Original subtitles

- "Dear Red Shoes, I admire your quest.

"An emotional journey to the heart of your grief.

"That takes courage.

"Funny I should see it that way

"because until a few months ago,

"I was sure emotion was a sign of weakness."

I'm a photo journalist.

I was working on a piece about up-market hookers.

The kind who make 1,500 plus.

- No, I don't do kinky stuff,

I mean I used to, but you just,

you get burnt out too fast.

Know what I mean?

In my profession you have to stay objective.

- So, can you fucking believe that guys pay you to do this?

Otherwise it becomes impossible

to distinguish fact from fiction, truth from fantasy.

You loose your edge.

- I guess I remind them of their wives.

You know, before their wives had kids

and got cellulite and hired shrinks.

It was difficult for me no to be affected

by the stories these girls told.

- But it's all an act.

For the most part they were tough,

they needed the score and they knew

how to take care of themselves.

I'm sorry, I just don't think that I can do this.

And their success depended

on the same principle as mine,

the same golden rule,

don't get emotionally involved.

It's insane, you sit there and you,

you direct them and yell at them and they love it.

- But hey, they're paying.

♪ Eh hey

- I don't know about this.

- And that's why I'm good.

- Good hookers are inevitably good liars.

♪ Hey, hey, hah

♪ Ha

♪ Uh-Huh

♪ Huh

♪ Hey, ha

♪ Ha, uh-huh

- Can I help you?

- Um...

Yeah, I'm just looking for the Parker residence.

Sally and Ed Parker.

- I don't think I've ever heard of them.

- No, I left the exact address behind at the office.

I thought this was the right house

but I, I guess I'm wrong.

Would you like to come inside and use the phone?

- No, you know I left the number behind too.

Same piece of paper.

- I see.

You're a photographer?

- Me? No.

Oh no, I'm just returning that to Sue.

- Sally.

- Sally, right.

- You're a really bad liar.

I mean...

If you're going to lie, tell big, fat, fantastic lies.

Not small, boring ones.

I respect good lies because they require imagination.

That's amazing, what do you do?

- I'm an astronomer.

You know, stars, planets, solar systems.

That's funny, you don't look like a scientist.

- And you don't look like someone who'd forget an address.

- I'm sorry, I got lost.

Bye.

- I'll open the gates for you.

Unless you prefer to climb over the wall.

- I'll have one of the same.

Hi, my name's Jo Dunston, I'm a reporter with the Trib.

- Yeah, so?

That's right, you were here the other night.

- Yeah.

- I remember a girl sitting alone.

At first I thought you were a hooker.

But then I saw what you were wearing.

What do you want?

- Just to talk.

I'm doing a piece on high class call girls.

For a start, honey, when it comes to hooking,

there's no high class or low class.

There's only high price and low price.

At either end of the scale you've got cops, and drugs,

nice Johns and assholes, perverts.

Why are you doing this?

- For a start, people will always read

stories about prostitutes.

They're almost mythical creatures.

But for me, I'm more interested in how you remain

professional despite what you feel inside.

Shit!

A guy from the telephone company.

- Oh, Jesus!

Hi.

About six months later

I figured why just pay bills.

- Hello, again.

Turn a profit.

But down here, land of the milk and honey...

- Do you have insurance?

- Yeah, of course.

There's this guy once who wanted

me to dress up like a nun.

I guess he'd been to Catholic school

or something and like to be paddled.

- That sounds interesting.

I just couldn't...

- Oh, it's a book on tape.

A Russian spy thriller.

Here.

- Joanna Dunston, five foot 11,

122 pounds, green eyes,

hair red,

Scorpio.

- Oh stars!

Here's my insurance company.

Just let them sort it out.

- I'd like to know the name of that Russian spy thriller.

I love that sort of stuff.

- Dead Sun Rising.

I'm sorry.

- Easter coming up I got plenty of free time.

Business always slacks off during religious holidays.

It's all about Judeo-Christian guilt.

Honey, in my business you get well acquainted with guilt.

All my men have felt guilty at one time or another.

Guilty 'cause they're married,

or 'cause they want you to strap it on

and fuck 'em in the ass,

or 'cause they're putting it on their company's credit card,

because the minute the put it on the table,

they can't act innocent anymore.

- Surely there must be exceptions,

like that guy I saw you with the other night.

- Yeah, he is different.

Sometimes I think I'd fuck him for free.

- Why don't you?

- He only sleeps with women he pays for.

- Why?

- I asked him the same thing,

he just said it was more convenient.

You know, just didn't have the time to get intimate.

No, he shouldn't.

I mean, put it this way,

when a man pays for a woman,

he wants more than just her body.

He wants her to believe in him

and believe all the lies that he tells her,

whether he's strong, or rich, or how fabulous a lover he is.

I just believe whatever they want me to believe.

Good hookers are inevitably good liars.

You know, I swear to God, one time this guy got off,

by getting married.

Once a week he would take a hooker to Vegas, marry her,

and then a couple days later divorce her.

- No!

It must be really difficult not to lose

your respect for men when you come in contact

with so many pathetic assholes.

- No, actually it's quite the opposite.

I respect most of them, no matter how weird they are.

Because at least they have the courage

to face up to their fantasies.

- I mean, I'd imagine someone

like Jack would be a great lover.

- How'd you know his name?

- I don't know, you must have told me.

- No.

- Wild guess.

Telepathy maybe.

What are you doin' here?

Come on Joanna, don't play games.

Paula called me this afternoon and told me.

- Well, I guess she knows what side her bread's buttered on.

- She's a loyal friend, that's all.

Jesus, Jack, you buy her body on a regular basis.

Do you think that automatically makes you her friend?

- You think because you're a journalist

you have the right to snoop into people's lives?

If you want to know about me,

then ask me, face to face.

What do you want me to say, Jack?

You want me to say that I wonder what

it would be like to make love to you?

And what are you gonna say to me?

That you want to fuck me without paying for it?

That you're willing to take that risk?

Look, we're both adults, so let's just act like it.

Get this over with and then we can get on with our lives.

Come on...

Play by the rules.

1,500.

Why do you want to be like them?

To fuck without love?

Why are you so afraid of the truth?

You're a really lousy liar.

- I can't do this, and you can't either.

At least be honest about that.

I never did see Jack again, and he never called.

In the end, I guess I got what I wanted.

What every good journalist is after, the truth.

The truth about myself, about Jack,

and about all the other people out there

that turn away from love.

We're not too tough or too busy or too professional.

We're just afraid. - "We're just afraid."

"The truth is, love doesn't conquer all.

"Sincerely, Jo".

Wake up Stella, we can't be reading letters all day long.