The Last Harem

by George P. Saunders

  Introduction

  My name is Aphrodite Antonia Dorian. In 1995, I traveled to the far side of the planet to live in a remote country few people in the world have ever heard of before. A year later, Brunei came to the forefront of media and tabloid attention. The paparazzi angle on Brunei has been generally unfavorable. My adventure there will hopefully set part of the record straight, or at least give the world a different, less sensationalistic slant on Brunei and the Royal Family in general than what has been found to date in the National Enquirer and countless other tabloids.

  Brunei is pronounced "Brew Nie". Think of cold beer and a word that sounds like "lie." It was home to one of the richest men in the world, the Sultan Haji Hassanal Bolkiah. How rich you ask? Try $35 billion dollars, and a few million in change. With that kind of money, inviting the most beautiful women in the world to hang out at your palace was more than doable. You could offer them a weekly salary of $22,500, fly them First Class, drink champagne with them, shoot the breeze about politics, the O.J. Simpson trial and the newest American fashions. Heck, you could do that just fine, no problem, and by the way, you could do it to excess and with infinite panache.

  When I received the royal invitation to visit Brunei, I accepted. I said I would be delighted to hang out with the Royal Family for $22,500 a week. I had returned from a dancing assignment in Japan a month before, and what happened there was a tragic nightmare; nothing, I felt, could be worse. In my mind at the time, Brunei provided an attractive possibility for escape.

  With the events of September 11, 2001 behind us, my story may well give a slant on a different way of life for the Muslims in Brunei (a primarily Muslim state as it is). Rather than resembling the staunch, and I might add brutal temperament of the Taliban (not to mention the Al Queda), the Sultanate occupied the other side of the spectrum in terms of its approach to life. In essence, these were people who liked to have fun. They were more American than most Americans I've ever met. But the world they created for themselves was like one out of a fairy tale of their own making.

  You may be asking right about now: What about all those headlines we read about a few years back, filled with sleazy, horrifying stories of young women held in sexual captivity by the "depraved" Sultan himself? Or the Special Reports on late night television that highlighted ghastly allegations of sodomy and unholy, alien orgies featuring gorgeous young females – all imported from around the world and on salary to the tune of $22,500 a week? What about the stories of the lawsuits against the Sultan for these allegedly heinous, depraved acts of Un-Western sexuality? There is even a book now out there called "Some Girls," written by one of the young ladies who visited Brunei much earlier than myself, and who tells of various sexual escapades with Prince Jefri, the younger brother to the Sultan of Brunei.

  So, how could I willingly go and subject myself to an obvious degrading experience of sexual subjugation?

  My answer is simple: At the time I went to Brunei, in late 1995, I was unaware of Brunei's allegedly smarmy reputation when it came to the subject of royal harems. Reason being, at that time, there were no headlines, no smarmy rumors about the Sultan and his family, no nothing. Thus, I had no framework, nor point of reference, for comparison or analysis of the subject.

  Of course, since my return from Brunei, I had read the sensationalistic articles in the tabloids; I've titillated myself with the alleged naughtiness of the Sultan of Brunei (that poor fella down in Borneo worth a piddling $35 billion dollars). I'm familiar with all the rumors. Read all the smut. Heard all the tall tales.

  In fact, I heard and read about such stuff without the myopia of the public at large. Because, you see, I actually went to Brunei and experienced the Sultan and company. I was paid $22,500 a week to simply show up nightly looking beautiful. I saw a lot of incredible things and, in all fairness, did a lot of incredible things. On this last point, I will say honestly that my life in the harem was not something I could look back on with great happiness. It was an experience of a lifetime, but with memories that are oftentimes tinged with pain, shame and humility.

  My story deals with the nature of temptation and the fantasies that each and every one of us shares regarding unimaginable wealth. Specifically, it is about our dreams of power, money and fame and what we would do – any of us – to make those dreams come true. I made a decision based on financial need; I was practically broke, on the verge of a nervous breakdown, terrified as to what my future held, or failed to hold. I accepted the position of a nominal "party girl" to the Sultanate of Brunei because I had no other options, short of bankruptcy and emotional collapse. I was afraid. Brunei was a way out of the dragon's cave, and back into the light; as I said before, an escape.

  In the fullness of time, Brunei proved not to be the sanctuary I envisioned. It was not a panacea to all my ills and past horrific experiences. Payment was to be extracted, and extracted it was, in full. The following pages will no doubt shock, in some instances, repulse and alienate you, the reader. But they hold the truth as experienced by one person, myself, with a background as an American who can safely be described as average and commonplace.

  The Last Harem is also meant to edify and entertain, but part of the book is a cautionary tale as well. What happened to me in Japan, before my trip to Brunei, was not unique; my rape and subsequent trauma in January of 1995 serves as a constant reminder that Americans traveling abroad - particularly female Americans - can never assume their safety is insured on any occasion. It was, in part, because of this horrendous event in Japan that I decided to go to Brunei.

  This is the second book written on the experiences of one of the women invited by the Sultanate to, shall we say, "party." During my stay in Brunei, I sent only one letter to my boyfriend. I preferred to speak with him on the telephone instead. I was fearful that anything I wrote might be read by the Sultanate security. All the girls shared this fear; there was evidence of such censorship with previous invitees. As for any letters George sent to me . . .well, there were none. And there was a reason: the girls, at least during my tenure in Brunei, were not allowed to receive mail. Paradoxically, George was allowed to call me, but not once was he provided with a mailing address. I did not dare have him contact me through the consulate.

  Many of the young women who have since gone and returned from Brunei are aspiring actresses, models and businesswomen, not to mention millionaires – thanks to their rewarding "tour of duty" with the Sultanate. Slander and public ostracism are the last things they desire because of their trek to this wealthy nation. Some past inductees to the harem, however, could care less about public exposure. As evidenced by many of the tabloid articles on the Sultanate, many of the girls interviewed cared little for anonymity. This is, of course, their right. However, it has infuriated me to see some of the girls prostitute their experiences in Brunei through use of the tabloid exclusive. More often than not, the testimony you've read in the rags from some of these women was erroneous. Not that the paparazzi cared about accuracy; as long as the pictures of the girls were in focus and the things the girls said about the Sultan were appropriately lurid. Generally, only the sleaziest points of interest were included in these articles and accuracy be damned. But that was the paparazzi mission: sell hype!

  Yet, you might be asking: is that not, in a more comprehensive matter by way of this book, doing the same thing? Is this a true story, or just another passel of lies, served up to generate book sales? Am I any better than the tabloids I attack in terms of generating "hype" on a controversial subject and with controversial public personages?

  Answer: Perhaps not. However, I'm not a tabloid. I had related to George P. Saunders my experiences in Brunei, and he has put them in functioning order (hopefully in some sequence and format which is readable and concise). I've changed the names of my friends, and everyone close to me, to protect them from unwanted attention. Put another way, I have done my very best to protect the innocent and guilty (if such a word applies) alike. The reader could consider this just a goo
d piece of entertainment and dismiss it all as fiction. Of course, all of it is true – but that is your choice.

  Since I have mentioned to the outside world that a book would be forthcoming about my adventures in Brunei, I have received subtle threats. I wish I could say these threats match the comedic level that some of the girls have mentioned to the tabloids when "negotiating book or movie deals about Brunei." For instance, in one article, a girl stated that "a rattlesnake was put into her post office box by four swarthy men who exited in a black Mercedes Benz." A message (so the girl stated emphatically) was attached to the snake's tail threatening death if the girl were to try and publish books or develop films based on her experience in Brunei. Another girl allegedly was stalked by two more swarthy men in an alley (note, in the tabloids, they always seemed to be swarthy!), who finally cornered said girl with an Uzi machine gun. Supposedly, she barely escaped with her life...

  I have not been the recipient of either snakes, swarthy men of Middle Eastern extraction or machine gun invectives. But I have received quiet "warnings," and suffice it I think to say, they were quite disturbing.

  That being said, let's push on and find out what all the shouting is about. I will start out, quite simply, with the Big Picture...

  Aphrodite Antonia Dorian

  The Big Picture

  Well, the really Big Picture is thus:

  Back in 1995, I was what many people would call very pretty. Personally, I think I'm on the cute side, but let's not quibble. I went to Brunei and was paid a ton of money. I returned home rich, and lived happily ever after – relatively speaking. A few years before I went to Brunei, I supported myself on $7,000 a year. When I returned from Brunei in mid-1996, I had earned more than $1,000,000 partying with various members of the Sultan's family entourage – and being romantically involved with the Sultan's younger brother, Prince Jefri. I am a citizen of the United States, a taxpayer, a professional actress. At the time, I had been dating George for three years; but for six months of those three years, we were separated during my stay in Brunei.

  A quick word on my ex-boyfriend, George: He has lived in Los Angeles for over twenty years; his profession is that of filmmaker. He is neither rich nor poor, famous or completely anonymous. He fell under the category of 'not suitable to my immediate needs.' I met George at the American Film Market in Los Angeles; we liked each other, we dated, we talked about marriage. We were, uncolorful as it may sound, a normal couple, struggling day to day with bills, traffic, fear of death and – the future. I had been dating George for the better part of seven months when I got the call from my "agent" (more on that later) telling me to pack because I was leaving for Brunei. At the time, I was enjoying some recognition from Dinosaur Island – a provocative little flick in which I starred, filled with half naked females dressed in palm leaves, jiggling around a remote tropical paradise that just happened to be inhabited by, you guessed it, dinosaurs. The film is a cult classic today and was produced by one of the most famous B-movie producers in Hollywood, Roger Corman.

  The film received international video attention. I was (at least by my screen name) literally an overnight success in the video world. To a large degree, believe it or not, this was the reason for my invitation to Brunei. Apparently, the Royal Family was fascinated by Dinosaur Island ... no doubt because of all the dinosaurs... Though domestic (i.e., American) audiences would not see me, or the movie, for at least another year in video stores, or on HBO, CMAX or various ancillary venues, the foreign territory response to the flick was phenomenal. I came to Brunei as an honored guest; a movie star in a land without movie stars, with an attendant salary of over $22,500 a week.

  If I had any regrets, I wished I could have gone earlier.

  Perhaps, then, the Japan tragedy would have never transpired.

  ***

  Before Brunei, I was just another struggling actress in Hollywood. Mind you, I am still struggling to this day, in terms of working regularly in my chosen profession ... but I do so without a financial Damaclean sword, hung by a tenuous hair, over my head. I have money in the bank, and I don't work a day job. All thanks to Brunei.

  Long before Hollywood, I danced with the touring troupe called Playboy Follies. I was 27 when I went to Brunei – one of the older girls, really. Most of the other girls were in their early twenties. I must also say, without any sense of modesty, that while I consider myself an attractive woman, I was by far the homeliest girl that was ever invited to join the Sultanate harem. It is important to understand this fact, just to get a sense of how beautiful all the other women really were. Truly, they were the elite of the world of beauty; I was staggered and always intimidated, from the first moment I arrived to Brunei, to the last day, six months hence. I was the proverbial Ugly Duckling in a pond of swans, but I had something the other girls didn't really have: low budget B-movie celebrity, thanks to the dinosaur flick.

  As already mentioned, my stay in Brunei was marked by a variety of experiences, some of them, in retrospect, difficult to evaluate ... or more candidly, re-visit. Many of you might find my behavior horrendous, immoral, heinous, un-Godly, whatever. What I did, I did of my own free will, without coercion, without excuse. Judge me if you wish; but I would ask before you do so, put yourself in my position for the next few pages. Keep an open mind. And use your imagination...

  Initially, I didn't want to do this book. I knew I would be opening up a can of worms. I knew if it was published, there'd be a lot of press coming my way . . . . press I didn't need. However, now – as our world has changed – there are more important things in life than bad press. Further, several years ago, I had submitted this story to several publishers. They all said it was unbelievable. In a world where madmen drive airplanes into skyscrapers, because they believe in a holy jihad and 73 virgins on the other side to greet them … I guess my story today is not that farfetched.

  In any case, George talked me into writing the book, in fact, convinced me of it. He had a point. The story was compelling. I lived a life most people in this age - or any other - would never get the opportunity to live. It was like that scene in Steven Spielberg's movie, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, where the Richard Dreyfuss character at the end of the movie decided he had no choice but to go with the cute little big-eyed aliens in their spaceship.

  I, too, had no choice. Brunei called. I answered.

  And I got paid. Quite well, at that.

  I was born December 4, 1967 in Lexington, Virginia. My father, John Dorian, owned a beauty school at the time. Business wasn't so hot, and in time, he moved the family – mom, my sister, and brother, and me to Las Vegas. He opened another beauty school. My father was an interesting fellow because beauty was not always his primary business. In fact, he was a fighter pilot for the Navy during the latter years of the Vietnam War. He retired in the mid-70s, honorably discharged for his years of service to the United States.

  I pretty much had a normal childhood, and when I got into my teens, Dad taught me the ropes of the school. I learned to do hair, manicure nails, and give facials. I worked hard. After I graduated from high school, I decided that beauty school was a dead end. Since I had been studying dance for many years, I decided to audition for the Playboy Follies. I got a part, and went off on tour, traveling to Texas, Montana, and Colorado. Every night, six nights a week, I danced my buns off, in one of the shortest mini-skirts God ever created. Four or five years of that got old . . . and I set my sights for Los Angeles. And on acting.

  When I got to L.A., I faced the same challenges every other actor faced: getting a job, surviving, trying to get an agent. I went to acting school, and hustled. For all my work and dedication to craft and the business at large, I enjoyed very little success in those early years. For those unfamiliar with the intricacies and difficulties of trying to break into the Hollywood infrastructure on a creative level, rest assured there is no more difficult endeavor in the world. For my money, actors are the most courageous people on Earth. I felt that I had sufficient courage;
what I lacked, and continued to lack for some time, was a regular source of income.

  Around 1991, I met Tony Curtis. He was a very nice man, and a great actor, though 40 years older than me. We dated for awhile, and thus, I was introduced to the upper echelons of Hollywood. Because I was Tony's girlfriend, I was invited up to the Playboy Mansion quite frequently. I met Hugh Hefner, and hung out with the usual suspects – in other words, cronies of Hugh, movie stars, t.v. stars, etc.

  Tony and I lasted for about two years. We separated for a variety of reasons, none terribly interesting to relate, but at the end of the day, we were still good friends. Tony died almost two years ago, in December of 2010, but I look back with amusement on the times we had. He, in particular, could always laugh at himself. For instance, he admitted it was insane that he thought he could keep up with a much younger woman, but he could not help himself.

  Sex was always very amusing for us. For instance, at the time we were together, Tony was in his late 60s, maybe even early 70s, and before we did the dirty deed, he would take out a small hypodermic and inject it into his thigh. Ostensibly, this was a 'vitamin' booster to enhance virility and performance. Looking back, this might very well have been a precursor to Viagra. It did the trick, however, and Tony always 'rose to the occasion' with this little addition to facilitated lovemaking.

  After Tony and I went our separate ways, I went back to Looking For The Love Of My Life. No easy task.

  In December of 1994, I was approached by a girlfriend regarding, as she put it "a very lucrative offer in South Asia." This was the first time ever I had heard of Brunei. She told me that she could arrange for our travel through her agent in Canada; all she needed from me was a commitment. It all sounded very vague, and I declined the offer. The primary reason for turning down the Brunei gig that first time, was because I had landed a dancing gig in Japan, again, through another girlfriend.