Chapter 1
I was in the kitchen when John came home at noon. I sensed what he was going to say and what was going through his mind. He set his lunch pail on the table as if he was through with it forever. He stood there, staring at me, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.
"I can't make anything on that lousy job," he said.
I didn't say anything. I stood beside the sink and looked at him. John looked funny in overalls and work shirt, almost like a different person.
"Hell, Honey, there's no sense in my slaving for peanuts when you're sitting on a gold mine," he continued. "How would you like to go back to earning some real money?"
I tried to think of something to say, but it had all been said before. I didn't want to be a prostitute again, yet I knew that it was useless to argue. I had said yes once and I knew I would say it again this time. I didn't feel like going through the arguments and fights again. John lit a cigarette, came over to where I stood and put his arm around my waist.
"Hell, it's just a job," he said softly. He held the cigarette to my lips. "You know I'll always love you, Baby."
He had a way of talking and looking at me that turned my insides to water. He could make me believe that white was black and black was white and saying yes when I should be saying no. I knew that I should have been telling him that prostitution was indecent, immoral, wicked and wrong, and that no decent woman would ever think of stooping so low. But when you love a guy, it makes things different.
"What kind of a joint is it?" I asked. John shrugged his shoulders.
"Just another whorehouse, that's all I can tell you," he broke into a smile and patted my behind. "Do you want me to take ten bucks and investigate?"
"You do and I'll break your neck!" I answered, feeling anger rise inside me.
I knew he was teasing, but I couldn't take that kind of teasing. I think I would have killed him if I ever found him with another woman. John just laughed and hugged me. I could feel the excitement beating in his body.
"The Madame is coming this afternoon to look over the factory," he said casually. "You can ask her all about it."
I shot him a startled look. I didn't want anyone seeing me looking like this, faded jeans, one of John's old white shirts with the tail out, and run-over slippers.
"Why didn't you have her wait until tomorrow?" I complained, "My hair-it's a mess."
"You've got a couple of hours," John set the coffee pot on the stove. "She won't be here until three."
I pretended that I wasn't eager when I walked towards our bedroom, but I was. I had known that sooner or later, John would put me back on the turf. I had been dreading it, but now that he had done it, I was almost glad. I was bored with housework and keeping up our apartment and there had been times when I secretly wished I was back at Blanche's.
"You said something about ten bucks. Is that what the girls are getting?" I stopped at the door and turned to look at John.
"That's what I heard."
"Yeah, but what do I have to do for ten bucks?"
"The same thing you did at Blanche's for five."
I didn't know whether to believe John or not. I took a bath and used his razor to shave under my arms. I needed a permanent and wished John had given me warning so I could have got one before the Madame saw me. Suddenly, I had to laugh. Six months ago, I had been afraid the Madame would accept me, now I was afraid she wouldn't Three months in a brothel had done that to me.
I carefully picked over my lingerie to find a bra and some panties that I thought would be suitable. Then I couldn't decide what else to wear, a dress, a robe, or a pair of pajamas. I asked John and he suggested that I wear just a housecoat. I picked out some beads and earrings that I thought would become me and when I put them on, my hands were shaking with excitement.
I stopped, lit a cigarette and studied my face in the mirror. I wanted to be a prostitute again. I wanted to hear men ask for me and listen to their footsteps coming down the hall to my room. This desired showed in my face and eyes. I had looked upon my three months at Blanche's as being a living hell at the time, but now I wanted to go back to it. I didn't have time to figure it out because John called to tell me that we had company. I blotted my lipstick and went into the living room.
Our guest was seated on the sofa and John was beside her. She was about forty-five, perhaps fifty, a tall thin woman, almost bony, with dyed red hair. On her left arm were a number of bracelets and I counted five diamond rings on her fingers.
"Mrs. Smith, this is my wife, Wanda," John said. "Wanda, this is Grace."
We smiled at each other and I took a chair opposite them. Grace took a cigarette from her mouth and the lipstick was smeared an inch deep on the end.
"John has told me quite a bit about you," she said with a pleasant smile. "You are experienced, aren't you?"
"I spent three months at Blanche's," I said. "I don't know if you know her or not."
"Very well," Grace answered. "Would you please show rne what you have to sell?"
I stood up and took off every stitch I had on. Naked, I walked over to her and stood with my hands on my hips and kept my eyes fixed on the wall. Grace let the cigarette dangle from the corner of her mouth and turned her head to one side so the smoke wouldn't blow into her eyes. She ran her fingers over my body, beneath my breasts and between my legs. She was making certain that I wasn't a hop-head and wasn't concealing the needle marks. She dropped her hands to her lap as a signal that she was through.
"John, you have a very attractive wife," Grace said. "If she handles herself right, she ought to earn you plenty of money."
John nodded his thanks and gave me a pleased look. I remembered the day that Blanche had told him the same thing. Grace snuffed out her cigarette, a thoughtful expression on her face.
"Would you mind leaving us alone for awhile?" Grace asked him. "Wanda and I have some things to talk about."
John frowned with suspicion and shot me a quick glance. He rubbed his hand against the sofa arm and rolled his shoulders.
"I'll walk down to the corner and get a beer."
"Fine," Grace smiled at him.
She waited until she heard the elevator descending, then she looked at me.
"Honey, how old are you?"
"Eighteen," I paused, "next month."
"What do you know about John?"
I shrugged my shoulders. The girls at Blanche's had told me plenty about him, but her question gave me an uneasy feeling and I felt the crimson rise to my face. I wondered how much she knew about him, or me.
"John's a pimp-a professional pimp. You know that, don't you?" Grace asked. "Don't you know he's only making a fool out of you?"
I swallowed hard at the lump in my throat and felt my hands turn sweaty. I became ashamed of my naked body and I slipped my robe on. I wanted to ask her if it was any of her business how we chose to live. If I didn't mind hustling for him why should she? It was like what John had said before he took me to Blanche's. Why should he work when I could earn more in one night than he could in a week?
John liked nice things. He wanted to wear good suits and drive a new car and he didn't want me going around dressed like Apple Mary. Nice things cost dough and putting me in a whorehouse was an easy way of getting it. But I couldn't tell her that.
"You're not the first girl he's put on the turf and you won't be the last. In a few years, you'll be sharing him with sister-in-laws and when you are all played-out, he'll dump you for a new one," Grace continued. "Honey, you're too nice a girl for this kind of life. Why don't you quit now while you can?"
I shook my head and burst into tears. I hid my face in my hands and my body was racked with sobs. It wasn't true. John loved me. He'd never toss me out and I'd never have to share him. I tried to stop crying and I wondered how I could explain this to her. When I rubbed my hands across my eyes and looked at her, tears were running down my cheeks.
"You don't understand about John or me," I sobbed. "It-it's not like you think at all. If you don't keep me, John will just put me in another whorehouse. Maybe, it won't be as nice as yours."
"How do you know it is a nice joint?" she asked. "Did John tell you that?"
I nodded. I couldn't help it, I started crying again. Grace didn't say anything, she just looked at me with a thoughtful expression.
"It's a nice house and you'll like it," she said finally. "Tell John to bring you there about noon tomorrow."
She left without saying another word. I guess she must have known that John would have left me if I had said no. I didn't know she was gone until I heard the elevator. I hurried to the bathroom and washed my face. I hoped John wouldn't be able to tell that I had been crying; I didn't want him asking questions or finding out that Grace had tried to persuade me not to hustle. He might not let me hustle for her if he knew that.
John returned in an hour, the smell of stale beer on his breath. I was in the kitchen, cooking the last of the hamburger.
"Tomorrow night, we'll eat at the Black Angus-a big, thick, juicy steak," John promised. He glanced around the room, "And I'll start looking for another apartment-this crappy joint!"
My crying session with Grace had left me weak and feeling blue, but with John back, I felt better. He was beginning to act and talk like himself again, more like the guy I had fallen in love with and married almost a year ago. If I had it to do over again, I still would have said yes. After I washed the dishes, John counted his change.
"I've got enough for a show," he said.
"Let's go."
Our apartment was just four blocks from the downtown district and we walked. For the first time in a long time, John held my hand. The movie was a light comedy and it snapped me out of the blues. Going home, we walked slowly and window shopped. I saw so many things that I wanted to buy, for myself, for John, and for our apartment.
"Wonder how much I'll earn at Grace's," I asked, casually.
"Couple hundred a night, at least."
"Gosh, that much?" I looked at him with pleased amazement. It didn't sound possible. The highest that I ever made at Blanche's in one night had been a hundred and fifty dollars and for that, I had to hustle seventy men.
"Ten bucks a throw and her girls have 20 to 30 dates a night," John shrugged.
I was used to a lot more dates than that. We walked on home and that night, I slept like a log.