Barty2.mp3
File: Barty2.mp3
Duration: 00:16:05
Date: 7.5.1990 03:12
Speaker 1: This is Evan Rosier, it is currently 3:12 AM on July 5th. Please state your name for the record.
Speaker 2: Barty. (Pause)
Barty: I’m still not saying my full name.
ER: That’s fine. Tell me more about your usual clients.
Barty: (humming) Well, I used to get a lot of truckers. You know, quick fuck, fast food, I get sent home with a couple new bruises and a full stomach. They don’t usually care enough to drag it out, so I used to be able to get three or four in a day.
ER: And this was on Hollywood Boulevard?
Barty: (laughing) No, I’m from New York. I started picking up guys while I was hitchhiking.
ER: You hitchhiked all the way from New York to Los Angeles? That must’ve taken a long time.
Barty: 2 years, ish. I stayed with a guy in Chicago for a few months, thought I might stay there for longer.
ER: Why didn’t you?
(Pause)
Barty: Why are we doing this? I’m sure there are better ways you can learn about me, baby.
ER: Barty. I’ll ask you again to stay in your seat.
Barty: (scoffs) Fine. But I’m not answering that question, I just didn’t.
ER: That’s alright, just let me know anytime you don’t want to answer a question and we’ll move on.
Barty: Do you do this a lot? Interviewing hookers?
ER: (laughing) I can’t say I do, no. My publisher said I needed some new inspiration, I was out looking for some.
Barty: And I was just too tragic to resist?
ER: You quite literally followed me to my car.
Barty: You looked lost! If I didn’t follow you, a mugger sure as hell would have. It’s not hard to spot a man who doesn’t spend a lot of time in that part of town.
ER: How so?
Barty: The suit, for one. No one wears Armani anywhere between Wilshire and the river.
ER: Interesting.
Barty: Your shoes are polished, you were looking around like a fucking tourist at two on a Thursday morning, and, finally, you started a conversation with the first skimpily-dressed twink you came across. Most regulars peruse a little.
ER: I’ll have to keep that in mind.
Barty: For next time?
ER: For if anything comes out of this interview, I have no intention of returning to Hollywood Boulevard.
Barty: No? I’m sure there are hookers with more interesting stories.
ER: I doubt it. Go on, where did you go after Chicago?
Barty: Nevada, Vegas area.
ER: The strip?
Barty: Hell no, cops will bust ya on the strip, I worked in a legal brothel a little south of the city, the kind that cops can't bust or they'll see their captain on the wrong side of a raid. Only above-ground job I’ve ever had, at least mostly. They kept me clean for a while too.
ER: Have you slept with many cops?
Barty: I don’t sleep with damn near anyone. I’ve been fucked by a couple cops and been dumped on the side of the road, there’s a difference. I always get my own bed at the end of the night, or something similar anyways.
ER: What do you mean by that?
Barty: Hmm?
ER: Do you not often have your own bed?
Barty: I had a room at a brothel, and I have an apartment now, but some months I’m between places. Me and some of the girls have a couch-surfing deal worked out.
ER: That doesn’t seem very secure.
Barty: Really? Fucking Sherlock over here. Not everyone can afford the penthouse suite at a Four Seasons.
ER: I apologise, I only meant-
Barty: I know what you meant, don’t you fucking dare feel sorry for me.
(Pause)
ER: Let’s circle back. You said the brothel was only mostly legal, what did you mean by that?
Barty: The brothel was legal. I wasn’t. I was 15 when I started working there, told everyone I was 19.
ER: Oh.
Barty: Don’t judge me, sweetheart, I’m sure you’re no picnic either.
ER: I’m not-
Barty: I know what people think when they look at me. I seem smart enough to not be doing all of this, but I really didn’t have a choice. No one’s gonna hire a guy blowing through town who never even made it through fucking high school.
ER: I-
Barty: My dad wanted me to get a business degree, ya know? Almost did too, almost went with the whole plan. I would’a inherited everything.
ER: So, you ran away from home at (pause) 14? 15?
Barty: No. I’m done with this shit.
ER: Barty?
Barty: I don’t want to do this anymore, this sucks.
ER: Will you stay the night, then? There’s a guest room down the hall. Cabs are hard to find this late.
Barty: You paid me for an hour, I have to get back.
(shuffling, footsteps, following voices distant)
ER: I’ll pay for the whole night, how much?
Barty: What?
ER: How much do you charge for a whole night?
(Pause)
Barty: 400, but-
ER: Done.
Barty: I didn’t do anything.
ER: Sure you did. Here. (Shuffling) 400 dollars. Guest room is right here, make yourself comfortable. You can leave as soon as you wake up in the morning, I don’t care, but I’d like you to sleep.
(Unintelligible voices, door shuts)
ER: Where did I put that thing?
RECORDING END