THIS WOMAN FOUND A WAY OFF THE STREET

NOT every sex trade worker ends up on the streets, addicted and desperate.

A year ago, using the street name "Caroline," this blond college
student from south Winnipeg saw about 15 to 20 clients per day --
seven days a week -- on Aikins Street to make the $600 to $700 a day
she needed to feed her addiction to crack cocaine.

Her youth -- early 20s -- and good looks made her popular among
professionals who cruised Aikins, and she'd work to cultivate
relationships in hopes they'd turn into lucrative return trips.

She's now drug-free and caring for her five-month-old daughter.

It doesn't mean old ghosts don't still nip at her, she said.

"I don't carry a bank card because if I had an awful day the first
thing I want to turn to is my drug of my choice. An afternoon of
doing it turns into a night, and then the next day, and then I'm back
there again," she said.

"I'm a smart girl who got wound up in a bad drug."

She said she was devastated by the news her friend Fonessa Bruyere died.

The teen was part of a close-knit group of girls and women who worked
and clashed alongside each other on Aikins.

"She told me she used to get picked on," Caroline said. "I was put
out there and it didn't happen to me. Why did it happen to her?

"I personalized myself so they could see me as someone. I would look
them in the eye, when they were driving, so they could feel the eyes
on them. If I can see you, you can see me."

While the sex trade workers there often fought with each other over
turf and clientele, Caroline said they also watched over each other
hawkishly and often worked in pairs to record licence plates as they
climbed into the trucks and jeeps lined up on the street.

"I always pictured these guys just driving in from Garden City or
River Heights," Caroline said, saying their clothes often hinted at
upper-income professions.

Many sex trade workers craved "smoking dates" -- they would get crack
from a dealer and share it with customers.

It provided a free high and left the customer impotent.

Caroline said she rarely feared violence from familiar customers or
drug dealers.

But as a white sex trade worker, she said she attracted higher prices
and this often angered other aboriginal workers.

"It was surprising to me, how many of these girls came from caring
families. A lot of these girls, they're first-generation (sex
workers)," she said, flashing a bright smile that she said set her
middle-class parents back about $3,000 for orthodontics during her
teenage years.

"In middle-class and upper-class families, these girls are seen as
'less than.' These guys always seem to forget 'this could be my
daughter'... The john isn't the scary, slimy drunk, he's your bank
teller. They're the ones saying 'oh my god, how dirty, how
disgusting' but when nobody's looking, they're exactly what they're
oohing and aahing about."

She told herself she was doing a service -- saving a marriage or
stopping the sexual abuse of a child.

A devout Christian and Narcotic Anonymous devotee, she said an
educational camp for sex workers she attended after being charged for
her sex trade work changed her life

Caroline's new life is a far cry from the North End shack where she
once crashed. Now, she lives in a delicately appointed apartment
lined with girlie indulgences like Shopaholic books and romantic
comedy videos -- as well as her young daughter's toys.