Not Your Ordinary Housewife

13





One of our regulars was Mario, a charming young lawyer of Italian extraction who looked after his aged mama. With his penchant for porn, he occasionally rang for an informal horny phone call; mostly, however, he just wanted an ordinary chat. This particular afternoon, we were discussing the Police Offences Act (he had recently sent me a copy, so I could study it first-hand) when there was a knock at the front door.

Paul answered it. Several large men stood on our doorstep—I could hear them introducing themselves as police officers and saying they had a warrant to search the premises.

‘Oh f*ck! I think we just got busted,’ I told Mario as my heart began pounding.

He said to stay calm and not to say anything. ‘Just answer “No comment” to any of their questions.’

Neither Paul nor I had ever been arrested before, but we knew we weren’t obliged to give any information beyond our name and address. The officers wasted no time in riffling through our videos and photos, confiscating everything as evidence—including my elaborate file cards and correspondence. They also seized Paul’s prized marijuana plants, his penis enlarger–bong prototype and the audiotape of his recorded conversation with the 0055 manager.

They were joking among themselves, seemingly enjoying the hoards of photographs they’d found. Surprisingly, they allowed me to remain talking to Mario while they searched the house.

‘This is a nightmare,’ I lamented. ‘Our life is over. We’re gonna go to jail . . . and God only knows what’ll happen to Shoshanna.’ She was just four and I was petrified.

Mario told me not to worry; he’d stay on the line. ‘Let me speak to them and I’ll find out what’s happening.’

So Mario spoke to the sergeant, who told him we would be taken back to the station and charged with offences relating to the manufacture and sale of objectionable material. There would also be charges relating to the telephone recording and the marijuana plants. I now realised that a helicopter I’d noticed circling overhead two days earlier had probably been photographing Paul’s crop.

True to his word, Mario stayed on the phone during our entire ordeal, which buoyed our spirits considerably. One of the officers joked that he’d never encountered a bust in which the offenders were already talking to their lawyer. I had to admit there was something comedic about this.

We were taken to the police station, where they attempted to interview us; but we simply gave them the standard ‘no comment’ responses. We were released, but we were informed that numerous charges would follow on a summons that would provide us with details of our impending court appearance.

A hasty meeting with Lloyd was organised. He explained that, before any charges could be formalised, all videos would require official classification by the Australian Film Censorship Board. He reassured us that, until he got the charge sheet, we shouldn’t panic. He’d made several phone calls and gathered there was nothing too serious. Nonetheless, I was paralysed with dread.

The reality of what had happened hit us immediately. I was in shock. I woke the next morning with a pit in my stomach, the likes of which I’d never experienced before. I was so sick with worry, especially about Shoshanna, that I couldn’t eat.

However, we were totally unprepared for what came next. Several days later, the police raided again and placed us under arrest. It’s hard to know what they were hoping to find, because they’d previously gone through our home with a fine-tooth comb, removing everything of questionable legality. The house was totally porn free, which was an undeniably liberating feeling.

They informed us that a community policing division was attending Shoshanna’s creche, to remove her from our care. It was Friday evening and a Children’s Court hearing on this matter was scheduled for Monday morning.

At the police station, I was questioned specifically in relation to six clients, from whom statements had been obtained. From my efficient filing system, the police had learnt not only the contact details for these clients, but exactly what sessions they’d booked, which videos they’d bought, how much they’d paid, plus what their jobs and marital statuses were. I could hardly blame my clients for cooperating with the police.

I was also told I’d be charged with theft of some overdue library books: two children’s titles and four sex-therapy tomes borrowed for my 0055 research. I was informed that I had committed offences under Section 11 of the Films Classification Act and Section 166 of the Police Offences Act. I was even to be charged with the cultivation of a narcotic plant, the same as Paul. Apparently, the law didn’t distinguish whose plants they were: if they were on our premises and I knew about them, which plainly I did, then I could be charged. Paul, however, was also to be charged with an offence relating to the Telecom employee recording.


Eventually, we were released on our own recognisance to appear at a suburban magistrates’ court in several months’ time. Mario kindly collected us from the station and we called Lloyd on his home number. He was attending an Old Boys dinner at Melbourne Grammar, but he promised to organise legal representation for us at the Children’s Court.

My heart bled for our beautiful little girl. We had no idea where the police had taken her—they wouldn’t tell us her whereabouts. I desperately wanted to call her, to hear her little voice and tell her that we still loved her, but we just couldn’t be with her right now. I understood, of course, that the police believed they were protecting her—but was it really necessary to remove her so brutally? We wondered how she would cope and what damage this would do. Never had we experienced a more agonising weekend.



There was some press coverage of our bust: being sex-related, it was juicy. We’d heard that Graham Kennedy’s News Show featured it and even the ABC’s nightly news program PM ran a segment on it.

I called Dory and told her of our plight. Being an avid ABC listener, she’d heard PM and, although our names weren’t mentioned, she’d suspected instantly it was us.

‘I knew it was you as soon as I heard the phrase “Warrandyte couple”,’ she said, pronouncing the ‘w’ as a ‘v’. ‘What a thing to be involved with. Nikki-le, Nikki-le, how could you?’

‘Listen,’ I pleaded, ‘we could really do with some support right now.’

‘How could you do this to me?’

Dory agreed with me that Shoshanna should be our greatest concern. I told her we didn’t even know who she was staying with, and we couldn’t contact her to reassure her we still loved her and that everything would be okay.

Dory was smug as she told me that obviously they thought Shoshanna was at risk. She also said she didn’t want anything to do with it. ‘What would Egon say?’ she added, reminding me that, in all their 70-plus years, they’d never broken the law. ‘I’m so ashamed of you.’

‘Well, believe it or not, I’m ashamed too.’ I had never been more ashamed of anything in my entire life.

‘I told you Paul was bad for you,’ she said, convinced that this whole ‘porn business’ was his idea. I insisted she couldn’t blame it all on Paul. Yes, of course it was his idea, but I’d gone along with it. I couldn’t abrogate my responsibility—I’d been a willing, if reluctant, participant.

‘Well, I blame him,’ said Dory.

‘Please, I need you to come to the Children’s Court so we can try and get Shoshanna back.’ I begged her to offer to have Shoshanna live with her while we sorted ourselves out. The sad fact was that we had no other family.

‘I can’t take her—I’m too old,’ she snapped.

I didn’t understand: she professed to love Shoshanna, and she knew how much her granddaughter loved her. ‘Perhaps you could hire a nanny part-time? Please . . .’

‘No—I can’t afford it.’

‘Then just come to court so they can see we’re not total trash,’ I entreated. ‘If we don’t come up with some alternative, the police will put Shoshanna in a foster home. Please! It would look good to have you there, and we need moral support.’

But she refused. ‘It’s bad for my health.’

‘I’m begging you—please, go . . . for Shoshanna’s sake.’

‘No, I won’t be there.’

And she wasn’t. Nothing had prepared me for Dory’s reaction. I thought she would give her usual ‘I told you so’ lecture, but that ultimately she would stand by me. I was really struggling to understand why she refused to show even a modicum of support for us.

Paul naturally capitalised on Dory’s failings. ‘I knew she hated you. I always thought she was a bitch. Now do you believe me?’

I said I was reserving judgement. Although I was very hurt, I honestly hadn’t thought she’d behave like this.

‘It’s because you’re adopted,’ he said. He theorised that, because she hadn’t borne me, she could detach from me when I did something she disapproved of. Possibly he was right; but I still wasn’t totally convinced. I hadn’t realised how intensely embarrassed she would be. All her friends listened to ABC Radio—they’d all have heard and would be gossiping about her.

Lloyd explained that we needed to find Shoshanna a suitable home where she could stay until we could convince the authorities we were fit parents. In desperation, I rang the mother of Molly, a girl who occasionally babysat Shoshanna. I didn’t even know her mother’s name and it was a big ask, but she generously offered to take Shoshanna if the court was agreeable.

I was angry at Dory—on the Monday morning she didn’t even ring to wish us luck. I couldn’t understand why she had deserted us in our hour of need. I had meantime phoned several of her friends, who were most sympathetic and promised to talk to her on my behalf.

Paul announced that he’d called Saskia. ‘She’s very concerned and said she’s booking a flight from Amsterdam.’ She could only stay a few days, but it was better than nothing.

I was amazed. ‘That’s great,’ I said. For once, I would be truly grateful to see her.

Our neighbours—Nora’s parents—kindly accompanied us to the Children’s Court that morning. Thankfully, Shoshanna had been staying with the director of her creche, who was at least someone she knew. It was the court’s decision that she was to live with Molly’s family for some months. We would have the right to visit her regularly, but ultimately we would have to convince the court we were out of the porn business and were proper parents.

At long last we were allowed to see Shoshanna later that day at Russell Street Police Headquarters—a venue clearly not set up for small children. Beforehand, I agonised over how to tell her what had happened, in a way she’d understand. I decided that all I could really do was to tell her repeatedly how much we loved her, saying that everything would be okay . . . soon.

I was overcome with joy as I was reunited with my child, albeit briefly. My heart was broken, and my grief unimaginable. I could not fathom what this precious little four-year-old made of all that was going on around her. As far as I could tell, she was taking it all in her stride. Her naturally cheerful disposition was unchanged but I suspected there would be emotional scars from the trauma.

Perhaps I was misguided, but everything I’d done was ultimately for her—our activities had provided her with material comfort. She was my only blood relative and I was broken without her. She was the bedrock of my existence; my guilt and shame were unbearable.



We convened a meeting with Lloyd and our various legal specialists. With the Children’s Court proceedings behind us, we now had to focus on the criminal charges. He had received the record of interview and charge sheet. I could not bear to look at it.

Lloyd told us that most of the charges against us related to keeping obscene articles for gain, and making and possessing objectionable films for sale. ‘All up, they’ve seized 97 videos, and all of them are now officially rated X.’ We all knew we’d never done anything that would be refused classification.

‘It’s basically just a lot of what they call “non-violent erotica”,’ said Paul.


Lloyd continued. ‘There are also a couple of charges relating to “wilful and obscene exposure in a public place”.’

‘Oh, that’ll be the photos of us sucking and f*cking in the Safeway car park,’ said Paul ruefully.

I cringed, hating to be reminded. ‘How dumb was that,’ I mumbled.

At least there were no theft charges relating to the library books. It was a small thing but I breathed a sigh of relief, believing I might one day want to work in a library.

Lloyd looked up from his legal pad. ‘Paul, you’ve got a charge for bugging that Telecom manager—“intercepting a communication”.’ Obviously any chance of winning a Trade Practices case against Telecom was now dashed. But as well, Lloyd said, there were several charges that were worrisome: while all those relating to the videos and photos were summary in nature, there were a couple of indictable offences.

I hazarded a guess. ‘You mean, like on American cop shows: misdemeanours and felonies?’

Lloyd nodded. We had been charged with ‘living off the earnings of prostitution’. They seemed to be saying that our Watch & Wanks constituted prostitution: Paul was living off my earnings and I was living off his—even though we were getting the one fee.

Lloyd gave us his considered legal opinion that, while it was plainly not in the spirit of the legislation, which was designed to stop pimps exploiting hookers, it could very well just stick if we let them run it. He thought that perhaps we could plea bargain it away by pleading guilty to some of the lesser charges. Or we could mount a defence, and it would be an interesting test case; but he didn’t know what our chances of fighting it successfully were.

‘No,’ I said emphatically. ‘I don’t want to be an interesting test case.’ Paul agreed.

Paul and I were on a steep learning curve. Throughout our ordeal, we became very close. I didn’t know how we’d survive financially, but Lloyd assured us that the fines would be manageable.

Now I was nervous about being in the house alone. All the metropolitan papers in which our story appeared had given our address as Kangaroo Ground Road. Our local paper had even run its ‘Pornography Raid’ article on the front page. All articles had detailed the charges and made reference to the hundreds of photos and videos that were seized. Thankfully, only our ages—not our names—were published and none of the major dailies picked up the story.

Saskia arrived in a haze of jet lag. She had flown via a holiday in Hawaii, explaining that it maximised her frequent flyer points. Accompanying us to one of our many Children’s Court appearances, she looked impressive in her tailored suit and coiffed hair. She naturally blamed me for Shoshanna’s plight; but, while I never enjoyed her company, Paul gained new energy from her presence.

I was still having trouble defending Dory’s position: one of her closest friends not only paid bills for me, but was a tower of strength, supporting me through my adversity.

Although shattered by Shoshanna’s removal, I could understand it from the perspective of the police. Part of me was even thankful that my weak attempts to rein in Paul were now being supported by the full force of the law. We had become complacent in our activities, losing sight of just how far we’d strayed from the norm, and they obviously felt it was in Shoshanna’s best interests to be removed. Our biggest mistake had been running the business from home. Yet, while our lifestyle was unconventional, we never wavered in our love and devotion to her; we also never physically or emotionally neglected her. It hurt deeply to bear this stigma.

While Shoshanna’s foster family was nice and we were seeing her weekly, we desperately wanted our child back. At several visits, a forensic psychologist was present, reporting to the court that she was obviously not an abused child: our interactions were totally loving. I wondered how she was coping without us.

Lloyd and our legal team labelled removing Shoshanna an outrageous over-reaction by authorities. He surmised that the police probably thought we were involved in some kind of pornography ring, possibly involving children. That, he said, was the only explanation for their heavy-handed approach. He therefore devised a plan: we would go to the Supreme Court, armed with the psychologist’s report, and tell the judge that it was not in the best interests of the child to be separated from us.

The date was set and we hired a QC, who spoke at length of our distress at the ‘Kafkaesque’ circumstances under which Shoshanna was removed. The outcome was favourable: the silk got our child back, although we would still be subject to random police and social worker visits. We were overjoyed at the results, although we still had not gone to court over our criminal charges.



Paul and I were running out of money as the numerous court appearances drained our finances. We still had the car lease to service and we both desperately needed straight jobs. Paul managed to get us an interview at the electronics retailer, Brashs. Over the years, we had been regular customers—buying video cameras, VCRs and televisions—so the staff knew us personally. We were given jobs on the spot: I was to assist with the video courses the company was offering, and Paul was hired as a salesman.

Life stabilised. Relations with Dory thawed and I overcame my disappointment with her. I realised that at her age, she would probably never recover from the shock of what we’d put her through. Shoshanna was in a new creche, again spending Saturdays with her grandmother. I had still not totally forgiven Dory for her abandonment of us, but she was, she said, doing what she could to help. Generously, she contributed significantly to our legal bills, which ran into tens of thousands of dollars.

As it happened, Paul had a natural flair for sales. With his first-hand knowledge of video equipment, he was able to talk with authority, his charm and sincerity convincing customers of the wisdom of their purchases. Within weeks, he became one of the retail giant’s top salesmen nationwide. I enjoyed organising video courses, as well as doing part-time sales. My boss was most accommodating, and at least Paul and I were getting to see each other during the day.

As the months passed, however, our life at Brashs became a daily grind. We were working long hours for little reward and our social life was non-existent. Occasionally, we received random visits from the police doing spot checks to see that we were being fit and proper parents.

Paul said he didn’t know how long he could keep being a retail salesman, even though he was good at it—he was finding it totally soul destroying. He thought we should consider moving to Canberra, at least for a while. ‘You know what’s the most frustrating part of all this?’ he asked rhetorically. ‘The fact that if we’d been in the Australian Capital Territory, all the porn offences we’ve been charged with would’ve been fully legal. No wonder all the big porn operators are in Canberra.’

‘What worries me most is that the police may decide to remove Shoshanna again,’ he added. ‘We’re totally broke now, so I don’t know how we’d manage.’

‘But we’re not doing anything illegal,’ I said. ‘We’ve had nothing to do with porn since our bust.’ Indeed, there was not a skerrick of anything obscene in the house, so theoretically we couldn’t be accused of being unfit parents any more. And we’d purged the house, even hurling the bug bag into the Yarra River by the Warrandyte Bridge.


‘But they might try. Imagine if they took her again,’ he said.

‘Listen—we’re finally out of porn, and it’s a great feeling.’ I didn’t want to go back to that lifestyle. The police were absolutely right—it wasn’t a fit environment for a child.

‘But this job is killing me inside.’

‘Well, you should’ve got an education—gone to night school. You could still be a graphic designer.’

‘Bullshit, it’s too late to study,’ he said.

I knew Paul well enough to realise that, once an idea seeded in his mind, his tenacity wouldn’t allow him to let go. We argued frequently.

‘You seem to think you can just move house every time the going gets tough,’ I said.

‘But we don’t have any ties here. You’ve only got Dory, and we both know what a hateful witch she is.’

‘That’s not true,’ I retorted.

Paul pointed out that I couldn’t even count on her for moral support. ‘We’ll see if she comes to court.’

The court case was still hanging over our heads like the sword of Damocles. I hadn’t asked Dory yet, but I knew full well that it was highly unlikely she would attend.

‘Sooner or later, they’ll remove Shoshanna. They’re out to get us.’ Paul was sounding a touch paranoid.

Gradually he talked me round to the possibility of moving. He proposed that it would only be temporary and we would return to Melbourne as soon as we thought it was safe. It would destroy me to leave my beautiful house but, if it meant we could live with Shoshanna in safety and make a living, I would do it. Nothing else mattered besides being with her.

Around this time we learnt that the head of Brashs had been sent some of our pornographic photos, with an explanatory note identifying us. We could only assume it was one of our work colleagues, with whom Paul had fought a long-running battle for sales supremacy. We had no idea how he obtained the photos, although of course there were thousands floating around. It seemed our days at Brashs were numbered whether we wanted to stay or not.



In the weeks leading up to our court case, I was constantly sick with worry. I lost so much weight, I was skeletal. Paul was a chain-smoking bundle of nerves. Predictably, Dory again refused to attend court with us, although another of her friends—whom I barely knew—kindly offered.

Thankfully, our legal team succeeded in having all the more serious charges dropped. Just over half of our combined 25 charges were struck out: the convictions were only in relation to the possession and manufacture of objectionable films, keeping obscene articles for gain and cultivating cannabis. The fines totalled over seven thousand dollars and we would have convictions recorded against us; but all the charges we pleaded guilty to were summary and not indictable offences.

Lloyd’s estimation of the situation was that our sentence was overly harsh. He pointed out they were victimless crimes, and that society’s standards were changing. There did seem to be a certain hypocrisy inherent in laws that allowed us to be convicted for several counts of ‘possession of objectionable film for sale’, while the clients who purchased them were not criminals in the eyes of the law. Frankly, though, we were just relieved that the ordeal was over. I vowed never to break the law again.

This time the newspapers named us, together with our street name and our convictions. A police spokesman said ‘it was the first time in ten to twelve years anyone had been charged with the manufacture of obscene films’.

I tried to talk to Dory about my disappointment that she hadn’t attended court, but she consistently recoiled from even discussing it. I maintained she was out of touch with community standards, but she wouldn’t be swayed. Then I broached the subject of us moving to Canberra, saying we might trial it for a while. ‘You could rent out the house and start getting a regular income from it. And we can get away from all this crap.’ I knew though that, if our Canberra move didn’t work out, I couldn’t expect Dory to let us move back in. ‘We’re terrified the police might return,’ I said.

Thankfully, she hadn’t made the connection between our proposed move and the legalities of pornography. ‘But where will you live? . . . And how will you get work?’ she asked.

‘I’m not sure, but I definitely don’t want to be in Melbourne right now.’

‘But you don’t know anyone there.’

‘We’ll manage.’

‘I’ll call Margaret and Otto and tell them you’re coming.’

‘I can’t stay with them,’ I said indignantly.

‘Why not?’ she queried, reminding me it was where she always stayed in Canberra. ‘They’d love to have you and Shoshanna.’ Presumably, Paul wasn’t welcome.

It was true. I remembered our frequent visits to Sir Otto and Lady Frankel’s house when I was a child, and how they’d stayed with us when in Melbourne. Sir Otto was a CSIRO plant geneticist of international renown; he and his wife, a well-known potter, had been among Dory and Egon’s dearest friends. He had recently had a large CSIRO building named in his honour. The thought of staying with them while pursuing our porn career was too bizarre to contemplate.

‘Look,’ I said. ‘I’ll take their number, but I wouldn’t want to impose on them; I just don’t know if we’ll be moving in the same circles.’

So the car was packed with our most essential possessions; once established, we would return to pack up the house. The three of us then drove to Canberra, full of optimism for a new beginning.

It was New Year’s Eve 1989 when we arrived. As we hugged on the forecourt of Parliament House, we felt that the new decade would herald a fresh start in our lives.