Calling All Call Girls

Not long ago, I was solicited by a prostitute. At least I think she was one. She had her pale hair pulled back in a proper bun and a trench coat buttoned to the top. We were on Columbus Circle, and after I asked her the time, she quietly asked if I wanted some company. It was a little surprising, but not because she was soliciting me. What was surprising was how discreetly she did it.

It used to be that going to a hooker was a safe route for secret sex, and a far less corrosive way to have it than doing it with your secretary or the woman next door.

Now you call a call girl and pretty much assume you’re going to end up on a reality TV show. Look at Irma Nici, the ex-call girl who was paid for her accounts of sessions with David Beckham. She recently told the Post that Eliot Spitzer wore white socks during sex, not black ones. “He couldn’t last as long in bed as his one-hour CNN show,” she added.

Most people I know couldn’t last that long either, but other than Dr. Ruth, who would discuss it? Meanwhile, Nici’s former boss, Kristin Davis, is now running for governor, of all things, and Ashley Dupre has become a celebrity sex columnist. In New Orleans, a former prostitute is lending her voice to a campaign ad against David Vitter, who is running for United States Senate. This week we even have an escort peddling a sex video with a fake Tiger Woods.

I understand that a girl’s got to make a living. But does she have to talk about it?

In Europe, where even affairs aren’t news, a hooker would be lucky to get anyone to listen. Here, entire governments grind to a halt each time one goes public.

It’s not like we’re living at the time when George Bernard Shaw wrote Mrs. Warren’s Profession. The play, now on Broadway, about a madam who does extremely well, was seen as a moral outrage and censored for years. Shaw had the nerve to show a mother with the smarts and gumption to make a good living using sex. “The hypocrisy of the world makes me sick,” Mrs. Warren declares.

I wonder what she’d think about the attack California gubernatorial candidate Meg Whitman is making on Jerry Brown right now. She won’t let him forget that one of his campaign workers once referred to her as a whore in a phone conversation. In a debate last week, Mr. Brown apologized again for the incident. Ms. Whitman remains indignant.

“That’s not what California is about,” she said.

Tell that to Heidi Fleiss.

Meanwhile, prostitutes, take back your code of honor. Practice discretion. In a world in which we’re all busy trying to figure out how to prostitute ourselves in one way or another, we really don’t care what you did at work last night and with whom.

You’re the world’s oldest professionals. You’re also old news.

editorial@observer.com Calling All Call Girls