Chapter 12

The next morning, I woke up excited and happy. I could hear John messing around in the kitchen. I sat up, put my arms around my knees and stared dreamily into space while I waited for him to bring me my breakfast. I was so happy that I wasn't even mad at John and in a way, I felt sorry for him. In a lot of ways, he had been pretty swell to me.

He had only been to me twice; that was during the first few weeks of our marriage. Since then, he had tried to have relations with me several times, but it had been no use. Ours was a sexless marriage, but John didn't seem to mind. He got a thrill, perhaps even a bigger thrill than the customer did, by watching me take on men. I had learned that men have a lot of ideas about what constitutes sexual enjoyment for them, and to please John, I let him hide in my room as often as I could.

In his own way, he loved me and John was different from other pimps. Most pimps play a girl strictly for her money and try to have several girls hustling for him, but John had never tried to get me a sister-in-law. One of the reasons he made me quit Blanche's was because she objected to his peeking and before he placed me in Grace's, he had made certain that she would let him watch.

When he brought the tray in and set it on the bed, I felt very close to John. I wanted to tell him about my night with Tom and how wonderful it had been, but I decided I'd better not At least, not for awhile because John could get pretty jealous. In a way, I felt it would be wrong to tell him because last night had been Tom's and my night. It would be wrong to share it with anyone.

John sat down on the bed and lit a cigarette. He stared down at the rug for a long time, then raised his eyes to look at me.

"Babe, I wish you wouldn't go through with it."

My heart gave a flip-flop. I had my mind on Tom and I wondered if John knew about us.

"You'll be getting in too deep," John continued. "I want you to quit one of these days and if you get mixed up with Bill and that bunch, you won't be able to."

John lapsed into silence. I guess he was waiting for my answer, but I didn't have one to give him. He laid his hand flat on the bed and stroked the covers with the palm of his hand.

"I did it because you wanted me to," I shrugged my shoulders. "Why don't you want me to go in with them-think of the money I'll make."

"You're a nice girl and I want to keep you that way."

"Aren't you a little late for that?" I felt a tiny twist of anger. "You should have thought of that a year ago."

"You think I didn't?" John looked at me with despair in his eyes. "I thought a lot about it-How do you think I've felt, watching you get ready every night to go to a whorehouse. I thought about it before we were married too. I thought I could start over again and things would be different with you."

His hand, rubbing across the cover, made a scratching noise. I knew that I should hate him, yet I felt sorry for him. I let my hand rest on his.

"What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know," John shook his head. "I didn't think very much about it until last night I went to Parkville looking for you."

"You didn't find me, did you?" I gave a sigh of relief when he shook his head.

"But I was in a bar and I listened to a couple of men talk about you and the other girls on Green Street. It was pretty hard to take-hearing what they said about you and the names they called you," John kept his eyes to the floor. "I kept thinking-that's my wife they're talking about. I'm supposed to love and take care of her, but instead, look what I've done to her."

"Honey, I haven't complained, have I?" I asked and squeezed his hand. "I'm still the same girl, aren't I?"

"No, you haven't complained," John looked up at me and hesitated a moment. "If I asked you a question, will you give me an honest answer?"

"Yes."

"You've enjoyed being a prostitute, haven't you?"

I shrugged my shoulders. I didn't even know how to answer his question. I just hadn't thought about it, I guess. There had been moments when I could have answered yes and I had had moments when I had thought about killing myself. I suppose that I had enjoyed being a prostitute most of the time, but I couldn't tell him that. I just shrugged my shoulders again.

"I did it because you wanted me to," I answered. "You told me that if I didn't, you'd leave me, remember?"

John didn't answer. He just sat there with an odd twisted look on his face. I looked at him with pity.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked.

"I don't know-I don't know," John ground his cigarette into the ash tray and shook his head. "Do you suppose we could go someplace and start all over?"

"Where would we go?"

"I don't know-a long ways from here."

He looked at me and his look gave me a funny feeling. He was putting me on the spot. If we could start over, I wanted to go with him. Yet, there was Tom. I wanted Tom and I couldn't make up my mind which one I wanted the most. I loved Tom, but still I wanted to be with John. Before I could think out my answer, the phone rang. John sat motionless on the edge of the bed while I slipped on my robe and went into the living room to answer the phone. It was Bill.

"How come you haven't called?" he asked.

"I just woke up."

I started to tell him that I wasn't going through with it and that I wanted time to think things out, but Bill didn't give me a chance.

"Can you meet me in front of the Parkville Motel around one?" Bill asked.

He kept on talking and his voice sounded desperate as he pleaded with me. I turned around and saw John standing in the doorway.

"It's Bill. He says he has to talk to me. They've got a nice deal -lined up for me."

"Where at? Under the high school bleachers?"

I watched John's face turn into a sneer and his words cut me like a whip. He had been spying on Tom and me. That's why he had wanted to get me out of town-to break us up. Sure, we'd start over-start over in another whorehouse. I glared across the room at John.

"Bill, I'll be right down," I hung up.

Angrily, I glared at John when I passed him. I went into oar bedroom and started dressing. It hurt me to know that he had watched Tom and me. I hadn't minded it when he had watched me and my customers. But there had been something wonderful, something almost sacred about Tom's love making and John had desecrated it with his lust. He stood there, watching me.

"You're not quitting then?" he asked.

"Not your way, I'm not," I snapped. "You've said your pretty speech, now get out."

"I've known about you and that soldier for a long time," John said in an odd tone. "I just don't want to lose you."

"Get out!" I screamed and threw a cold cream jar at his head.

It missed him and I started crying. John stood there, watching me, but he didn't come near me. If he had, I would have scratched his eyes out.

"What are you going to do when he finds out you're nothing but a whore?"

There was no anger, no smirk in his voice. He said it so casually and so matter-of-fact that it made me even more angry.

"Nothing. He won't care."

"You'll find out different."

John slammed the door when he went out. I buried my face against my arm. I cried until there were no tears left inside me-just a dull, numb ache that wouldn't leave. I dried my eyes and finished dressing.

I burned up the highway to Parkview. I was so mad that I didn't care what Bill had set-up for me. As he had told me over the phone, I left my car a half block from the Motel and walked the rest of the way. My 'Bosses' were waiting in cabin 5. Bill opened the door a tiny crack and peeked out when I knocked.

"Hi, Wanda, come on in," he gave a nervous little laugh and licked his lips.

They had been putting the screws to him. Bill's collar was wet with sweat, his face red, and his hands were shaking. I wondered how such a guy ever got into the vice racket; he was too nice a guy to be pushing chippies around. He would have been a lot happier running a neighborhood grocery. He would have liked that, I thought, and he'd be the kind who would give candy to the kids because he liked them.

I went inside and Bill shut the door. He stood there, licking his lips, and trying to find something for his hands to do. Two men sitting at the table looked me over very closely. I pretended not to know them, but I did. I had seen their pictures in the Parkville paper several times. One was from the Mayor's office and the other was a detective on the vice squad. The one from the Mayor's office didn't mean that the Mayor was in on the take. The take had been going on long before the present Mayor had been elected and would go on after he was out of office.

"Sit down, Wanda," the man from the Mayor's office said.

His name was Jergens and the other man was Thomas. Jergens gave me a friendly smile and offered me a cigarette, but it was Thomas who held my interest. He was about forty, broad shouldered, with black wavy hair. I like the way he looked me over, straight faced, not a patronizing smile like Jergens. He'd be easy to talk business with, a lot easier than Jergens, because he'd regard it as strictly business. I felt he'd keep his word and wouldn't ditch me if there was trouble. Thomas finished looking me over and I wondered if he was pleased.

"Beat it," Thomas said to Bill.

Bill started to argue. He cleared his throat, but Thomas glared at him. Bill acted like a whipped pup. He went on out.

"What has Bill told you?" Jergens asked. I got that nervous little smile of his again.

"Nothing much-except that I'm to start hustling for you guys-"

"Do you think you'll like that?"

"I don't know-I'm just a chippy, so it doesn't matter who I hustle for, I guess." I paused and shrugged my shoulders, "What's in it for me?"

"You ought to do as good as Margie has. Who knows, maybe better?"

"What do you want out of the deal?" Thomas asked.

"O.K., I'll lay it on the line. I'll hustle for you guys as long as you want me to. I won't kick or pull the shingles off of the roof when the men get tired of me and you bring in a new girl," I said. "But when I leave Green street, I want to leave with more than just the clothes on my back."

"What would you suggest?" Thomas asked.

"A better deal than you gave Margie," I answered. "Only instead of just me, I keep another girl and get a percentage of what she earns."

Jergens gave me a shocked look, but I think Thomas understood. I had two things to sell, an attractive body and my youth. I wouldn't have either very long and I have just a few years that I can be a prostitute. I knew how much I would probably earn on Green street and I figured that half what I took in should be mine-all clear.

I didn't want to barter or dicker over my body. I didn't want to think of my love as just a commodity to be sold, but for the moment I had to. Yet, I couldn't ask too much or they would say no. There are too many women who are willing to be prostitutes.

"Wanda, how old are you?" Thomas asked.

"Eighteen. But I've hustled for almost a year, so I know the ropes."

"Have you any money of your own to put into a house?" Jergens asked. He tapped a pencil on the table.

"No, you'll have to set me up and let me pay you back out of my share," I answered.

"We'll think it over," Jergens promised. He sounded a little doubtful.

"If we let you have a cat-house of your own, what kind of a joint will it be?" Thomas asked.

"Just another cat-house. I'll run it quiet and orderly," I promised.

"There's only one catch. A couple of preachers have been yelling about the red lights," Jergens said; he stretched his arms across the table and folded his hands. "The word from upstairs is to keep things quiet for awhile and I don't know if we can get by with opening another house. But we'll let you know."

I was dismissed just like that. I didn't get a chance to explain some things that I wanted to. I went outside into the bright sunlight and stood there a moment. Bill was sitting on the little stone wall that bordered the drive.

"What'd they say?" he asked, anxiously wiping his face with his handkerchief.

"Just that they'd let me know."

Bill tried to light a cigarette, but his hands were so sweaty that he had it soaking wet before he could light it. He threw it away with a disgusted motion.

"Is that all they asked you?"

"Just my age," I shrugged my shoulders, "I told them I was eighteen."

"You're going to get me killed yet," Bill said disgustedly. "I told them you were twenty-two."

"They'll probably believe you before they will me," I laughed.

We chatted for a few minutes and then I started home. Just as I entered our apartment, the phone started ringing. It was Bill.

"The boys say you could go to work for Mildred for a couple of days," Bill told me.

"What else did they say?" I asked. "That's it." Bill hung up.

I packed all my things, even the pictures on the wall, and loaded them in my convertible. I was leaving John for good.