Chapter 7
"Sex Below The Border"
"My mother and dad used to take me to Tijuana. They thought I was too young or too dumb to see what a wide-open shitpot that town was. If they had only known how many times, while they parked me in a goddamned restaurant or told me to wander around among the shops, that guys -and women, too -had made me propositions and outright nasty offers - they would have shit their pants!
"I didn't worry about money. I knew I could always get some from my dad, or the Masons, or Jerome, Tom - a dozen. Even Burke, if I wanted to spread my cunt open and flip my titties in front of his camera! But there was a hell of a lot of money floating around on the border, too. I remembered when I was only 11, and this flaky character of a cab driver had offered me a hundred pesos to get into the back of his cab for a few minutes! Know how much a hundred pesos is? About 12 bucks!
"And, in spite of those queers and their big, metal prick, I still had it. I was only 15 - almost 16 - but I knew more than most women at 40, with ten kids! And I was in a mood to collect. The world - especially those rotten, fuck-crazy men, owed me a lot, and I was going to collect.
"I wasn't dumb enough to go right into Tijuana. My daddy had taught better than that. If they were going to booze it up and not drive back to the L.A. area that night - and we often went to the bullfights on Saturday and stayed over until Sunday - he got a motel in San Ysidro, or someplace close by, so that's what I did.
"Nobody asked any questions, although a lot of guys gave me the eye. I checked in, paid cash, then about an hour later, I ordered two fifths of scotch, and the dumb Mexican that brought them wouldn't have had brains enough to ask about my age. But I was wearing pretty heavy makeup, and I think I looked easily 21, because the time in the hospital had put a few shadows under my eyes, and I was thinner and older-looking.
"Anyhow, I had a few belts - and believe me - they tasted good, then I walked across the border and picked me a cab driver. There are usually a half a hundred of them there, in their beat-up cabs, and they are all crooks and pimps, or runners for the filthy strip clubs in town. I picked a young guy who looked like he needed a good connection. He looked hungry and sexy, but green, so I climbed into his cab.
"I told him right off, to let him know that I was 'Savvy,' that I wasn't paying three bucks to go into T town, but the regular fare of 50 cents. He turned and stared at me, grinned, and shrugged. 'Where do you wish to go, Senorita?' he asked.
"I played his game. I said, 'Quien sabe?' That means: 'Who knows?' in Spanish. That's where the name came from. The Americans - the cowboys, I guess - gave the word 'sabe' a lot more of the 'v' sound than the Mexicans, and it came out 'savvy.' It means 'smart,' that I know. He turned and looked at me, and I said, 'You name a good spot.' "But he was scared. Maybe he'd been burned, but he thought I was some sort of a plant, so he took me to the biggest hotel in town and dropped me. He didn't make any pitch and he charged me 50 cents.
"He had picked a good spot, actually, because almost all the bar customers at the joint are Americans. I knew I could make out. In Mexico - or at least, in Tijuana, nobody ever asks for an I.D. or about how old you are. The younger, the better. I remember once, when I was with my father there, while my mother was using the john, a kid about ten came up and asked my father, 'A ten-year-old virgin, Senor? Older? Boy or girl. Cheap. Five dollars?' "I sat up at the bar. I knew that I would get a lot of attention. I was wearing a mini outfit, and I let plenty of leg and crotch show. I ordered a scotch and soda, and I didn't even have to lay out the dough for it. A guy down at the end of the bar - an old bastard - hollered to the bartender to take it out of the dough he had in front of him The bartender looked at me, shrugged, and rang it up. I knew the old bastard would be making a move to sit beside me, and he didn't waste any time. He moved to the next stool and said, 'You're an American.' "I gave him a half-smile and nodded, and from there on, he was hooked. He gave me the old line 'What's a young, pretty thing like you doing here by yourself?' so, I decided to find out if he was what I wanted or not. I asked him what he'd go for to spend the night with me. I shook him up, because he almost spilled his drink while he thought it over; then he offered 50. I thought I'd really shake him up, so I said: 'Are we talking pesos or dollars?' "He took another sip, and his hand shook, so I knew he wasn't the one, and I laid it on. I said, 'Either way, Pop, you're way too low.' "He didn't notice, but I did: the bartender was bending a big ear my way. I had already tabbed him as a good bet, so I clinked glasses with the old bastard and said, 'Thanks for the drink, Grandpa. Now - get lost, before I call the cops!' He got the hell down the bar, but fast.
"As I knew he would, the bartender eased over, so he could still shine his glasses and talk to me. 'Senorita, if-' he began. I let him know the score right then.
"'No "if," Mac,' I said, 'I sleep-for money. Now, you just steer me to the big ones.' "He got so goddamned excited he almost dropped the glass he was polishing. He looked down the bar, like a scared kid, and without a word, he walked down and talked to a greasy-looking Mexican. But the guy was well-dressed. He looked like money. Right away, he got up and walked to a booth and sat down. The bartender came up and stuttered all over the place: 'The gentleman would like to buy the senorita a drink -' he tossed his head toward the guy in the booth - as if I hadn't been watching!
"The guy was with it. He didn't fuck around. He came right out and said, 'My name is Raoul Morales. I can offer you 200 dollars - but, not for me. So?' "So I said, 'Fine!' I told him quickly, that it had to be at my place, across the border - no other way. To tell you the truth, I was acting brave, but I was scared shitless. His face lit up like a Christmas tree when I said that and he waved for the waiter to bring us another drink.
"He just sat and studied me, and then he reached in his pocket and took out 200 dollars - all in 20's - and gave it to me. 'The place, senorita?' he asked. I gave him the name of the motel and the room number, and for a name, I told him that the customer should ask for 'Savvy.' That brought a big grin to his face, and for the first time, I looked at him as a man. He was good-looking, in a Mexican way - nice brown eyes, black hair, white teeth.
"He looked deep into my eyes, then took a little package out of his pocket and held it out. 'Por favor, Senorita,' he said, 'for another 200, would you take this to your room - just for tonight?' "I guess I knew what it was. I wasn't that dumb. I was still a sexy-looking chick, and this guy looked like he had all the hot blood he needed, but instead of going for me, he tries to use me as a messenger. It had to be dope. And it had to be the big 'H' - horse - heroin.
"'Who picks it up - ma nana?' I asked him, and he smiled even bigger and said, 'Me, querida. Who else?' "And that was how it started. I picked up 400 my first night there, and I didn't even have to sleep with a guy. I was a little pissed off at that, to be truthful, because my pussy was feeling fine, now, and I really went for this character, Raoul.
"He had everything figured. It was a small package, and before I left, he gave me some sticky tape. I went into the ladies' toilet and taped the junk up high, between my legs. I positioned it so I could walk all right, but so that no bulge showed. Raoul called a cab - I figured it must be somebody he could trust, and we went back to the border. I got out and joined the lines of people who were walking across. A lot of Americans leave their cars on the American side, because if you have an accident in Tijuana - and they really aim for you - you've had it! Guys have been thrown in jail and held for as much as 500 bucks, just for a fender tick!
"When I got back to the motel, the bar was still open, so I went down and ordered a scotch. The young guy that was tending bar was dying to make a pitch. I could tell by the way he kept walking down and checking my drink, but what he was really doing was taking a good look at my titties. They were showing pretty good through the lemon-colored sweater I was wearing, and without a bra.
"Then he got me mad - and I mean mad! The sonofabitch spotted a friend of his that came in. The guy had long hair and a moustache - and that was enough to burn my ass - and he stands by the men's room door and motions with his head. That goddamned queer bartender got out from behind that bar so fast, and they had their little get-together in the men's room - at least five minutes!
"When he came back, and the other guy sneaked out, I just wanted to get my hands on his prick - if he had one. I wanted to just run into some queer like him, to show him what I thought of cocksuckers!
"And the bastard had the guts to try to set me up! He came down and said, 'You with it, baby?' I just stared at him and asked him what he meant by 'with it.' "He came back with a weak: 'You know, baby. Are you looking for some action?' I felt mean. Real mean. I could have taken one of those goddamned glasses and busted it in his puss! I just reached into my purse and took out two 50's and put them on the bar, and said: 'Match that, you fucking queer, and I might let you smell my pussy!' "I guess I was a little upset because Raoul hadn't liked me enough to spend the night with me. I was getting hot, but not for any goddamned queer. I wanted someone to really make love to me. The booze was getting to me, too, and I suddenly realized that I was getting in a mean mood, and that I'd better back off. I was in the big time, now, with that package up in my room. And then, all of a sudden, I wanted that cocksucker up in my room! I wanted to get even. I didn't care who it was, so long as it was a goddamned cocksucker, like Steve was!
"I turned it all on. I apologized all over the place. I told him I was loaded, and was down there for a divorce from a guy that beat me - that ran after anything he could hold down.
"But he weaseled out. He said that he wasn't talking for himself, but that he knew a lot of guys that would really go for me, at whatever the asking price was.
"I told him to bring one out, and he began to stall. Then he began to back off. I noticed that it was close to closing time, and his friend had come in and sneaked down to a stool at the end of the bar. The bastard was actually embarrassed to be seen talking to a woman!
"I picked up what was left of my drink and threw it in his face. Ill never forget the looks on the faces of the drunks in the bar, and especially the look on his face, and on his queer buddy's!
"I walked up to my room, and I could have jumped into his arms, because there, waiting outside my room, was Raoul! He began to apologize for surprising me, and saying that something had come up that he just had to pick up the package tonight, but I didn't care. At least he wasn't a man-eating cocksucker. I could tell that by the way he looked at me. We went into my room, and I poured a drink for myself and offered him one, but he said he had to be going.
"I didn't want him to go, and I moved close and put my arm around his neck. He was nervous, and I could understand that, with the 'stuff' I was stashing for him, I decided to go all out. I said, 'No bedtime story - no stuff.' "I thought he would hit me for a minute, but instead, he took me in his arms and began to kiss me. I could feel his prick getting hard against me, and it turned me on - real good. I wanted him, but I didn't want any quickies, after what I'd been through. And those queers at the bar hadn't helped any.
"He began to warm up, and I unzipped his pants. He was running his hands up inside my skirt and rubbing the cheeks of my ass, and I never needed a fuck so bad in my life!
"When I got my hand around his prick, he was gone. He slipped off his pants and pushed me back on the bed, spilling my drink all over, and he just pushed up my skirt and rammed it home!
"It hurt like a sonofabitch, for the first few thrusts. I wasn't as healed as I had thought, but after a while, when he began to kiss me and really ram it deep, it was all right. But long before he came, I knew that something was wrong. I wasn't getting half the feeling, the kicks and the thrills, that I used to get. I was half-tom between cursing that no good sonofabitching queer, Steve, and still trying to work up something with my Mexican hotshot! But he came, slobbering all over me with his kisses, and he left me high and dry - panting, wanting, needing!
"When he got up and wiped his cock off with his handkerchief, I was too numb to do anything but motion toward the extra purse where the junk was. He fumbled around, got it, then gave me a quick kiss and left. I was at the bottom of the barrel. I didn't want to shove my finger up my cunt, because I couldn't think of a goddamned mar that I wanted to pretend was fucking me!
"I guess, right then, I'd have settled for that goddamned stupid dog that I had, a long time ago, with his rough tongue. But, there was nobody. The bar was closed. No place to go. No way out. A washed-up, fucked-out whore - and hardly 16!
"I walked into the bathroom and looked at myself in the dirty mirror. That's how I looked: dirty. I opened the cabinet, even though I knew I hadn't put anything in there. I slammed the door shut, thinking that I couldn't even turn on a goddamned Mexican dope-peddler, and wondering how the hell I could get out of this goddamned rat race!
"I wished to Christ I had a couple of those needles that those queers had shoved into me. I'd show them what they were really good for, by Christ!
"But all I had was those two bottles of booze, and I knew that they wouldn't even knock me out -not the mood I was in! But I forgot one thing: the doctor at the hospital had given me some pain pills! I still had at least six or seven left, although God knows, I had had to take them from time to time. But I had never had pains like I was having now. I mean gut pains - heart pains - soul pains - if I still had a soul!
"I emptied my purse on the bed, and the little green plastic bottle was a sight for sore eyes! There were eight of those little goodies - I know, because I counted them. I took a glass and filled it to the brim with scotch - no ice - no soda, just scotch. I walked into the bathroom and looked into the mirror again. I still looked dirty. Dirtier than before. I thought about a lot of people: Arnie, the dum-dum, Tom, Ken, the big shot athlete, Mr. Waxie, and Tom, and Jerome - and Steve. Funny, but I was so goddamned disgusted with myself, giving up without ever getting even with that cocksucker!
"I gulped the pills, all at the same time, and belted them down with a good swig of scotch. I finished off the scotch, and then I thought that everyone who commits suicide ought to leave some sort of a note. So, I walked out into that goddamned room and opened the drawer. There was a couple of envelopes and some paper, and even a ballpoint pen, so I sat down at the dinky desk and started to write. I guess I started about three ways. I began with: TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN. But, I wondered who the hell that included, and I decided it would be the fuzz, so I tore it up and began a new sheet.
"I started this one: 'Dear Daddy: I don't know what to say, or how to start or how to end - so fuck it!' "I tore that one up, too. I started one to Jerome, to Dale Mason, to Moira -and I tore them all up. I decided at the end, that I didn't really have anything to say to anyone.
"I closed my eyes, sitting there at the table. I remember thinking: 'Fuck 'em all. Fuck 'em! Fuck the shit out of all of them.' And then I put my head down and just took all the big, blackness into me. I gulped it. I sucked it in. I wanted it, and at least, I knew I had it!
"I don't remember them breaking down the door, or them taking me away to a hospital to have my stomach pumped out. I heard it all later, but what happened was, they had been trailing Raoul closely. Seems like he was pegged for a dope peddler and a big wheel contact for the border trade. He used anybody: unsuspecting tourists, soldiers, sailors, young chicks out for a good time -even a few hip characters who really worked for him, and came down, acting like tourists, and toting the stuff across the border. He was a big wheel, really - the border contact man - a lot bigger than I'd figured him to be.
"It was the federal men who broke into the motel room. I still don't know if I'm glad or not -but they did. They had spotted Raoul coming to my place, and by the time that they got the information and raided the joint, he had been long gone.
"I wound up in a hassle - the Mexican authorities pretended that they wanted me, and the American fuzz wanted me for sure. It ended up with me being taken to a jail in San Diego, and they booked me for violation of the Federal Narcotics Act!
"I spent three days in jail, or the hospital ward of the jail, while they pumped me out. And, for the second or third time - if you count the time I spent at Anna's joint, I had a lot of time to think it over.
"Know what? I decided that I was in over my head! I decided that I would act the innocent little virgin, and go back home and try it all over again! The more I thought about it, the better it seemed - me, with all the experiences I had had, back in my little town - just back in my little school - as the bigshot! The one who knew all the answers, but wouldn't tell them - unless I got paid!
"And, good old faithful showed up: my father!
"He was the most stupid or naive of all of them The cops knew what I'd been up to, but he didn't. I got to thinking that, maybe he was just like me! He thought he was so goddamned smart, and actually, he was nothing but a silly-assed baby.
"He raised hell with the police, and got a lawyer, when they told him what I was suspected of. He rayed at me to tell them the truth, when - if I had, I'd have had my ass in a sling for sure. I just played it cool. I decided that if I told them I'd been gotten drunk by some guy, then delivered to the border in a taxi, and didn't know anything about what he might have put into my purse, I could make it stick. I could also explain away the overdose of pills, by saying that I was so drunk, and the pains had come back in my vagina, that I didn't know what I was doing. I was glad, then, that I hadn't written the suicide note.
"And I made it stick. The police talked and threatened, but they didn't have any real proof, and in a way, my story made sense. My father and the lawyer kept pointing out that the worst crime I had committed was running away, and he even explained that by saying that I didn't want to live with my mother, nor with him, so it was understandable.
"The cops didn't buy it, but they had to release me. We went back to Los Angeles, where my father's apartment was. I didn't want to go back to school, but the school authorities were checking on me all over the place, so it was either that or skip town again. Right then, I was a little shook from the Mexico thing, and I didn't know where I'd run to, so I just went back to school.
"I stayed at my mother's. She had gone to work after they separated, so I didn't have to put up with her old shit. I told her right out, that if she bugged me about anything -and I meant anything - I'd just rim away. My father was giving her 25 bucks a week for my keep, and he was slipping me 15 or 20 for myself, too. It wasn't a healthy way to live, but at least everybody knew where everyone else stood.
"Moira started be friendly right away, wanting to know all about my experiences, but I didn't tell her. I wasn't too proud of any of them since I'd seen her last.
"I just cooled it for a couple of weeks. For one thing, I suspected that the cops were watching me to see if I really was peddling dope around school. I was goddamned sure of it after two girls came up to me and asked me to get them some pot, or the 'big H,' if I could. I told them to go fuck themselves and leave me alone, or I'd report them as users. They must have been finking for somebody.
"Then I began to get itchy for some action in bed. I called Burke and reminded him who I was, and asked him if he would still like me to pose for more pictures. He hung up on me. It surprised me, until I remembered that Steve worked for him, and I put two and two together. That goddamned photographer was a queer, too! No wonder he was so businesslike, and even looked disgusted at the way we posed with our snatches wide open! What some cocksuckers won't do for money!
"I got desperate one night and had Moira come over and sleep with me. I needed some sex, even if it had to be with her. She always was a hot little bitch, as much for women as for men, and she did me pretty good. I wouldn't let her use anything but her tongue and fingers, though, because I was still a little sore, way up inside my pussy. Every time I thought about that bastard - that queer cocksucker, Steve - I wanted to go down to his joint and kill him. The dirty sonofabitch!
"I was surprised one night to get a phone call from Waxie. The same old Waxie that had started me off! He asked me if I was still pissed off at him, and looking back at some of the other creeps, I decided that he wasn't so bad, so I told him no - not too much. He told me he wasn't teaching any longer, but was working for a talent agency, and he wanted to know if I could do any of the latest dances - the Frug, the Swim, the Monkey - all the go-go steps. I knew most of them. Moira and I had practiced them so that we could go pretty good. When I asked him why, I thought he was going to ask me to go dancing with him, but instead, he asked if I'd like a job.
"I didn't think I was that good, but he told me that I would be working high up above the heads of the audience, and I would be pretty free to do whatever movements I felt like, just so I wiggled enough and wore a brief costume. He said, 'Remembering that sweet body and pretty puss of yours, Savvy, I know you'll be what they want. You'll have to he about your age, but - who the hell doesn't?' "I wasn't too interested until he told me the job was out of town. It was in a beach city, down the coast, and it was near two big military bases, and he told me that if I still wanted to, I could probably pick up a lot of 'side money' for being a bed buddy.
"I told him to get the job, and if it was all set, I'd go. I warned him that I didn't want anyone to know where I was or who I was, and that I would work under the name 'Savvy' - and - that I had to be paid in cash. I didn't have any social security card, so it had to be that way. He told me I'd better get one anyhow, even if it was under a phony name, so before I went to work, a week later, I had one. It was under the name of Shelly Storms. Waxier also got me a phony birth certificate somewhere, that said I was 19 in a couple of months. When I got that skimpy bikini outfit on, and some heavy makeup and false eyelashes, under that blue spotlight, I looked way over 19.
"I went over pretty good, right from the first night, but I didn't have any chance to meet any soldiers or sailors or marines, stuck up there out of reach. Oh, they whistled and tried to talk to me, but the goddamned music was always so loud I couldn't hear, and there were a couple of bouncers there to keep order in the joint.
"I spotted the fact right away that there were about five 'B-girls' working the joint. They were there every night, hanging around the bar, dancing with the servicemen and hustling drinks, and I decided that that was where I belonged, not up in the sky, away from the action. So I told the boss what I wanted.
"He was an oily bastard, fat, bald, with a handlebar moustache that made him look like an old-time gambler. His name was Amato - or that's what he was using, anyhow. He just looked me up and down, then asked: 'You know what the name of the game is, Savvy?' I asked him what he thought they called me Savvy for, and he grinned and said he'd work something out. He gave me a tryout that night - after the joint had closed.
"He took me to a motel, and he surprised the hell out of me - he was easy to take. He didn't act grabby or overbearing. Instead, he told me he'd give 50 bucks, and if I played along with him, I could work the bar. He also told me that he owned a little motel a couple of miles away, where the girls could take any 'dates' they made, and he didn't even get a cut. His profit came from the 20 bucks he charged for the room, and sometimes he collected three times a night! He also had the girls tell their dates they'd like some booze, and Amato would sell them a fifth, at triple the regular price. He had a nice little thing going, and his spot was the favorite place of the military guys. Why not? Music, dancing, booze and then, if they had the money - fucking.
"Amato was nice to me. He sucked my titties first, ran his fingers around the lips of my cunt, then went down on me and worked me up real hot before he fucked me. It felt good to have a man again, and I showed him my appreciation by sucking his prick until it got good and hard again, then he fucked me dog fashion. I wanted to test out the membranes and the sore places that were deep inside me, and I told him to take it easy. He did, but he jammed it home hard and fast, towards the come, and it was okay.
"We stayed all night, and had a good time. He wasn't a bad guy at all, even if he was fat and bald and pretty homely. He knew how to treat a girl -even if he was setting her up to be a whore. I was going to like working for him, I was sure. He had some booze in the car, and we had a hell of a swinging time. He even told me that I should get 50 bucks a throw, and he knew a few of the 'brass' from the bases nearby who, though they didn't come to the joint to dance, often called Amato and had him line them up with a girl. He told me that for me, he would guarantee 100 a night!
"So, I became a whore. It wasn't a bad set-up. I would drink and dance with a guy, get to talking, and inside 15 minutes, I would know if they were just lonely 'mama's boys,' who wouldn't know a good fuck unless it was the palm of their hand, or whether they were the real thing. I never conned any of them. If they wanted to fuck, I told them I was a pro, and that it would cost them. In fact, sometimes, if I liked a guy, I'd cut the price down.
"Inside a month, I had a bunch of regulars that I could count on once a week, and I told Amato that I wanted to just concentrate on them - live at the motel, and take on whoever he sent over. He was happy with the idea. I'd been humping him a couple of times a week, and we got along real good. He was always good with the buck, and he thought it was a terrific idea.
"The one thing he insisted on, though, was that he had to collect the dough in advance, from his end, on the ones he sent over, and he got 25 per cent. That still wasn't too bad, so I agreed.
"We worked it that way for about six weeks. Funny, but I celebrated my 16th birthday in bed with a marine captain, with a fifth of Cutty Sark, and made 75 bucks, and Amato gave me 100 as a birthday present. But I told him it was my 19th and not my 16th.
"Then I got an idea. I had about 700 bucks, and I told Amato I wanted a couple of days off, and I went to see Moira. I told her about the easy pickings, and we got together with two other girls who were interested, and who we both knew were peddling their asses for nothing almost every night. I got hold of Waxier, and he agreed to rent me a small house on some out-of-the-way street, so nobody would be suspicious. I was going into business for myself! With all the hot pants guys around, and all the free fucking I'd been doing, I decided that I was going to cash in, while I still had something to sell.
"We agreed that, for a while, the other kids would stay in school and just work nights. Even then, they were only supposed to work three nights a week each. But I would be on call all the time, and live right in the house. I bought 300 dollars worth of used furniture, through Waxie, and moved in. I was in a good location, because it was a quiet neighborhood, where the cops wouldn't be looking for a whorehouse, yet it was easy to get to from Hollywood, Santa Monica, or L.A.
"Waxie was a little afraid of me being alone, and he spent the first couple of weeks there With me nights - especially after the girls had left.
"I admit, I was belting down at least two fifths of scotch a day - sometimes a little more. Not that I needed it, but I was alone so much - with nobody. I couldn't call my father, and I didn't even know where my mother was - and I couldn't have cared less. But, I was alone.
"I began to live for the nights, when there was some action. Waxie sent a hell of a lot of good customers, and Moira and the other girls were spreading the word, too. We charged what we thought they could pay. I went as low as ten and as high as 100. Moira and the others tried to be sentimental about it, and I think they set up a few jerks from school for as low as five. I didn't really care, because the nights they worked, they paid me a flat fee of 20 bucks. I wasn't counting on what they brought in one-tenth as much as what I took in personally.
"Then, one night - wouldn't you know? Who should walk in - Waxie had set it up - but my old man! And, of all nights, he walked in when Moira was working! I spotted him coming in, and I managed to duck, but I knew that blabbermouth would blow the whole deal, so I just walked out while he was sizing up Moira and Gloria. Gloria was 16, a good-looking chick, with a body like Sophia Loren's, but she was as dumb as they come.
"But, my old man stood there, with his mouth open, just staring at Moira. He knew her, all right, and he just couldn't figure it out - his daughter's best friend, working as a whore!
"I hadn't been feeling well, and I didn't know if I was really ready to face him, but I thought it would be better for me to spring the news than big-mouth Moira to blow it, so I just walked on into, the room.
"At first, he didn't notice me. Or, maybe he did, and he just didn't recognize me off the bat. I did look a lot older, because I was trying to, and also because I just plain did, but he blinked a couple of times and then did a double-take, and just stood there - limp.
"In a way, I felt sorry for the poor bastard. The last couple of times I had seen him, I'd put him through the meat-grinder, I guess. At Anna's, at the hospital, then at his own joint - I just felt sorry for the poor bastard. He looked gray. Maybe he had begun to look that way a long time ago, and I just hadn't noticed, but his hair was getting real white around the temples, and he was thin - skinny-faced, sunken-eyed - he really looked like he'd had it.
"He walked over, and there were tears in his eyes. He put his arms around me and actually cried on my shoulder - imagine that. He just cried, and he said in my ear, 'Oh, God, Savvy - please, please -!
"I didn't know what he wanted. I guessed he was ashamed and wanted me to leave with him. That's what I hoped he wanted. But I felt his hand slip down and grab my titty, and when he said, 'Oh, God, Savvy, baby - take me to bed,' I knew what he wanted. And, in a way, I was glad."