Red-Light District

"Still, there's something so 1970s about it all," says Joshua Gamson, a sociologist at the University of San Francisco. "Tobias's remarks about 'gals coming back to his condo.' It feels so familiar." Gamson has written that we often view sex scandals in Washington differently from those that erupt elsewhere. Actor Hugh Grant's BMW dalliance with streetwalker Divine Brown? That was just a Hollywood case of a nice boy gone naughty. But when it comes to politics, nothing piques our interest like an uptight powermonger with his pants down. Add a conservative political agenda as a garnish, and our eyes are glued to the guy. It's hard to know which intrigues us more -- his Achilles' heel or his clay feet.

Though "high-class prostitution" may seem a rarefied field, Palfrey allegedly ran an operation that was entirely common. The mid- to-upscale prostitution market in a large city such as Washington is served by a number of providers, tucked discreetly away from the public eye: independent escorts who advertise online, in periodicals and through networking; spas, massage parlors and brothels (never explicitly referred to as such) that entertain clients in-house; and businesses that connect and dispatch escorts from a remote location, such as the one Palfrey allegedly ran. It bears pointing out that "high-class" is a relative term; a truly upscale working girl would scoff at the $275-$300 hourly rate. The elite pros pencil in dates for at least twice that much -- often more.

Of course, Palfrey and her attorney say that the business was perfectly legit: She merely set up women to provide erotic fantasy fulfillment, but she neither allowed nor received any money in exchange for letter-of-the-law sex acts. (In fact, certain services may have fallen outside the legal definition of prostitution, but elaboration is not possible in a family newspaper.)

Such claims have "loophole" written all over them, and why not, ask some. "Other industries and business people find loopholes in the law so they can function. The adult entertainment industry has a right to interpret the law in this way, too," says former prostitute Tracy Quan, who wrote the novel "Diary of a Married Call Girl." "If she didn't guarantee the tips the escorts were receiving, if she didn't get a commission from those tips, she has a strong argument. The fee she was charging was for introduction."

Last week, Palfrey expressed dismay that no man with whom she had done business had volunteered to defend her. That she'd even think of appealing to former clients for assistance is a total gobsmacker. It betrays either an ignorance or irreverence regarding the ways in which the upper-echelon sex business works -- it's a precarious balance of discretion, ingratiation and the threat of mutually assured destruction. A powerful client could always engineer a bust, while on the supply side, nothing says "Don't mess with me" like the threat of a black book, or phone records, made public. Ease of transaction and a zipped lip is the agreement on both sides of any sex-industry exchange, for however long it lasts.

On this and other levels, Palfrey shows a surprising lack of sophistication. Is this really how a high-powered pleasure executrix comports herself -- as an innocent little fantasy arbiter getting picked on by The Man because no one will attest to her honor? How can a woman who has gotten herself into such hot water be so tepid?

Too bland to be notorious, too victim-based wimpy to be a folk hero, Palfrey comes off as the Milquetoast Madam. Her business model appears to be your run-of-the-mill outcall service, her $1.5 million in assets (now seized) were not exactly Trump-ian in scale, and she ran her concern out of Vallejo, for God's sake. (To those who are not California conversant, Vallejo is tied with Sheboygan and Duluth for all-out glamour.) And as for her appearance, well, she's not exactly plying the Sydney Biddle Barrows route of hats, gloves and Chanel.

I'm willing to believe that there's a subtle genius behind Palfrey's unremarkable physical presentation, however, one that may serve her well should she be brought to trial. Heidi Fleiss showed up for her first day in court with perfect hair, perfect posture and a fabulous beige wrap dress. She was convicted. Palfrey, by contrast, meets the media wearing '80s bangs and what look like separates from Dress Barn. It makes good sense from a social and legal perspective -- a schlub in off-the-rack duds and out-of-date makeup has a better shot at public sympathy than a proud-shouldered vixen in couture.

Curious, though, how limited the reach of this story has been. Perhaps we're so scandal-whipped after Bill Clinton and Mark Foley and Jack Ryan that ennui does set in. Perhaps in the face of four years of war in Iraq and the specter of global warming, we have other things on our minds. Perhaps Palfrey's anti-style is the ultimate buzz-kill. It may be a sexy story that's not quite sexy enough.

So what can we say, Deborah Jeane? It's hard out here for a wimp.

lily_burana@yahoo.com

Lily Burana is the author of the memoir "Strip City: A Stripper's Farewell Journey Across America"

and the novel "Try."