Chapter 14
When i got back to Mildred's, Bill was waiting out in front for me. I got into his car and we started driving. He would cut up one street and down another to make sure that we weren't being followed.
"Heard from your old man lately?" Bill asked.
"Not since I ditched him. He's probably got another girl on the string by now. He'd have to, or else give up eating."
Bill didn't crack a smile. We were zipping along the highway. Bill squinted into the rear view mirror. The highway behind us was pitch dark. He turned off onto a dirt sideroad.
"You don't think he'll cause us any trouble, do you? The boys have got a lot of money tied in this deal. They've mortgaged their homes and have borrowed all they could just to set you up in business."
"How much do they think it's going to cost?"
"Sixty thousand, at least. The boys who pull the strings aren't too interested in having another whorehouse, so they've upped the price," Bill answered. "There's been a lot of pressure put on city hall to close down Green street."
Sixty thousand bucks. I was to pay half. I was over thirty thousand dollars in debt already. It would take me almost three years to pay off that sixty thousand. It would be three years, maybe more, before Jergens, Thomas, or I would make any money off of the deal.
Bill stopped the car. We were on a lonely sideroad and we could see down the road a mile each way. Bill leaned back in the seat and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He offered me one and I waited until he tapped the end of his own on the steering wheel for him to light it for me.
"They've got a joint located for you-309 Green," Bill said. He handed me a key. It was to a locker. "Take this to the bus station tomorrow morning. You'll find the sixty grand there. I guess you know what to do with it?"
"Yeah, I know."
"The boys said to tell you that sixty grand is a lot of money, and for you or that husband of yours not to get any funny ideas," Bill said. 'They plan to protect their investment In plain words, don't try to skip-you won't make it."
"You make it sound like a spy movie or something," I laughed.
"Babe, it's no laughing matter. I'm just sorry that I'm mixed up in it," Bill said slowly. "If you were smart, you'd get out now. They ain't doing this because they like you, you know that They figure on getting every dime back and they won't care what you have to do to get it for them."
I was silent. Bill slowly beat his hand against the steering wheel.
"You're too young to understand, I guess," Bill continued, "but I've known a lot of nice girls like you. They were nice when they started out, but before they were through, they were as hard as nails. Why don't you get out now while you've got the chance?"
"Bill, I don't like sermons," I said. I didn't like him talking to me this way. It gave me a funny feeling inside.
T just don't want to see you end up in the gutter the way so many girls do."
"Well, you'd better be taking me back," I snapped. "I'm wasting a lot of valuable time."
Bill shot me an angry glance. He wanted to say more, but I wasn't in any mood to listen. He rolled his shoulders and started the motor. It was about eight when we reached Mildred's. I got out of the car without another word.
"There's been a lot of men asking for you," Mildred said when I walked in.
"I'm sorry, but I had business with Bill." I went on upstairs to my room and changed my clothes. I could hear the girl in the next room laughing with a customer and I wished I had something to laugh about. Bill's words had got under my skin.
That night was like so many others that I had spent on Green street. I took a man's money, went to bed with him, and five minutes after he was gone, I had forgotten what he had said and his face. Business was starting to pick up along Green street. Often, when I finished hustling a date, I would find men waiting in the parlor for a girl. The other houses were just as busy and men don't like to be kept waiting. The Madames would soon be adding girls to their staffs.
I could hardly wait until I got my own place started. As the deal was now, by the time I divided with Jergens, the Madame, and paid my graft, I was hustling for my room and board.
At ten, the next morning, my alarm started blasting in my ear. It was a struggle to force myself out of bed. My back ached from hustling so many dates. I dressed and drove to the bus station. I looked around but saw no one that I knew. If anyone was following me, either I didn't know them or they were out of sight. I didn't care, but I was curious. I opened the locker and took out the packet. I knew what to do with the money, Bill had wised me up on that point. As I started to leave, I nearly flopped with surprise. There stood John!
I hardly recognized him; his eyes were blood shot with drink and his lean face was even more pinched. He stood before me, his clothes wrinkled and dirty, and weaving in his tracks.
"Wanda-Wanda, I want to talk to you," his voice was almost a whine.
When I shook my head, he spread his hands out to me.
"Look, Honey, can't-can't we pick up where we left off. I-I need you," he pleaded.
"It's over-all over."
I started to go around him, but he grabbed my arms. When he did that, a man stepped down from the shoe shine stand and started towards us. He stopped between the benches and waited. I drew back the packet and gripped it tight. I didn't want John to get that. The anger rose in his eyes.
"I heard you've become an uptown whore with high powered connections and everything. You think those guys will take care of you the way I did?"
"I'll take care of myself," I snapped. "Now, get out of my way or I'll call a cop."
John dropped his hands in despair. He looked at me and there was something terrible in his expression; his face was that of a dead man's.
T-I can't live without you-I love you so much," he whispered. "I-I didn't know it until you walked out on me. I-I'm no good-I know that-but I'm worse without you. We-we'll do things your way-you won't have to hustle or be a prostitute any more."
He was starting to raise his voice and people were beginning to look at us. Hastily, I started digging into my pocket book. I had to get rid of him before trouble started. I had almost a hundred dollars in my coin purse and I wadded the bills into his hands.
"Here, don't bother me again," I said.
He clutched the money and I darted around him. John didn't try to follow me. He just stood there; staring at the money. I got into my convertible and roared off; nearly hitting a taxi when I pulled out into the street. I made my first stop a corner pay phone and called Thomas.
"Hey, that old man of mine is liable to cause trouble," I said. I was afraid that he might go to Tom and tell him about me. "He's liable to pull the shingles off the roof."
"I heard about the deal in the bus station," Thomas answered casually. "Don't worry, we'll take care of things, and see that he let's you alone."
"I got a hot love affair going with a guy and I don't want John spoiling it," I said. "Can you make sure that he don't?"
T think so," Thomas answered casually.
He seemed so indifferent that it worried me. When I hung up the phone, I was scared. I was scared for myself, scared that Tom would find out, and I was scared for John. I remembered the different warnings that John had put out about joining up with Jergens and Thomas. I knew I couldn't expect any mercy from them, I wasn't expecting any, but hustling for John, I could argue with him. I could say no once in awhile. I wouldn't be able to do that now.
This would be a good chance to quit, but I knew that I wouldn't take it. I didn't want to quit and I felt I could hustle, escape the pitfalls, and come out ahead. My first stop was the police station.
The Chief of Police was in conference and I had to cool my heels in the corridor for over an hour. Thomas walked past me several times, but we didn't even look at each other. It seemed ages before I was ushered into the Chiefs office. Smith was about sixty, with snow white hair, and a ruddy complexion. He leaned back in his chair and hung one arm over the back when I went in.
"Well, Wanda, what can I do for you?" he asked. He motioned for me to take the chair beside his desk.
"I guess you know that I am an inmate of a house of prostitution on Green street?" I said. I didn't know how much he knew, so I played it straight to begin with. He smiled at my formal statement.
"I'm aware of that," his eyes narrowed with expectation.
"Well, I've got a chance to improve my situation and I would like your permission to start another brothel and keep another girl besides myself," I said.
He frowned and tapped his desk with a pencil.
"Aren't you a little young to be thinking about becoming a Madame? I would much rather see you quit the fife you're leading."
"I have no intention of becoming a Madame," I answered. "If I'm going to hustle, I might as well be hustling for myself."
"Wanda, I don't want to see a young girl like you tying herself down to red light property. If you do that, you'll be ruining your chances of ever quitting," Smith said slowly. "If I had my way, I'd close all those houses, but I don't have my way. Now, there's a business club that I am active in and one of our main projects is the rehabilitation of prostitutes from Green street. So far this year, we have helped five women return to a decent life. If you want me to, I'll turn your name in to the club. You'll receive the best medical and psychiatric care, and a job."
I shook my head. Smith paused and leaned back in his chair.
"Why don't you think about it for a couple of days? I'll have a couple of girls who we have helped talk to you," Brows argued, "I'm sure if you talk to them, you'll give our plan a try. You're a very unusual woman, Wanda, and I don't want to see you run the route to skid row."
"I'm no different from the other girls," I answered. "I just take the trouble to add."
Smith chuckled. "I have a complaint from the librarian here in town. Seems you tried to borrow some books from the library. That's a little unusual for a prostitute. If you would spend the energy in some other field that you are in prostitution, you could make a success of yourself. That's why I want to help you."
I shook my head, wadded up an envelope, and threw it into the waste basket. He didn't pay any attention to it and I wondered if he knew there was forty thousand dollars in k. If he did, he didn't seem to care.
"It's no use. I'm in so deep now that I'll never get out," I said. "I'll just promise you that I'll run an orderly place of business and try not to cause any trouble."
Smith shrugged his shoulders.
"I can't stop you from being a prostitute, but I wish you would think over my offer." He hesitated. "No matter how things look on the surface, it's an honest deal."
"I'm sure that it is and someday I may take you up on it," I answered and walked out.
My next stop was the Sheriff's office and I wondered what part he played in it. There were so many fingers in the pie, it was hard to tell who was who. They had cut Green street up into so many pieces that there was no telling. When I entered the Sheriff's office, he was busy writing. He was about thirty-five, and looked like an ex-football player with his big shoulders. He hardly looked up at me. I made my little speech and waited. He kept on writing.
"There's the waste basket," he said.
His pen didn't miss a stroke. I tossed the envelope with twenty grand into it and walked out. I didn't care too much for the way he had treated me. A guy who felt that way could cause trouble.
As I returned to Mildred's, I did some thinking. It was going to cost about seventy thousand dollars in graft just to open another brothel on Green street and Jergens and Thomas didn't have that kind of money, so who was backing them? Maybe the guy was backing them the same way they were backing me. You don't just hang a red light on the front porch and run a want ad for prostitutes. There are too many state and federal laws involved. Someone has to take the risk and run the joint. If something went wrong, I would take the rap. If they traced it to Jergens and Thomas, say a grand jury or something, they couldn't trace it any further. They might take a fall, but the guys who were really behind it wouldn't be touched. If something happened to me, they could easily get another prostitute.
I drove past 309. It was a pretty trashy looking place. A family with three small kids lived there and almost every Saturday night, the cops had to arrest the old man for beating up on his wife. The rent had been jumped from twenty-five dollars to five hundred a month.
The family in 309 moved out late that afternoon and early the next morning, Bill was by after me. We walked down to take a look at the inside. It was pretty shabby on the outside, some of the weather boarding had rotted at the ends and other pieces had been split off. The kids had scribbled with crayons all over the front. The window screens were torn and rusty. The supports beneath the porch were so rotten that I was afraid we would fall through.
Bill unlocked the front door and with a flourish gave me the key. It was a bent skeleton key and a kid could have opened the latch with an ice pick. I had expected it to be dirty, but I didn't think they would leave it half as bad as they did. There were piles of trash in the corners and the woodwork was black with dirt. What wallpaper remained had been written on by the kids and there were gaps in the plaster.
"Good Lord," Bill said. He touched the ceiling with his hand and the whole thing almost came down on our heads.
I went on through the house. Despite its run-down condition, it wasn't too bad and it could be fixed up. The way the house had been built and the rooms arranged, it was well suited for a cat-house. The parlor was in front and on the other side were two bedrooms. The bath was located between them. Through the living room archway was a small dining room and on back was the kitchen. The way the doors were arranged, the men could have as much privacy as they could expect. Any one going down the street, could only see into the parlor. It would cost plenty to fix it up, but the people who owned it had agreed to pay half.
"I want a gas floor furnace here," I said to Bill, motioning towards the arch way. "And I want a gas heater in each bedroom. I want a wash basin in each bed room and separate hot water heaters for each one." 'Two water heaters?"
"Three-one for the kitchen." I saw his funny look and laughed. "Honey, hot water is a must in this business."
Bill sighed and scribbled in his note book.
"Can't we do something with the outside? That porch is a mess," I added. "Some drunk might fall through and break his neck."
"I'll take care of the floors and walls too," he added. "Anything else?"
"New doors and locks-good strong locks."
I returned to Mildred's. She wasn't too happy about a new whorehouse starting up and she complained about it. There was too much competition along the street already and a new brothel would just take business from the other houses. I knew the other Madames felt the same way and they were doing plenty of squawking.
From her window, I could see the workmen come and go. There were so many of them that I wondered how they maaaged to keep out of each others' way. The outside was covered with bright green shingles and a cute little concrete stoop was poured. While Bill was at it, he had the house rewired and new fixtures took the place of the ugly drop cords. I forced myself to stay away even though I was so anxious that I could hardly wait. I hardly paid any attention to the men coming down the street and Mildred had to remind me severel times to motion to them. I was too engrossed in watching the workmen. Bill came by that evening with a progress report.
He went on down to Margie's and told her to leave. She was crying when Bill loaded her suitcases into his car and drove off with her. A girl from Annie's moved in just as soon as Bill was out of sight. Kathy and her husband made an awfully nice couple and they took over. Kathy was about twenty-three, with light brown hair, and I guess the nicest pair of legs on Green street. Margie's had been just a three room house. Kathy set in the front room, with her legs propped up and her dress pulled back, so the men on the sidewalk could see her legs. Through the window, I could see her husband sitting in the kitchen playing solitaire.
Two afternoons later, Bill drove up and motioned for me. I ran out to his car.
This time, there was a little stoop and a new walk leading up to it; nice shiny window screens and a brand new door. Bill slipped the key into the latch and opened it. I held my breath when I went in. There were even new hardwood floors and they had fixed everything the way I had wanted them to. I had the same thrill now that I'd had when I was ten and my mother surprised me with a doll for Christmas. I wanted to take this house into my arms and love it the way I had loved that doll.
"Oh Bill, it's heavenly!" I cried. I threw my arms around his neck and started kissing him without even thinking. He just chuckled and patted me on the fanny.
"Will you come with me?" I pleaded.
Together, we toured every paint shop in town. I was so excited that I didn't know which colors and designs to pick out. There were so many that I couldn't make up my mind.
"Why don't you call an interior decorator and let him do it?" Bill suggested.
"No, I want to do this myself," I answered. I wanted to do something with my hands, to work on something.
"Jeez, you act like you're going to live there the rest of your life," he grumbled.
His words hurt. They stung and the sting went deep. I had forgotten that it was to be just another brothel.
"I'm sorry," Bill mumbled.
"It's O. K. I needed to be reminded."
After that, I didn't have any trouble picking out the paint and paper. I selected a light shade of blue for the bedrooms because I have always thought blue was a romantic color. The living room paper was flowered.
"Will you help me paper it? I know how," I told Bill. "I used to help my mother at home."
"How do I get into these messes?" Bill sighed and shook his head. "You'd better get someone else to do it; you're time is pretty valuable."
I let Bill take care of the details and went on to buy my furniture. When I returned to Mildred's, Bill called and said my place of business would be ready in two days.
When the men were through, I loaded my stuff into my car and moved in. I had brought sheets, pillow cases, even dishes, and I was looking forward to cooking. It was so heavenly, that I didn't want to leave it for a minute. It was mine, but if Bill said the word, I would be out in five minutes and another girl in. I had no real security, but the furniture was mine and for once, I owned more than just the clothes on my back. That was the important thing. The first to visit me was the laundry man. He left eight dozen towels.
"That's 96 towels," I said, "What do you think I am, anyway?"
"Oh, I know what you are," he grinned. "I don't want you to run out. Maybe I ought to leave you another dozen."
He brought in another bundle and I paid him. About ten, Bill showed up and a truck from a sign company pulled up right behind him. I stared at the neon sign that they lifted out of the truck. The letters were over a foot tall and read WANDA LANE.
"I-I don't want that-that thing," I almost screamed at Bill. The men stood there, awkwardly holding it. Bill took a step back.
"What's the matter with it?"
"It-It's a-a Madame sign," I broke into tears. "I-I don't want people to think I'm a Madame."
Bill chuckled and led me into the house. He motioned for the men to hang the sign in the north picture window.
"You're a long ways from that-nobody is going to think you're a Madame," he sat down in an easy chair and held my hand. "The boys just want to make sure the guys find you. When you've got a product to sell, you advertise it."
I tried to dry my eyes. There was nothing I could say or do. The sign was in and I watched the men test it.
"Leave it on," Bill told them and looked at me. "You want to go out and look at it?"
"No," I cut him off short.
Bill stood up and glanced around the room. He twirled his hat in his hand and gave me a pat on the shoulder.
"The boys have decided that you don't need a Madame-not for awhile anyway," he said, "The hustler they're sending you can do that part for you. Her name's Rosie-she's a nice kid. You'll like her."
I didn't answer. I just stared down at the floor. Bill paused in the doorway, making awkward motions with his hands while he waited for me to answer. When he saw that I wasn't going to, he went on out. I didn't like being pushed or feel that I was nothing more than a brand of cigarettes or something or to be advertised.
The door bell rang and there stood a delivery boy with two bunches of roses. He set them on the table and hurried out like he was embarrassed. Both cards read: "Good luck from the boys." I wanted to cry again. It was the first time that anyone had ever sent me flowers. Even Grace sent me a dozen for my 'opening' and the ones from the Chief of Police arrived late that evening.
A taxi pulled up and I gave a groan when Rosie got out. She was about forty and she had a back end that looked a mile wide. She had a nice face, but that was about all, and no guy would go for a dame that old. She planted her suitcases in the living room.
"I'm Rosie," she said with a little laugh, "I guess you're going to keep me?"
"Not me, sister, you should have retired ten years ago," I snapped. "Just as soon as I can get hold of Bill, you're gone."
"Wait, Honey, you don't know about me," she pleaded. "Maybe I ain't so young, but I still can earn plenty of money."
I was on the phone, trying to get Bill, but he didn't answer.
"Here, let me show you something," she said breathlessly. She took off her blouse and slipped down her slip. "See?"
She turned around so I could see her back. It was a lace work of white scars.
"I'm an exhibition gal," Rosie said. "I've got a string of steady customers who pay plenty to work me over."
"What do they use on you-barb wire?" I asked. She took me seriously.
"No one has ever used that, but just about everything else. I'll let them use any kind of a whip they want to. Let me show you."
She opened one of her suitcases. It was filled with chains, straps, pieces of ropes, whips, switches, and paddles of all kinds and description. She took out an aluminum switch and giggled when she twirled it. It made a humming noise in the air that sent chills up and down my spine.
"All I can say is that you earn your bucks the hard way."
"It's easier than straight dates and I enjoy it as much as they do," she answered. "Wait until you've hustled as long as I have; you'll turn to something for your kicks."
I knew there were plenty of men who liked to torture women and I had already met my share of them. I had met the perverts who like to spank women or be spanked by them. I had let them use a strap or paddle on my fanny several times, but I didn't enjoy it. It was an ordeal that I had to grit my teeth to bear. But to let them use a whip or to draw blood-I couldn't imagine any woman being willing to go that far.
"Stick around," I said. I was curious to see if she was telling the truth.
"I'll earn you plenty," she promised. I showed her her bedroom. "Gosh, it's pretty. It's sure nice being in a whorehouse again. You don't know how awful it is not to be. I'd rather be a street light on Green street than the richest dame on Gold Coast."
She hung her clothes in the closet and I watched her put her instruments away with loving care. The man came with the rabbit hutches and pigeon coops and I showed him where to set them up in the back yard. I asked Rosie if she would like to take care of them and she said yes. I didn't want to see them, knowing what would happen to them. I went back to the parlor. My sign was still on. I thought about turning it off, but I didn't. I didn't feel like getting up and turning off the switch.