Chapter 9
The first snows of winter swirled around Shelly's feet as she trudged toward the nearest bar. The sidewalks were crowded at this time of day as office workers poured out of the downtown buildings. Shelly clutched her coat tightly around her as she walked.
There had been no other men in her life since Amos Beach. He had taught her a lesson that momentarily quelled the sex urge in her. But now she was again feeling the need for a man, despite what Amos had done to her.
Her mirror shockingly told her she should be less fussy now, after four months of yearning to play her man-trap game. Dispirited from living alone with her memories, she could have walked through the streets of Wildwood and not been recognized as the once vivacious Shelly Wymore who had been so active in the city's affairs.
She took less time fixing her hair, daubed make-up on carelessly, and let her clothes become old and wrinkled. No longer were her eyes bright and sparkling, her figure had begun to bulge and the breasts she once bore so proudly, now sagged uninterestingly. The remarks the men had made when she left the hotel after the Amos Beach episode wore on her.
She no longer tried to frequent the better bars. Now she spent most of her time in the middle or lower class places. She felt more at ease in them, sensing she had lost considerable charm and beauty. Yet, in the lower class places, she had the feeling she was better than most of the women who went there.
Her path this day led her to a small bar called the Hideaway, and as was her custom, she entered and took a seat toward the end of the bar. Unlike other occasions and other bars, she saw there were more women here than men. There was one group of three, another of four.
Shelly glanced at them only casually, but when her drink was put in front of her one of the women came over and asked her to join the others. Introducing herself as Debbie Kent, the woman said, "Come on over, honey, it's no fun sitting here all by yourself. Come over and meet my girl friends."
Shelly -eyed the group for a moment, then shrugged. In that group she would be a standout. She said, "Okay. Why not?" She followed Debbie to the center of the bar where the group was gathered.
Then suddenly, without warning, the man to whom Peggy had been talking, leaped from his stool, flashed a badge, and ordered all of them to follow him to the far side of the room. Here he informed them they were all under arrest. Furthermore, he stated, he was calling the station for a patrol wagon and they would all be taken to police headquarters to be booked.
"Booked? For what?" asked Shelly incredulously. "We haven't done anything."
"Look, sister, you know there's a law against soliciting so don't give me any bullshit," the cop snapped.
"Soliciting? Who's soliciting? I just came in for a drink," Shelly pleaded.
"That's right, officer," Debbie said. "She isn't in on this."
"Knock it off," the officer said gruffly. "You're not going to get her off that easy. You broads been causing us a lot of trouble down here. Half of you are dosed, you're rolling your tricks. I'm gonna teach you all a lesson. All of you whores should be run out of town if you can't play the game right."
"What's the matter, cop, didn't you get paid off this week?" one of the women asked.
The officer wheeled and glared at her. "You can knock that kind of shit off, too, if you know what's good for you."
"I'll sue you for false arrest," Shelly said calmly. "You can't take me in just because I happen to be with these women."
"Oh, you're so innocent, aren't you? I know you, lady. I've seen you working every bar around here. Why is it you prostitutes always scream when we pick you up? You know you ain't supposed to be working out in the open like you do."
"Prostitute?" Shelly said, aghast. "I beg your pardon."
"What'sa matter, lady, you find it tough comin' down from the big leagues ?" the officer snapped.
No amount of pleading would deter the officer in his judgment and, without arguing the point further, he went to the door to await the arrival of the wagon. However, to everyone's surprise, it was not a regular patrol wagon that drove up, but an ancient paddy wagon. Into this Black Maria, Shelly and four of the women were unceremoniously loaded.
"Don't worry, honey," Debbie said, "we'll get you out of this." Then, pausing a moment, she asked, "You got a record?"
"M-me? No, of course not. I've never been arrested in my life," Shelly replied.
Debbie looked at her for a moment, then burst into raucous laughter. "Hey, girls, Shelly here is clean. No record. How about that?"
"Christ, I've been hauled in a dozen times already," one of the others said.
Then they all laughed. Shelly did not see the humor in it and sat glumly among the four prostitutes.
"Peg, you're the one they're going to nail," said one of the women. "You had to put the make on a damn cop!"
"Hell, don't laugh," Peggy said. "This is the second time for me this month. If we get old Judge Holland he's liable to stick me over on California Street for thirty days and that's no bargain. All them damn queers over there. Bad enough I gotta peddle my ass on the street without having some Lezzie working on me."
"Oh, well, it's free room and board," Debbie said.
"I know what kind of free room and board that is," Peggy groused. "You gotta blow the damn guards just to get something decent to eat."
"What's indecent about a man's dick?" a voice came from the back.
Again they all laughed.
Shelly shuddered at the language and also the prospect of being sent to jail for something as disgraceful as soliciting. At least to her it was disgraceful. The others didn't seem to mind.
The degradation that followed nearly shattered what little remained of Shelly's dignity. She was booked, searched by a rough police matron, insulted, fingerprinted and, finally, put in a cell with two dozen other women. However, her stay, as well as that of the others, with the exception of Peggy, was short. Within two hours they were released with a severe reprimand.
But the thought of having her name on the police blotter plagued Shelly. She was indignant over the false charge, angry that her name might even appear in the paper.
"Well, dearie, now you know what it's like," Debbie laughed.
"Yeah," tittered one of the others as they walked down the steps of the station, "now you're an official pussy peddler just like the rest of us."
"Get away from me, you filthy pigs!" Shelly screamed. She stopped on the steps. "Go on, I don't want to be seen with any of you!"
"Get her," Debbie said.
"Yeah, what's she think she's got, a damn gold -lined cunt or somethin'?"
"I'm not one of you!" Shelly burst out.
"Oh, yeah? What are you? One of those innocent little housewives that go around giving it away? Just because you ain't ever been picked up before don't make you no saint," Debbie spat, turning to the others.
"Face it, baby, you're an ass peddler just like the rest of us."
Shelly glared at the group for a moment, then stalked stiffly away. Behind her, she could hear mumbling and light laughter among the girls. Her head was beginning to fill up with thoughts that disturbed her. "Go around giving it away" haunted her. The words burned into her brain. Am I really a ... prostitute? It's a need ... a woman's natural need, she told herself. Is being promiscuous the same as being a prostitute? Why aren't men called whores? They go around crawling into bed with anyone that will let them and no one thinks too much about it. Why are women singled out and called evil names when they fulfill a natural desire?
Puzzled, Shelly struggled for the answer. The emptiness in her heart echoed through her, then closed in to smother her in sleep.
In the brightness of the early morning sun, the stark realization of what she had heard the previous day hammered at her brain, beating a harsh headache into her troubled mind. She groaned, rolled over, and fumbled for a cigarette. She took one, rolled it slowly in her fingers, studied it, then put it down.
For a long time she lay in bed, head throbbing, as she thought of how her life of pleasure had been so cruelly analyzed and judged by the women at the bar. Finally, after almost two hours of torment, she arose, slipped into her housecoat, and went to the kitchen to make some coffee.
Indifferently stabbing the scoop into the coffee can, Shelly was still thinking about the awful word she had been called when she happened to look down to the street where she saw the mailman making his way toward her building.
For some years her mail had meant nothing to her. No one wrote to her, and the only mail she ever received was an occasional bill from one of the department stores where she carried a small charge account. Also, she received a check from Wymore Enterprises and one from the insurance company.
For some unexplainable reason, her eyes remained on the mailman and, for just a moment, a pang of loneliness ran through her. If only someone would write, she thought. If only she would get a letter of some kind from someone-anyone. She shrugged, sighed, and went on with her coffee making.
When she had finished her second cup and tried her first cigarette, she thought once again of the mailman. Maybe, just maybe, there would be something in her mail box today. She got up and went to the first floor vestibule where the mail boxes were.
Before she had inserted the key, she could see the white envelope in the box. A little puzzled, she took the letter and carefully read the return address. Elton and Honeycutt, Attorneys at Law. The address was Wildwood, and Shelly recognized it immediately as the law firm that had handled her late husband's estate.
Elated, she clutched the letter to her and almost ran back to her apartment. Once inside, she tore at the letter, happily thinking the contents would be pleasant-perhaps a check.
Her joy was short-lived, however. In terse, business-like language, the letter informed her that payments from Wymore Enterprises would cease with the enclosed check. The reason given was that, prior to his death, the elder Wymore had gone bankrupt which would, naturally, bring all cash payments to her to an end.
Shelly read the letter over and over, then crumpled it into a ball and threw it against the wall. She stood in the center of the room in a state of shock. She had had no idea that Wymore Enterprises was in trouble. But then how could she? She had never kept in touch, never once written to Tom's father. She had been lulled into a false sense of security, thinking the payments would go on for the rest of her life. Such a thing as bankruptcy had never entered her mind.
Slowly, the full realization hit her. She walked across the room and picked up the bottle from the table.