Tournament Week

 

In 2008 I came to Tucson to work on a Johnny Depp gangster film and ended up staying longer than I thought into 2009. I didn't have another shoot lined up in La La Land but I did have free use of a friend's house in a cozy old neighborhood not far from the university.

This was the golf tournament season in the Old Pueblo. The resorts on the outside of the city were hosting their winter galas that attracted celebrities and golf's best. I was taken aback when the forty-ish, well-dressed woman sat down with me, uninvited, in my favorite coffee shop. I was accustomed to sharing my table in crowded cafes in Europe, but I was all but the only person in the shop this morning.

"Forgive my boldness, dear," she said, "but I've been looking for you."

"Huh, me?," I said, "do I know you?"

"No, not yet," she replied, "but our golf tournament needs you."

She was a "dragon lady," a recruiter and manager for "hostesses" that were hired to mingle with guests at her resort during a tournament. No, she wasn't hiring escorts or prostitutes, she said with a 1000 watt smile, she needed young, attractive girls to chat up the guests, have drinks, dinner with them, and generally dress the resort up. It paid $350.00 flat, cash, no paperwork, from 5 pm to 11 pm for the next week or so. Of course, any tips or "special considerations" after 11 pm would be mine to keep. The dress code was sportswear (shorts) early and cocktail attire after 8 pm. The "hostesses" would have a room available for changing.

"Interested?" she purred.

How could I turn down two grand in a week for teasing wealthy golf nuts? The exhibitionist in me thrilled at the possibilities -- show off, tease, drink, and eat for tax-free cash? No, it wasn't the same kind of deal I had turned down in the Venice Bars bars in California when I was a budding teen. This was above board, totally legal entertainment work.

In a very western, poker game kind of way, I said, "I'm in. Tell me where."

Around the university were several "clothing exchanges" where rich college girls would sell the designer clothes the were tired of so they could buy newer designer clothes. I grabbed some hip label short shorts, polo shirts, and, even by my standards, two radically short party dresses all for just over $100.00.

I reported for work that afternoon and was told, "have fun, be charming, don't compete for any one person's attention, be sure to be in proper attire after 8 pm, and touch base with "dragon lady" at 11 pm in person or by text to guarantee your cash the next day. I was one of six women all my age, all attractive, four blondes, one brunette, and me, the only redhead. They knew what their guests liked, I guess.

None of the girls had ever done anything like this before. Dragon Lady, I learned later, specifically recruited first-timers for hostesses. Being novices, instead of instantly bonding, we went our separate ways immediately as if to say, let's keep this secret, private, and never speak of it again. That was fine with me.

I was accustomed to Hollywood parties where everyone was devilishly desperate to make an impression, snag a deal, or get laid on a quality casting couch. The golf crowd was laid back, warm, friendly, they fawned easily over celebrities and generally were happy just to be where they were. They had money in their pockets and spread it around, lavishly. They knew about "hostesses" like me. They were mostly respectful and generous if I could "bring them a bourbon & seven" or just have a taco with them at the food truck on the seventh hole.

I tolerated a certain amount of ass pats, hair touching, and backs of hands accidentally brushing my breasts, but it was nothing I wouldn't expect in a club in LA. I was eye-candy, mostly. It worked for me. The real working girls were pros, "personal assistants" or "girlfriends" who were easily spotted. Christ, most were gorgeous. I steered clear of them. Courtesy, you know?

The Platinum Tees -- professional female caddies  -- do not work the tournaments officially. Their advertisement touts:  "... for a mere $200+ per Platinum Tee, your beautifully athletic babe will take care of your ball, clean your clubs, drive your cart, fix divots, tend the pin, and most importantly, keep you happy as you sink a hole in one." Honest, that is their pitch in local Tucson promotions.

Without a doubt, I was not in a league with the professional girlfriends or the Tees, but I did very well as a "girl next door" hostesses. I played the naive innocently flirting with both men and women. In the evenings, the second-hand party dresses were far more effective than I had anticipated. I couldn't wear a bra with them, so my girls were pretty much on high-beam display moving from air-conditioned bars to poolside and back. Barelegged wearing a pair of thin-strappy flat sandals, the dresses fell north of mid-thigh, so I opted to add white cotton bikini panties, the kind with a lacy waist and a tiny pink bow. I reveled in flashing these more often than not.

That first day and night was a tumbleweed journey driven by a wind that took me from laughter on the links with men who seemed to be compelled to explain the nuances of golf to me to slurping cold shrimp and sipping champagne with a couple that had the kindest roaming hands I've ever experienced.

I checked in with Dragon Lady at 11 pm. "I'm hearing delicious things about you," she said, "Are you staying longer?"

You bet I was staying. I was just getting started. "Yes," I said, "thank you for including me."

She touched my face and drew close. "You're a natural, darling. Have fun."

I'll share more about my tournament week in future blog posts.

Have a good weekend everyone.