Chapter 8
The first laws and commandments concerning marriage and adultery were surely written by women or else women had a strong voice in their making, because prostitution and adultery are not a woman's emotion. Sex is very personal with a woman, a lot more so than with a man. A woman wants to keep house, cook, sew, wash diapers, and watch her children grow up. That's a woman's natural way of expressing her love.
The worst is to realize that you're just a sport for men, and you can't do the things you are supposed to do. Although prostitution is a life of ease, luxury, and gaiety, I have my somber moments and I'd gladly trade it for a tub of dirty diapers.
During the next few days, k was hell living with myself. There was a cold fury inside me that made me bold and shameless. I was all smiles in front of my customers, but my smiles were as phony as my passion. Still I fooled the men and I got a satisfaction out of knowing that. I would wake up in the morning hating myself for what I had said and done the night before.
I was nervous, irritable, and it took very little to set my temper off. One morning I got mad at John for some trivial thing he had done and I threw a cold cream jar at him. He ducked it,-then stared at me with his mouth open in amazement. The only one who was pleased with my change of character was Grace. She endured my outbursts for the additional money that I brought in.
I took my spite out on both her and John. Yet, I didn't really know what I was mad about. I guess I was just mad at the system. The entire rotten set-up.
To me, there is nothing indecent or wicked about being a prostitute and I don't consider myself a bad girl. Prostitution is shameful only because other people consider it so. I don't mind being a prostitute if I know that I can beat the system. Some girls hustle for awhile and then quit. They've beat the system. Others keep on hustling and hustling, and end up on skid row rotten with disease or else they become Madames-which to me, is a thousand times worse than being a prostitute. I had the fear that I wouldn't beat the system; that I'd live out my days in some crummy whorehouse.
In a few days I calmed down and started acting like my old self again, but I still had that vacant feeling inside me. Before my "mad" spell, I had been very discreet about my activities, but during that week, I had the urge to tell people that I was a prostitute.
Once, I went into a department store in Parkville and approached the lingerie counter. The girl who waited on me was about two years older than me.
"May I help you?" she asked.
"Yes, yes, I need something very nice," I said. I looked at her and tossed my head when I smiled, "to wear in a whorehouse."
It was a moment before she fully realized what I had said. I watched the look of scorn spread over her face as I picked out several items and handed them to her. She wrapped them and took my money, but I noticed how she unconsciously wiped her hands after she put the money in the cash register.
I stopped to look at some curtains. The clerk whispered to another girl, then they both looked at me. Their looks of scorn and disgust hurt me, but I wanted to be punished. I no longer cared if people found out what I was. The better known I became, the more customers I would have. I didn't feel ashamed with a customer and the more men I took on, the less time I'd have to sit and stare at the floor.
The spell left me, dying a little each day. I told myself that I could quit before long and John and I would start our family. Perhaps we would buy a little business somewhere. John had seemed mildly interested whenever I had talked about it.
A few days after I calmed down, John suggested that we try another town. I was doing as well as any of the girls on Green street, but the mills were still shut down and the men didn't have the money to spend on us.
"It suits me. I'm getting tired of this town," I told John. "Just find me a joint where there's plenty of action."
I helped John pack his suitcase. He would make a circuit of the cities that had open prostitution to check out the prices on how much the girls were earning. Then he would try to place me in the brothel where I would earn the most. I looked forward to being in another cat-house. I was tired of Grace's, the same men who came to me, and everything about it.
The second morning after John left, I walked to the bus station to ride to Parkville. I stood beside the door, waiting for the bus to start loading.
"Did you find the telephone office?"
I jumped with fright and looked around. It was Tom Sterling, the soldier I had met on my first trip down. He gave me a shy grin and I felt the crimson rise to my face. I wondered if he knew about me.
"No," I answered, with a nervous little laugh.
The bus doors opened and the people rushed around us. I lost him in the crowd, but he had hold of my arm when the bus driver took our tickets. We sat down together. I remembered how guiltily Margie had looked at the men who got on the bus and I tried not to look at the passengers the same way. But I couldn't help myself. So many of them looked familiar that I wondered if I had gone to bed with them. If the men recognized me, they gave no sign. Tom was talking, but I couldn't keep my mind on what he was saying. I heard only snatches of his conversation and I managed to say "yes" and "no" at the right times.
When the bus started moving, I sank back into my seat. At least none of my steady customers were here or anyone who could cause me trouble. Guys have done that to me plenty of times. I've been walking down the street and men have yelled out things at me so the other people on the street would know I was a chippy. Wise guys.
Tom offered me a cigarette and bent close when he lit it. I liked the feel of his body close to mine and I wondered if he was going to kiss me in front of all these people. He might have been tempted, but he didn't try.
"I've often looked for you," he said.
I looked at him, but his face told me nothing. Apparently, he didn't know about me and had never seen me on Green street Maybe he was the kind that didn't visit cat-houses.
"I'm staying with a lady," I said.
"Are you a nurse or housekeeper?" he asked.
"Oh, just a housekeeper," I answered.
This wasn't a game that I enjoyed playing. But it was nice to meet a guy who thought I was decent and who wasn't anxious to shove money at me. I relaxed and we chatted all the way to Parkville.
"How about a date?" he stammered as we gathered up our things. "When?"
"How about tonight? We could go to a show or something."
"I-I'll have to sneak away," I said. "But I think I can arrange it."
"About six?" he suggested. "We'll meet here at the depot."
I said O.K. without even thinking and my heart was fluttering when he left me. I watched his broad shoulders disappear into the crowd and it left me shaky inside. I felt the way I had when a boy asked me for my first date in high school. I took a taxi to Grace's.
The day started out like all the other days, but this one seemed special to me. I kept my eye on the clock and I wondered if Tom would make a pass at me, and what I'd do if lie did. The laundry man came by and we debated about how many towels I would need. Since the shut-down, I hadn't been keeping too many and last night I had to borrow a dozen from Shirley. I ordered six dozen and Shirley took three.
"You're doing O.K., Wanda," the laundry man said. "That's how many Margie took today and she always uses a dozen more than any girl on Green street."
"Yeah, but she works around the clock," I answered. "I could coin as much as she does if I did that"
"She's got a deal though. She's her own Madame and she doesn't have to split with anybody," the laundry man continued. "Boy, how I'd like to team up with a broad like that."
"Hasn't she got a pimp?"
"Naw, and she won't have. A guy tried to take her over and she shot him in the hand-a couple of pimps have tried to move in on her. She's different from other whores-you can tell. That dame has a cash register for a heart," he said. "Say, some of the guys around town have been talking about you."
"Yeah, what kind of guys?" I felt myself stiffen. "What do they say?"
"Oh, nothing bad-you know, just guys," he backed up a step. "You know how men like to talk about you girls. I just heard some guys say that you were a first class chippy and that you really liked to put out."
"Maybe I do," I smiled at him. "Why don't you find out? You can take my towel money out in trade."
"I'll give you a whirl one of these days-I've been aiming to. But my wife is hustling across the street and she'd kill me if she caught me going to bed with another chippy."
He picked up his bag of used towels and left. After him, two members of the vice squad came around to shake hands with us. I watched them make the rounds from house to house. After them, the man came to change the records on the juke box. He played a couple and Shirley and I picked the ones we liked best.
About one, someone knocked on the kitchen door. Sometimes a bashful customer will come to the back door. When I answered it, a short, heavy-set man brushed me aside and walked in. He paused by the kitchen table, his hands jammed into his coat pockets.
"You Grace?" he asked. "Joe sent me to collect."
Puzzled, I called Grace. Shirley came following after her. The man looked us over and shrugged.
"Joe said for me to collect ten bucks apiece from you and your girls," he said.
Grace looked at him for a moment, biting her lip. He just stood there, waiting.
"Oh, hell, give it to him," she said.
I took ten dollars out of my shoe and when he took the money, I noticed the word LOVE tattooed on his left hand.
One letter to each finger. He didn't even say thanks. We watched him go next door and from there, to the next brothel.
"Who's Joe?" I asked.
"In this business, you don't ask questions," Grace snapped.
Shirley and I returned to the parlor. I was more interested in watching the clock than the street. I couldn't keep my mind off my date with Tom. Two men paused in front of the house.
"You Wanda?" they asked from the sidewalk.
"Sure," I answered. "Come on in."
It pleased me to have men make it a point to ask for me. Shirley retreated to the kitchen before they made it through the door. Neither of them asked Grace if she kept any other girls. While I took one of them to my bedroom, the other waited in the parlor. I was curious as to why they had asked for me.
"We heard a couple guys in a bar talking about you," the guy grinned shyly. "They were bragging about how you could put out and said that you were hotter than a little red wagon."
When he told me that, I just wished that John had been in my closet so he could have heard it. I was becoming notorious as a prostitute. I should have been ashamed, but it didn't even occur to me. I had a couple more customers and around four-thirty I started complaining about a splitting headache.
About five, my headache grew a lot worse and I asked Grace to let me go home. It was a bad time to get off because our heaviest hours are from six to midnight. I don't think I was fooling her any, but about five-thirty she told me that I could take the rest of the night off. I changed clothes and forced myself to take my time. If I appeared too anxious, Grace would make me stay. I called a taxi and it was five minutes after six when I hurried into the depot.
Tom was waiting for me. We had dinner in a small cafe and I felt bad letting him spend his money on me. He made so little and I made it so easy. I probably made more money in one night than he did in a week.
After dinner, we sat in the booth and talked. I told him very little about myself, just where I was born, then I changed the subject. I liked his ideas, his thoughts, and the things he believed in.
We went to a movie and he held my hand. That's all he did. But I couldn't keep my mind on the show or even follow it.
The way he squeezed my hand did something to me. It had been a long time since I had enjoyed myself so much.
After the show, we were walking towards the little cafe, when we crossed an alley. He still held my hand. Tom hesitated, his face deadly serious, and he pulled me within the shadows and leaned me against the brick wall. "Come here," he said gruffly.
He was a little rough with me, the way a guy who is bashful generally is. He stood looking at me. I looked up at him, pleased at his shy smile and the gleam in his eye. He kept swallowing the lump in his throat. He bent his head to kiss me, but I ducked out of his embrace. He didn't try to hold me. "Take it easy, you're going too fast," I said. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" he fumbled with his cap. "You're not mad, are you?"
"No, Silly, I'm not mad," I laughed. "We'd better be going." We started on down the street. I left my hand free so he would hold it again. We walked a little ways and it gave me time to think things over. I stopped and looked at him. "You should always finish what you start," I said. He backed me into the dark doorway of a store and slipped his arms around my waist. This time I didn't dodge. I closed my eyes and gripped his jacket with my hands when he kissed me.
"We'd better be going," I said. He bent to kiss me again, but I turned his cheek with my hand, "Once is enough."
He laughed. It was a nice laugh. He wasn't angry or anything, and I knew I had let him go as far as I could. I might let him kiss me good-by, I couldn't make up my mind about that yet, but that would be all. If I hadn't liked him so much, I could easily have let him go all the way with me. But I didn't want Tom to think of me as just a pick-up or a cheap tramp. Before he found out I was a chippy, I wanted him to know that I could be a nice girl.
The next bus was at two a.m. We sat in the little cafe until it closed and then sat in the bus station. We made our next date for Wednesday afternoon; that way I wouldn't have to miss the pay hours at Grace's and I knew she wouldn't let me off very many times.
When he started to get on the bus, Tom turned and kissed me. There were others doing the same thing, so I didn't mind. He waved at me while the bus backed out into the street I just stood there until its lights disappeared. My head was high in a cloud. I had met the most wonderful guy.
It was too late for me to go home and if I went back to Grace's, I'd have to answer questions, so I went to a hotel. I tossed and turned in bed when I dreamed of him kissing me. Once I woke up and had to put the covers back on the bed. I had tossed them onto the floor. The effect that he had on me was frightening and I couldn't understand it I had never felt that way about anyone, not even John.