What I’m about to share, I’ll be honest, I have mixed feelings about divulging. Not because I don’t want to share it. Not because I have anything to hide. But because I try really hard to keep the drama of my personal life out of the community. But at a certain point in time, it becomes apparent that your the only one who hasn’t had an opportunity to share her side of the story. So this is it, this is THE NIGHT THE LIGHTS WENT OUT ON HIGHLAND.

Me and Dinah Mite once upon a time were very close. It wasn’t a perfect relationship. In my opinion, she was abusive, possessive, controlling, had a tendancy to put down other girls in the business to her clients in my presence, over shared and made people feel awkward, she goes to the food bank despite a healthy savings account, revels in getting free meals at whatever cost, picks up a sobriety chip every year at AA in between sniffing Fentynol and breakfasts of coors light, she’s greedy, miserly, negative, argumentative...the list goes on and on. However on the flip, she’s so very loyal and always there for a friend. She’s a great provider and can be a lot of fun. We had a long friendship that met it’s end probably a year later than it should have. I kept putting it off because I knew the result was inevitable. I wasn’t wrong. Our friendship was on thin ice because of a series of events. Mostly in part due to the fact that while healing from an elective procedure she turnedo in to a complete Psychopath. So much so, that when a month later it was time for my procedure, I opted to go it alone for 6 weeks. At times I’d be in the fetal position in my bathroom floor with the hack doc that performed it ignoring my pleas of help again. Sadly, that was the chosen alternative over calling my friend Dinah. I don’t want to give the impression I’m an angel. I’m not. I’ve got a lot of faults. I’m probably not the best at being a friend. I prefer to be alone and the idea of public socialization ranks down there with H-E-double hockey sticks. I forget birthdays but expect mine to be revered as Mardi Gras. I’m bitchy, demanding, patronizing, egomaniacal and the smartest bitch in the city. It is what it is. I can own it. We all have our faults. Sometimes they are tolerable sometimes they are not. But you should be able to expect, to a degree, that at the fallout of an adult friendship that both parties have the class and maturity to continue the same confidence exercised in the estrangement as was practiced in the friendship. Even as it has been evident that was not the case in my estrangement, I have-up until this point-practiced that confidence. However, today I changed my mind. I am ready to set the record straight and want to provide you With the facts of what exactly happened between myself, Dinah Mite, and Gina West. I’m telling everything-I have nothing to hide-and I can assure you that there will be zero fabrication to this.

One day Dinah calls me and tells me to come pick her up from her apartment to take her to the tow yard. This crawled up my ass immediately. Why in the FUCK do I need to drive miss Daisy to the tow yard? Is her Uber app not working? Because I know for certain when it isn’t appropriate for me to drive I don’t expect anyone BUT my dear friends at uber to come pick me up. But, ever conscience that I’m apparently an introverted selfish debutante, I told her I would be there. I pull in to the complex and she peeks her head out. She has taken a call. These things happen, in our line of work money is above all. I leave to go run some errands since now I’m out of the house anyways in the godforsaken light of day. I go to UPS to ship off an amazon return. I’m in line and my phone rings. It’s Dinah on a tirade. It’s been years, so I can’t even begin to paraphrase. I don’t remember what she said. I remember she accused me of getting my nails done, which if I were-was that a crime?-but mostly, it was just that loud ass, ignorant ghetto mouth I just could not fucking take anymore. I SNAPPED. I WAS DONE. No longer concerned about any fallout, at this point nothing seemed more horrific than continuing this proposterous charade with a Grade A, classless cunt. When I hung up that day, I never looked back. A huge weight was lifted. There is a lot I could say about the friendship, both good and bad. It had both and neither of us was without fault or shame. To call it a wash was beyond fair, and what is important to me today is to remind the parties close to this fallout exactly what happened-because clearly history has been rewritten and I am now the subject of a tawdry unauthorized biography. Let me reiterate this for the cheap seats: I quit being friends with Dinah because I couldn’t fucking stand her anymore. I know it sounds harsh. Please understand, after being told that the true subject of our demise was a plethora of reasons from me shooting my maid to burglarizing Gina West, I want to be clear. And furthermore, let’s get real. My maid is the last person on the planet I would want to shoot. Come to think of it, I think Gina West is probably the last person on the planet I would want to rob. Now, speaking of Gina. Our friendship had a different story than mine and Dinahs. To be honest, I was very fond of Gina. She was a really sweet woman, a good friend. We worked well together. I heard she was struggling and had reached out several times. I wanted to help her, my motives were well intended but not completely altruistic. I got a lot of inquiries to see Gina and I together. She was in a position where the money wasn’t going to hurt and she expressed to me that she was desperate to have her own space and independence again. I proposed an arrangement: come stay with me, two three weeks. No rent, just get on your feet. We will work hard everyday, squirrel everything away, and I promised her in two weeks she would be in her own place. To my surprise, not only did she agree, she followed through. For two weeks, every call I booked for myself I did my best to make it a double and she did the same. I won’t lie, the space was small and it wasn’t always pillow fights and movie nights-but all things considered we coexisted in my tiny apartment well. At the end of two weeks, with Ginas hard work and discipline-I was able to make good on my promise. She got her own beautiful condo downstairs from my own. I was pretty excited to have her in the building. The first day of move in, we decided to take advantage of the empty apartment and we collaborated on a shoot with our talented photographer. To this day, the shots are some of my favorite but unfortunately unusable unless I spend 14 hours literally removing Gina from the shots. At the end of a long shoot, it’s 4pm and I’m very late for an Outcall. I have to leave and can not find my fob that gains entry to my garage anywhere. Gina had two, I had zero. There wasn’t time to fool with searching for mine, I told Gina we would work it out later but I had to go. She loaned me her extra fob and I split for my Outcall. Later that night, I was in my bathroom enjoying the first night alone in a while. I get a text from Gina. It’s kinda short. Bring her fob please. At 4am?! On a Saturday morning? I would be a prisoner in my home all weekend! I couldn’t replace the fob until Monday. I was astounded. Gina said crisply “Its not my problem Brooke. Your fob isn’t in my apartment and I need mine back.” Okay. Fine. Come get it. So she did. I decked her in the face with it and told her Goodbye Forever and I meant it from the bottom of my heart. Maybe I’m presumptuous for thinking my friend Knew the obvious right thing to do was to loan me her EXTRA fob for two days. Her perception was I was obliging her to a lifetime of servitude in exchange for the time I opened my home to her. That had nothing to do with it. At all. I just thought it was what a friend would do. And a friend that wouldn’t-I didn’t need. I have not changed my mind.

With Gina now estranged, my husband was bewildered. He’s biased obviously, but so you know he’s quick to show me where I am at fault. But his only synopsis of this latest episode was “these ho’s are crazy as hell.” It didn’t take long for Gina and Dina to form an I Hate Brooke Club. They had jackets made and executed a long, tiring campaign. They hacked in to all of my social media accounts using the Netflix password I gave Dinah to use long ago and like I fool I never changed it-too afraid it was tacky and petty like her. Well she showed me just what tacky was. They logged on to Eros, and using maybe debit card I had on file to pay for over $2,000 worth of Nationwide advertising claiming I was a trans and using my government name. You would not believe the inquiries I got from that ad. A certain Vice Presidents campaign manager emailed me directly from his email adress that his official Twitter page was registered lamenting on how beautiful I was and inquiring about my size and functionality. They spread outlandish rumors that were not only untrue-but that in fact, they themselves were actually guilty of. They vandalized my car after I hosted a memorial for my friend Annalise, dumping the catered lobster pasta Madison Malone had brought to the function. Gina stormed in my home belligerent after she committed such a vile and atrocious-on-so-many-levels act and was screaming obscenities like a psycho. She would not get out. My survival skills overcame my sensibilities and I perhaps maybe overreacted a bit. You have to understand my life has not always been loubitains and Louis. All I knew rationally at that moment was that there was an enemy in my safe space that was refusing to exit. I had to do what I had to do. I pulled out the biggest knife that comes in the collection and told her to please Getthefuckoutnow. Maybe the alcohol was skewing her better judgment because for some reason the obviously terrified girl holding the huge knife was not registering to her survival skills. She continued to berate me so I advanved on her until I had her against my kitchen counter with the knife at her chin. Always reminding me I have not seen the worst of her yet, Gina grabbed the knife open palm and re enacted a suicide attempt for me and my maid. For the love of Christ why am I in this industry I cried inside. Dripping biohazard like bread crumbs, my saint of a maid got Gina back on the appropriate side of the door. Months later, when a friend retold that story to me as she had heard it from Gina, I learned that in fact Gina had assualted me quite effectively that night. In fact it was so effective, not only do I have no memory of it, my security cameras managed to miss capturing the footage as well.

If I never saw these two hyenas again it would be too soon. Too bad the eye in the sky had a better idea. I get a call one night to a party at a beautiful north Scottsdale home. As soon as I walk in the door, my date who was a longtime client was in the middle of a heated rant. I caught the jist of it quick. There was another provider here and they were suspicious of theft. On reflex I put my trademark oversized Hooker bag on the kitchen counter in plain sight. As my client went on and on I realized who he was talking about. For the love of Jon Gotti you have got to be fist fucking me right now. I went to him, and I don’t know why or who I think I am: Mother Fucking Theresa? But I said, no there’s no way. She’s a lot of things, but a Theif she is not. She stayed with me, never touched so much as a sock! My client wasn’t hearing me. I was mortified. The lady of the house thought it most appropriate, and she was right-that she go remedy this party foul. Imagine my surprise, when she returned from the Casita that my fellow peer was slumbering in, with my clients $800 and his ounce of coke. In addition to that, she also unearthed some silver candlestick holders, table linens, toiletries from the bathroom, and several other inexplicable souvenirs. I looked at the matriarch of the estate and offered the only defense for Gina I could come up with: Well, she just got this new place...

They called Gina an Uber and I felt like crawling under the swimming pool when she had to do the walk of shame past me out the door. It wasn’t her best moment, and in light of everything she personally did to me, completely unprovoked at that-I should have taken great joy in it. But I didn’t. I knew it was only going to serve as another reason for her to attack me and I was right. For the better part of two years, I persevered through constant back to back fraudulent inquiries that would end only when they began hurling obscenities at me, detailing my flaws, and saying anything they could in hopes of breaking my stride. They told client after client total fabricated lies about me that had not one seed of truth in any of them. They posted more slander about me online, and basically obsessed about me so much that it actually worked in my favor. My income increased 25% at what I can only guess was due to the increase in visibility due to thier smear campaign. Last year, as it turned 2019 I smiled with satisfaction as I tweeted to the twerps or whatever they are: Guess it’s true, HATERS REALLY DO MAKE YOU FAMOUS!!!

Outro

Last Christmas, I hosted dinner for all the girls that were without family like me. It was a beautiful evening, eleven working girls plus myself eating cooking drinking and laughing all night. At some point in the night, one of my guests approached me with my Christmas Gift. It was a story. About a call she went on as a double. And her fellow provider put her hands in the pocket of her coat while getting out of the car. My guest watched her doubles partners mouth drop open as her hand closed around something in her pocket. She pulled out her hand, and opened it up to reveal a little gray plastic fob. Gina looked at my friend horrified and said: “Brooke. It’s Brooke’s Fob.”