Chapter 6
The girls returned to their room that evening little impressed by the locality. Sandra had landed a temporary job in a small library on East 26th Street. Mavis, aiming higher, invested in new stockings and the sort of dress calculated to arouse and maintain the interest of any theatrical agent in full possession of his faculties. She had few inhibitions, if any, only ambition. She knew what she wanted and where she hoped to get. It only remained to establish the quicket and easiest way of getting there, and she was on her way.
Shadows were lengthening when the girls turned into 46th Street off Portman Boulevard, and it was evident, even to Sandra's limited acceptanre of the facts of life, that they had moved into a notorious neighborhood. Mavis especially began to understand fully the implications behind Al Grant's suggestive remarks. He obviously had taken them for a couple of young whores fresh from small town activities. They had taken a room in one of New York's worst vice spots. By the time they reached the hotel both of them had got the message.
From 22nd Street to 46th Street was like a vast warren harboring every type of lecherous sadist, pervert, dope addict, pimp, and prostitute, of every color. Right away, thanks to Al's helpful cousin, the girls had hit the jackpot, the rotten, festering core itself. They couldn't have landed in a lousier district if they'd planned it that way. Even that early every doorway held one or more prostitutes, cold-eyed whores of all shapes and sizes, black, brown, yellow, and white.
Leering men openly accosted Mavis and her friend. Once a staggering drunk exposed himself to them, cursing when they avoided him and hurried on. Furtive figures occupied every nook. On a corner, two queers stood talking, making effeminte gestures. Both wore high-heeled shoes and tight-fitting slacks, and make-up. A woman with close-cropped hair and wearing a man's suit sidled up to Sandra, caught hold of her arm and whispered something. Sandra would have lingered but Mavis pulled her away, and the language the woman hurled after them would have blistered the ears of a 'Frisco wharf-rat.
Two blocks west of Grant's Hotel an enormous Negress suddenly loomed like a bloated monstrosity from a narrow alley and blocked the sidewalk.
"What's yo' hurry, white gals?" she demanded truculently. "Ah doan recall seein' youse round dis beat before. How long yo' bin workin' dis avenue? Youse two of Blanche's new gals, mebbe?"
"We aren't what you think," Mavis said coldly. "Let us pass."
"Doan take dat high-handed tone wid me, yo' trash. Ah asked where youse from an' how long yo' bin in de neighborhood. It doan pay to get smart wid me."
"Honest," Mavis said desperately. "We aren't what you think. We only arrived in New York last night. We've got a room two blocks up, in Grant's Hotel. We're not looking for men."
"Al's place? Dat crap joint? Lordy! If youse really ain't on de game yo' sho' nuff done pick a bad flophouse for decent gals. Shucks! Wid dem shapes youse oughta be on de street. Me now, ah'm all blubber, but ah gets by. Tell me, white gal, if youse ain't open for business what yo' doin' in a place like Al's?"
"For heaven's sake!" Mavis flared, suddenly angry. "It is a hotel, isnt it? We needed a room while we look around for something suitable."
"Yo' mean like work under cover, huh? Yeah, but dat...."
"Nothing like that. We're respectable."
"Meanin' ah ain't? Skip it. Yo' is so right. Ain't hard to tell youse is from outa town."
"What of it?"
"Nuthin', honey. Only if things get kinda tough an' youse decide yo'd like to go to work on de Avenue, youse jest come see ol' Phoebe, huh? Ah'll sho nuff set yo' right. Lady ah works for is mighty generous, honey. But she doan like strangers musclin' in."
"You mean you do this for somebody else?" Mavis asked, restraining Sandra's nervous tugging at her arm. She felt a spark of genuine interest coupled with curiosity. Phoebe laughed. Her huge breasts joggled and her flabby belly quivered uncontrollably.
"Lordy, honey!" she explained, "All us gals works for somebody 'cepting ourselves. How else yo' gwine get by? In dis game yo' gotta have somebody to look out for yo', somebody to sweeten de cops and look after you' iffen youse is sick or somethin'. Hey dere! Mister! Youse lookin' for a nice, well-built gal mebbe-none of dat skinny stuff?"
She thrust Mavis roughly aside and strutted-or perhaps waddled is a better word, towards a lanky drunk wearing Navy whites.
"Please!" Sandra begged. "Let's get away from here. I've seen enough. We can't stay here, Mavis. I knew from the start it was a mistake."
"Oh, stop bleating. We can't afford not to stay. Come on."
A short distance ahead a grotesque, horribly deformed figure scuttled like a giant crab from one patch of shadow into another, emerged again to stare at the girls. They avoided clutching hands and ran the last few yards. Sandra sighed with relief when the door of their room closed behind her. She kicked off her shoes and flopped onto the bed.
"I'll never be able to stay on here," she said firmly. "It's awful, disgusting. Trust us to pick the worst spot possible."
"Oh, it isn't all that bad. All right, so we don't like the locality or what goes on. I don't expect we'll be here very long, only until we get a few dollars together. Everything here is different from back home. You'll have to get used to it, Sandra."
"There are some things I'll never get used to. You're different. I wish I had your disposition."
One of the things they both would have to get used to, and which they didn't discover until they got to bed, was just another something Al had neglected to mention. Bugs ... Not so many compared to the cockroaches, but enough to dampen Sandra's homosexual tendencies for that night at any rate. Both she and Mavis spent a miserable night. Morning found them hollow-eyed and irritable. Sandra was apprehensive about her new job. After breakfast she took off leaving Mavis to her own devices.
It was as Mavis emerged from the bathroom with its drab, flaking paint and faulty shower that she bumped into Al. Most likely be arranged it that way but didn't count on such a solid impact. The outcome was that Al sustained a minor nose bleed and Mavis fell heavily on her rump. Her robe flew open, and she was naked underneath, a fact Al was quick to appreciate. Helping her up he contrived 'to touch just about every portion of her body that mattered, smiling disarmingly all the while, and she experienced something akin to the delicious thrill Phil Benton's caresses had aroused in her flesh.
"You did that on prrpose," she accused. Al nodded.
"Yeah," he admitted. "Mebbe I did. But I didn't figure on almost bustin' my nose. I thought it was about time we sorta got better acquained, doll. You had breakfast yet?"
She nodded. "An hour ago."
"You can use another cuppa coffee...."
"In your room, of course?"
"Naturally. Relax, babe, I won't bite you."
"That's more than I can say for the bugs we found crawling all over our bed. Why didn't you tell us about the bugs?"
"Bugs? What bugs? Hell! You don't call them little fellas bugs. They're just small fry. Got no teeth."
"No? Look at these."
Mavis pulled her robe aside and exposed her pinkwhite hip, its former perfection marred now by several angry red blotches.
"They didn't make those marks just sucking," she said. "You'll have to do something about them, Al."
"The bugs-or the bites?"
He grabbed her suddenly and pulled her against him. The look in her eyes encouraged him. She made no move to stop him when he slid a hand inside her robe and imprisoned one sweetly rounded breast. The breath hissed sharply between her teeth and Al knew she was all his. He began to remove the robe completely, but she clung to it.
"Not here!" she protested, "We'll go to our room. It's nearest."
She went ahead of him up the stairs, and desire flayed him with every. step, every movement of her vibrant young body. He was breating heavily when he followed Mavis into the apartment, but it was not from exertion. She was barely across the threshold before he kicked the door shut and snatched the robe from her. He fondled her nakedness, muttering crude vulgarities, and she uttered a cry of pleasure when he dropped to his knees and pressed his lips to the bug bites on her hip.