1967, at the suggestion of one of Joe Conforte’s floor maids, a black woman named Alberta (affectionately nicknamed Miss Bertie by the working girls), Conforte constructed a parlor to accommodate black clients, segregated in classic Jim Crow fashion. Inside the front gate, a separate entranceway led to this smaller, adjoiningparlor; jukebox music from the main parlor was piped in. With the arrival of a black patron, willing women went over to the second parlor to line up while their unwilling peers remained in the main parlor. It wasn’t unusual for a group of black men to confront a lineup comprised of one lone woman. Only when Conforte built the current Mustang #1 facility, a permanent structure more upscale than the hodgepodge of double-wide trailers hooked together, would blacks share the main parlor with other races.
Referred to as Parlor Two guests to this day, black customers are still treated differently. Whenever a black man rang Mustang’s doorbell, the cashier or security guard monitoring the front gate sounded a distinct, shrill in-house buzzer twice, summoning only those women willing to party with a black man to line up. Rung once, the buzzer indicated the arrival of a nonblack customer by cab; three rings indicated the arrival of a black man by cab. Women who won’t entertain black customers have to quit the parlor until after the black man views his lineup.
While most of the women at Mustang Ranch lined up for black customers, about one-fourth wouldn’t. Most of these women told me that their men at home had asked them not to accept black clients. Curiously, most of those men were themselves black. Rather than deep-seated hatred of their own race, this prejudice seemed to reflect fear of losing their women to another black man. For women without the excuse of a man at home, racism was the only explanation for rejection. Too willingly, brothel management refused to challenge these prostitutes.“We get a lot of girls from the South,” said Irene. “You can’t force a girl from Texas or the South to take someone to her bedroom who her parents and grandparents have been racist against for years.” Then, apparently unaware of any irony, she added, “That would be like slavery.”
After Irene finished explaining how prostitutes’ earnings were split with the house, she asked Eva whether she had any questions. Eva said she had none. Irene asked one last question: How did Eva think she would be able to handle screwing men for money if she had never done it before? Irene’s voice was detached, and her face was a blank mask. Later, she told me that she worked hard not to become emotionally invested in any of the girls until they were officially hired. Moreover, she was proud of how discerning she was. “I won’t just hire any girl that walks in the door. Some managers do. An awful lot of managers see each girl as an extra three-dollar tip a day in their pocket. With five extra girls, you’ve almost got your mortgage payment.”
Among the criteria most important to Irene was the applicant’s response to that last question. “I always ask new turn-outs if they’ve thought about what they’ll have to do as a prostitute,” she said. “Most tell me they’ve seen
Pretty Woman
or that they like sex. I say, ‘Wait a minute. This job is tough. Some of these guys are fat, some are ugly, and some have B.O. These guys are going to tell you to spread your legs or to give them a blow job. Have you thought about that?’ From the look on their faces, I can see most of them haven’t.” Eva’s candid answer—that she was scared but hoped as a professionalshe would learn to block out any negative thoughts—was satisfactory; afterward, Irene announced she had passed the first test on the way to being hired.
If Eva met the remaining requirements, Irene wanted to hire her as a day girl, to work the shift from eleven A.M . to eleven P.M . According to Irene, day and night girls needed different
Referred to as Parlor Two guests to this day, black customers are still treated differently. Whenever a black man rang Mustang’s doorbell, the cashier or security guard monitoring the front gate sounded a distinct, shrill in-house buzzer twice, summoning only those women willing to party with a black man to line up. Rung once, the buzzer indicated the arrival of a nonblack customer by cab; three rings indicated the arrival of a black man by cab. Women who won’t entertain black customers have to quit the parlor until after the black man views his lineup.
While most of the women at Mustang Ranch lined up for black customers, about one-fourth wouldn’t. Most of these women told me that their men at home had asked them not to accept black clients. Curiously, most of those men were themselves black. Rather than deep-seated hatred of their own race, this prejudice seemed to reflect fear of losing their women to another black man. For women without the excuse of a man at home, racism was the only explanation for rejection. Too willingly, brothel management refused to challenge these prostitutes.“We get a lot of girls from the South,” said Irene. “You can’t force a girl from Texas or the South to take someone to her bedroom who her parents and grandparents have been racist against for years.” Then, apparently unaware of any irony, she added, “That would be like slavery.”
After Irene finished explaining how prostitutes’ earnings were split with the house, she asked Eva whether she had any questions. Eva said she had none. Irene asked one last question: How did Eva think she would be able to handle screwing men for money if she had never done it before? Irene’s voice was detached, and her face was a blank mask. Later, she told me that she worked hard not to become emotionally invested in any of the girls until they were officially hired. Moreover, she was proud of how discerning she was. “I won’t just hire any girl that walks in the door. Some managers do. An awful lot of managers see each girl as an extra three-dollar tip a day in their pocket. With five extra girls, you’ve almost got your mortgage payment.”
Among the criteria most important to Irene was the applicant’s response to that last question. “I always ask new turn-outs if they’ve thought about what they’ll have to do as a prostitute,” she said. “Most tell me they’ve seen
Pretty Woman
or that they like sex. I say, ‘Wait a minute. This job is tough. Some of these guys are fat, some are ugly, and some have B.O. These guys are going to tell you to spread your legs or to give them a blow job. Have you thought about that?’ From the look on their faces, I can see most of them haven’t.” Eva’s candid answer—that she was scared but hoped as a professionalshe would learn to block out any negative thoughts—was satisfactory; afterward, Irene announced she had passed the first test on the way to being hired.
If Eva met the remaining requirements, Irene wanted to hire her as a day girl, to work the shift from eleven A.M . to eleven P.M . According to Irene, day and night girls needed different
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