Chapter 6

THINGS HAD BEEN WORKING OUT beautifully.

At last report, everything was set-the girls were alerted and willing, the hops had done a beautiful job spreading the word, the potential customers were no doubt champing at the bit to place their orders.

Walt was very pleased, except for one small thing.

Madge.

They were standing near the dark end of the second-floor service hall. Madge was in his arms. She was crying.

"Honey-now come on. Cut it out, for God's sake. Either tell me what's wrong, or stop crying."

"I don't know what's wrong. There isn't anything wrong."

"Then what the hell are you crying about?"

"I don't know." She pressed her face against his chest, and Walt felt the wetness of her tears through his shirt.

"Look, baby-"

"Please, Walt-just let me cry. Just for a minute. Please!"

He stroked her head tenderly. "You scared, Madge?"

She didn't answer.

"Babyt I can understand if you're scared--but there's really nothing to be scared about. You know how safe this thing is. We've got it all worked out."

"I don't-" Madge sobbed. "That's not what's wrong."

Walt made an exasperated sound. "Then what is it? How am I supposed to calm you down if you don't...."

"Don't you care?"

"Care? About what?"

"Doesn't it mean anything to you that I'm going to be selling-selling myself to a bunch of-doesn't that mean anything?"

Walt inhaled deeply. "Baby-"

"Don't you see, Walt? I'm going to be-doing it-what we do together-but with a bunch of strangers. For money. I never did it for money in my whole life before."

"Honey-"

"Don't you care about that? Don't you mind that your girl is a whore?"

He slipped his hand under her chin, and lifted her tear-streaked face. "Don't say that-don't call yourself that."

"What else am I?" Behind the tears, her eyes flashed fire.

Walt spoke quietly. "Remember what I said about a stake for us, Madge."

"Sure, I do-but. . . "

"If these convention men wanted to buy me instead of you-don't you think I'd do the same thing you're going to do, if I knew it would help us?"

"Walt...."

"I would, honey. You know that. At least-I hope you know it."

She nodded shakily. "Yes, Walt. It's the same with me. I'd do anything in the world for you."

"But this isn't just for me, honey. This is for us."

"For us," Madge said.

"You know it, sweetheart."

She nodded again. "I'm sorry. Give me a minute-I'll be all right."

"Don't be sorry, baby. I know you feel kind of lousy about this-I feel the same way myself. Do you think I like the idea of these Tool people playing around with my little Madge? The hell I do."

"I'm sorry, Walt."

"It's just for now, sweetheart. Just for this one weekend. Think about all the money we'll have when it's over. Think how far that dough can take us. Keep that idea right in your mind where you can see it-that's going to make the whole thing worthwhile."

"Yes, Walt. I'll remember that. I really will."

He glanced at his watch. "Almost twelve, baby. I have to get moving. Look-I'll tell you what: I can work it so maybe you don't have to take on any customers, Madge. After all, we have the whole female staff lined up, or most of it anyway; and if business isn't too heavy, maybe you won't have to..."

"I want to do it," Madge said.

"Are you sure, baby?"

"Yes, Walt. I want to do it. For you."

"For us."

"Yes-that's right. For us."

He bent and kissed her swiftly on the lips. His hand brushed one of her breasts, then slid down behind to cup a buttock. "You're my girl, Madge."

"Yes."

He smiled, then turned and hurried off down the steps toward the lobby door. Madge watched him go, the touch of his hands lingering on her flesh, the warmth of his kiss still imprinted on her lips.

For us? she thought. No-not really. For you, Walt. It's all for you. There isn't any us without you.

There isn't any me without you.

She stood in the darkness, and the tears came again.

Roger was pretty drunk.

He wasn't accustomed to alcohol-Louise hadn't been much of a drinker, and they seldom drank much at parties-so Roger's system was quite vulnerable to the effects of even a few drinks.

And diis evening, Roger consumed a lot more than a few drinks.

As a consequence, he was drunk. He was having trouble understanding what Nat was saying.

Nat Barth returned from the lecture downstairs just before nine o'clock. Roger already was well on his way to alcoholic unconsciousness; he could recall Nat speaking about good times, about the promise he made to Roger at the station, about taking Roger and leading him to the pleasure he wanted.

But Roger wasn't listening closely. Roger's mind was filled with alcohol, and the memory of that little blonde hooker-the first; the girl who'd taken his virginity so many years ago.

Roger didn't know it, but he'd talked out loud about that hooker while Nat was there in the room. And Nat, friend that he was, had listened carefully.

After that, Roger remembered, Nat had left.

Now he was back, and talking happily about something.

"Li'l blonde hooker," said Roger, trying hard to bring Nat into focus.

"Right," Nat said. "Little blonde hooker it is, Rog."

"What is?"

"It is." Nat leaned over Roger and patted him on the shoulder. "I got one for you, Rog. A little blonde hooker, just like you said."

"Who said?I don't rememmer sayin' li'l blonde hooker."

"Maybe you don't remember, pal-but you said it all right. You talked my ear off about that gal-described her like a goddamm poet. like a goddamm hot-pants poet."

Roger scratched his head. "I don't rememmer," he said.

"That's okay, pal. I'm going to get you one anyway."

"One what?"

"A little blonde hooker, Rog. Just like the old days."

"The ole days?"

"Exacdy like 'em," Nat said.

"The ole days," said Roger, half to himself. "Notha's not right."

"How do you mean, pal?"

"Nat-pal-" Roger leaned forward and grabbed

Nat's lapels. "Not like the ole days-like the young days."

"Huh?"

"These here," Roger said, "These are the goddamm ole days."

"Like the young days," Nat said. "You know, Rog-you might make a poet after all."

"Don wanna make no poet," said Roger. "I wanna make a li'l blonde hooker!"

Patsy was excited.

She bustled down the hall toward the locker room, walking so quickly her hard breasts bounced around inside her bra. With every move they made, memory-shivers of sensation tingled through her-after-throbs of the pleasures just past.

Patsy could hardly wait to see Liz and tell her what a gold mine of fun that Libby turned out to be. Holy God-who would have thought an inexperienced virgin like Libby would have gone so wild first time out? Patsy felt her enthusiasm would make her description sound fantastic; Liz probably wouldn't believe a word she said.

But that didn't matter, Patsy could prove her story. Libby was real; and she was here in the hotel, and Patsy could take Liz to her any time. After the way Libby had gone into orbit, Patsy was sure she'd have no trouble talking the girl into more of the same.

And with the three of them-with herself and Liz and Libby all mixing it up in the same bed-now that was what Patsy called thoroughbred horsing around.

She pushed through the dressing room door. Liz was there, as she expected. However, Patsy's smile of greeting was brief. Hester and Kit also were there.

"Well, what do you know?" said Hester. "Here's the other one."

"Come on in, honey, and join the party," Kit grinned.

"What party?" Patsy didn't care for the expression on Liz' face. The girl was seated between the other two, and looked as if she'd had a long lecture. Patsy couldn't imagine what Hester and Kit had to say to her, and her uneasiness grew. "What's going on here? Liz? You okay?"

"She's fine, honey," said Kit. "Don't you worry about your little gal friend-we all getting along just fine."

Patsy moved to face them. "What the hell makes you think me or Liz wants to get along with you two. How about you just haul tail and leave us be?"

"Aw, now," Hester said. "That's no way to act. We got a big deal to tell you about. We already told Liz about it, and she thinks it's just great. Don't you, kid?"

Liz hung her head, her fingers fidgeting in her lap.

"What've these bitches been doing to you, Liz?" Patsy reached out a hand toward the girl, then looked at the others and thought better of it. "If they've been nasty, or-or bitchy..."

"Now why the hell don't you just simmer down, Patsy, old kid? There's no trouble here. All we want to do is tell you about the big deal."

"What big deal?"

Hester turned to Kit. "There-I told you she wouldn't know about it. Same as Liz."

"Honey," said Kit. "Word's all over the hotel about it. Wait'll you hear..."

"I don't want to hear nothing from you," Patsy said angrily. "And neither does Liz. We got our own business to attend to-we ain't got no time for bitches!"

"Just you hold on a goddamm second," Hester said. "We ain't got no fight with you, Patsy-but you better watch your language before it gets you in trouble. You hear me?"

"Yeah-I hear you. I hear a scab-ass pair of bitches barking, that's what I hear!"

Kit spoke quietly. "Lessie-shut up."

Patsy froze. Nobody said a word. It seemed forever before Patsy could thaw her throat sufficiently to speak.

"What-what did you call me?"

Kit smiled. "Lessie," she said. "Case you don't know, that's short for lesbian."

Hester laughed.

"How-" Pasty licked her lips. "What the hell you call me that for?" Her eyes shifted from Hester to Kit. "That's a rotten thing to say, even if I did get you mad."

"I calls 'em as I sees 'em," said Kit cheerfully. "I ain't no lessie?" Patsy was startled at the volume of her own voice. "Ain't you, honey?"

"No-I ain't! What ever gave you such a-a rotten, lousy idea as that? You two-you're-" Patsy strangled on her rage.

"All right," said Hester. "Kit was mad, that's all. You called us a lousy name yourself. Let's just drop it."

"I ain't no lesbian," said Patsy.

"Okay-if you say you ain't, you ain't. Now let me tell you about this here..."

"I want to know where you got the idea I was," Patsy said. "Who told you that?"

"Patsy-for God's sake, will you drop it? Kit didn't mean nothing."

"The hell she didn't! She called me a dirty name, and I want to know why!"

Hester blew up. "Well, what are you if you ain't a dyke-you and this Liz here? What the crap are you two except goddamm lessies?" Hester's voice rose to a screech on the last word, her teeth bared in a snarl.

"Shut up!" Patsy yelled. "Don't you say that!"

"I'll say what I please," Hester shouted back. "It's the truth."

"It is not!"

"No, huh?" Hester narrowed her eyes. "Well, what would you call it."

"Call what?"

"That horsing around you and Liz do in the shower-and all the time you spend in the room down the hall-yeah; we know about that. My God, practically every girl on duty knows all about that."

"It's-" Patsy's face was blank. Her hands trembled, and she twisted her fingers together so they wouldn't see.

"Yeah, yeah," Hester prompted. "It's-Go on, Patsy. Finish that. It's what?"

"Liz and me-we just-"

Kit was smiling again. "Let's hear it, Patsy, honey. Tell us all about it."

"We-we just kid."

"Kid?"

"Yeah-you know. Liz and me-we like to kid around sometimes-we..."

"We horse around," said Liz.

They looked at her. Slowly, Liz' head came up. She gazed at Patsy expressionless.

"Horsing around," she said. "That's all it is."

Kit nodded. "Oh, I get it. Well, now-don't seem like there's anything so terrible about a little horsing around, does there, Hes?"

"I wouldn't think so. Long's that's all it was-long's it wasn't lessie-style playing."

"It never is," said Patsy. "Nothing like it."

"Nothing like it," repeated Liz.

"Funny," Kit said. "Me and Hes-we had the idea you two was lessies."

"What a crazy idea, said Patsy.

"I'm pleased to know you ain't."

Liz managed a smile. "You girls just made a mistake, that's all."

"Sure," Hester said. "We didn't know the difference between dyke-fooling and horsing around. Now you told us, we can see they're different."

"Sure," said Patsy.

Hester nodded. "Long's we have that straight, we can tell you about the big idea. Kit and me weren't sure you'd go for it-but that was before we found out you wasn't dykes. Now I don't suppose there's any reason for you not to get in on the fun."

Patsy smiled nervously. "What big deal? What's this fun you're talking about?"

"We're all going to make money hooking for the convention crowd," Hester said.

Patsy's jaw dropped. She looked at Liz, but the girl didn't meet her eyes. "Hooking?"

"Yep," said Kit. "Selling our fra-jile butts to them Tool men. Everybody's going to make herself a pile."

"Who is?" Patsy moved her hands. "Who's everybody?"

Hester grinned. "The staff gals," she said. "Just about all of them are in on it."

"But...."

"All the regular ones, that is."

"Yeah," said Kit. "Every last regular gal around."

"So," said Hester, "now that you told us how it is with you two-how you and Liz are regular gals-well, Kit and me figure maybe you might want to join up."

Patsy stared at them for a long moment without speaking. She closed her eyes briefly; when she opened them again, all the life seemed drained from her gaze.

"Count us in," she said.

Liz looked up quickly, ready to speak, but decided against it when she saw Patsy's face. She hunched her shoulders and shivered a little.

Kit. was watching her. "What say, Liz? You too?"

Liz nodded once. "Me too," she said. a o a

The desk phone rang at five past midnight. Walt let it ring three times before answering. "May I help you?"

"Hi, there," said a cheerful voice. Walt had a mental picture of a red-faced westerner. "How's everything going down there?"

"Fine, sir-thank you. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Well-now that depends, son. You don't mind if I call you son, do you?"

Walt grinned. "No, sir. What is it you wish?"

"Well, son-there's this here rumor going around-I don't know as you heard about it. ... Listen, are you the fella takes care of the desk after midnight?"

"Yes, sir. And I know everything that goes on in this hotel, sir."

"Oh. Well, that's just fine. I'm really pleased to hear that, son."

"Sir-if you'd tell me what it is you wanted..."

"It's like this, son. There's this rumor maybe that's all it is, or maybe it's on the square but I hear that..."

"That what, sir?"

The voice paused and seemed to gather courage for a single go-for-broke attempt. "Son-can you all get us a woman up here?"

Walt was enjoying the man's discomfort too much to answer directly. He took a drag on his cigarette before speaking.

"Yes, sir."

"Yes? Did you say yes to that, son? Did I hear you right?"

"Yes, sir. What sort of woman did you have in mind?"

"He says yes," proclaimed the voice away from the mouthpiece. "Can you tie that."

"Sir? Are you there?"

"I sure am, son. And let me say; this here is one fine hotel. This here's a gentleman's hotel."

"I asked what sort of woman you wanted, sir."

"Oh-that's easy, son. We want us a big one. Nice big round kind of woman-know what I'm saying, son?"

"Yes, sir." Walt made a note on his pad, his smile growing wider. "Any preference as to hair color, or age?"

"Well-we want a young one. Not one of them old crocks, or anything."

"She'll be young, sir."

"And as for the hair-" The voice paused and chuckled. "Well-them gals never have the same color hair all over anyway, so there's no point worrying about that, now is there?"

Walt returned his laughter. "You're absolutely right, sir."

"We got it all straight now, son? That all there is to it?"

"Just a few things more, sir. Could I have your room number please?"

"Oh, sure. 812's the number, son. That's on the eighth floor."

"Yes, sir." Walt wrote it down. "When would you want the lady?"

"My God-soon as possible, son. What do you think?"

"How long would you require her services?"

"Well-seeing as how there's six of us up here-I'd say two or three hours. At least."

"The fee for that, sir, will be one hundred dollars."

"Fifteen a head, boys," called the voice. "That sound good to you?"

Walt heard an enthusiastic murmur of approval in the background.

"The boys like it, son. What do we do about this here hundred dollars-you putting it on our bill, or what?"

"You pay the lady, sir."

"Oh. Well, fine. Just fine and dandy. Son, we sure do thank you for your kind attention."

"Don't mention it, sir. I'll see the lady gets up to you as soon as possible."

"Thanks again, son. You're a real straight fella-I tell you, there ought to be more like you."

"Thank you," Walt said. "Enjoy yourself, sir."

He hung up before the voice could heap any more compliments on him. He sat several moments grinning into space and shaking his head. Finally, he picked up the house phone, and dialed a number.

From his place of concealment behind a potted palm, Pop listened closely to what Walt said.

"Who's this-Shirley? Hi. Is Barbara up there? Good-put her on, will you?"

Another pause. Then:

"Hi, Bobbi. Huh? That's right, kid-congratulations. You're the first. Room 701 wants a gal just like you...."

Pop was no longer listening. His present sober condition was fogging his head far worse than the wine ever had-his mind screamed for the familiar alcoholic fumes. Thoughts whirled around-bunches of them-more than Pop could recall having in his head at any one time before.

And one of them-one of them was a big thought. An important thought.

He couldn't catch it. It spun past with all the others, remaining just out of reach.

The time had come to begin his shift, and Pop eased himself away from the plant and headed across the lobby toward the basement door. Walt did not notice him go, he was too bound up in the operation of his scheme.

Walt's scheme, thought Pop. Something was wrong with it. There was a flaw in that young man's plans somewhere. What the hell could it be?"

Pop couldn't identify it, but it was there, all the same.