Wednesday night, a gaggle of night crawlers lined up to get their photo taken with a buxom, peroxide blonde 40-something at Clubland’s Cain Luxe. The night’s attraction, Kristin Davis, formerly known as the Manhattan Madam—and player in Eliot Spitzer’s fall—had a coy smile for all comers.
Permanently tanned public access fixture Robin Byrd looked as anxious as a kid waiting to see Santa Claus at the Mall. She chirped, “I’m waiting to audition now, I’m going to ask her for a job!” She darted off towards Davis leaving her famous cackle ringing in my ears.
Surrounded by questionably employed well wishers (Davis said “three or four” of her former girls were at the party) and with flashes popping in her eyes, Davis was happy to talk about managing the world’s oldest profession: “I started out in hedge funds.” She went on to discuss the time she spent in Rikers and a state prison, where she became tight with trigger-happy rap star Remy Ma. “I was so fat in prison, it sucked. There were lots of maggots, roaches and disgusting things,” she said matter-of-factly. “All the girls are dykes.”
Davis will be finished with probation in five years and I asked her if at that time—if escorts were legal—she would open up shop again. Her reply was, “I’m not sure if I ever want to deal with hookers again, they’re flaky and unreliable.” Davis is adamant that she was “never a call girl.” I joked that if she was never a prostitute then penning a tell-all qualifies her. She remained stone faced for a moment before saying, “I guess so. But it was me and the baby killers—what else was there to do in there besides write?”