Chapter 13
The blasting musical uproar that hit them when the door of the Purple Pussycat swung open was almost a tangible thing. Rather unraveling to the nerve ends, Carla had to admit, but she loved it. The innate excitement of rock 'n' roll seemed to complement some instinctual thing within her.
She let mom precede her into the wild maelstrom, with Burt bringing up the trio's rear. As they insinuated themselves into the surging crowd, Carla glanced about and appraised that Dean's redecorators had done a groovy job. The tapestries were a riot of color, but not garish, and the swirling reflected lighting was in perfect, if frantic, harmony with the explosive sounds of the Jules Brinker combo.
The first familiar faces she saw were those of Dean Twiddy and Sid Leopold. The two young men were conversing at a spot around the far end of the bar. Dean apparently recognized her and her party. He smiled and raised his chin as if to say he'd be over to greet them in a minute.
Behind her, as they slowly threaded their way to the bar, Burt said something, but she couldn't make it out. The pounding rock music was so amplified, even a shout in the ear could barely be heard, she was sure. It seemed to disintegrate you, turn you to jelly, but delightfully so.
Catching the celebrative mod in the air, she made up her mind she was going to have a good time, Burt or no Burt. She really hadn't wanted him tagging along at all but he was so drunk already, she was sure he'd be leaving soon. Whether under his own power or not, she couldn't be sure. As if to prove her point, Burt stumbled against her backside at that moment. She helped him right himself as they reached the bar. The music stopped and, for a moment, the silence seemed to roar even louder by unaccustomed contrast.
Burt swayed against the bar. "Drinks are on me ladies," he announced in a loud, alcoholic slur. "What will you have Momsie, ol' girl, ol' girl?"
He had a nerve, being so familiar with Mom that way, after what she'd caught them doing. Actually it had been all Burt's fault. Momsie had explained later that Burt had gotten her drunk, and there was a strong suspicion he'd put something in her drink to lower her defenses. The old drunkard. Well, one good thing had come out of his terrible behavior with Mom. It had given her, Carla, a handy club to hold over his head. She hadn't let him forget it for a minute since she'd walked in on them last Sunday.
The trio ordered drinks. Carla swept the room with her lovely blue eyes, paying little or no attention to the idle chit-chat between Burt and Mom. No, she couldn't pick Joe out of the crowd. It was still early. He'd be here directly for sure. She hoped he'd like her new red satin cocktail outfit. She smoothed demurely at the dress, glancing down to admire the way its cut accentuated the swell of her breasts.
Dean finally made it through the gauntlet of the crowd.
"Dean, this is my dear Momsie from Chicago," Carla introduced. "I want you to take good care of her." She winked at Dean.
"Hiya, Momsie," Dean beamed. "Welcome to the Purple Pussycat."
"Golly, what was in that cigarette you gave me, Dean honey," she asked, grinning familiarly. "I feel all giddy and light in the head"
Dean grinned boyishly back at her. He was glad Carla and Burt had brought "Momsie." It gave him a kick to turn on with the old broads once in a while. As a lusty epicure of the female gender, he occasionally tired of the young swinger types. An old swinger type sometimes made a refreshing diversion.
"Too bad your son-in-law was so gassed, Moms," he said. "It hurt me to see him fall down that way-But don't worry, I got him into a cab-He'll be okay."
"Oh, that Burt," Mom rejoined, frowning wooz-ily and elaborately. "Listen, honey, the things I could tell you about him, you wouldn't believe ... Looks like my baby girl has left us too. Do you mind awfully, being left alone with an old woman?"
"Old woman?" He gave her his most convincing Widmark leer. "You gotta be kiddin', lover girl. Listen, by me you're some sack of sweet potatoes." He grabbed hold of one of her ample buttocks cheeks and gave it an impish twist.
Mom giggled girlishly. "Naughty, naughty," she scolded coyly, wagging a finger at him. " ... Whew! Ever since I smoked that cigarette, I feel like I could take off and fly."
"Why don't we, Momsie baby? Just you and me, flyin' together way up in the sky." He drew closer to her, the back of his hand boldly rubbing her melon-like breast where it lay on the bar. In an invitingly evil voice he said: "Look, baby, I got an idea. I got my big old Caddie parked out back. We don't want Carla to see us leaving together, but let me slip you the keys, and...."
Mom floated on a greyish-pink cloud, her brain happily drugged. She lay sprawled on the back seat of the car, although she was only fuzzily aware of her whereabouts at this moment. The leather cushions felt indescribably luxurious as she snuggled deeper into them. Though she was experiencing a giddiness something akin to drunkeness, there was none of the bloated, half-awareness. She felt vibrantly alive, every sense organ attuned, every nerve end an antenna alerted to receive pleasure, every pore of her skin an open, greedy little mouth.
Wow, those cigarettes! This was better than booze any day. She'd have to find out where to buy them back in Chicago. What was it Dean had called them? Grass?
She luxuriated on the cushions, crooking a knee so that her disarrayed skirt hiked even higher on her thigh. Dean. She wished hazily that he would hurry. She was so tantalized ready for the wicked things she hoped he would do to her. Ooh he was a good looking young stud. Those hips of his looked like they could really swivel. She clapped her white thighs together in a spasm of tingly want, wishing she had Dean trapped between them at that very instant.
With a sigh, her gauzily filtered thoughts drifted off to elysian fields of erotica where pink wood nymphs and satyrs played, and she joined them in delicious debauches.
The car door opened in the darkness.
"Oh, Dean baby," she murmured, languidly relaxed. "I thought you'd never come, lover."
With the door open, a cool breeze wafted lightly in to caress her thighs. She shifted to receive it more openly. Gentle fingers at her ankles sent tiny electric shocks racing up her legs, making her flesh crawl pleasurably.
Mom laid her head back and closed her eyes, savoring the light stroking of the finger tips as they moved higher on her willing limbs in little circular motions.
"Oh, I like that, Dean," she praised intimately into the darkness. "You do know how to be gentle, don't you?"
Now the gentle hands touched her more boldly, the palms spreading out and sliding ever higher on her thighs, until she winced with delight at their most intimate exploration thus far.
"Take my panties off, Dean honey," she suggested urgently. "They're in the way."
His hands molded themselves to the ripe contours of her hips and tummy as they drew the panties down, peeling them off like a layer of skin. Thus freed, the cool breeze reaching her wantonly, Mom wiggled in anticipation as she pulled her skirt up to her waist.
She loved the more demanding grasp of his hands now, as they purposefully moved her knees, arranging her even more cordially for the reception of loving attentions. His lips pressed hotly on her thighs in a series of roaming kissings.
A shock wave of passion blasted through her as a moist contact was made that caused her hips to jerk violently upward in joyous cooperation. Her hips pumping convulsively, Mom put her hands down to ensure and cement the continuation of the agonizingly delightful union. Oh, what a lover this boy was! She listened rapturously to the wet, strangled gurgling in his throat as he broke and joined again. She could barely draw breath herself and knew dizzily that she was near heaven as she gasped:
"Don't stop now, Dean baby. Go, boy, go!"
As her screams of completion died out, Mom collapsed blissfully into the cushions and released her hold on the hunched figure. Just before he scuttled away into the night she hard him grunt: "Girl! Good!"
"Hey, Joey boy! You finally got here." Dean extracted himself from the human sardine pack and pumped the publisher's hand. His face was lit with the excitement of his first night's success as well as, Joe knew, the effects of more than one of his funny cigarettes.
"Looks like the Purple Pusycat is off and running, Dean-o. Congratulations," Joe said warmly.
"Isn't this a gas, Joe? Ain't this a ball?" Dean swept his arm expansively over the crowd. "They're a pretty tame group, though. We've only had two fights tonight ... Hey, Sid!" he yelled above the din. "Come on over. The Guzzling man's here"
Sid threaded his way to where they stood.
"How're you doing, Sid? Been here all evening?"
"Hi, Joe. Yeah, our boy seems to have a little gold mine for himself here, doesn't he?" Dean beamed with open pleasure at Sid's acknowledgement of his success. "You sticking around, Joe? Rita's going to drop by during her break. We can have a drink."
"Uh-uh. No drinks for Joey right now," Dean broke in. "He's got business upstairs." He winked at Sid. "I didn't tell you, Joe. Sid and his ... uh ... associate are my caterers for a little private party I got going upstairs. I want you to be among the first to partake of the feast. The chicks just got here."
Joe grinned disapprovingly. "You mean the broads? No thanks, Dean. I'm well taken care of" They didn't know with and by whom, though. He was so proud of her he wished he could tell them. He let his eye wander over the milling heads, realizing it'd be hard to pick her out even if she was here. Of course, if she was still with Burt and her mom, there'd be no chance for anything other than a social hello. Still, he wished he'd see her.
"Baby, I know you're well taken care of, Dean was saying. "But a little strange stuff once in a while is good for a man. Sharpens your techniques."
"Yeah, go on up, Joe," Sid joined in the mischievous entreaty. "It'll blow your pipes out for you. We delivered some prime merchandise up there. I'd like your expert opinion."
"Fellas, I'm just not interested. I never was much of a commercial man anyway," he tried to beg off.
"Aw, come on ... chicken?" they chorused.
"Atta boy, Joey." Dean clapped him on the back. "Go over there by Hubert, and I'll give him the high sign."
Joe made his way through the milling mob to a flight of stairs where Hubert, the burly bouncer, stood guard. At a signal from Dean, Hubert swept a ham-like arm in a gesture of admittance and Joe proceeded up the narrow stairs.
As he climbed, a brutal-looking man in his fifties was on his way down. The man brushed roughly by, his beefy red face aiming an angry glance at Joe.
At the top of the long flight, Joe emerged into a gloomy hallway. No one was in sight. Like most Gaslight Square clubs, the Purple Pussycat was on the ground floor of a reconverted tenement. The upper floors, like this one, had several doors leading off a central hall. Which one was he supposed to enter? he wondered. Well, maybe Dean had them all stocked with buxom professionals. From behind the door on his left he heard a sound. Edging closer, his first impresison was confirmed. There was a woman inside, weeping bitterly .
Well, he wasn't here for the prescirbed reason anyway, so....
"... Come in," said a frightened voice at his knock.
He opened the door and stepped inside. "Karen!"
The miserable girl sat slumped on the edge of a disheveled bed. When she saw and recognized him through her tears, she came padding across the floor to throw her arms about him, holding him in a trembling snare. "Oh, Joe, it was so awful," she moaned.
Taking her by the shoulders, he held her back and stared hard into her reddened, puffed eyes. "Karen, what in the hell are you doing here?" he demanded, dreading the answer. He could see she was naked under her baby doll nightgown.
She tried to speak, but another burst of sobs came rushing up and she clung to him, seemingly afraid to let him go. Enfolding her, patting gently, he waited. At last, when she seemed to be calming a bit, he led her back to the bed and sat her down. Pulling up a chair to sit facing her, he said sternly: "Now, I want to know what this is all about, kid, and I want to know right now."
Karen spread her her hands in hopeless grief. "Joe, I tried. God knows I tried even though I could have vomited at the sight of him," she blubbered
"Tried what, Karen?" he asked, his voice deadly, the rage welling up in him.
She buried her face in her hands and another spasm shook her. "He was so big, Joe, and so ugly and old and slimy!" ... The man he'd passed on the stairs?
"And, Joe, he tried to make me do a filthy thing. When I told him I didn't want to, he only laughed," she whimpered. It was coming out of her now, he knew. "He laughed and he said, What do you think you're getting paid for, girlie?' Then he took his pants off and when I saw him I tried to run away, but he grabbed me. He made me look at him. Joe, he was almost ... almost deformed. All full of nasty blue veins, all gnarled together and mottled .red ... Ugh! It was disgusting. Then he grabbed my head and tried to push me down ... I screamed as loud as I could, and he hit me, Joe. Look at my arm ... But he got dressed and left ... Ugh!" She broke into new sobs as Joe sat, almost paralyzed with rage.
"I tried, Joe, I tried my best," she babbled hysterically through her tears. She was dangerously near losing control, Joe feared.
He patted her soothingly. "Just one question, Karen. Who got you into this? Who told you to do this?"
She shook her head, choking, unable to speak.
"Did Dean have anything to do with this? Did he make you come up here tonight?" His fist clenched convulsively and his jaw worked in anger.
At the knock, Joe's head snapped toward the door. It opened immediaately and she entered, saying: "Karen honey, I just wanted to...."
Carla! ... Oh please dear lord don't let it be Carla!
She broke off when she saw him. Minutes seemed to tick by as he stared at her, dumbfounded, feeling nothing yet, stricken incapable of feeling.
At last, Carla let out a long breath. A careful smile came across her lovely features as she drew herself to her full, dignified height and approached them.
"Well, hello, Joe," she offered with studied casualness. "I didn't know you played the ponies."
His eyes riveted to her face. Did you get her into this?" he croaked in a barely audible voice.
"What's the matter, Joe honey? You seem upset," Carla countered.
"Did you get her into this?" he hissed again.
"Well, I don't see why you'd call it getting somebody into something but, well, yes, you might say...."
His frozen emotions exploded at last in a boiling moment of anguish. Oh, why, Carla, why? Out of control, he sprang to his feet, a vengeful hand snapping back to strike. Only the screams of both women stayed his outraged impulse to smash the lovely face into a bloody pulp.
"Carla, how could you be so ... so ... vile!?, he rasped, his voice shaking, the taste of bitter gall in his mouth. He was overwhelmed with a sense of deep loss.
"I tried my best, Miss Smith. I tried to do like you told me," Karen moaned pathetically. "I ... I just couldn't. I'm sorry."
Carla was the picture of wide-eyed surprise and puzzlement. "Just what is everybody so excited a-bout?" she inquired incredulously.
"Carla this girl is a virgin. A teenage kid," Joe grated, his anger just as incredulously confounded as Carla's calculated calm demeanor. In his turmoil, he honestly forgot the slight inaccuracy of the first of his statements about Karen. "You've taken a teenage virgin and made a whore out of her!" He measured each word bitterly, still trembling, although groping now for some kind of control.
"I didn't make her into anything, Joe darling," Carla wheeled, seemingly cool and collected. "She's over the age of consent. I just created the opportunity for her to make a little money, that's all."
"She's a young, naive kid, Carla, and you know it. She accepted your guidance, put herself in your hands ... God forgive me that I helped put her there." His anger was steadying now, congealing into hatred, although he remained numbly staggered by the enormity of her betrayal.
"Don't be such a prude, Joe," Carla shot back, appearing righteously annoyed. "Are you so perfect? You've never committed a sin, I guess? ... Like adultery, for instance?" She fluttered her lashes and eyed him significantly.
Her meaning was not lost on him. His shoulders sagged. "Get dressed, Karen," he ordered. "We're getting out of here." The frightened girl hastened to comply.
"Joe, Joe, honey," Carla placated. "Why such a huff?" Come on, let's go downstairs and have a cool drink, shall we?"
She stepped close and placed a hand on his arm. He knocked it away with a slicing chop, hoping cruelly he had hurt her.
"Take your hands off me you bitch, you whoring pimp!" he spat venomously.
"I'm not a pimp," she shrilled, showing what appeared to be genuine emotion for the first time. "How dare you call me a pimp, you cheap newsboy hustler? I'm a model! And I teach modeling. And I'm damn good ... Can I help it if St. Louis isn't exactly the best modeling market in the country? You have to do things, things the squares would say are a little out of the ordinary ... to make contacts, to make ends meet. That's facing facts, buster."
Suddenly, he pitied her. He understood, and knew deep sorrow for her pathetic plight. "Oh, Carla, you're still chasing it aren't you? You still want that career-glory, recognition, whatever you'd call it-so desperately, you'd do anything for it. You'd even sink to this. God, how desperate you must be, that you could con yourself so."
"It's not true, Joe. It's not true." He seemed to have reached her, held up a dreadful mirror. Her eyes brimmed wetly. "What you're saying is a lie. This is just a business, that's all. Smart, normal business. I'm a model, Joe. I'm top notch. I just haven't had the breaks yet. But I'll get there, you'll see."
"Carla, I can't begin to conceive you'll pay any attention to this," he said calmly, his anger gone now, leaving only an empty void, "but the best advice I can give you is to go home and be a wife to your husband. Take a crack at being a woman, instead of a model, whatver that is. I ... I'm sorry for you, Carla"
"Get out of here, you small time punk," she shouted, her tears coming. "Shut up and get out of here. You'll sure never amount to anything. Who needs you? Get out, I said."
"Let's go, Karen," he said quietly, and they left her.
As Joe and Karen reached the top of the stairs, the music from below suddenly stopped in mid note, and a general ruckus was audible. A few female screams and male shouts separated themselves from the noisy buzz.
"Trouble. I think I know what it is. Stick next to me and keep your mouth shut," he ordered her. They descended the stairs, Karen clinging doggedly to his arm.
Sure enough, the Purple Pussycat was being raided by the police. As they hit the bottom step, at least five uniformed cops were blocking the front exit and more were pouring in.
Separating himself from the confusion, a husky cop stepped up to them, barring their path, and called over his shoulder: "Here's two from upstairs, Lieutenant."
Thank God! Joe recognized his friend, Lieutenant Sam Canelli approaching them. Caneli said: "Why, Joe, nice to see you ... It's a raid, Joe. We got a vice tip. You're not mixed up with these bad people, are you?"
"Uh ... no, of course not, Sam. The young lady and I just got lost looking for the rest rooms."
"That's what I thought, Joe." Canelli averted his face from the watching cop and gave Joe and Karen a broad wink. "They're clean, Corporal. Friends of mine. Let 'em pass," he ordered.
Before they could move for the door, other policemen pressed the crowd back to form an aisle, down which two of them began to escort the unresisting Sid Leopold. Poor Sid, Joe thought, seeing the crest-fallen expression on his face.
There was a clamor. A hopping mad Rita fought her way out of the general melee. Yanking one of Sid's uniformed escorts violently by the arm, she scream-ed: "Take your filthy, hairy hands off him, you stupid flatfoot! How dare you handle my husband that way?"
The embrassed cop tried to shake her off, but she harrassed him. "It's police brutality, that's what it is! You see this, folks?" she yelled. "Police brutality! I want your badge numbers, you lousy sons of bitches!"
Reinforcements managed to unfasten her from Sid's escorts, pushing her back into the crowd as gently as possible while trying to duck her flailing fists. As they led Sid on out, she screeched after them: "Don't worry, baby. Momma will be right down with the bail. You'll be out in an hour. Stinking bastards! Police brutality!"
Dean came next, similarly flanked, grinning from ear to ear. He caught Joe's eye and called: "Hey, Joey, is this a gas, man?" Talk about advertising!" He braked his heels and elbowed the cops, snarling at them: "What's your hurry, coppers?" His leering grin returned as he struggled around to address the crowd. "Don't worry, folks," he announced with wild elation. "The ol' Pussycat will be open for business Monday night. I got me the best, crookedest, shyster in town. Did everybody have a ball?"
Boozy cheers, mingled with catcalls at the cops, filled the air as Dean was dragged through the door, doubled over with mirth.
"Okay, boys, let the people go home now," Canelli called to the policemen at the door. "Let's clean out upstairs, and we can go home too"