Chapter 7
It had been a pretty hectic couple of days for both Marge and Francie. It had begun on the afternoon of the day before yesterday when Francie had made the telephone call to Marge. Francie had gone over to Marge's apartment and they'd made all the plans and arrangements.
There was a shoe-string moving outfit just getting started down there in the Village and they agreed to move all of Francie's things that same afternoon and evening for only forty dollars. Marge had gone back to the other apartment with Francie to help with the packing.
They'd worked like fiends, jamming stuff into cartons and suitcases and boxes toward the end when there wasn't much time left. Even doing it that way there'd still been stuff left to pack when the moving men came and started carting the furniture down to the waiting truck. The girls were just closing the last box when the truck man came up to say everything else was loaded.
Then, when they got over to Marge's it was the whole damned thing in reverse. The truck men had dumped everything, furniture, boxes and all, right in the middle of Marge's living room. It was evening by the time they got that much done and they were in a hurry to get finished.
Marge and Francie worked until midnight at getting things unpacked and had had to quit with only half the job completed. And they hadn't even begun on the furniture. Things were still such a mess Francie couldn't even get to her bed. That first night she slept in the big double bed with Marge. They laughed when they discovered the coincidence of their mutual preference for sleeping in the nude and the reluctance of each to do so with another girl in the same bed. And once they laughed about that there was no longer any reluctance.
They slept late the next morning and both of them awakened with aching backs and sore muscles. Hot showers were in order, then solid breakfasts cooked by Marge. It was just before noon when they attacked again the mess of furniture and boxes and garments and hangars.
But even when the unpacking was completed there was still the hardest part of the job still ahead of them. Francie's bedroom set was far superior to the one Marge had in the second bedroom. So the old one had to be dismantled and hauled out to make room for the new one. The bed was easy. The dresser and chest of drawers were damned heavy pieces of furniture for two girls to lug.
It was the same story with the kitchen set. Francie's stuff was far superior and they elected to get rid of Marge's older pieces. That left only the living room, which had had a full set of furniture to begin with, and to which had been added not only a full second set, but also a dismantled bedroom set and a kitchen set.
They really couldn't do anything in the living room until they got someone to haul away the bedroom and kitchen furniture. The super and his son promised to take the stuff downstairs to the storage room for five dollars apiece but they didn't get to the job until after dinner time that night. But the time they finished neither of the girls was in any mood for more work.
They cleaned up, left the living room looking like it had been in the path of a tidal wave, and went out to a bar to have a few drinks. It was Marge's treat in honor of Francie's arrival.
They went to a bar frequented exclusively by women dressed in men's clothing. The place was so dimly lit that they were there a full half hour before Francie realized what kind of place it was. When she did, she spoke of it to Marge.
The older woman only laughed. "Of course I I thought you knew right from the first. I always corn-in here."
"But ... but they're Lesbians!"
"So what. They won't bother you unless you war;' to be bothered."
"Not me!" Francie said vehemently. "How can you even stand the sight of them?"
"I like it here. Nobody bothers you. The drink? aren't watered and the prices aren't outrageous. Here I can relax without half a dozen guys trying to pick me up."
They stayed for a couple of hours. During that time several of the mannish women stopped by to say hello to Marge. Francie was introduced to them. They were all polite, and really seemed quite nice; if you could forget about the way they were. By the end of the evening Francie had almost come to accept them on their own terms. She didn't want to have anything to do with them physically, of course, but the ones she'd met seemed like nice people.
They went home a little high and in good moods, neither of them really ready for sleep. They stripped and showered, then both stretched out on Marge's bed to watch a late movie on television.
Marge got playful and teased Francie about showing how the Lesbians made love. When she grabbed the younger girl there were several moments of wrestling, the two naked female bodies locked together in the struggle, and for a moment Francie was almost afraid Marge wasn't really kidding.
But nothing happened and when the movie ended Francie went in to her own bed. She lay awake in the darkness for a long time, her mind a whirling jumble of thoughts.
She was still troubled about the bit with Grant for one thing. What bothered her was the almost overpowering need to have him perform Schiller's favorite variation. She realized after a while that that particular thing represented for her the lost excitement of posing before a camera. That was something she would really miss; perhaps as much or more than she would miss the steady income. Somehow the act of posing represented for her a domination over all the faceless men who would buy her pictures and lust after her in their minds. They were helplessly caught in the spell of the beauty of her body and that was thrilling.
Another thing that occupied her thought was the uncertainty of the future. She'd discussed finances with Marge. Her share of the rent and utilities amounted to approximately ninety dollars a month. If she watched herself carefully it shouldn't be too difficult to make ends meet with only an occasional modeling job. She might not have to go to work after all.
The wrestling with Marge didn't really trouble her. Once she was assured Marge was only joking she'd actually enjoyed that in an odd sort of way. Of course, if that ever got serious she'd have to leave. That sort of thing wasn't for her. She got too much pleasure from men to bother with women. That sort of thing was dirty and perverted; when that was serious, at least. As long as that was only fooling around, that couldn't do any harm.
She wondered, also, when she'd be able to get in touch with Jim Collitch. Now that she'd moved he wouldn't be able to find her. She'd have to find him and tell him all about it.
There was one hopeful note, too. Marge had hinted that there were a couple of things around that might pay some good money. She wouldn't say anything more before she talked to the people involved. If she got the okay from them she would tell Francie all about it.
Francie finally fell asleep.
When she awakened the next morning her blanket was kicked off, baring her body, and Marge, also still naked, was sitting on the edge of the bed tickling her breasts to wake her up.
She woke up slowly, coming out of a dream of passionate love-making with Jim, and she was all excited when she was finally awake. By three that afternoon the two girls had finished rearranging the living room. By shifting furniture around they managed to keep all the major pieces of both sets of furniture. And all there was to put downstairs were a few tables and lamps.
Now Marge was out somewhere and Francie was alone in the apartment. There was nothing good on television and Jim's phone didn't answer. Bored, Francie was prowling around the apartment, sort of snooping in closets and drawers and things.
She knew, of course, it wasn't the right thing to do. But she was bored and more than a little curious about the older girl. She really didn't know very much about Marge. But, then, neither did Marge know very much about her.
The last place she poked around in was Marge's bedroom. And she almost talked herself out of snooping in there. But, in the end, she couldn't resist. In one of the dresser drawers, beneath a pile of panties, she found two curious items. One was a six-foot length of braided silk that looked for all the world exactly like a whip. But who ever heard of a silk whip?
The other thing was a large manila envelope. Inside the envelope there were pictures. At first she thought they were copies of sets taken of Marge. Francie had copies of every picture Schiller had ever taken of her and she assumed Marge had the same.
She almost put the envelope back without looking at it. But on second thought she pulled out the pictures and turned them over.
The first one shocked her so much she nearly fell over.
It was a picture of Marge all right. But this picture wasn't like anything Schiller had ever taken. In this picture Marge was fully and completely exposed to the camera. In itself this was not so shocking. The really shocking part was that Marge was not alone in the picture.
Seated beside her was an equally naked man I The two people were caressing each other and grinning straight into the lens of the camera!
Some of the other pictures were even worse. In those shots Marge was trying every conceivable variety of love with several different men. One particularly wild picture showed Marge with three men on a bed.
She lay on her side between them and the camera angle was such that Francie could see, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that each of the men was loving Marge. The third man was kneeling on the bed and Marge was treating him the same way that Grant had demanded of her.
With shaking hands Francie shoved the pictures back into the envelope and replaced the envelope as she'd found it. She went out to the living room and sank down onto one of the sofas.
The shock reaction passed surprisingly quickly and she found that she could think quite clearly about her discovery. She figured that those pictures had been taken sometime after Marge had finished with the photo sets with Schiller. Another obvious fact was that they were professional pictures and not amateur stuff.
Actually Francie wasn't as shocked as she thought. Except for one or two of the really far out scenes, like the one with the three men, there wasn't anything shown which she hadn't done herself with one man or another.
What was puzzling was why Marge should let herself be photographed in such situations. And Francie was in a quandary. She couldn't tell Marge about finding the pictures, yet, at the same time, she wanted to know more.
An hour later, when she heard Marge's key in the door, she ran into her own room, closed the door, stretched out on her bed, and pretended to be asleep when the older girl looked in.
But she knew she couldn't stay in there all night. Around supper time she came out of her room and went to the kitchen. The door of Marge's room was opened. When she passed Francie glanced in and saw the older girl sitting Indian style in the middle of her bed. She was naked and there were pictures spread all around her.
Marge looked up, saw her, and smiled.
"Hey, you're awake at last. Come in here a minute. There's something I want to show you."
The pictures on the bed were the ones from the drawer and Francie had to fake now the shock she'd felt earlier. Marge only laughed.
"But why would you pose for pictures like that?" Francie asked.
"For the same reason you posed for Schiller. Money. Good old U.S. greenbacks. And lots of them, too."
"But ... but isn't that illegal? Couldn't you go to jail?"
Marge shrugged her shoulders and her breasts bounced with the motion.
"Ah, the people against these things aren't interested in the models. They want the photographers and distributors. This is the kind of thing I was talking about last night. I talked to my friends and they're definitely interested in you."
"Oh no. I couldn't pose like that."
"For God's sake why not? You get your kicks and a picture and money to boot. You're no different from me. You get a funny thrill when you pose for Schiller Well baby, let me tell you, that's nothing compared to the kick you get from doing these action shots. And the movies! They're really way out. That's the biggest charge of all."
"You mean you get excited when you pose, too?"
"Sure."
"I thought that was only me."
"Honey, most flesh models feel that way. That's the biggest reason they do that kind of thing. And like I say, posing is better with action and best with movies."
Francie tried to deny the excitement rising within her at the thought.
Marge caught the expression on her face and pursued the advantage.
"You're out there in the lights, see. Only you're not alone. There's a guy with you. He's handsome and he's built well and he really knows his stuff. Out there behind the lights there's a photographer but he's not really there. Know what I mean?"
Francie nodded quickly. "I felt the same way a hundred times."
"Right. All that's out there is that ever-lovin' camera. You can almost feel it taking your picture. The guy with you starts to fool around, see. He does all sorts of great things with his hands and you're all excited
"And then you're loving with him and that's like nothing else in the world has ever been. You know the way you feel when Schiller does his stuff with you? Well, this is ten times as great. This's the living end."
Francie was so excited by then she was gasping for breath.
"Interested now?" Marge asked.
All the younger girl could do was nod her head. Her hands were gripping her breasts and squeezing them hard and she was trying not to groan. Right then she wanted a man so badly she would have done anything he asked just for the touch of his hands against her body.
"Hey, you want to see a movie I made a few months ago?" Marge asked.
"You mean right here?"
"Sure. I've got a projector."
"If that's like you say, maybe I shouldn't. Right now I'm going out of my mind and you only talked about that. God, I need a man!"
"Hey, you're all strung out and there isn't one available, either. The most I can do is offer a substitute to get you over the rough spot."
"A substitute?"
"Yeah. Me!"
"Oh no! I couldn't. That's ... "
"That's nothing except a girl helping out a friend I'm not suggesting we give up men. It's just that there aren't any members of the opposite sex around right now. Hell, if you say no you'll only have to lock yourself m your room and manage somehow. There's no difference between that and me doing something for you except that if I do that you'll enjoy yourself far more."
"Well, that wouldn't be anything serious. I mean that would be just because I hurt so bad ... "
"Sure, I understand. Tell you what, I'll set up the projector and you can watch the movie at the same time. How's that? That'll make this even better."
Francie nodded in agreement and Marge climbed down off the bed. From her closet she took out a collapsible screen and a movie projector. She set them up, threaded the film, and turned out the lights in the room. Then she started the projector rolling.
Francie lay on the center of the big double bed, her head propped up on two pillows so she could see the screen. Marge knelt beside her and began to remove her clothes.
On the screen there was a shot of an empty bedroom. A door on one side opened and a woman Marge came in, rubbing herself with a towel. She dropped the towel to the floor and stretched out on the bed. The camera panned in for a series of tight close-ups of her, missing nothing.
The camera dollied back for a long shot and Marge seemed to be asleep. Now the camera panned to the window of the room and showed a burglar breaking in. The man wore black slacks, a black, turtle-neck sweater, and a black mask.
He climbed into the room, looked around, and did a double take when he saw Marge sleeping naked on the bed. He stared at her for a moment, then quickly began stripping off his clothes. As he did, his excitement was evident. And he was the biggest burglar Francie bad ever seen. The sight of him doubled her own excitement.
The man removed every stitch of clothing except the mask. That remained in place for the remainder of the film. The naked, masked burglar climbed up onto the bed beside the sleeping Marge and rubbed himself against her hip. Then he reached out and delicately touched her breast. Next he kissed her breast and after that he kissed her everywhere else.
The Marge on the screen came awake bubbling with lust. She pulled the man to her and wrapped her arms around him. From the foot of the bed the camera zoomed in for an extreme close-up, stayed there for several moments of subsequent activity, then dollied back again to take in the entire scene.
There was more.
Less than a quarter of the two-hundred-foot reel had shown so far. , But Francie didn't see much of the rest.
By then her own clothes were completely gone and gentle feminine hands were softly caressing her aching breasts while soft smooth lips fluttered in the hollow of her throat. The lips moved down to pluck at the aching nipples.
The hands left the breasts but the lips remained. The hands slid downward to clutch and squeeze the heavy buttocks and to cause Francie's body to begin a restless twisting.
One hand stayed on her buttocks and the other moved. Now the lips moved, too. They paused to pray at the temple of the navel and then went toward their eventual goal, at which place the other hand was already stroking and caressing.
Marge struck with the fury of a rattlesnake.
To Francie that felt like the entire top of her skull had blown off and her brains had splattered against the walls of the room. The cataclysm was so intense she actually hurt, yet the pain only seemed to make the pleasure greater. She lay in a semi-aware state for many long minutes before her senses returned in full.
Marge was lying beside her, curled into a tight ball, and crying with pain.
"Marge! What's wrong?"
"Damn it," the older girl muttered through clenched teeth. "I got myself all worked up now ... "
There was a clear and undeniable obligation. Francie saw her duty and moved to do that. The movie was still running but she didn't even glance at the screen.
"Marge," she said softly, touching her friend's shoulder. "Let me help you. You helped me."
The older girl rolled onto her back and stretched out. Francie touched first with her hands, holding the other woman's breasts gently, but firmly.
"You'll have to tell me if I do something wrong," Francie murmured.
She held the nipple firmly and nibbled gently. Marge groaned and curled her fingers in Francie's hair. From then on the older woman was in complete control. She guided Francie wherever she wanted her to go.
Francie was doubly surprised.
First, that there was no revulsion, and second, that she was actually enjoying doing this for her friend She enjoyed that so much that she became excited again and Marge showed her how they could both work at the same time.
Finally they were both spent and the film had stopped running. They lay side by side in the darkness, peaceful and sated bodies touching. After only a little whispered conversation Francie agreed to meet with Marge's friends later that same night.
She was anxious, even eager, to have the experiences Marge had described. She no longer thought of those things in terms of bad or good, but only in terms of pleasure.
Nothing, she decided, which afforded pleasure, could be wrong.
Jim was puzzled by Francie's disappearance. The girl had simply moved out without leaving any kind of forwarding address. Jim was surprised that he felt sorry she was gone. He explored the feeling and discovered there was some subtle difference which set Francie apart from all the other women he'd ever known. She was not better, or worse than any of the others, only different.
But, he still had Lotus up in the Spaniard's establishment. And there wasn't a woman in the world who could excel her in technical skill. She was the absolute best there was. Though, he could not deny, he'd enjoyed Francie in equal measure with a different kind of pleas-
The disappearance of a girl he'd known only slightly more than casually was not uppermost in his mind just then, however. There were far more disturbing thoughts.
He'd finally made it!
He'd been accepted into the inner circle!
He'd been recognized as one of the dozen best poker players in the entire country. And poker being primarily an American game, this meant in the entire world. His name was now known by every gambler from coast to coast every pro and every amateur with more money than brains.
This status, besides the reward of satisfaction in knowing you were the best, also carried with it the opportunity to become extremely wealthy in a short period of time.
Then why, damn it, didn't he feel the way he'd always supposed he would?
It was a hollow victory. For some crazy, stupid reason, it didn't mean anything to him. He took another drink from the bottle on the floor beside his chair and felt the raw liquor burn all the way down his throat to the pit of his stomach.
He'd been sitting here in the darkened living room of his apartment for hours now wrestling with the questions in his brain. And he couldn't find the answers. The booze didn't really help any. It only made the frustration a little easier to bear.
This was something he'd been aiming for all his Hie. And now that he'd reached his goal he didn't want the prize.
He took another drink.
And another ...
And more time passed.
When dawn finally came he'd drunk so much he was sober again. And a big part of the answer came to him all of a sudden, like a flash of lightning. The success was meaningless because he'd ceased thinking of himself primarily as a gambler and only secondarily as an agent of the government. Now the dual roles were reversed.
The reversal had something to do with being in New York, he felt sure. Here, for the first time, he'd seen the full strength and evilness of the criminal organization at work. Being in New York had changed his entire perspective. The big-timers were no longer the admirable men he'd thought them to be. He'd met several of them now, face to face across a card table. They were human beings, not gods. And somewhat faulty human beings, at that.
Suddenly, coldly and without emotion, he was sick of the entire business. He wanted out, wanted nothing more to do with either of the long-played roles of his life.
On the screen of his mind he saw a little house somewhere. In that house there were a woman and a couple of kids ... His kids ... His house . His woman. They belonged to him and he belonged to them.
Another thought brought him up short.
His woman? Where would he find a woman? Who would marry him? He could never feel real, genuine love for another human being. He'd frozen those emotions out of himself a long time ago. They no longer existed within him.
But that didn't alter his decision to quit. He wanted nothing more to do with the government or with criminals. He had enough money to last him for the rest of his life and there was no one else to provide for. Beyond the microcosmic world of gamblers and thieves was another, greater world, which awaited his restless, wandering exploration.
Those were his last thoughts before drifting off to sleep.
When he awakened the sun was shining in on him through the window and he was sweating. He also had a terrible hangover, but refused to give in to it. He got out of the chair, stripped off his sweat-stiffened clothes, and refreshed himself with an ice-cold shower.
Then he had a big breakfast with two glasses of tomato juice and three cups of black coffee. He topped the meal off with a handful of aspirin and soon felt quite normal. He dressed in clean casual clothes and went down to check on the mail.
There were a couple of circulars in the box along with one regular envelope. The letter was addressed in a spidery feminine hand and had a return address in Portland, Oregon. It looked like a little note from an old maid aunt.
But Jim knew better.
He knew where the letter had come from and waited until he was back in his apartment before opening it. He slit the envelope neatly and took out the single sheet of scented paper.
On that paper, in the same spidery hand, was written a cryptic message.
It said-
Disengage secondary investigation. Possible gains not worth risk to man of your value.
There was no signature.
So, they were calling him off the picture thing because they didn't think it was worthy of him. Man, were they all in for a surprise when he showed up at the office that afternoon.
He slipped on a sports jacket and put the letter in the inside pocket. From his dresser top he picked up a pair of sun glasses and left the apartment. This time there was none of that silly business of changing trains three times and looking around to see if he were being followed.
He stayed on the one train and made the whole trip uptown in less than fifteen minutes. And he didn't bother with calling from the lobby pay phone either. He went right up to the office on the twenty-third floor-really the twenty-second because there was no thirteenth floor-and walked in as big as life.
There was a receptionist in the outer office who didn't know him. And he didn't know the name of the man in the inner office. They'd only met in dark places and talked on the telephone.
Since he didn't know who to ask he didn't bother stopping at the receptionist's desk. He walked right past her and into the office marked: PRIVATE.
The man behind the desk looked up, startled for a moment, then relaxed and said, "What are you doing here like this?"
"I came to resign."
The man's eyes widened slightly with surprise and he didn't speak for a long time. Jim stood there, letting the other man look at him and coolly returning the gaze.
"Your mind is made up?"
Jim nodded. "I'll pick up my money in Washington. But you can notify them I'm through as of right now."
"Care to teD me why."
"No."
Jim turned on his heel and walked back out of the office, and passed the amazed receptionist who still didn't know who he was. By the time he reached the corridor he felt good. And by the time he reached the lobby he felt marvelous.
A great weight had been lifted from his shoulders ... a weight he'd been carrying around for far too long. He felt like a kid again and he grinned at total strangers as he walked back toward the subway.
He walked springily, resisting an impulse to whistle. He thought about what he was going to do next, and he was so impatient to begin on his new life that he thought the subway train must be running behind schedule, deliberately. Time couldn't pass quickly enough for him.
And all the time be was traveling, his mind was filled with images that so delighted him he almost laughed out loud, images of himself in the new life he was planning.
After Washington, New York again.
And after New York . , , CHAPTER EIGHT
They were on the plane together sitting beside one another, their hands clasped tightly together. The dark terrible time was behind them now and they were beginning the slow process of forgetting.
Francie still shuddered when she realized how close she'd come to missing him just when she'd needed him so badly.
After the lustful love-making that evening Marge and Francie had gotten dressed, had supper out, then gone to meet Marge's friends The studio was in another loft in another part of the concrete jungle of New York.
The photographer looked her over with a leer and told her to strip. There were half a dozen other people in the room but she ignored them and removed all her clothing. The whistles of approval told her she had passed inspection with flying colors and she stood proud and naked before all their eyes.
She enjoyed having them all look at her and didn't bother to dress again as the photographer explained the payments and the routine. It would be less work and more fun than posing for Schiller. She was to receive three hundred dollars for each one-hundred-foot movie.
And they intended to shoot four of them that night. Since she was a new face she could be the star in all four of them. The magic Marge had described began to work the moment she stepped out under the warmth of the lights.
The photographer told her each movement and she went through them. In less than five minutes, before her co-star even appeared on the set, she was aflame with desire. The movie had no plot at all. They started out with a scene of a naked woman who was joined soon by a naked man. And the two of them did everything imaginable for one another.
She didn't balk at all when she was directed to attend the naked man with her kiss. And she gloried in the sensations when the scene was reversed. She peaked a dozen times before that first film was ended.
And when that was finally over her body trembled with fatigue.
The fatigue disappeared, of course, as soon as they started shooting the second film. As long as she was under those lights and in front of that camera she could go on all night forever.
The second film was a little more complicated than the first. There were three characters here, two women and one man. The film opened with a shot of all three of them naked on the bed. Then they proceeded through some of the wildest scenes Francie had ever imagined
By the end of the second film she was in a semi delirious state. Her mind was fully aware of everything that was happening, but she seemed to have no control over her body. Her body obeyed the disembodied voice of the cameraman.
The third film had four characters. In this one there was an element of violence and Francie was to play the helpless victim. From the time the camera began rolling she was truly helpless.
The two men carried her to the bed and held her down while the woman, Marge, made perverted love. Then each of them loved her in the normal way. Next, she was forced to love each of them with her kisses. And for the finish of the film both men made love to her at the same time.
There was pain then.
The attack of one of the men was brutal. Her mind recoiled from the pain but her body loved every twinge.
Her mind recoiled from everything else, too. A voice shrieked in agony inside the silence of her skull. This was all filthy, disgusting, perverted. She didn't want to do any more.
But she did want to do more. Or, at least, her body wanted to do more and her body was in control, over riding the protests of her brain.
The fourth and last film was a sadist fantasy. Again she was the victim. She was tied to a rack, her arms and legs fastened. And a whole host of people took turns kicking and biting and scratching and whipping her until every square inch of her was either bleeding or black and blue.
And there was more to that film.
When the others got tired of using their hands and a whip they turned to other implements of torture. Lighted matches were held against her flesh at the most sensitive places and now she really screamed with the pain.
That ended, finally.
The bright lights went off but they left her hanging from the rack. The others, Marge with them, dressed and carried off all the equipment. One of them, whose name she didn't know, took pity on her and cut her down before he left.
She lay there in the darkness in the sheerest agony and slowly came to realize this had all been a plot against her. She wasn't going to be paid at all. Marge had lured her here and been paid for her work. Marge had taken pleasure from Francie's body, had accepted all her property, and then had lured her here with false promises, to be used in a manner worse than the foulest fiend.
They hadn't taken her clothes with them. Hours later, when she found the strength to move, she crawled to them and dressed despite the increased pain.
She stumbled down into the street, almost delirious again, this time from the agony of her wounds. Her mind was succumbing, too. The only thing she could think was Jim Collitch's name and the address of his apartment.
It was late at night and at that hour the loft district was deserted. No one noticed her as she stumbled along, not really conscious of her direction. Those few people who did see her took her for just another old drunk.
With the last dregs of fast-waning strength she arrived at Jim's apartment and beat feebly at the door with her open palm as she sank slowly down. That was the last thing she remembered for a long time. Only when Jim came to see her in the hospital did she learn what had happened.
He'd been home then, just finishing packing to leave the city for good. He'd tried to find her but had been unable to do so. He called for an ambulance after one look at her face.
Actually there was no major physical damage. Her wounds healed quickly and Jim's constant presence helped her mental state. In the long hours while he sat beside her bed she told him the whole story, leaving out nothing from that first time in high school. She told him how she'd sunk lower and lower into the depths of degradation and how she deserved this final punishment.
He listened to that all.
When she finished he told her about himself about the gambling, and the women, about Lotus and all the others like her. He left out any mention of the government aspect. On that topic he was sworn to secrecy.
And she listened to his story.
"I guess we're neither of us much good," she said when his story was finished.
"You may be right," he said softly. "But I don't think so. I've had a lot of time to think during the last few days and I've come to realize things about myself I never realized before. It could be that neither of us are much good. But together we might be very good indeed."
"Jim! Is that ... Are you...?"
"Yes. It's a proposal. I'm not making any promises except to work hard at making you happy."
"Oh Jim, I can't, I can't. I'm too dirty! I'll never be clean again!"
"You will. You are. But I don't care about that. I can't do without you, don't you understand? I thought I could never love any human being but I was wrong. I love you."
She said no the next ten times he asked her. But she was a captive audience. She couldn't escape. His persistence wore her down slowly. First he got her to admit that she loved him. Then, finally, he got her to accept his proposal.
They were married the day she left the hospital-only a few hours ago and now they were on their way to Washington for a brief business stop about which Jim would not talk. And from there they were off to find a home for themselves somewhere far away.