stayed in, even though he had made special dinner plans with clients. He called his secretary at home and screamed at her to call them all and cancel. This was going to be a long night, and I was going to have my work cut out for me. Tonight wasn’t about me. Tonight I had made a mistake, and it was talking to the driver and telling Henri. Now, I had to make him forget about it. It was time to “flip the switch,” go into high gear, and make sure John didn’t lose his job.

  The next time John picked me up, I said hello to him with a smile you couldn’t miss. He didn’t respond. We rode in absolute silence all the way from downtown to a riverside skyscraper where Henri had an apartment so high up, you couldn’t get cell phone service. We literally looked down on the clouds that drifted past the Citigroup Center and the Chrysler Building, twinkling like bling. He still had his job, but he never spoke to me again.

  What Henri loved to do—besides have sex, of course—was watch college football when Stanford was playing. Perhaps he was an alumnus. He liked to uncork a pricey bottle of wine from his collection at every touchdown, and I remember we savored a bottle of Romanée-Conti and another of Pétrus during one game, which Stanford won. It put him in a particularly energetic mood in bed.

  There was one client, François, whom I grew so close to that he tried to get me to leave the business and just be with him. He was the CEO of a European fashion company, and when he had business with the store executives in New York, he would come and stay at the Pierre and see me. I would stay with him for two or three days, and he would take me to Per Se, Le Bernardin, or La Grenouille. We might go to a concert at Carnegie Hall or Lincoln Center, if he had time.

  For François, I dressed in Narciso Rodriguez, Marc Jacobs, and, of course, designers working for him. He expected the best. He was the most solicitous of lovers, always making sure my needs were taken care of. But sometimes we just talked. He was sad, because he had gotten a high-priced call girl in Europe pregnant and his wife found out and took his kids away from him. Unlike the others, when he was sad, he would cry and cry. Most nights he would cry himself to sleep and I would hold him. It truly was hard to tell if he was crying because he had been caught or because he was about to pay hefty sums of money to both his estranged wife and the girl he had gotten pregnant. What I did know for sure was that he was inconsolable about the loss of time with his children. François was feeling the pain of his actions brutally: not seeing his kids just tore his heart up. It is an unbelievable sight to see such a powerful figure in any industry be brought to his knees, but it reminds me that we are all human and that in the end family is the most important thing.

  To be forced apart from one’s child was something I understood all too well, and he wanted me with him all the time when he was in town because he felt I took care of him. I empathized, but I never told him of my dear sweet little girl, who had been ripped away from my life. His tears might as well have been mine, and that was our connection, even if he never knew it. Unbelievably, after all the pain he put himself and his family through due to his mistake, it didn’t stop François from continuing to see hookers.

  Meanwhile, my custody case slogged on, and my daughter was still languishing at her father’s house in the care of various nannies.

  Once, I was on the Upper West Side, and I saw Isabella across the street with two complete strangers. I froze. At the first hearing, the judge had ordered that I wasn’t allowed to talk to her in between visits. If I violated that, my visits would be rescinded.

  She was riding an electric pony outside a novelty store. I learned later that they were the parents of Isabella’s stepmother. I couldn’t call out to her; I couldn’t go hug her; I could only stand there crying on the other side of the street and watch my own daughter from afar. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

  I was more determined than ever to get my daughter back.

  The ADA wanted me to go after Anna’s moneyman, Jonas Gayer. Gayer was a Russian émigré by way of Poland and Belgium who had been high up in the IRS before he got into a little trouble with the law. He was arrested in 1989 and accused of engineering a $10 million tax scheme for a Brooklyn trucking company. Andrew Maloney, the U.S. attorney for the Eastern District who later prosecuted John Gotti, said Jonas’s scheme was “the largest evasion-of-payment scheme of its kind” ever attempted in the United States. Yet Jonas never served any prison time.

  Now, with his knowledge of how to slide in and out of IRS loopholes, Jonas had a big accounting practice, and Anna was among his clients.

  Bearing some resemblance to a weasel, he nevertheless got to have sex with me courtesy of Anna. I was his “Jonas Bonus” after he completed a particularly sticky bit of business for her. Anna paid me for my services, but he never had to pay her. He asked to see me quite regularly. I think he loved me a little bit. He thought his true calling was to be an artist, and he would give me seascapes he painted in acrylics and oils out at his country house on Shelter Island.

  The early arrest had apparently not put a crimp in his wealth-building activities, since he also had a posh apartment on Beekman Place. His website boasts that his artwork “has been influenced by the exquisite views of Shelter Island and the busy life he leads in New York City as a tax advisor.” Busy indeed.

&n
bsp; The DA’s investigators wanted me to visit Jonas at his accounting office and see what I could get out of him about Anna. The first trip would be simple, just a visit to establish contact independent of Anna and also to say that I needed advice about my own cash that I had stockpiled.

  They gave me what was essentially a script of what I was supposed to say. They were lines like “Jonas, I have too much cash—like, $250,000. Should I invest it or launder it or what?”

  Good Lord.

  “That will never work,” I said. “I can’t go in and say these things!”

  My escort persona, Ashley, would never even broach the topic. It would be completely out of character. Jonas had never talked to me about business before. And I had never asked him for business advice. They wanted too much too soon, and they were going to blow it. I knew how to get what they wanted, but they would have to do it my way.

  “How am I supposed to get Jonas to help me launder my money when Anna knows exactly how much I make?” This conversation had taken place at least a few times, and they needed to understand it was the key element to the whole operation. I asked, “I’m supposed to show up with an extra quarter of a million dollars, when she knows that with my legal bills I couldn’t have accumulated that much? She expects me to tell her everything. How do I know he’s not going to tell her?” These were the arguments, plans, and ideas we would discuss for days, until they finally gave in and decided to trust me. They had to let me do it my way. In order for me to make sure Jonas would not say a word to Anna, I had to make him feel obligated to me personally and afraid of her. Only a woman who is trying desperately to hide money and work undercover knows how to do that. No ADA with a scripted dialogue was going to make that happen. I knew I could do it, and they were starting to see that I was getting them what they needed. They wanted to know where Anna’s money was. I knew I could get him to tell me.