La ressortie, ce mercredi 25 novembre, de Klute est l’occasion de s’intéresser à ce film méconnu de la décennie considérée comme le dernier âge d’or, les années 70, comme de la filmographie de son réalisateur Alan J. Pakula. Il est vrai que cette œuvre accuse un déficit de considération comparé aux deux autres opus composant sa trilogie dite du complot, les grandioses À cause d’un assassinat et Les Hommes du Président, du fait de son rythme atypique et de sa rapide bifurcation d’une enquête policière classique vers un récit intimiste, la découverte du coupable important finalement moins que la construction identitaire de son héroïne, remarquable Jane Fonda.
Un notable d’une bourgade de Pennsylvanie, Tom Gruneman, disparaît inexplicablement. John Klute (Donald Sutherland), ami et détective privé mène l’enquête avec pour seuls indices les lettres obscènes que Gruneman aurait écrites à une call-girl de New-York, Bree Daniels (Jane Fonda). Klute se rend sur place, s’installe au rez-de-chaussée de l’immeuble de Daniels et enregistre ses conversations téléphoniques. Il prend finalement contact avec elle et noue une relation d’attirance/répulsion qui parasitera ses recherches de la vérité.

Klute vaut vraiment la peine d’être découvert car il expose tous les attributs et motifs des fictions paranoïaques à venir, et repris par Pakula lui-même, mais se restreint à des sphères dont les ramifications sont encore identifiables. En 1971, année de sortie du film, l’Amérique, si elle a été éclaboussée par le sang de Kennedy ne l’est pas encore par le scandale du Watergate qui éclatera un an plus tard en 1972. Traumatisée, elle n’a pas encore perdu confiance en ses institutions bien que quelques révélations sur la surveillance étroite des citoyens exercée par les agences gouvernementales (C.I.A, F.B.I) commencent à poindre dès le début des seventies. Klute se montre ainsi parfaitement raccord avec ce contexte et plutôt que de montrer des êtres se confronter aux conséquences d’une machination impossible à révéler au grand jour (comme l’expérimenteront Warren Beatty et le duo Redford/Hoffmann), échafaude un climat oppressant s’immisçant progressivement dans la vie de chacun. Cloisonnement de plus en plus insistant (cadres, surcadres, cloison du bureau de Cable se refermant) jusque dans l’appartement de Bree Daniels et qui confine à l’isolement malgré l’activité de la ville (nombreux espaces vides composant l’arrière plan), on dénote également d’importantes zones d’ombre (formidable travail sur la photographie de Gordon Willis) comme une multiplication de plans subjectifs insinuant une surveillance ou de plans à la durée inhabituellement longue augmentant l’expectative.

Klute, sans y faire clairement référence, est un film hanté par l’assassinat de Kennedy, Tom Gruneman, que l’on verra en tout début de métrage et assez furtivement lors du repas, joue ce rôle d’une présence fantomatique que l’on évoquera au détour de dialogues ou par l’entremise d’une photo souriante de son visage. Une absence qui agira sur la vie des protagonistes, ceux-ci cherchant aussi bien à mettre à jour le mystère l’entourant (est-il mort ? Si oui, tué par qui, pourquoi ?) qu’à s’en défaire pour recommencer à vivre.
Mais le film se montre vraiment intéressant dans sa peinture du personnage féminin principal, Bree Daniels, qui semble ne s’épanouir que dans la domination exercée sur la gent masculine. C’est elle qui mène les débats et les ébats. Pourtant, elle expose certaines faiblesses et états d’âme à sa psy, la call-girl ayant du mal à réfréner les désirs d’amour et d’équilibre de la femme. Tout son petit monde sera encore plus chamboulé par l’entrée en scène du détective John Klute qui sera plutôt un élément perturbateur que véritable héros du film, contrairement à ce que l’on pouvait attendre d’un titre reprenant son patronyme. Il incarnera l’autre versant de la masculinité, celle offrant sécurité et stabilité par opposition au maquereau interprété par Roy Sheider. Un personnage féminin à fort caractère dont les attitudes de défiance cachent une fragilité à fleur de peau. Pakula joue extrêmement bien avec les attentes qu’il aura suscitées, Klute a finalement du mal à imposer sa présence à l’écran (souvent littéralement dans l’ombre en train d’épier, transparent lorsque le réalisateur ne cadre que son reflet dans une vitre) et Bree Daniels se montre vraiment détonante alors qu’elle nous a été présentée de manière indifférenciée au milieu d’un casting de jeunes femmes (la caméra passe sans s’arrêter en gros plan sur son visage).

Enfin, Klute se révèle un grand film dans son utilisation de la bande-son. Une importance marquée d’emblée par le premier plan montrant un magnétophone que l’on actionne. Ainsi, les enregistrements des conversations de Bree seront autant de révélations factuelles sur ses méthodes de travail, sa manière de jouer face à son client, qu’elles sembleront illustrer les pensées de Cable, le commanditaire de Klute, en pleine réflexion ou introspection et seront utilisées pour provoquer l’effroi lorsque Bree entendra sa propre voix en décrochant le téléphone. De même les confessions faites à sa psy déborderont le cadre de son cabinet pour éclairer de manière contradictoire ce que les images de l’intimité du couple Klute/Daniels laissent entrevoir. Une intimité caractérisée par l’absence de paroles, les sentiments s’exprimant par les gestes, les regards, les postures. Les quelques mots proférés s’avèreront blessant ou générateurs de peur ou de tension. Les relations sincères sont donc celles où l’économie de mots prédomine puisque lorsqu’ils affluent (pendant des passes ou des entretiens avec la psy) c’est sous couvert d’une certaine somme d’argent. Un environnement sonore dont l’importance est redoublée par la musique de Michael Small dont les compositions ajoutent aux troubles de la relation et de l’ambiance paranoïaque.

Klute, sans être un chef-d’œuvre du genre est indéniablement à découvrir pour son portrait de femme dont la libération sexuelle et morale dérègle l’introversion imposée et puis parce qu’il détourne avec brio les codes du film noir et plus généralement du classicisme hollywoodien alors en vigueur (illustrant en cela ce que sera le Nouvel Hollywood). Alors que le film, à l’image de son héros désabusé, semble s’articuler sur la désillusion à l’œuvre, il s’achemine vers la possibilité de se reconstruire. Une éventualité contrecarrée quelques années plus tard par les deux authentiques chefs-d’œuvre de Pakula, À cause d’un assassinat et Les Hommes du Président.

Nicolas Zugasti

> Film repris en salles le 25 novembre 2009

> Lire aussi l’article consacré au “cinéma politique” et à la musique de Michael Small dans VERSUS n° 9.

Extrait de Klute en VOSTFR

After the stunning revelation that an American expatriate scientist in Bristol named Brooke Magnanti spent the first part of the noughties as a clandestine Internet celebrity specializing in the world’s oldest profession, I think it’s clear to understand my point of view about my views regarding the subject.

I was in the laundrette (laundromat for you North Americans) today and I read a copy of today’s Daily Mail on Sunday which featured an interview with Magnanti’s father (and pictures of Magnanti when she was living in the USA) and his reaction to his estranged daughter’s ways of keeping up with the bills. It turns out that father and daughter haven’t spoken in years, which the father blames on his post-divorce habits, which included a crack-cocaine addiction and get this–paying for prostitutes. Like father like daughter?

The middle aged lady in the laundrette and I had a somewhat brief conversation, and she thought it was dangerous that Magnanti ever got into the profession because someone could have harmed her. I seem to concur with that conclusion.

However, I don’t think it’s a bad idea that she wants to sell her body to the highest bidder. Not that I seem to fancy a call girl at the moment, but I believe in the free enterprise. A woman (or a man) should choose how to run their finances in legal means possible. Sure, she could get a job, but if she needed the money, there are better ways than stealing or selling drugs (a big no-no). Prostitution, after all, is legal in the United Kingdom so long as she’s not street walking and making a scene.

Then again…a whore is a whore, or, as Ludacris would put it, “Yous a ho!”

“The first thing that you should know is that i’m a whore.” – The perfect opening line from my favourite blogger, Belle Du Jour. She’s kinda infamous now for her ‘Intimate Adventures of a London Call Girl’. You’ve probably heard of it.

It might be wrong to cite her as an inspiration to me, as someone to look up to and strive to be like. Well yes, I can see why idolising a prostitute has its downsides, but honestly, I think the woman’s a Goddess. She tells it like it is, doesn’t spare any of the gory details and always ends her entries in a witty, provocative way. What could be bad about wanting to be like that?

This is my first entry on a blog website, and to tell you the truth (my goal from now on), I don’t know why it has taken me this long to publish my diary and daily life stories. You may think ‘well she’s only young, what can she possibly have to say about life and sex that we haven’t heard before?’. Wow guys, that’s a lot of pressure. You’re right though, I am young and somewhat inexperienced, but that simply means i’ve grown up in a different generation to you, where the rules have gone completely out the window and the idea of ‘courting’ is prehistoric.

My name is Bambi..well, not really, but for blog purposes it is. I’m a 20 year old university student who’s currently having a..not quite ‘mid-life’ crisis but  a crisis of life all the same. I’ve been keeping a diary since I was 17, so that’s already 3 years worth of infidelity, lying and general ‘crazyness’ under the belt. Don’t worry though, I won’t bore you with all the juvenile emotionally-draining drab that I perfected over those years. No, this time i’m starting from scratch, i’m going to update you as often as possible with everything that’s troubling, exciting, scaring and puzzling me, with a totally ‘no-holds-barred’ effect.

So what more can I say..get ready.

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It’s almost my Birthday. Another year in the business and I still haven’t given up. Maybe it won’t ever happen who knows?

I picked up a friend from Victoria Station this evening. She’s visiting me from the North for the weekend. We girls do love to party and I haven’t seen her since we spent a month sunning ourselves on one of Europe’s beaches. She know’s about my double life, and has recently converted to my chosen part-time profession – which is handy as my phone has been ringing off the hook the past few weeks! I seem more demand than ever for my sexual services.

This week for example has seen me visiting two gentlemen for long sessions. Both were in their 40’s, very handsome and lovely to talk to. Weeks like this make me smile. I have generous benefactors who have made sure my birthday weekend will go off with a bang, and had a great week too.

Client number one was a super tanned (it was real) business man from out-of-town. A Heathrow hotel appointment. He was nervous and we spent most of our time talking, interspersed with various compliments from him. Client number two was a handsome ex Rugby type whom I visited at his home in South West London. He was sweet and gentle, and had some serious sexual skills. His oral technique rivalled my own – I left with a glow!

It’s weeks like this that definitely make me wonder why I want to quit. Then I remember the cute blonde man I spent last Friday evening with. We’re seeing each other. His kisses make my head spin, and I’m excited thinking about the next time we see each other. Maybe I should stop, because things surely won’t work out with him if I’m still a bad girl on the side. Karma’s a bitch that way.

It is pleasing when you hear of someone who enjoys their work. In Belle de Jour’s case she would appear to be in a minority in her chosen area of employment. That Dr Brooke Magnanti has had to out herself in an act of preemption against the Daily Mail perhaps suggests a hint of disingenuousness by her.

Just over three years ago I worked a stint in Amsterdam. I stayed in the city centre, close enough to the famous red-light area. The girls there did not look particularly happy, more like they were going through the motions. The stories were of girls funding their drug habits by prostitution. This was no chicken and egg situation for most of them – it was clear that many were made dependent to make them more compliant.

Of course, there are some happy hookers.

Dr Magnanti was the subject of a Radio Five Live phone-in this morning, and the subject broadened to encompass the pros and cons of prostitution.

Should women be able to sell themselves for sex? I confess to being a small ‘c’ conservative here. I have not paid for it, although I know many who have. For those who genuinely choose this lifestyle it is difficult to see what the argument against is. I am not for moralizing.

That many, most, women involved in the sex industry are trapped in it is found true by every survey I have seen. That women are trafficked, beaten, or forced by penury is also true.

Removing the causes of women joining the trade strikes me as a simpler way of tackling the problem, if problem be it, than by merely criminalizing punter and whore. This means addressing poverty and equality issues, themes tackled valiantly by Harriet Harman. Much good work done, clearly more to do.

Licensed brothels are touted by some. If this route is taken then these must be placed away from residential areas. I have also worked in the West Midlands, at a time when a particular area of Birmingham was getting a lot of notice for its kerb crawlers and the angry residents – angry because every female in that area was being propositioned.

The oldest profession in the world will not be legislated away. This does not mean we have to legalise as the same argument could be made for theft and murder. There is a balance to be had between giving women protection and allowing freedom of choice.

Perhaps the story here, though, is not Belle de Jour, but that her cherished anonymity was compromised, and that she chose anonymity in the first place.

• After being under house arrest by the swine flu police it was quite a jolt coming to work this morning, its amazing how your body clock re-sets itself when there is no pressure to get up, ah well…back at my desk…..what I can see of it…..I was of 3 1/2 days…how can my desk get so much paper on it…and I also have to wade through 394 emails that people kindly sent me during my absence, they arent even spam…the server filter has taken out the type at home,buy a Rolex and the buy Viagra cheap emails.
• Bonus being…..everyone is avoiding me like I have leprosy…the phone is on fire but no one is daring to come into my office…Result!!!
• Tonight is soap night with Princess with Celebrity Jungle following on so I should be able to chill…with chocolate of course.

Cowell Shoots Himself  In The Foot

ITV has triumphed in an almighty behind-the-scenes battle with the BBC after both organisations wanted Mariah Carey to appear on their flagship entertainment shows. The American singer pulled out of Saturday night’s Strictly Come Dancing at short notice to the fury of BBC chiefs and will now be seen exclusively on The X Factor next Sunday. She had been ‘provisionally booked’ to perform on Strictly but dropped out when X Factor supremo Simon Cowell told her representatives she could not be on both networks.

Footnote From Me

“Her slot was filled by performers from the West End show Jersey Boys”

Im sure this could have been worded a little better…it conjours up a terrible image

Hard Cheese

Shoppers are being led to believe they are buying British cheddar when nearly half of it is made in Latvia, Ireland and New Zealand. Because of a legal loophole, supermarkets can label cheese as being packaged in Britain without referring to the foreign country where it was actually made. British dairy farmers have warned that because the labels contain the words ‘British’ or the ‘UK’ many customers do not realise the cheese has been churned abroad. Hard Cheese. But is it English cheddar?

Figures show that last year a record 136,938 tonnes of cheddar was imported  -  more than 40 per cent of the total consumed in Britain. The majority is produced in Ireland but it is also being imported from Latvia and New Zealand. Tesco said that up to a fifth of the cheddar in its ‘value’ range comes from Ireland and New Zealand despite the fact the labels clearly state they are ‘packaged in the UK’. A 600g block of Tesco Value mild cheddar costs £2.89, while a 600g block of Cathedral City Mature Cheddar, which is made in Davidstow, Cornwall, costs £4.99. Latvia supplies 86,000kg (190,000lbs), almost double the 50,000kg (110,000lbs) produced by the Cheddar Gorge Cheese Company, the only firm still making the product in the Somerset village of Cheddar. There is currently no legal obligation for supermarkets to state where cheddar cheese is made. The Royal Association of British Dairy Farmers has called for clearer labelling.,Chairman Lyndon Edwards said: ‘Introducing labelling to cheese which provides accurate information will encourage increased sales of British cheese and in turn strengthen the market for British milk.’ Nigel White, secretary of the British Cheese Board, said 2008 was a record year for cheddar imports, prompted by ‘rock bottom’ prices for butter and milk powder. That led to foreign manufacturers finding it more profitable to supply the UK with cheap ‘mild’ or ‘medium’ cheddar cheese. Mr White also called for clearer labelling, adding: ‘Some of it is labelled but most of it is not. If it’s Irish or whatever, why be coy unless you have something to hide?’

Todays Tubes

Jungle News

The new series of I’m A Celebrity…Get Me Out of Here! started with a bang as former Page 3 model Sam Fox and celebrity chef Gino D’Acampo were given the first bushtucker trial. The unwitting celebrities were forced to hold water spiders in their mouths for thirty seconds,and plunge their faces into an urn of yabbies and beach worms. Sam proved bravest in the spider task as she stood mouth agape with an impressive degree of concentration.

The first bushtucker trial: A gung-ho Sam Fox placed a water spider on her tongue for 30 seconds in order to win a meal and bed for a fellow celebrity

No messing around: Sam Fox lets a water spider clamber in her mouth as the first bushtucker trial kicked off last night

And after the 43-year-old managed her challenge, aracnophobe Gino moaned: ‘Why couldn’t I have gone first? Now I look weak.’ The Ready Steady Cook star then had to put his head into a helmet full of spiders for 90 seconds. The pair won nine stars in a bid to to win food and beds for their fellow celebrities, but Sam missed one star after failing to find any stars in a cabin filled with eels and crabs. ‘The water is so dirty, you can’t see,’ she moaned. Before the show, camp doctor Bob McCarron said the former model had been so terrified before the challenge that he had to spend the night with her.

The Italian chef struggled more than Sam with the bush tucker trial

Creepy crawlies:  Gino D’Acampo gets to grips with the creatures of the jungle

Their ordeal began just minutes after the contestants met on a yacht. The pair had to jump off the yacht and swim to the island nearby, where they spent the first night. ‘I’m frightened of all these things. I want to come out of there and say I’m not frightened of these things any more,’ said the gung-ho Sam. Gino was more elated at fulfilling his teenage fantasy. ‘I never imagined I would spend a night in a camp with Samantha Fox,’ said Gino who was even treated to a rendition by Sam of her big hit ‘ Touch Me (I Want Your Body)’.

Here they come: Kim Woodburn, Colin McAllister, Justin Ryan, Jimmy White, Lucy Benjamin, Sabrina Washington, Stuart Manning, Camilla Dallerup and George Hamilton don the famous attire as they embark on a possible three weeks in the jungle

Unlucky two: Sam and Italian chef Gino D’Acampo pulled the short straw for the first bushtucker trial Despite the horrors of the first trial, the camp has begun harmoniously, with George Hamilton and Sam Fox emerging as leaders. Even free-falling 7,000ft into the jungle  did little to dampen their spirits. But for the 11 celebrities trouble is in on the way in the form of Katie Price as the former glamour model prepares for her arrival later today. But for the first 24 hours, the group bonded as they became accustomed to their surroundings – even if most of them seemed unprepared for life outdoors. ‘I did go camping one night with my son in my garden and that was horrendous,’ said snooker player Jimmy White. ‘I’ve never been more frightened in my life,’ said ballroom dancer Camilla Dallerup.

Petrified: Sabrina, Lucy and Colin before their 12,000ft skydive

Flying high: Sabrina Washington drops into camp from 12,000ft

It was left to the suave George to be the voice of optimism. ‘What am I doing in Australia? I’m going out there because it’s a challenge,’ said George. ‘This is a good sign…beautiful women, this makes for a good adventure,’ he added. There has even been an early hint of romance in the camp between Mis-Teeq star Sabrina Washington and former Hollyoaks actor Stuart Manning. The singer, 31, confessed she fancied Stuart, 29, and was looking for love on the show. A source on the ITV1 show said: ‘Stuart has been following Sabrina around like a love-sick puppy. And she has been lapping up the attention and flirting outrageously.’

Terror: Lucy Benjamin screams as she prepares to be launched out of the plane

The contestants were split into three teams to make their journey to base camp – the most fearful group consisting of Lucy Benjamin, interior designer Colin McAllister and Sabrina Washington – all of whom had to jump out of a plane at 12,000ft. Colin – after a series of expletives – was the first one out the plane. ‘That was absolutely insane,’ Colin said afterwards of the skydive which consisted of free-falling for 7,000ft. I’ve never done anything like before in my life. I just want to be mute,’ said a petrified Lucy. Sabrina remained silent, her fingers pressed against her forehead in despair. ‘It was amazing, it was fantastic,’ the former Mis-Teeq singer said afterwards.

Camilla, Jimmy, Stuart and Colin travelled to base camp on horse back, riding through the river whilst it rained

The riders find a deep spot in the river, but the horses manage to pull them through Former Eastenders actress Lucy screamed ‘Oh my God’ repeatedly as she descended from the plane, but was clearly thrilled on landing. The next team of Jimmy, Camilla, Hollyoaks actor Stuart Manning and interior designer Justin Ryan were allowed to remain on land – making their trek to camp base on horse back. However not everyone was comfortable with this mode of transport which involved riding through a river whilst it rained. ‘I can’t ride. I’ve been scared of horses since I was five when I fell off,’ said Camilla, who along with novice Jimmy, fell off her horse. The final team consisted of 69-year-old Kim and 70-year-old George, who made their journey on foot and were the first to arrive at base camp

Careers have been made on the strength of bikini worn on I’m A Celebrity, remember Myleene Klass (left)? Camilla (right) showering in a black two-piece

Sabrina enjoys her first night in the jungle. Even though she’s travelled the world as a singer she said she’s only ever seen McDonalds I was surprised how small it was. It’s cosy,’ said How Clean Is Your House? presenter Kim on arrival. ‘It’s fairly sparse,’ added George. In the morning, George cemented his credentials as the entertainer of the camp with a song. ‘There’s no side to him,’ said Kim of the ‘big Hollywood star’. The two shared a night in the caravan together but Kim was more concerned with the state of hygiene than fulfilling any girlhood fantasy.

Here comes trouble: Katie Price said she’s returning to the jungle to find ‘closure’ after her difficult year The harmony in the camp promises to be threatened by Katie Price’s arrival after her warning that she will ‘clash with someone in the jungle’. ‘I’m doing this because I’ve had a c*** year. This is closure,’ said Katie who is being paid £350,000 to return. ‘I am trouble all over,’ she added. The reality star has claimed she ‘wants to be herself’ in the jungle. She said of her three children: ‘They’ll be able to watch me on telly and be proud of their mum.’ But she also announced: ‘I am the jungle MILF’ – referring to the acronym for ‘mum I’d like to f***’ She added: ‘For others, it’s a game show. For me, it’s closure. I’m going back to a place where a big fairytale began for me. ‘I met my husband, I had two more beautiful children and six years on I’ve been married, divorced, ready to go back in. I’ve had a crap year and the fairytale has ended. I’m going in for closure.’

Katie said: ‘People think I’m breaking down, I’ve lost the plot, I’m not a good mum, I’m a man-eater. They’ve got all these perceptions but I think that when people see me again, like last time, they’ll see I’m grounded, if not more grounded.’

Belle Da Jour Continued

For six years, her identity remained a closely guarded secret: a tantalising mystery for all those hooked on the stockings-and-stilettos tales of high-class call girl Belle de Jour. A male fantasy with her Chanel nail varnish, lacy knickers, sexual tricks and vast knowledge of French cinema, the anonymous author of the best-selling memoir The Intimate Adventures Of A London Call Girl prompted a frenzy of speculation. Was Belle real? Was she, in fact, a man with an exceptionally feverish imagination? After all, her sensational diary, which started life in 2003 as an award-winning blog and inspired a glossy TV drama starring Billie Piper, was considered by some to be almost too good to be true.

Two faces of the real Belle: The seductive temptress (left) and the studious scientist (right)

Well, now the truth is out and it is almost stranger than fiction. For not only is Belle de Jour real, but it emerges she is a high-flying, 33-year-old academic by the name of Dr Brooke Magnanti. A petite, American-born blonde, she has a PhD from Sheffield University in informatics, epidemiology and forensic science, and works at the Bristol Initiative for Research for Child Health, researching the effects of exposure to pesticides on foetuses and infants. But she’s now revealed that, as an impoverished student, she worked from 2003 to late 2004 as a £300-an-hour prostitute through an escort agency, pocketing a third of the fee for her two hour sessions with clients, whom she met two or three times a week. Dr Magnanti ‘outed’ herself yesterday in a remarkably uncritical, three-page interview in a broadsheet newspaper. ‘Some sex workers have terrible experiences. I didn’t,’ she said, swatting away criticism that her diaries glamorise a seedy, dangerous industry. ‘I was unbelievably fortunate in every respect. The people at the agency looked after us appropriately and instructed us appropriately and weren’t going to put us in harm’s way if they could possibly avoid it.’ How many men did she sleep with for money? ‘A lot. I can’t honestly remember. Somewhere between dozens and hundreds,’ she says.

‘I couldn’t find a job in my chosen field because I didn’t then have my PhD and I got through my savings a lot faster than I thought I would. Yeah, you could work behind a bar, but how many hours would you have to do to pay the rent? I couldn’t get an overdraft, though once I started depositing so much cash, they offered me a mortgage within three months.’ Why has she outed herself now? ‘I don’t want this massive secret over me any more. It’s changing the way I behave around people, the way I conduct my life,’ she says. Mention was also made of a former boyfriend ‘with a big mouth, lurking in the background’. Could this be the man she referred to as The Boy in her diaries, her former boyfriend of seven years, who comes across as, in his own words, ‘a lumbering idiot’? The man for whom she did not wear ‘work knickers’ but, according to Belle’s blog, ‘boyfriend knickers’ (‘Small. Thongs. Take-it-off-with-yourteeth type stuff’) A man described as so keen on bear hugs he could squeeze a rabbit to death. A man whose bedroom activities were pored over by millions of readers. Step forward The Boy, whom we can reveal is a 35-year-old officer in the Armed Forces called Owen, who will soon be serving in Afghanistan. He met Brooke in Sheffield in 2002 – the year before she started her blog – when she was studying for her PhD and he was working as an engineer. He was aware of Belle’s true identity from the beginning, and the escort work, but admits he was so blinded by love that he buried his head in the sand, refusing to read the blog in detail until they broke up a year ago Until then, he’d assumed she was paid only for her scintillating company. He suspected her of sleeping with some clients, but thought this was because she was attracted to them, rather than because money changed hands.

Indeed, he claims Brooke told him – as the media storm about Belle’s identity raged – that she’d sensationalised what had really happened with her clients in order to capitalise on the situation. Given Belle’s assertion on her blog yesterday – ‘The non-Belle part of my life isn’t the only “real” bit. It’s all real’ – Owen now believes she was being economical with the truth. He says he has spent years trying to protect her secret and is stung by the suggestion that he’s the one with the ‘big mouth’ when, he claims, he had to smooth things over and beg for silence when Brooke let the truth slip out accidentally to friends. Indeed, the Mail can reveal that a more recent boyfriend bragged to his mates that he was sleeping with the real Belle de Jour and it was one of those friends who passed on her name to the newspapers. Hopefully, this is not the boyfriend Dr Magnanti referred to as ‘T’ in her interview yesterday, when she said: ‘He knew I was Belle before we started dating properly. He told me something that showed he trusted me, and I felt I could trust him back by telling him.’ When the Mail tracked down Owen, he refused to talk about his former girlfriend. He has relented only because she has outed herself and, in doing so, outed him to his family. We have agreed not to identify Owen by his full name, because to do so would result in immediate dismissal from the Army. But make no mistake, his family and many of his military colleagues and friends – who remember Brooke attending regimental dinners – know who he is. ‘I was shaking when I read her confession. I can’t believe she has done this,’ says Owen.

‘She has brought the Sword of Damocles down on herself. While she thinks she hasn’t been cut, I think she’ll find that she has when she goes for another job in a couple of years. ‘At least she has her literary career to fall back on, but what about me? Brooke has outed me to my friends and family without giving me any warning. People who have never read her blogs can look them up and see that The Boy is me. ‘She has made a great deal of money from Belle de Jour, but I haven’t received a penny and my life has been completely affected.

‘She never asked if she could write about our life together and I feel humiliated. She hates me because she thinks I leaked her name, but I still love her and think about her every five minutes. I was planning to propose and had two rings made. I buried them on a beach where we used to walk together and watch the stars.’ Reluctantly, given Brooke’s startling admission, Owen now accepts the woman he adored was sleeping with clients at the same time she was seemingly in love with him. ‘When she took the escort job, I begged her not to sleep with any of the clients. I remember standing in a London street saying: “Please, please please, just keep that for me because sex belongs in a loving relationship.” ‘She smiled at me, gave me a hug and a kiss and said: “How sweet, of course.” I believed her. After that, I didn’t ask about the work because I didn’t want to know. ‘You can say love is blind, that love makes a fool of you, but I thought it was “knickers on” work, to put it crudely. ‘I chose to believe she was a modern geisha rather than a high-class call girl, paid to chat to clients over a drink or accompany them to black-tie events.’ But what on earth drove such an accomplished and educated woman not only to undertake sex work, but glamorise it through her blog? A highly successful, widely read and intellectual woman with several degrees, Dr Magnanti was born in Florida, the Jewish granddaughter of Italian immigrants. She attended Clearwater Central Catholic high school and went on to university in the U.S. She moved to Britain as a postgraduate student at Sheffield, where she embarked on a PhD in computer visualisation, annotation and databasing of human skeletal remains.

Lost Romance: Lost romance: Owen with Brooke (his face has been obscured at his request)

Brooke first developed an appetite for blogs in Florida, where she started a website reviewing vegetarian restaurants. Under another pseudonym, she began a blog in 2002 about autopsies and a third under yet another nom de plume where she posted short stories. Owen, who met Brooke on a night out in Sheffield, was used to seeing her tapping away on her computer and enjoyed reading her short stories. ‘Brooke was cute and tiny,’ says Owen, who comes from a military family and went to public school. ‘As soon as I saw her, I knew she was different to every other woman I’d met – she was Fifties formal and ladylike, but with a great sense of humour. I fell in love with her almost straight away ‘She was a lot more old-fashioned than people think she is and to me that was a good thing. We’d cook dinner, cuddle up and watch Monarch Of The Glen on TV while eating Scotch pancakes.

‘I took her to meet my parents and they loved her. We were very happy together. The only dissimilarity between us was sexually – she was much more experienced and knowledgeable than me. ‘It became apparent I was a country mouse in comparison. She is very adventurous and it made me feel really rural and old-fashioned. But I was a willing pupil.’ Owen says Brooke started working as an escort when she moved to London in 2003 because she had huge student debts. She admitted in yesterday’s interview that she has ‘a pathological aversion to being in debt’ and had no moral objection to the concept of ‘hookerdom’. Indeed, she reveals that she has a relative who used to be a streetwalker to support a drug habit. She was sentenced for soliciting. She had several young children. I was told about it as a teenager – “Ooh, she did such a bad thing” – but I never thought what she’d done was particularly bad,’ Brooke says.

Owen, close to tears, says he feels he is to blame for Brooke turning to escort work. In 2003, he’d been made redundant from his engineering job and could not support her. He didn’t like it when Brooke said she was joining an escort agency, but felt he was in no position to stop her. He begged her not to go any further than flirting. When Brooke was not working, she would often type away at her computer. Owen says he became aware of the Belle blog early on, noticing similarities between himself and The Boy. He claims Brooke assured him the high-class hooker aspects relied heavily on artistic licence. ‘Though she never asked me not to read the blog, I just decided not to,’ he says. ‘Maybe it was because I didn’t want to see. The couple of times I did read them – when we broke up and I wanted to find out what was going on – I was deeply upset. It was awful.’ The success of Belle de Jour – the name is taken from the Sixties film starring Catherine Deneuve as a bored housewife who turns to prostitution – would prove to be double-edged. Owen remembers how thrilled Brooke was when she won a major blog award in 2003, and how reviewers compared her writing to that of Nick Hornby and Martin Amis. Still believing the most explicit sexual parts to be fiction, Owen bought champagne to celebrate.

I’m the high-class call girl: Research scientist Dr Brooke Magnanti outed herself on Sunday

With book deals on offer and money suddenly pouring in, Brooke was reluctant to kill off Belle – even after she’d given up the escort work herself – because her creation had become the goose laying the golden eggs. ‘Before Belle, her short stories used to be beautiful pieces about time and space,’ says Owen. ‘I always hoped she’d go back to that or write something about wildlife or science. But everyone loved Belle de Jour and her other writing had never received the same attention.

‘I was prepared to put up with it because Belle wasn’t the Brooke I knew. My Brooke was beautiful, funny, intellectual. My Brooke would walk along the beach with me, sit against hay bales and watch the stars. ‘We would cuddle up or make jam together. I know that makes me sound like a soppy fool, but I adored her. I still do. ‘Brooke is a clever, caring, thoughtful person, not the cold bitch she portrayed herself as Belle. She is much nicer than that and more fragile.’ Though thrilled with Belle’s soaring popularity, according to Owen, Brooke became increasingly paranoid about her identity becoming known, scouring the newspapers just in case her identity had been exposed. Owen says she pored over the internet for images of herself, which she then had removed, and made him close down his Facebook site, which featured pictures of her. ‘I didn’t feel I could ask her to stop writing the blog, because she needed the money so badly. After it became a success, it became a trap,’ he says. ‘I worked heaven and earth trying to give her all the money I could so she wouldn’t have to work like that, but it was never enough.’ Inevitably, their relationship struggled and they broke up frequently, which forms much of the storyline. Yet the success of Belle de Jour was unstoppable and Brooke swiftly landed an agent, then a publishing deal. When the book came out in 2005, the deal was secured through various accounts and names to ensure absolute secrecy. Even the publisher did not know her real name. Her agent recommended she lay low to avoid being found out. ‘Initially, I thought that it [the blog and the fuss] wouldn’t carry on this long and that it would be easy to disappear again, that I wouldn’t have to come out at all,’ says Brooke. ‘I thought I’d just fade away back to normal life.’ In May 2006, Brooke landed a job that matched her real ambitions and abilities. It meant moving to Newcastle, where she researched gender effects in childhood cancer, funded by a grant from the Bupa Foundation. Later that year, she bought a house and Owen moved in, though the relationship remained fraught. There were lots of ups and downs in our relationship, which was fiery and passionate,’ says Owen. ‘Brooke can be sweet and lovely, but she also has a temper.’ Eventually, their relationship fell apart, with Owen claiming he caught her cheating on him four times. Since last summer, Brooke’s boyfriend has been the man she refers to as ‘T’. At the beginning of this year, she moved to Bristol, where he was based, and took up her new role at St Michael’s Hospital. Meanwhile, Owen rattles around the house by the coast he bought for Brooke in the hope this would be where they would start married life together. All he has for company is the cat they both used to dote on. Yesterday, Brooke was preparing to break the news of her double life to her mother in the U.S. She does not have any contact with her father, whom she describes vaguely as a ‘bit of a do-gooder … he helps women’. Her Bristol work colleagues have known about Belle for a month and Brooke says they have been ‘amazingly kind and supportive’. Does she now regret writing the Belle de Jour blogs? ‘Sometimes. But, again, because of the writing, not because of the sex. And being anonymous is no fun – no jolly lunches to celebrate the book’s success,’ she says. ‘The blog will continue for the time being, even though it doesn’t feel authentic to keep on being Belle. But I’ll keep on for a bit. I’d like her to have a happy ending.’ Yesterday, Owen – The Boy to Belle’s fans – was receiving a few phone calls of his own. From his shocked parents, brothers and friends, who’d all met and fallen in love with Dr Brooke Magnanti, too, and at one time expected her to become Owen’s wife. ‘I would forgive Brooke everything,’ says Owen. ‘I’d give anything to have her back.’ So, no happy ending for The Boy, but does Belle de Jour even care?

]]> http://avenuel.wordpress.com/2009/11/15/see-hear-say-science-girls-are-sluts-too/ Mon, 16 Nov 2009 02:53:27 +0000 avenuel http://avenuel.wordpress.com/2009/11/15/see-hear-say-science-girls-are-sluts-too/

Science girls are sluts too
15 November 2009

I’m not sure why this is supposed to be surprising, but Dr Brooke Magnanti recently came out of anonymity, revealing herself to be the Belle de Jour blogger.  Belle de Jour acts as a blog of a London, UK call girl, detailing her scintillating and salacious experiences.

I’m more baffled at the shock people have upon reading she was/is a respected scientist, as if scientists couldn’t go through the same experiences as other women who become prostitutes.  Prostitution doesn’t exactly imply stupidity or ignorance, it simply means someone is willing to sell their body for money.  And lots of need money, from scientists to aspiring actors to liberal arts students.  So let’s just get over this and move on.

Pahalı hediyelerden hoşlanmıyorum.

* Çikolata ve çiçeklere bayılırım.

* Giymemi istediğiniz bir iç çamaşırı ya da gecelik alabilrsiniz size özel giyinirim. (36 beden)

* Güzel ve mutlu bakan bir çift göz benim için en önemli hediyedir.

* Vodka – redbull ve Tequila sevdiğim içeceklerdir.

* Kitap okumayı çok severim kitap hediyelerine bayılıyorum

Well, it’s been a busy week. Or perhaps the crutches are just making it seem that way.

It seems that in addition to my broken big toe (thanks cat, really, thanks so much), Representative Setzer has been under the weather according to the email he posted to us on Wednesday.

We hope he gets to feeling much better; and sooner rather than later.

Our installer/contractor was out on Monday trying to beat the weather. While he and his crew were working I left them to run some errands. Okay, maybe run fails to describe the actual movement.

While I was out driving around, I heard an interview with an American who worked for a Japanese newspaper for a number or years. He was shilling a book about his experiences.

While he was there, he wrote articles on the Japanese mafia and obviously pissed them off quite badly. He was following leads that would reveal that one of the top crime bosses (a common thug according to the reporter) had parlayed some information on his Japanese peers to the American FBI in exchange for a temporary nullification of his blacklisting. It seems he wanted to come into the US for a liver transplant at a top hospital.

The reporter was invited to the meeting with the bosses goons by an ultimatum of do it or be dead within the week. He wisely decided to attend.

And this is the most interesting part of the interview; he took a friend from the Japanese police force along, one assumes as both a witness and as protection. In the meeting, the bosses “emissaries” threatened him and his family with death if he didn’t drop the story. But because of the nature of the language used, even the policeman would have been hard pressed to testify in court that the reporter had been threatened.

Language is a slippery thing. Taken literally, one can have a rather benign conversation. Or tell a rather interesting story. But the subtext, the body language, a simple lifting of an eyebrow or a drop in the voice’s register can relay a lot of meaning within the context of the conversation.

That said, I don’t have the capacity to be quite that clever. As I told the Orthopedic P.A., I’m both lazy and impatient. And underpinning those rather charming traits is a wide pragmatic streak. Why dance around the point and lose the potential for making your meaning clear? Because frankly, there are people in this world who are so stupid they wouldn’t “get it” if you tattooed in reverse on their forehead so they had to read it in the mirror every day.

And it comes down to the literalness of this. While I was out running around, our contractor was at our house losing money. Even though he’s been “in discussions” with Steve Smith, Duke Energy is obviously not budging on any part of the problem as presented. And according to him he has to “continue to work with these people” because he has a number of jobs pending and in process in the region. His livelihood, and hence his life, depend on the good graces of Duke Energy.

If Duke in any way admits culpability in our project (which Steve Smith did initially, but has since denied) then a precedent has been set. In their minds, it is easier (read cost effective) to sandbag each shallow pocket complaint, rather than examine the  model as it exists to find ways that it can be both accommodating and productive.

I have a strong suspicion that our delay in hearing from the PUC hinges on this point.

Since there is no ombudsperson to act as an advocate for people who have no other choice in their energy provider (but they are NOT a monopoly they are a “Public Utility”) we don’t know if there is progress, no progress, the zombie virus is running rampant through the states capital and news organizations are forced to suppress the information…you know, that kind of thing. We also don’t know how much elbow rubbing goes on between the folks at the PUC and Duke Energy. As with Green Power, which touts itself as a non-profit, “renewables” organization, the PUC doesn’t have the monetary or political clout to call shenanigans on Duke Energy out loud and in public.

It is highly likely that Steve Smith is hoping that in turning a blind eye to the work our contractor does, (which according to Duke Energy directives, he has to get their permission to implement,) they can placate us.

Buy one peasant off at another peasant’s expense and the problem will go away.

Well, if Duke Energy wants to “buy me off”, I’d like to let them know right now, I’m not a common whore.

I’m an expensive call girl.

I have a price that would allow me to sucker punch my principals to the point that I can lay down and shut up, but it is unlikely that Duke would be willing or able to meet it.

And speaking of expensive prostitutes, then there’s politics…..

We received a “letter” from President Obama on Saturday; or more correctly, several of his staff. Now don’t get me wrong. I didn’t expect a direct reply to the letter we sent to him. (or to Stephen Chu or Beth Perdue or any of the other big names on the stage) Those were sincerely meant as -You need to know what kind of muck your subjects are crawling around in, because if you want to actually implement any changes in a forward direction, understanding the muck and it’s layout are important- letters.

I am honestly and sincerely happy that several different people are gainfully employed dealing with common muck letters for the President.

I wonder how much one makes, opening letters, examining them for hidden dangers, sending the envelopes off to the reply-envelope-preparer so they can assume that the information on the address label constitutes the name of a person sending it (rather than, say….2 people), taking the time to hand address it in the name of a person that can’t possibly exist in the U.S., then sending the mislabeled envelope to the folks whose job it is to find files in their computer with the same general subject as the one in the letter, cutting and pasting the parts together with the rather insincere salutation of  “Dear Friend”, slapping a electronically scanned signature on the bottom, an embossed stamp on the top, stuffing the information heavy – content light letter in the envelope and how-do-you-do-Mary, off to the US Postal Service. Postage paid with my tax dollars. Proud American. Yes, indeed: Proud American.

No slap at the President. He inherited a huge mess and we sympathize. There was truly no expectation of a personal reply. But the rather haphazard attempts to make the appearance of being personable lean to the insulting my intelligence end of the scale. Frankly, Mac and I didn’t need to be informed on governmental initiatives for clean and renewable energy. We assumed as much based on the fact that we are somewhat marginally informed due to lived experience. Instead of a bid for attention, it’s called: Trying to do our part because it’s the right thing to do. You should try it sometime.

I realize that the Administration is trying to create jobs and reduce job loss. And having a mass of clerks gainfully employed sending tangentially related reply letters to concerned and/or disgruntled citizens, allows a lot of folks to take home a paycheck every week and makes me want to say with complete and utter restraint: thanks clerks, really, thanks so much.

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So, life has been busy of late. quitting the business is evidently not going to happen. I seem to have more interest in my services than ever.

For instance, last weekend a new client booked me to go visit him for a couple of hours in his hotel. The gentleman was young, my average client. Not overly attractive, eager and very complimentary. He was quick to comment on how nice I was, how easy to talk to and how well I put him at ease. Now, correct me if I’m wrong here, but I was under the assumption that it is a paid companion’s job to do this. Surely if i don’t make my client feel comfortable and happy something is wrong? A testament to me being good at my job is that this particular client asked if I would be willing to do an overnight booking with him. I of course said yes (mentally picturing the new laptop I wanted to buy) and smiled as he suggested we walk down to the cash point to get the rest of my fee. “Should we pick up a bottle of champagne on the way?” he asked. Stupid question to ask a call girl…

Maybe this is the reason I keep coming back to the job. The sense of validation a woman gets from it is immense. I, like any other young woman out there has the general insecurities about my looks and personality, but one thing that boosts my confidence enormously is that men are willing to pay substantial sums of money to fuck me and enjoy my company. They ask me what I enjoy, what turns me on and are all too happy to comply and make me cum (it doesn’t always happen, but when it does it’s a happily accepted bonus to the evening). On Saturday morning I left the company of my client happy, confident that I am indeed a very sexy woman, and with a bulging wallet to boot. How many people can say they walk away from work with the same feeling?

As for quitting, I have tried to find a “normal” job. One thing keeps crossing my mind though, if I do give it all up, not only will my disposable income go down, what will happen to my ego?  I’m not sure this call girl is quite ready to hang up her suspender belt just yet…..

Darkhart is a beautiful woman, age 30 something. She is a mother. A struggling mother, like most single moms. Soon one of her dreams will be achieved. Soon enough she will be wife for the first time ever.

This is where I will walk you through stories of my life. Prepare. My childhood consisted of dope and alcohol. Early adulthood, as well as parenthood!, I survived by being a high priced call girl.

This is my journey of letting go.