Chapter 3
It was 3:10 of that same day, Vesper Delaney sat in Room 129 at Jefferson High, fought to focus her thoughts on the class proceedings. Mr. Kinney was holding forth on causes of the Civil War; Vesper even if she'd been in any sort of shape at all couldn't have cared less. The Civil War? That had happened 700 years ago. How did it apply to the here and now?
How did it apply to the very personal hell in which she, Vesper Delaney, girl-stupid, now found herself?
It wasn't bad enough that it was a beautiful day, the sun hot and intense, the sky clear, a fragrant spring breeze carrying in through the opened-to-maximum windows. No, there were other things bugging her. Things like the lingering aftermath of her first hangover, like her spiritual and moral hangover as well.
Add to that the seething restlessness in the classroom, the knowledge that in another week school would be finished for another year. Add to that the very hopelessness, the idiocy actually, of this situation. There were 34 students, microcosm of the whole decrepit plant, 40 whites, 20 blacks. All, like Vesper, were indifferent students, they were merely marking time, they were there because the state law (in most cases forceful, ambitious parents) said they had to be.
But because they were there, did that mean they were obliged to study, that they were actually supposed to absorb any of this cruddy material? Why sweat, when the weak-sister policy at Jefferson High virtually guaranteed them a diploma? This for the mere fact that they helped the custodians, kept the seats of their desks dusted?
Even had Vesper been a bright girl (she was not), even had there been incentive for her to study all such efforts toward betterment would have been doomed from the outset. After all, when the total establishment of environment at home as well as in the streets is seemingly dedicated to the stifling of the human soul-
When that elusive "better life" is a mockery and nothing more-
"The North was acting in a very arbitrary way, dictating impossible conditions the South hoped to meet...." Mr. Kinney droned on. Vesper scowled, stared up at the man. Seeing the disinterested, mechanical way Mr. Kinney read his notes, his mind a million miles away, she became even more bitter. Hell, dad, she thought, who needs this? You should be teaching us how to defend ourselves in the hall, out on the streets, you should be teaching us girls how to sling hash, how to coax tips from customers, you should be teaching the studs how to strip a parked car that much faster, how to fix the corner cop.
Her heart clutched, she felt a ghastly emptiness. You should be teaching morons like me how to keep their noses clean. Teach them how to keep their pants on, how to keep from being conned eighty ways from Sunday.
The bitterness choked her. She looked to her right, saw Ace Wilkins carving an obscene word on the edge of his desk, totally oblivious to what was going on around him in the room.
Her thoughts drifted again, the expenditure of thought, of puny emotion too dear at this despondent moment. She sniffed aloud to remember how, after all her concern, she'd skulked into their flat during this morning's wee hours, only to discover that neither her mother or her father had returned home as yet. Her sister Olive, twenty, independent, having long ago broken her parents' control over her, very-likely out peddling it on the highways and byways of the Murchison Street district, wasn't home either. There had only been kid brother Pete, and he'd been out like a light when she'd squeezed past his bed on her way into the cramped cubicle she and Olive shared. All that frenzy? For what?
Dawn had been very incommunicative as they'd dragged their way to school that morning. "How do you feel, Vesper?" she'd asked, a tired, cynical smile on her face.
"like dead," Vesper had replied. "All over. God, what those animals did to me...."
"You aren't alone, hon. I still ache. Look at these bruises. And that Gil! When he took me into that bedroom. I thought he was never gonna let me up. Talk about submarine!"
"What...." Vesper had ventured, her voice awed, ". . .are we gonna do about them?"
"Do?" Dawn had snorted. "What else, baby? I don't know about you, but I ain't gonna cross 'em. They're freaks, Vesper. They'll kill us as soon as look at us. And if they don't kill us, they'll leave us crippled for life, we'll have faces like a Halloween mask." She smiled sardonically. "I'm not going to stand those jocks up. Christ, of all the stupid things for us to get into."
"Dawn, I've been thinking, I could hardly sleep all night. You don't suppose they're going to sell us ... You know, to other men ... make whores out of us...."
"Where'd you get a dumb thought like that? They wouldn't dare. There are laws, after all...."
"I noticed. Last night. What then? If that ain't what they want?"
"They wanna play, that's all. They want theirs steady. And free. And so long as they caught a couple of suckers, kids who can't fight back...." She sighed ponderously. "We gotta go along with 'em. They'll get tired of us one of these days. And then...."
The conversation had died after that.
Now Vesper's mind heeled over hard. Distasteful as the memories were, she couldn't forestall them. A strange disquiet, half disgust, half wonder, suffused her. Panic, fear of pregnancy, fear of continued brutalities and vilifications at Arnie's and Gil's hands fled before her eyes. Again she wondered how a thing so thrilling, so sensually gratifying, could, in the blinking of an eye, become so vile, so loathsome?
And what, just what, had happened to her? It couldn't have been just the drinks, there had to be something else.
Was this the way all men were? All honey and smiles until they got what they wanted? The bitterness ballooned within her anew. If she was to go on past performances, it was so. All men were brutes, rutting, unfeeling animals, only one thought, one appetite, foremost in their minds.
She smiled wanly. Honey, if anybody should know-
Her rummy father, that sex-smirky kid brother of hers always brushing up against her, getting feisty with his hot, little hands-
There were the guys in the halls at school, on the streets, always trying to close in, trying to make out. Sex, sex, sex. A regular one-note samba. Tired, cynical as she was at this moment, she was surprised that she hadn't been had long, long before this.
Maybe it was for the best, she rationalized idly. At least I know what it is now, what's supposed to happen. I'll bet there are plenty of married women, bags who've been making it steady with their old man, who can't say that.
Jezz just one night with that Gil stud-
They'd never be the same again.
She was astonished to break up from her ugly little reverie, find that she actually felt jittery pangs of desire. That tight feeling was in her belly again, she felt all warm and flushed, her nipples had actually swollen inside her brassiere. Disgust ripped her.
Pig, she derided. You slutty pig! After what they did to you? You can get the hots just thinking about it?
But the taunts carried little sting. For she'd progressed one step too far into the erotic fantasy. And once started, the sensuality couldn't be so easily turned off. After all, she defended, any girl in the world on the morning after-
The first time. What am I supposed to think about? Maybe I should run through the multiplication tables yet?
And conscience thus mollified, Vesper surrendered herself totally to remembrance of her introduction to sex, she blocked out that portion of the evening where Arnie and Gil had turned brutal. She felt even more feverish now, she discovered her hands were beginning to tremble.
She slouched in her seat, tuned out Mr. Kinney completely. Now she let her thoughts reel back, she began at the very beginning. To where she and Gil had been dancing, to when he'd first kissed her. and begun to feel her up. Now she remembered how it had been when he'd taken her breasts into his mouth, when he'd brought her hand to himself. Just before-
She remembered how he'd hurt her, she remembered that terrifying sensation, part pain, part ecstasy, when he'd begun to fill her.
Vesper Delaney was gone now. Staring out the window, her large text-book shielding her face, she was transported to another world. A small, pinched smile grew on her face.
It was still light when Vesper and Dawn entered that stinking, littered alley on Trent Street that night, the prospect before them seeming less foreboding now that the moment of reunion was at hand. Vesper's father was on a toot again, her mother was working, Olive had another "date", there'd been nobody home to make waves when she'd cut out. And just so long as she got home at a decent hour, saw to it that no questions got asked about her whereabouts-
She'd see was there any alternative?
None whatsoever. Especially when she lived in such primal terror of her two tormentors. A terror (Vesper had discovered in school that afternoon) that was not without its peculiar satisfactions and fascinations as well.
Gil flung open the door at Dawn's first knock, stood with an arrogant smile, wore just a sport shirt, slacks, loafers, was obviously dressed for an evening at home. "Well, look who's here," he guffawed. "If it ain't my little Sparrow. And her good friend Dawn. C'mon in, you two. We been waiting for you. The party's just startin'. "
Arnie emerged from the kitchen, a couple of bottles of beer in his hand. "Hey, Dawn baby," he mocked. "I was beginning to worry about you. But then you wouldn't stand me up. would you? Not a guy with such charm, such good looks." He raised his arm in a menacing way. "A guy with such a good right?" He cackled. "Smart girl...."
The door was closed behind them, Vesper and Dawn were led into the living room, were once again surprised at the neatness of the apartment, impressed at its opulent furnishings and appointments.
And as an added surprise, there was a lovely Negro girl, a perfect stranger, who sat primly on the davenport, her cafe au lait legs crossed as she smoked. She peered speculatively at the newcomers, a thin smile twisting her lips. She ignored the fact that her skirt was high on her legs, revealed the tops of her stockings, the dark line of her garter belt. v
"Hello?" Gil chuckled. "Surprised, girls?" He indicated the Negress. "This spade's name is Marcy. Marcy Jordan. Marcy, meet Dawn and the Sparrow. Her real name's Vesper Delaney. But we're gonna call her Sparrow." His eyes mocked Vesper. "Ain't so, Sparrow?"
Vesper averted her eyes. "Anything you say, Gil."
"Ha! How about that, Arnie? She's learned a little respect already. Housebroken, the kid is. Smart."
"Hello, Marcy," Vesper said, ignoring Gil's needling. "Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you, Vesper," she replied, her eyes boring into Vesper's, "welcome to the club." Her eyes were dark, knowing. "Hope the initiation wasn't too rough...."
The Negro girl was perhaps eighteen at the outside. She was small, seemingly confident and self-possessed, considering the ugly circumstances. And though Vesper came into daily contact with Negro girls at school, generally kept her distance, had no time for such idiocies as integration, she had to admit that she'd never seen such a lovely Negress before. Her hair was long, smooth and soft, had a raven gloss to it that set off her small, tan face perfectly. Marcy's eyes were large, almond-shaped, her nose was small, thin, her lips being the only Negroid touch, even this feature enhancing her beauty, making her mouth pouty and sultry.
And as a further contrast, whereas Dawn and Vesper wore slacks and flats, Marcy was dressed to the nines, her pink dress flattering her sexy body, her matching pumps giving elegant flare to her legs.
Dawn stood sullenly apart from Marcy. Her prejudices stronger than Vesper's, she refused to speak. "What's she doing here?" she snapped.
Marcy sent Dawn a slow, condescending smile.
"She's a member of the team," Gil snapped. "She's gonna be working with us. And don't give her no grief, either. Or I'll put your ears on backward. Marcy's gonna break you stupes in."
"Break us in?" Dawn gaped. "What are you talking about?"
"Cool it," Arnie interrupted. "There's time. How about a drink first? What you dolls having?"
"Give 'em a little wine," Marcy said. "That's about their speed."
"Knock it off, you!" Dawn snarled. "I can drink anything you can. I can hold my liquor with the best of them."
"Yeah," Gil smirked, "you looked like it last night. Wow! How some people do get turned on."
"I don't care," Dawn said, "I ain't gonna have no dinge tellin' me what I can drink and can't drink."
Gil's hand came up in a blurring arc, he slapped Dawn across the face, half-whirled her across the room. "That's once," he said softly. "No more of that kind of talk. You gals are gonna get along. If you're gonna work together we can't have none of that...."
"Let her be," Marcy said tiredly. "I can take care of my own...."
"Bring 'em some wine," Gil ordered. "But easy." His grin turned lewd. "We got a long night ahead of us...."
They gathered in a small circle in the room, each with a drink in hand. Brewster had put some soft jazz on the player. One might have thought this was the most innocent sort of party until Gil got down to brass tacks, blew all Vesper's jejune thoughts of white-slavery sky high, when he finally revealed the real use to which his terror-ridden victims were to be put.
"New faces," he said, his lingo making Utile sense to Vesper, she drinking the sweet, potent wine too fast, already feeling that woozy warmth climb in her brain, "that's what this gig needs. The store dicks are getting wise to us. New clouts. And you, Dawn, Sparrow ... you're it. We're gonna break you in easy, train you. Before you're through you'll be the best damned boosters in the business."
"Clouts?" Vesper roused herself. "Boosters?"
Marcy gently put her hand on Vesper's shoulder where she sat on the floor, drew her back. "Easy, baby," she said. "Shoplifting ... that's what the man's talking about...."
"Shoplifting?" Vesper jerked as if she been slapped. "Oh, no! I couldn't...."
"Oh, yes," Gil laughed. "How else do you think we can afford a imagine pad like this?" He leered. "How else could we afford to wine and dine you dolls the way we do?"
Then, the initial shock fading as Gil, Arnie and Marcy took turns briefing the stunned, gaping innocents, the details began to take shape in their dazed minds. The picture, the name of the game, became very clear indeed.
Gil and Arnie were professional boosters. So professional were they that they rarely lifted a finger on their own-unless there was an especially difficult 'order' to be filled. They relied on their gang of adolescents, kids like Dawn and Vesper, to do their dirty work for them. Modern-day Fagins, they would teach their new prot'g's the ins and outs of the racket, they would relieve them of their hot cargo, would hotfoot it to their friendly, neighborhood fence, sell at bargain rates. Otherwise they would contact certain merchants not adverse to handling stolen merchandise, give them special prices on all sorts of odd lots.
It was further revealed that a couple of their helpers had recently taken a fall and now languished at New Hope Correctional Home for Women. The troupe was in desperate need of replacements.
Vesper Delaney, Dawn Logan-This is your life!
Marcy Jordan, so obviously impressed into bondage in the same way as they had been, living in that same dread fear of Arnie and Gil, hooked in some odd way on the grifter's life, would go with them on their first clout. She'd teach them all they needed to know, give them some most dangerous on-the-job training.
The girls would get a minimal cut, of course. Their risks would be made worthwhile. Not to mention the invaluable skills they'd be learning, skills that would always stand them in good stead in later life. "It'll be like a summer job," Arnie chortled. "SchooFll be out in a few days, you can go right to work. You can even tell your folks you got a job." He choked on his drink, thought the joke the funniest thing in the world.
And if the effects of the sherry weren't bad enough, the whirl of thoughts, the doubts and terrors in Vesper's brain served to confuse her that much more. No, no, no the refrain came in deafening roar in her head. I can't, I can't. Jail I'll be caught, sent to jail-
"How many others?" she awoke to find a strangely calm, dispassionate Dawn inquiring. "Besides us?"
"A couple. Only they ain't regulars." Gil smirked.
"like you'll be. Some are 'retired' until the fuzz forgets what they look like." He turned his palms out in a pacifying gesture. "See? It's only for a while And when they start sweatin' you, you bow out. It's as simple as that."
Vesper's heart rose slightly at that. There was a light after all. When they became recognized by the store detectives How long? A week? A month? Two months? Then Gil and Arnie would dismiss them, they'd be replaced by other suckers, other gulled victims. Stupes who deserved just what they got.
But as quickly, the cold hand clutched her heart anew. The reprieve could come even quicker, their illicit careers could end very swiftly. They could be caught, sentenced to reform school. And then-
She shook her head back and forth, fought helpless tears. What out was there? There was threat of bodily injury, even death, at the hands of her captors, there was nonstop sexual abuse. And beyond that the lure of freedom. But even that was blocked by the looming figure of blue-coated law.
"And don't get any funny ideas if you take a fall, either," Gil snarled now. "You don't fink on us, see? Because if you do, there'll be a reception committee waiting for you the day you come out. You're no use to us once you've been busted, understand? But if you rat, we'll make a use for you. like maybe a boat anchor, queen of an ugly show, something like that."
Arnie rose from his chair. "C'mon, you two," he said. "I'll show you something." He started toward the back of the apartment, indicated a door.
The girls opened it, Arnie switched on the light. They gasped, stood in gaping amazement as they took in the scene before them. On the floor, on shelves, on makeshift tables, on chairs, hanging on an improvised clothes rack-Clothing, shoes, records, portable radios, miniature TV's, cameras, box upon box of perfume, jewelry, a whole row of expensive leather handbags, billfolds, leather cases of every description. Here was a row of at least 25 odd pieces of luggage, there was a mink scarf, a tape recorder, even a matched set of golf clubs. How items like these had ever been boosted, Vesper couldn't begin to imagine.
"Our storeroom," Arnie laughed. "Stuff that ain't been called for yet. Tess and Kathy were good gals, you two are really gonna have to hump to take their place."
"All that...." Dawn marveled. "You stole all that?"
"Clout," he corrected her. "If you're gonna be in the business, you better learn the lingo. We clouted those goodies, boosted them."
For a few moments more the girls stood in dumb astonishment, their eyes greedily fleeing over the treasure trove. To the piles of exotic lingerie, hosiery and such, to the cluster of toasters, knife-sharpeners, can-openers, electric knives, to the array of imagine clocks on another table. And dozens of bottles of wine and liquor of every description. "My God...." Vesper breathed admiringly.
Then Arnie was killing the lights, herding them back to the living room. "Ain't that something?" Gil smirked. "You like our Utile store? You be good to us, we might let you shop there someday." He abruptly became business-like. "Tomorrow morning. Tomorrow's Saturday, ain't it? About eleven. We meet here, Marcy'll give you a schoolin'. You get your first taste of the real thing."
Instantly the dazzlement, the novelty of this unique situation faded within Vesper. And realizing that only hours stood between her and the actual thing. "No...." she moaned, turning as if to flee, "I can't do that, Gil, I just can't. I'd be scared to death. Please, don't make me...."
Brewster's face turned livid, a monstrous rage overtook him. He darted up, his eyes murderous. "Oh, Christ!" he spat. "I've had all of this whining and blubbering I can stand. You're gonna do it, and that's that, you're gonna be just fine." He grabbed her arm, whirled her.
"No...." Vesper shrilled a last time as that right arm drew back with lightning-like speed. "Don't oh, don't hit...."
She didn't finish. For then the fist was buried to the wrist in the middle of her belly. Vesper screamed gutturally, clutched her stomach, dropped to her knees. She gasped and whooped for breath, she thought her eyes were going to pop out of her head. Then, suddenly, she began vomiting all over herself, all over the floor.
The room was deathly quiet when she stopped, the sickish smell was heavy in the room. She raised herself, sow the other girls staring at her, terror in their eyes, she saw Arnie standing to one side, a disgusted grimace carved on his face. And then Gil advanced, a mass of dripping wet towels in his hands.
And seeing the wrathful look on his face: "Oh, I please, Gil! No more, please, no more. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be sick. Only you shouldn't have hit me in the stomach, you shouldn't have...."
He threw the sopping mess into her face. "Clean up, you pig! Clean up your own mess. Move, damn you...."
A chastened, humiliated Vesper hurried to scrub up the vomit, she worked feverishly, a bone-chilling fear filling her, stunning her mind. Anything, she thought I'll do anything. Only don't hit me again, Gil don't hurt me any more-
As of that moment Vesper became a gutless, willless automaton, every last shred of resistance was eternally routed.
Finally the vile task was finished. Marcy spraying the room with a floral deodorant, the lights dimmer all of a sudden, the setting was once more placid, returned to its former luxuriant state.
Shop-talk gradually diminished, glasses were refilled all around. Arnie and Gil on Cognac then, the mood became sybaritic, exotic even peaceful once more. And the three girls cowed, waiting in cringing dread.
The wine cut in quickly. Vesper drank almost desperately, despite her previous vow to take it easy. Things became hazy in a hurry. Thus she knew only minor shame and hesitancy when Gil began undoing her! clothes. She caved in, was further lulled when she saw Arnie disrobing Dawn. All of which the Negro girl watched impassively.
The music grew louder, more raucous. And as Gil indicated that Vesper should undress him also, she merely shrugged. All will gone, she began.
Arnie nakedly crossed the room, turned the lights down even more. The room was bathed in eerie, murky light. "Party time," Gil gloated. "Let's get things started. And for openers...." He stared at Marcy. "Baby? Will you do honors?"
Marcy struggled to her feet, shot him a last, hateful stare. Yet her fear of Gil was predominant. And without a word, she began swaying to the riffy music, she unconcernedly began unzipping her gown.
Vesper sat on the floor at Gil's feet. She stared muzzily as Marcy threw the dress, then her black slip, aside. She danced and whirled before them in just the shiny, black brassiere, panties, garter belt, in her nylons and pink, patent pumps. And then, as Marcy's hands became frenzied on her body, actually began to lift and rotate those monstrous breasts caged in that satin bra, its points exaggeratedly sharp, its exquisite cantileverings holding their lush cargo high and proud, Vesper felt Gils' fingers gather in her hair, she felt his knees trembling, she heard that sick humming in his throat. "That's all, baby," he slurred, increasing his pressure on her hair, raising her, turning her. "That's all of the show you see. The rest is just for Gil and Arnie. You got other work to do."
Vesper was on her knees before him, she was fighting his hands, bewilderedly staring into his cruel, mocking face. "Gil," she gasped. "You're hurting me.
What ... ? "
His eyes impaled her, the malice in them making her quail. "You know what, Sparrow," he hissed. "A little entertainment ... some refreshments on the side...." Then he began drawing her head down.
And as Vesper realized what it was he wanted, her heart turned to ice. Had she not so recently thrown up, she would have been sick all over again. But still, as his fingers twisted in her hair, as that pain was revisited, her will fled again. She knew it was no use to fight now.
She was drawn still closer, terror skewered her as he hovered before her, as she regared tht stunning arousal. "I can't," she gasped, "oh, I can't...."
"That seems to be your theme song, baby. Sure you can. Just try. You'll be surprised what you can do. once you set your mind to it." The throbbing fire in her scalp leaped searingly all at once. "Look at Dawn, she ain't havin' no trouble at all."
Her eyes shifted, she felt her stomach lurch as she saw how Dawn's head was bent, her eyes closed, her torso rising and falling. Then her head was turned. "Open up," Gil snickered. "Before I break your neck."
Vespers heart shattered at that moment. And slowly, inch by inch-
Gil chuckled as she began, he encouraged her foully, forced her. And finally, her will violated, as she settled down, commenced a steady pace, he groaned, fell back. Both he and Arnie watched Marcy intently, the double stimulation making them shudder and writhe. As Marcy, in just the belt, hosiery and high heels now, the black-on-black particularly titillating, moved more wantonly now, began to do very obscene things to herself with her hands and fingers. Party time. With a vengeance.