then prime minister of Israel, Golda Meir, who stayed with Jason’s family on trips to the United States. However, Jason early on developed much more of an affinity for the Lansky lifestyle.
While enrolled at George Washington University, Jason had little time for class; he was busy, busy, busy making his first fortune as “the 22-year-old phonesex king of South Beach.” Tax issues and bankruptcy soon laid waste to the phonesex operation, and he suffered some serious blowback from getting caught on his return from Amsterdam with 4,000 tabs of ecstasy, a purchase Itzler admits correctly was a “totally retarded idea.” The judge gave him seventeen months in the hoosegow to reflect on his crimes and to ponder how to become a better citizen. Inspiration did not arrive, however, until he was on parole in Hoboken, a long-standing setting for the hatching of bad ideas. He would start an escort service—the best. It would be called NY Confidential, a lazy branding campaign if there ever was one, but Itzler had a dream, not unlike MLK, except for Itzler’s dream was so rapturously stupid:
At NY Confidential, I told my girls that the pressure is on them because we have to provide the clients with the greatest single experience ever, a Kodak moment to treasure for the rest of their lives. Spreading happiness, positive energy, and love, that’s what being the best means to me. Call me a dreamer, but that’s the NY Confidential credo.
For a while, the dream came true. The ladies in Itzler’s NY Confidential stable spread more positive energy around swanky hotel rooms and the NY Confidential headquarters in Tribeca than one cares to imagine. And in a daring display of chutzpa he took out full-page ads in a number of upscale NYC publications, flying his floozy-flag in full view and almost daring the police and the politicians to shut him down. The thing was, many of them were his customers. Ashley Dupré, former governor Elliot Spitzer’s go-to gal, was once an NY Confidential Escort, as was Natalia, the $2,000/hr sex sorceress (see entry on Natalia McLennan).
In 2005 the cops could not ignore the obvious any longer, and they took down Itzler and NY Confidential. After serving his eighteen months, Itzler bounced around, running lower-key escort services and dealing a little coke, but those enterprises also came crashing down, along with his pants, after the cops found him wandering around W. Fourteenth wearing a jaunty fedora and carrying a trombone he didn’t know how to play, which is not a crime, but prostitution and drug-dealing still are. Hobbling ignominiously out of the courtroom in handcuffs with his pants around his ankles, Itzler had one last flash of inspiration: He wailed in psychosis, “I saved Billy Ray Cyrus’s life, that’s what this is about!”
Oh, come on , man. That’s not even trying .
Chapter III
HUSTLING FOR A HIGHER CAUSE
Some people just can’t ever be satisfied. You must be familiar with this species of ambitious creature: the medical assistant training to be a doctor, the waitress waiting to be discovered as a model/actress/singer, or the prostitute pounding the pavement, hoping the Fortuna wheel of the street will eventually give him or her that lucky spin toward something loftier. So on that note, let’s meet the overachievers, the busybodies, and the multitalented call girls, rent-boys, and common streetwalkers who came to distinguish themselves not only in the field of floozies, but by other, more newsworthy achievements than just lying down to take it and fake it.
THEODORA
PRO FILE
DAY JOB: Politician
CLAIM TO FAME: A trick with a goose; ruling the
Western world
THEATER OF OPERATIONS: Byzantium
Meet Theodora, the whore who once held dominion over the Western world. She was born a Greek Cypriot with a bear trainer for a father and a “scandalized” mother. Her fate, it seemed, was to be stuck in a dead-end gig as a mime/nudie dancer, but in A.D. 527 Theodora managed to work it all the way
While enrolled at George Washington University, Jason had little time for class; he was busy, busy, busy making his first fortune as “the 22-year-old phonesex king of South Beach.” Tax issues and bankruptcy soon laid waste to the phonesex operation, and he suffered some serious blowback from getting caught on his return from Amsterdam with 4,000 tabs of ecstasy, a purchase Itzler admits correctly was a “totally retarded idea.” The judge gave him seventeen months in the hoosegow to reflect on his crimes and to ponder how to become a better citizen. Inspiration did not arrive, however, until he was on parole in Hoboken, a long-standing setting for the hatching of bad ideas. He would start an escort service—the best. It would be called NY Confidential, a lazy branding campaign if there ever was one, but Itzler had a dream, not unlike MLK, except for Itzler’s dream was so rapturously stupid:
At NY Confidential, I told my girls that the pressure is on them because we have to provide the clients with the greatest single experience ever, a Kodak moment to treasure for the rest of their lives. Spreading happiness, positive energy, and love, that’s what being the best means to me. Call me a dreamer, but that’s the NY Confidential credo.
For a while, the dream came true. The ladies in Itzler’s NY Confidential stable spread more positive energy around swanky hotel rooms and the NY Confidential headquarters in Tribeca than one cares to imagine. And in a daring display of chutzpa he took out full-page ads in a number of upscale NYC publications, flying his floozy-flag in full view and almost daring the police and the politicians to shut him down. The thing was, many of them were his customers. Ashley Dupré, former governor Elliot Spitzer’s go-to gal, was once an NY Confidential Escort, as was Natalia, the $2,000/hr sex sorceress (see entry on Natalia McLennan).
In 2005 the cops could not ignore the obvious any longer, and they took down Itzler and NY Confidential. After serving his eighteen months, Itzler bounced around, running lower-key escort services and dealing a little coke, but those enterprises also came crashing down, along with his pants, after the cops found him wandering around W. Fourteenth wearing a jaunty fedora and carrying a trombone he didn’t know how to play, which is not a crime, but prostitution and drug-dealing still are. Hobbling ignominiously out of the courtroom in handcuffs with his pants around his ankles, Itzler had one last flash of inspiration: He wailed in psychosis, “I saved Billy Ray Cyrus’s life, that’s what this is about!”
Oh, come on , man. That’s not even trying .
Chapter III
HUSTLING FOR A HIGHER CAUSE
Some people just can’t ever be satisfied. You must be familiar with this species of ambitious creature: the medical assistant training to be a doctor, the waitress waiting to be discovered as a model/actress/singer, or the prostitute pounding the pavement, hoping the Fortuna wheel of the street will eventually give him or her that lucky spin toward something loftier. So on that note, let’s meet the overachievers, the busybodies, and the multitalented call girls, rent-boys, and common streetwalkers who came to distinguish themselves not only in the field of floozies, but by other, more newsworthy achievements than just lying down to take it and fake it.
THEODORA
PRO FILE
DAY JOB: Politician
CLAIM TO FAME: A trick with a goose; ruling the
Western world
THEATER OF OPERATIONS: Byzantium
Meet Theodora, the whore who once held dominion over the Western world. She was born a Greek Cypriot with a bear trainer for a father and a “scandalized” mother. Her fate, it seemed, was to be stuck in a dead-end gig as a mime/nudie dancer, but in A.D. 527 Theodora managed to work it all the way
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