The brothel's woes start with the barflies, who are hoarding what little money they've saved. Tonight, two of them slouch in their stools and bemoan the economic slump, their voices rising to near shouts.
"The government's got to do something," says Dean Hargis, a tattooed trucker who calls Springfield, Mo., home. "Everybody who eats or drinks anything, they're going to hurt. It affects what I eat, it affects what motel I stay in, it affects what dog food I buy."
David Zett, a long-hauler from Loretta, Wis., gulps a Miller Genuine Draft and bashes oil companies: "They've got you over a barrel and can do whatever they want to you, and they don't even kiss you when they're done."
"Just like this place," Hargis says.
"No," Zett says. "They kiss you."
The bartender, Gayle Salinas, shakes her head. She's pinching pennies too. She used to take home $50 in tips at the end of most shifts. Now she might pocket $12. Her pay is linked to how much the prostitutes make -- and customers aren't choosing their most expensive offerings.
The women negotiate the price of "parties" and their duration, which the bartender tracks using kitchen timers. Ten to 15 minutes costs at least $100. Customers once regularly paid thousands of dollars for extras listed on a hot-pink "menu" -- but these days, for example, few men desire the hot tub or mirrored fantasy room.
Earlier that night, Marisol had guided Rob Siddoway, a gangly, pony-tailed trucker from Tooele, Utah, into the fantasy room. This was his first brothel trip in a year; he used to stop by every few months. "See how comfortable you can get?" Marisol coos. She points to a red-blanketed, circular bed and a pillow stitched with the word LOVE.
"You can see yourself in the mirror," she says. He looks instead at her: olive skin, substantial curves, dark, tired eyes. He passes on buying an expensive party. Marisol isn't surprised. She had played a fortune-telling card game that afternoon; it showed the future would bring little cash.
--
About a dozen years ago, Arnold plunked down more than $1 million for Donna's Ranch. He's a certified public accountant in Boise, Idaho, and had combed the books of several brothels; buying one seemed business-savvy. He owns another in Battle Mountain, Nev.
"They're easy to run," says Arnold, president of the state brothel association. "If you keep the girls happy, you're done. If the girls are happy, then the guys are happy. I can't think of any other business as good as a brothel, except for a doctor's office -- they're equally profitable."
