The New York Times ran a story yesterday about Madam Fleiss and her floundering Nevada Stud Farm. (See my post, Heidi Fleiss’s Stud Farm). The reason the Farm is still just a fantasy has to do with Ms. Fleiss’s problems obtaining a license. It seems that one of her business partners, Joe Richards, who owns several brothels and a strip club, was indicted last year on wire fraud; a trial is scheduled in Las Vegas next May. Although Ms. Fleiss isn’t a defendant in the case, she gave testimony to a grand jury, and says that because of this she “feels compelled” to put the Stud Farm on hold.
Huh? It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me, either, and it all sounds sufficiently confusing and boring so that I have no interest in digging deeper. What does interest me, however, is that, while waiting to start up her brothel, Fleiss opened a laundromat—and, get this!—it’s called Dirty Laundry! Maybe I’m paranoid, but chances are she’s seen my blog, what with her name appearing on it, and lifted my title. It’s not the first time something like this has happened to me. Imitation, they say, is the highest form of flattery.
Besides, this development is an indication that Heidi and I have more than one thing in common. One of the reasons I chose Dirty Laundry for my blog is that I love laundromats–in fact, my signature poem is I Write In the Laundromat. And Heidi didn’t just throw together a crummy room filled with machines and littered with lint balls—her place features a casino theme, with panels from slot machines as decoration. Also, while most laundromats ignore their clients’ basic needs, Heidi’s sports a clean, dimly lit bathroom.
Still, it’s quite a comedown from male prostitutes to dirty laundry. Much as I love laundromats, I wouldn’t drive all the way to Nevada to use one.