Prostitution (and me).

Geneva's red light district is between Cornavin Train Station and the Jet D'Eau. France and the Alps are on the opposite side of the lake. On a clear day there's a great view of Mont Blanc. Unlike many red light districts in other countries, Geneva's isn't tacky or seedy. Geneva doesn't do tacky or seedy.

The area has schools, nice flats, a variety of restaurants and the American church which houses a 10,000+ book English library. There are luxury hotels, one of which has a theatre where musical stars of all genres have appeared. Swan Lake performed there. Even a former Swiss president has made her home in the district. She is about as opposite in appearance from the women who prowl at night looking for clients as is possible.

Prostitution has been legal and regulated in Switzerland for 83 years. 

One day, going to the library on my lunch hour, I saw one of my coworkers with one of the working girls. He saw me, he saw that I saw him. We never spoke of it. Prior to the sighting, in meetings he might give me a lot of backtalk.

After?

I could guarantee his support on everything I supported.

On trips through Paquis, the name of the area, I used to regularly see one of the women with a little white dog that may have had poodle and Westie genes in her background. What did she do with the pup when with a client?

There was a restaurant below street level, but visible, where the women would gather between clients.

When visited by a former Boston neighbor, a pastor and his wife, I took them to see the Reformers Statue of William Farel, Jean Calvin, Theodore Beza and John Knox, early Protestant leaders that turned Geneva from being Catholic to a form of sour Christianity. I didn't say anything in advance to my former neighbors about finding their faces creepy if not hate-filled. 

After, we walked through Paquis on the way to a favorite restaurant. A few women were doing early evening trolling. "I prefer this to the statue," the minister said. "More life."

I taught a class at Webster University. For a project four my students produced a film on Sex Trafficking. What they didn't realize was that they filmed it in the lobby of my apartment building. They were surprised that I lived there. They told me the script was fictitious.

For one of my novels set in Geneva, I wanted to interview some of the prostitutes. At the time, my French was too weak. I tried to find someone to act as translator, but no one wanted to. I suppose I could have tried English, but I was uncomfortable and I had enough detail that I didn't need to talk to anyone. I regret not doing it. 

If I were going to write about those women's lives, I would now, but I'm not. Invading their privacy is something I feel I have no right to do for a regret.