Lori Annette Miller, a name emblazoned on the Chicago police blotter, is the very same name given to me by my parents and bonded to my tiny forehead with a liberal sprinkling of water from an eager preacher's fingers. Other names followed. One I acquired through a legitimate marriage while others were pseudo-marriages of one night's duration, scrawled unashamedly on a motel register by an anxious male companion. Either way, they bore no more simulation to permanency than an ice cube on a hot griddle!
Besides these miscarriages of marital monickers, I was given other names, uttered in anger by indignant citizens, carried away with righteousness. These emissions were hissed at me with hatred-hot words, spiked with venom, or tittered in my general direction with the generous coating of distaste. Not uncommon were the earthy words of disgust such as 'slut', 'whore', 'tramp', or 'pig". They were not easy to digest but, bounced so liberally off my tortoise-like conscience with such frequency, they soon lost their penetrating qualities. I shrugged them off.
My first recollection of anything even remotely connected with sex came at the early age of 6 or 7. Oh, I realized that my brothers went to the potty differently than I did, but this fact was accepted as normal and I don't recall experiencing any curiosity over it. When we played out in the tall grass behind the barn I knew that they could stand up and go, and that I had to squat down! That's all I knew about it. Then.
CHAPTER TWO
Growing up with brothers, I suppose, always leads to some type of bedroom shenanigans and some of the nocturnal prowlings that took place in our home wouldn't exactly come under the heading of clean, wholesome fun. Nor were they decent. When our parents were not home my brothers and sisters would sometimes "carry on" to such an extent, that I recall standing at the foot of the bed in awe of what I saw.
Besides learning about sex by the hit-or-miss method under the family roof, there was always a certain amount of schooling in session with the neighbor children. Being too young to be of much service around the farm, we kids spent our leisure hours cavorting about the woods, or swimming, or picking berries, or 'playing house'.
At the age of 13, when little lumps began to appear on my chest and males began to appear on my horizon, I started to date quite regularly. Boys would walk me home and we would stand on the porch or under the big tree in our front yard and talk. The giggles of young girlhood were soon replaced with the sighs and pantings of young womanhood, and I soon discovered the same thing was happening in the throbbing little hearts and minds of the boys.
When I thought about boys I became inwardly excited and I could feel an uncontrollable urge in my groin that needed satisfying, yet also felt pleasant. Oh, how I wanted to have a boy do to me what should be done! Many times I almost weakened, for my body cried out in eagerness-yes, let him do it!-whenever one of my youthful lovers fondled me. It was all I could do to keep from tearing off his clothes and mine and experiencing what Nature was encouraging me to do. Oh, how I want it!
I knew I could never wait for marriage before I experienced the sexual pleasure of a male body.
No longer was standing on the porch or under the tree just talking the thing either of us wanted. There was something more ... something much more exciting! What childish "experimenting" I had done was nothing compared to the scorching sensations that now ran rampant in my body; sensations brewing up a wild storm of desire that was becoming more and more difficult to control.
I wanted to be a woman. A complete woman. The only way I felt this could be accomplished was to have a man. Not a man to talk to and hold my hands, but a man to have in his entirety ... his whole body ... completely. I wanted to go all the way, even though I was scared.
CHAPTER THREE
A certain built-in fear crept into me whenever one of my swains allowed his hands to stray, and I immediately put a stop to the prowling. I liked it, yet I was afraid to let them play with me. How far should I allow these digital expeditions to progress, before drawing up my defenses, was my problem.
At first, while clutched in a heated embrace, I was usually so engrossed in being kissed and kissing back that I was not aware that an errant hand had crept either up my leg or down my blouse, and was fondling something that should not be fondled. However, remembering my morals and forgetting my emotions, I would draw myself erect, extract the wandering hand and admonish my young lover in a manner I thought was proper for young ladies of my age.
From ages 18 to 15, my love life and frustrated sex life went in similar fashion. I was afraid of being called a prude if I didn't allow some meandering about my person and yet I was afraid to go too far for fear of being called something else.
My parents sold our farm and we moved to Clairmont, 25 miles away. I found life quite exciting in Clairmont although the 'city' was only 15,000 population.
There were far more things to do and many more friends to associate with. One of my girlfriends was a little red-haired, shapely girl named Katherine. We all called her Kathy, though. Kathy and I took to each other immediately. She was cute, witty and generally a lot of fun. By this time, I had hair which fell in long waves over my shoulders. My figure was equal to Kathy's or anyone else's for that matter. My breasts now had grown into generous, sweater-straining mounds which I noticed the boys stared at as I walked by.
Kathy and I dated freely, exchanging notes on the boys we dated and classifying them into various gentlemen, the mildly eager, and the octopus class. Although we were still virgins and considered to be 'good girls', we began to find the gentlemen type boring. So, we gradually began to seek out the octopus class. They were more exciting. They told dirty jokes, talked dirty and tried to make us on every date! Our sex-starved, teen-age bodies wanted to let them, yet Kathy and I were both afraid and held back.
"Kathy," I said, "I sometimes get the feeling that I'd like to do what the boys want us to. How do you feel about it?"
"Oh, yes! I get so hot sometimes I think I can't stand it any longer!" she replied, emphatically.
"Me, too!"
"Do you think it would be wrong if we let them do it?" she asked. "I know it's wrong but a lot of the other girls do it."
"I know."
"If I did it, it would have to be with someone special. I wouldn't want to do it with just anyone," I said.
"Me, too. A couple of times I would have, but I was afraid the boy would tell someone. That'd be awful!"
"When we were on the farm a lot of the kids did it out in the woods. I was too young then, but once I let a boy play with me. It was fun," I said, remembering.
"Did you ever ask your sister about stuff like that?" she asked.
"No, I'd never dare! But I know some things they used to do, and they seemed to have lots of fun. I was in the same bed once, when my sister did it," I added. I didn't tell Kathy that the other 'party' was my brother, though.
"Lori!" She flushed with excited embarrassment.
"Did you ever have anyone play with you? You know, down there?"
"Now, Lori, you're getting personal." Her flush deepened.
"So you did!" I laughed.
"Well-l ... a couple of times, but I'm not telling you who with!"
"Did you like it?"
"Of course!"
"Let me ask you something else, Kathy."
"Go ahead, I'm not bashful." Her face was livid.
"When you're necking with a boy and he starts to feel you, how far do you let him go before you stop him? I never know. It feels good, but I'm afraid I might lose my head and ... well...."
"Oh, I don't know, Lori. I don't mind too much if they play around up on top, but I don't let anyone feel of my legs. If they got beyond my knees-I'd fall apart and let them have it. That's my weakness!"
"Do you let them inside?"
"You mean inside my bra?"
"Yes."
"Sometimes."
And so it went. Kathy and I would discuss all the ground rules of the petting game and the more we talked about it the more certain both of us were that we would go 'all the way' before too long.
CHAPTER FOUR
The time came soon enough.
Larry Mitchell was a slim, rather tall boy with a nice smile and a devilish way. He was clean-cut, full of fun and came from an upper middle class family. He was the one I wanted and I set out to get him.
With my looks and figure it wasn't too much trouble getting any boy in school. Kathy and I had learned the rules of this little game, too, and it produced results: make yourself available in the right places in front of the right boys; tease them a little; play hard to get, and then agree to go out with them. Then ice-berg them on the first or second date, to make them want you all the more, and then give them a little smoothin' to keep them satisfied . , . and wanting more! It was simple.
The rules of the game worked for me when I used them on Larry, Poor, unsuspecting Larry! He didn't even know he was going to lay me but I knew it! We dated a few times, necked a little, then arranged a date for a school ball game in a neighboring town.
On the way home, Larry suggested we park and talk and I agreed. He found a secluded spot and parked and we talked a short time. He put his arm around my shoulder but made no move to kiss me.
I cuddled up to him, raised up and looked at him as he related some spectacular feat he had performed on the football field. I was all attention as I knew he wanted me to be. I brushed his cheek with my lips and felt his breath catch. I reached up and gently pulled his face around so our lips met. I felt him swallow. His body went tense. He relaxed and our kisses became impassioned and almost furious.
I wanted more kisses. I wanted him ... all of him!
Larry was a gentleman, though. He made no move to feel my breasts which were aching for his touch. I could feel the warmth between my thighs as I pressed closer to him. Somehow, I thought, I must make him want me!
I dropped one hand on his leg and felt the muscles stiffen. I moved my hand slowly back and forth, pretending to be more interested in his kisses than his leg. He didn't seem to notice for he still made no move toward my blouse.
Carefully, during one of our more torrid kisses, I let my hand stray to the inside of his thigh and ran my fingers almost to the bulge in his trousers. I moved closer to him and pressed my breasts against him. I pulled him by the back of the neck as I kissed him.
Kissing and hugging, Larry did not notice as I unbuttoned my blouse, reached around and un-snapped my brassiere. His arms were around me and I took one of his hands and slid it slowly onto my breast. He gasped, paused briefly, then suddenly became afire!
His kneading hands, clenching and unclenching, seized the skin on my back, now hot with emotion, abandoned it, appearing now at another point of my anatomy to caress, to pet and to pinch. Lovingly, his hands roamed and explored. I took, a firm grip on his hair and pressed his face into my bosom.
A thrill shot through me as I felt his warm lips on my nipples. I poured words of endearment into his ear as his head turned sidewise and I nibbled gently on it. His arms encircled my neck, squeezing ... squeezing ... squeezing. "Ooh, Lori!"
He unwrapped his arms and sent his hands under my skirt. Eager fingers fumbled at the throbbing juncture of my thighs. We were side by side, crushing our feverish bodies together, transferring our love from one to the other. We worked our hips back and forth. I could feel the throbbing of his manliness against my legs.
"Ooooh, Larry ... ooh!" It hurt, yet it felt wonderful!
Bodies fused as one, we languished in our heavenly pleasure. We paused, stomach against stomach. My voice was only a breath now: short, sucking gasps. Words, soft and sweet, became entangled in emotion-thickened tongues, tumbling incoherently into the night like so much breath filled babble. Their ardent meaning was lost as they drifted into the indifferent breeze of the night. The meter of our consummation settled into a steady rhythm of love. Then sensation which I had so long desired, was now here. It crept stealthily and wondrously into our bodies at the same time. It built within us until it exploded, simultaneously, like a fiery meteor. I loved it!
Later, as we arranged our clothing and tried to come back to earth, Larry spoke softly to me as he sat behind the wheel, with his head down: "Lori, I'm sorry. I didn'. mean to do that."
"Larry, don't be sorry. It was as much my fault as yours."
"Oh, no, I shouldn't have done it, Lori. What if something happens? You know, like getting in trouble or something?"
"I don't know. Let's not worry about it," I said. I kissed him lightly on the cheek while he started the car. We spoke very little on the way home. I lay against his shoulder, holding onto his upper arm, as we drove. I had gotten what I wanted!
"There's one thing, Larry."
"What's that?"
"What we did, you know, back there. Please, please don't tell."
"I won't," he said, softly. "Don't worry."
"Promise?"
"Promise!"
Actually, Larry didn't have to promise to keep quiet. What he kept as a secret I soon let out of the bag myself. Not with words but with actions. I had enjoyed my initial foray into the world of sex and, even though I was sore from this first time, I discovered that within a week I was seeking to add another page to my book of sex.
Jimmy Pruitt was the next. Then followed Arty and Kevin, and still more until, after my 16th birthday, I had lost count! The boys know what I wanted and how easy it was to get what they wanted, too. I thought it was all a secret between the boys I had done it with ... and me. I didn't even tell Kathy although I felt she suspected. Yes, it was a big secret one day, when I went to the John. Two girls came in, but they didn't see me.
"Golly, Sally, did you ever...?"
"What?"
"That Lori Miller. It's a wonder she doesn't get knocked up, the way she does it with every boy in school!"
"I know. And that Kathy she chums around with is just as bad. Why, they're both a couple of cheap little sluts!"
I was shocked. I had no idea anyone knew! One of the boys had blabbed,-that was it! I'd show them! I just wouldn't do anything like that anymore. That would take care of it. What could they say then?
But it was too late.
Oh, sure, I behaved like a perfect lady, but the reputation I had so carelessly strewn into the winds increased until remarks were made virtually in the open.
"Well, I guess I'll go slumming tonight. You take Kathy and I'll take Lori," one of the boys would say, making sure I'd hear. "They're not bad nookie-if there's nobody else around!"
"Yeah, if you're not too particular. Hell, I think they're both all worn out already!" Then I'd hear the guffaws of the others in the group. So that was the way boys played!
CHAPTER FIVE
After graduation from high school, I was bored and restless. I felt that my life had reached a dead end.
With the little savings I had accumulated, I bought a ticket to Chicago, explaining to my parents that our small town offered no future and, besides, I wanted to see more of the world. From the train depot in Chicago, I took a cab to one of the cheaper hotels and signed the register, in front of the desk clerk. I went to my room.
I felt strange and alone in a big city. The multitude of noises outside did little to soothe me, and I slowly became aware of a fear in me. It crept over me deliberately into my senses, gripping my stomach and squeezing it. It entwined itself over my entire being, until I felt I could no longer breathe. It blurred my vision as I groped for the light switch. I was but a small bird on its first flight from the nest, and I was scared to death!
Once the room was bathed in light, I regained some of my composure. I sat on the edge of (he bed and made an attempt at gathering up my scattered senses, tucked them back into place and made plans for the next day. I would need a job ... any kind of a job. But where to look? And what to look for?
I had very little experience at anything, except for a short period one summer that I had spent in an office. Office work was good. It was clean and the pay was good. I decided to try office work. I could forget Larry and the other boys ... forget them all ... all men ... at least for the time being.
The next day was like a dream. I left the hotel and walked the streets, making sure to remember my route so I wouldn't get lost. I marvelled at the tall buildings, the heavy flow of traffic, the thousands of people who all seemed to be in such a hurry. I was bumped and jostled about as I stopped to look in the store windows. Nobody seemed to window shop in Chicago. They just ran past the stores! I moved with the sidewalk crowds, aimlessly, without purpose or direction.
I found myself in the doorway of a small lunchroom and, seeing the people seated at the counter, I remembered I hadn't eaten. I went in and took a seat between a middle-aged man and a woman whom, I judged, was in her early thirties. The waitress was in front of me almost before I was seated, glaring at me as though I had trespassed on some sacred ground.
"What'll it be, dearie?"
"Ah, ah ... I'll ... I want...."
"Hurry up, dearie. There are others waiting!"
"Coffee. And ... ah, a donut, please," I said politely.
"How ya want yer coffee? Black?"
"Yes, please," I replied quickly. I never drank black coffee, but I was too shy to ask for cream. I noticed the woman next to me had a small creamer in front of her, so I asked if she was going to use it.
"No. Here, help yourself," she said. She smiled at me and passed the creamer to me. The waitress, busily mopping the counter, looked at me and glared again.
"Are they always so, ah ... so rude?" I asked the woman.
"Rude? No, they just get hardened to their jobs. They really don't mean anything by it."
"Oh," I said. "I thought maybe I'd done something wrong."
"You're new in town?"
"Yes. I just got here yesterday. I came from up north. Small town."
"Yes, I figured as much. Looking for work?"
"Yes, I'll have to find something. I'm looking for office work."
"Why office work? That doesn't pay anything."
"Well, it's what I've been doing. I don't know any other kind of work."
"Nobody your age knows too much. How old are you?"
"Eighteen? Nineteen?"
"I'm twenty-one," I lied.
"You don't look it."
"Well, I am," I insisted.
"Why don't you get yourself a job in some club? You know, cocktail waitress, or something like that? There's good money in that, and someone with your looks would really clean up."
I had a chance to study my new-found friend as she talked. She was a little overweight, moderately attractive and dressed fairly well. Her hair was light brown and clipped short and, from the back, she could have been mistaken for a man.
"I don't know if I'd like that kind of work," I said. "Besides, I don't have any experience. Is it hard to learn?"
"Naah. All ya gotta do is take orders for drinks and carry them back to the tables. Jest like a waitress, only yer serving booze instead of food."
"Where do I go? I mean, where would I apply for a job like that?"
"Jest go down the street and stop in every joint you see. Pick out the better looking places, though. You don't wanna get mixed up with no dives, and there are plenty of them, let me tell ya!"
"Do you know of any places? I wouldn't know a good one from a bad one. Would you help me? I mean, just show me a couple places today. Or, tell me which ones to stay away from. I'd like to get something nearby. Some place that I can walk to. I don't know my way around and something close to where I live would be nice."
"Where do you live?"
I gave her the name of the hotel.
"If you stay there for long it'll get a little expensive. You should find yourself a girl friend and share expenses on an apartment. It's a lot cheaper that way."
"I don't know anybody here," I said.
"You know me," she said, gripping my forearm.
"But you wouldn't want someone living with you, would you? Don't you have a husband?"
"Husband! Hah! Not met"
"Do you live alone?"
"Yes. Nice little apartment jest a few blocks from here. Would ya like to see it?"
"Well, ah, sure, if it's not too much trouble," I said.
Breathlessly, she began to extoll the virtues of her habitat, holding me by the arm during the narration and squeezing for effect when she came to some particularly inspiring valuation of this abode. She occupied this lair by herself, she told me, since the demise of an overly-adventurous cat who had put all nine of his lives on the line one night while in pursuit of a reluctant and speedy female. He was consequently pressed into the pavement when he was unable to outrun the Chicago traffic.
"As long as it was a male, I didn't feel too badly about it," she said.
The apartment was on the second floor of a dirty brick building, and consisted of two rooms. One was the living room, where a small but efficient-appearing kitchen cowered against one wall, and the other was a bedroom. The bed was neatly made and seemed to be over-sized. A dresser, also larger than normal, easily held its cargo of perfumes, powders, scattered jewelry and sprays while a couch, nestled under the double window, was abundantly freighted with a half-dozen pillows of varying sizes and colors. All in all, it was very comfortable. It was easy to accept her offer to move in and that afternoon found me unpacking my two suitcases in this newly-discovered home.
My new found friend's name was Thelma Morgan. She was 32, had never been married although, at one time, she had planned on such a venture. This was when she was 18, but her plans had gone awry when her proposed matrimonial mate decided to flee the night before the wedding. Since that time, she told me, she could find no love for a man, and it would have to be someone exceptional before she would again entertain any thought of marital incorporation.
"Men! They're all alike," she scoffed. "They get what they want from a woman and then go on their merry way."
"I know what you mean, but not all men are alike," I said.
"To me they are!"
A week passed and I still hadn't been able to find a job. I had given job-seeking a hap-hazard try, because I still had a little money left, and I felt a certain security under the protective shrouds of Thelma's company.
It was a Saturday night and Thelma suggested as long as there was no job hunting to be done on Sunday that we go out and see some the big city's lights. We stopped at a few bars and had one drink in each. Naturally, in each, a man would stop and try to get into a conversation with us, but Thelma intervened each time, sending the would-be male companion on his way.
"Gotta be careful," she said, "cuz they only want one thing. Lotta wise guys around!"
It was after mid-night when we finally climbed the stairs, with Thelma clutching at my elbow with one hand, while she held onto the fifth of liquor she had had the foresight to buy, with the other. Once inside, she marched directly to the sink, made two rather muscular drinks, and plopped down in the chair opposite me.
"Make ya sleep better," she said, waving her glass at me.
"Here's to you," I said, "and to my finding a job Monday."
"Don't worry about it, Honey," she said. The first drink was followed by a second and, hotly in pursuit, came the third. I was beginning to feel a little wobbly as the liquor ventured on its exhilarating journey through my system. Thelma merely slouched in her chair and grinned at me.
"I know one thing, Honey," she said. "I'm going to get comfortable. These clothes have got to go." She stood up and pulled off her blouse and skirt, peeled off her stockings and kicked her shoes off to one side. "There, that's better. Why don't you take off your things? Here, I'll help ya."
I got to my feet, but found that standing on high heels in this condition was not easy, and I grabbed for the arm of the chair to keep from falling. Thelma was at my side and helped me back into the chair.
"Sit up," she said, "I'll help ya with yer sweater." She pulled me forward and stripped the sweater from me. Then, quickly and without hesitation, she reached behind me and unsnapped my brassiere and pulled it off over my outstretched arms.
"There," she said, "doesn't that feel better?"
"Oh, yes," I said as I scratched the reddened lines where the bra had cut into me.
"How about the skirt? Stand up and we'll get that off so you can relax." She gripped me under the arms and hauled me erect. Deftly, her fingers released the button on the side of my skirt and slid the zipper down. With one quick motion she hulled my horso, leaving me tottering and quite bewildered in nothing but my shoes, stockings and panties. She tossed the deserted skirt to one side, took a step backward and studied me with a quizzical eye. Then, seeing there was still some clothing left on me, she pushed me back into the chair.
"Here, let's get all of it off." She pared the pants from me and flung them to one side, rolled both stockings down and pulled them off my wiggling toes.
"There," she said with satisfaction, "now you can relax!"
She disappeared into the bathroom and I sat in my chair, afraid to move for fear I would fall on my face, and waited for her. When she returned I noticed she, too, was now in the nude, but thought nothing of it. Calmly, she walked to the lamp and switched it off.
"Guess we'd better go to bed," I said, groping in the darkness. Pawing around with both hands, my fingers touched bare skin. "Oh, excuse me!" I gasped. "I didn't know you were there!"
"That's all right, honey. Just sit still," she said. Her voice was low ... almost a whisper, and as she spoke I felt her hands on my arms. "Relax, honey ... just relax."
Slowly, her fingers coursed up my arms and a-round my shoulders. She pushed me back into the chair. The room was swimming and, as my eyes gradually became accustomed to the dim light, I could see Thelma standing before me. Her hands moved down my shoulders and, with one sure move, both hands cupped my breasts. I gasped. My hands flew to hers. Feebly, I tried to push her away, but her fingers were gently kneading ... fondling ... caressing. It felt good. I wasn't sure if this was right. But it was good and I knew I wouldn't stop her now.
"Do you like it, honey?" she whispered.
"Y-yes ... oh, yes!" I panted. My hands were over hers and, instead of pushing them away, I pressed them to me. Thelma dropped to her knees in front of me. I could feel her breasts against my legs. I reached down and found the nipples. Gently, I squeezed each one but she pushed my hands away. She ran her hands around my back and took one of my breasts in her mouth. I squirmed in ecstasy! She was so gentle!
Her hands were soft on my body and I experienced a feeling I had never had before. She pulled my hips forward in the chair so that I was leaning back in almost a reclining position. She was still kissing my breasts as she spread my legs apart. Slowly, gently, carefully, she kissed my arms, my breasts, my stomach and then my legs, until I could stand it no longer! I clutched at her head and pushed it down. I lay back, my mind in a whirl and my craving for sex unstoppable! Thelma took me to heaven ... a heaven I had never known or felt before! It was wonderful!
After what seemed like hours, Thelma whispered in my ear: "Do you think a man could make you feel like that?"
"Oh, no! Never!"
"You have a beautiful body, honey, and no man is deserving of it. You belong to me now. I want you." She kissed my ear ."You want to be with me, don't you?"
"Y-yes, of course," I replied. "B-but, ah, is it all right? I mean, to do something like this?"
"If you like it, it's right."
"I felt kind of funny when you were ... ah ft
"You shouldn't. It felt good to you, didn't it?"
"Oh, yes! Real good!"
"Then that's all there is to it," she said. "Let's go to bed."
CHAPTER SIX
It was two weeks later and I still hadn't gone to work. Thelma insisted that I stay home and forget about finding a job. Although doing nothing was attractive to me at first, it began to bore me. I felt I was missing a part of life. Also, the scowling face of my conscience was drilling its beady eyes into me, more and more, until the feeling of guilt kept me from looking into the mirror any more than I really had to.
Thelma had taught me many things about sex, and sometimes when she performed her sexual acts on me, she insisted I reciprocate. Occasionally, under a full sail of bourbon. I would find these practices acceptable and sometimes even pleasant, but for the most part I preferred that she be the aggressor and toy with my body and give it the satisfaction it desired.
Even though our co-habitation was blissful from a sex standpoint, I realized it was perverse and wicked from what was considered normal. This misapplication of my sexual yearnings haunted me more and more, and I began to think of men and the pleasures they could give me. The continued idleness took me out of the apartment for walks down the crowded streets. I found myself looking forward to Thelma's leaving for work so that I could get out and associate with the outside world. Where Thelma had drilled in to me to forget men, I gradually looked forward to their stares and their whistles. I deliberately strolled past corners where I knew someone would notice me. In the brightness of daylight, my cross-grained relationship with Thelma troubled me. Somehow, I would have to free myself of her, get a job and be on my own.
During my daily walks, I took note of the various lounges along the way and, one day, when I felt extra brave, I marched into one of the nicer-appearing ones and applied for a job. Much to my surprise, I was told to report for work that evening. Experienced or not, this establishment, the High Hat Lounge, was willing to give me a chance at a job.
Excitement ran rampant in me. I didn't know what Thelma would say, but I assumed she would be relieved to have me help with the expenses. We could still live together, but my hours would be different from hers, meaning, of course, that we would see very little of each other. When I excitedly told her about my job, she was in complete disagreement was my thinking .
"Why do you want to take a job? Aren't you happy here?"
"Of course, I'm happy, but I can't just stay here and do nothing forever, Thelma. It just isn't right."
"I didn't think you'd ever do this to me. I'm very disappointed. I thought I was giving you everything you wanted."
"It's not that. It's just that I want to do something on my own. It isn't right that I just sit up here all day and have you support me."
"What does any good wife do?" she asked. "She stays home and keeps house!"
"Well, yes, a wife does, but...."
"Well, you're my wife, honey, and I want you to be just like any other wife."
"Wife? Me?"
"Of course. I thought you understood that. When two people live like we do, and do the things we do, then they're just like married. Now, about this job you said you got. You're not going to work there. I can support you just as well as anybody, so get ideas like that out of your head. Understand?" She was angry now and her face was flushed. She stood in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips, as though daring me to say anything further to her. I resented this. Who was she to tell me what to do? Sure, I enjoyed her rippling the waves of my sexual ocean, but that didn't mean she owned me!
There was nothing I could do to talk Thelma into letting me go to work. She was dead against it. I agreed to stay home just to keep her happy, but I made plans to the contrary. She was overly loving that night and made me promise that I would do her bidding and stay with her. I suddenly found her somewhat less than appealing, and could not return the love she so generously showered on me.
As soon as she had left for work the following morning. I packed my belongings, took what money she had in the apartment, and raced down the steps-into a new life. I went immediately to the High Hat, apologized for not showing up the previous night, and asked for the job once again. Fortunately, they hadn't hired anyone and they accepted me.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The owner of the High Hat was a hulk of humanity named Tom Murphy. Everyone called him 'Murph', he told me, and he asked that I call him the same. I had arrived at the High Hat with both of my suitcases, and now I plopped them down in front of me as I talked to Murph. He pointed down at them, and asked: v "Goin' somewhere?"
"Oh, those. I'm just moving."
"Find a place yet?"
"No. Not yet. Do you know of any place nearby?"
"I might," he replied, smiling slightly.
He scribbled an address on a slip of paper and handed it to me. "Here, go to this address and ask for Sarah. She'll find you a place."
In my strolls around the city I had become familial with some of the streets, and I noticed the address he gave me was not far from the High Hat. So I decided to walk.
It was a pleasant day and my luggage wasn't too heavy so I didn't mind. When I arrived at my destination, I saw it was a rather well-kept four-story apartment building sandwiched in between two dingy, three-storied buildings, the latter of which appeared to be a former mansion converted to apartments. Over the doorway of one were the words 'Well Apartments', and over the entrance of the other it said simply 'Kitchenette Apartments-By Day, Week or Month'. As I looked at these two structures, they reminded me of two slovenly sentinels standing guard over a virtuous maiden.
In carefully hammered wrought iron the words 'Dearborn Manor' were spelled out on the beige-colored brick, and just below was the house number, 1216. I double checked my slip of paper to make sure this was the right address, then picked up my bags and walked up the narrow, shrubbery-lined sidewalk. I rang the bell beside the office door, waited a few moments, then rang again. I marvelled at the neatness of the vestibule and the cleanliness of the building in general. How different this was from Thelma's place!
When the door opened, a small white poodle leaped out of the opening, followed quickly by the figure of a stooping woman.
"Here, Ricki! Come back here! You naughty boy, you!" Then, straightening up before me, she smiled, and said: "You must be Lori. Mr. Murphy just called and said he was sending you over. Come in, come in, dear. Ricki, come back here!" She looked at me helplessly, shrugged, and said: "That Ricki, he is such a problem!" I picked up my bags and followed the woman inside. I presumed her to be Sarah. I presumed right for, when we got inside, she turned abruptly, clapped her hands at flying ball of fur, who had raced across the room and perched himself on the divan, and stated matter-of-factly: "I'm Sarah. Lots of the girls call me 'Mom' but you can suit yourself."
"I'm pleased to meet you Sarah," I said.
"I have a nice room on the second floor that I think you'll like. It's small, but cozy. It has a nice window to the front, and you'll be close to the elevator. That's handy. Would you like some coffee or something?"
"Ah, yes, some coffee would be good. I didn't stop to eat. I was...."
"You didn't eat? Why, you must eat, child. Would you like some eggs? Or some cereal? How about some toast and jelly? Or, let me see...."
"Toast and coffee would suit me fine ... if it's not too much trouble."
"Trouble? No trouble at all, my dear. Take off your coat and make yourself comfortable. Here," she said, sweeping a newspaper and a magazine from the divan, "sit here. Don't mind Ricki. He's just so happy whenever anyone comes."
Thus we spent most of the morning. She rattled on about nothing particularly interesting, and I answered her many questions with shakes or nods of my head or very brief answers. She seemed more concerned with telling me about herself, and I doubt very seriously if she even heard my replies. During the course of her incessant chatter and personal history revelations, I had a chance to appraise her.
Sarah was about 50, slim, well-dressed in a tailored skirt and white blouse and had a mound of silver hair piled high atop her head like freshly whipped meringue. She looked as though she had never had to work for her skin, both on her face and her hands, appeared to be as delicate as a child's.
All in all, she was a most attractive woman and, even though her prattle never ceased, she was likeable.
"I have quite a number of girls living here," she said, sweeping her hand around to include the entire building, "and we all live like one big, happy family. You'll like them, and you'll like it here."
"I'm sure I will."
"I want you to meet them. Of course, some of them you'll meet at work. Three of my girls work for Murph at the High Hat. There's Patty, up in 302, and Skippy, right next door to her, in 304. Her name's really Stella, but she doesn't like anyone to call her that, so you call her Skippy. Hear? And, ah, let me see. Oh yes, Mary is on the second floor, just down the hall from your room. She's in 214. She's nice, but she stays to herself a lot. The two others, Patty and Skippy, are real chummy and a lot of fun."
"Sounds wonderful," I said, searching for something more appropriate to say.
"Oh, you'll like it here," she said, sounding almost like she was giving me an order. "Would you like to see your room? C'mon." She rose from her chair and beckoned me to follow her. She turned and shook her finger at the poodle. "No, Ricki, you stay right there and be a good boy."
"Shall I take my things?" I asked.
"Yes, yes, of course. May as well get unpacked. I suppose you're working tonight?"
"Yes," I said, snatching up my coat and luggage. "Mr. Murphy said I should come in around five, so he could show me around. It was just plain lucky that he was there this morning. Ordinarily, he doesn't get there until late in the afternoon." She had already fled from the room and didn't appear to hear. Dutifully, I lugged my gear up the carpeted stairs behind her.
It was, as she had said, a very pleasant apartment. Very small but light and airy. There was a sofa, two chairs, a TV set and two or three lamps in the miniature living room with the previously advertised window yawning brightly in on the furnishings. Huddled at one end was the proverbial kitchenette, which was so snuggly berthed in its assigned corner it was almost unnoticeable. Frankly, its usefulness was questionable. Past the cringing kitchen was a bedroom, small, clean and comfortable appearing. A window frowned out at the neighboring building which looked to be about two or three feet away. A pink-tiled bathroom, shimmering in its cleanliness, completed the picture.
When Sarah had left, I walked from one small room to the other, examining each feature of my new home. Yes, I thought, I will like it here!
I unpacked my suitcases, showered and prepared to step into my new life as a cocktail waitress. Cocktail waitress? Suddenly, I was afraid. I had no experience. How would I know what to do? Could I do it? Why had Mr. Murphy hired me when he knew I'd had no experience? These questions raced through my head as I nervously dressed for the evening. How was I supposed to dress? No one had told me. Guess I should wear something dark. Black, maybe. Yes, black would be appropriate. Black and what? A black dress? I had only one but it had sequins on it. Black skirt, maybe? Yes, a black skirt with a blouse ... a white blouse. How about a white sweater? No, that wouldn't do. Well, if I dressed wrong they'd just have to send me home.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Let's see," Mr. Murphy said, scratching his head, "you're, ah, Lucy, ah, no...." He snapped his fingers two or three times.
"Lori," I said. "Lori Miller."
"Lori. That's it! Oh sure, now I remember. You're the one with the suitcases. Follow me." He marched through the almost complete darkness of the night club with me at his heels, using his white shirt as a guide. He pushed open a door at the far end of the room and a dim light revealed a narrow hallway with rooms on either side. He rapped sharply on the second door, bent his head to listen, then called to whoever was inside:
"Patty? Skip? You gals in there?"
"Yeh, yeh. What do you want?" a feminine voice called.
"I have a new girl out here. Take care of her, will you? Give her a locker and an outfit. O.K.?" He pushed lightly on the door and motioned for me to go in.
"Hi! Welcome to Murphy's Mad House! I'm Skippy. That," the girl indicated with a jerk of her thumb, 'with the big rear end, is Patty!"
"H-hello," I stammered, taking a quick glance at the ample posterior, "I'm Lori. Lori Miller."
"Never mind the remarks about my hind end.
It gets the job done," Patty said over her shoulder. Then, turning toward me, she stuck out her hand and said, "Nice to know you. Don't pay any attention to old 'Big Tits' over there. She's all tits and no ass. Course, that helps if you're running a dairy!"
"Screw you, too, 'Fat Butt'!" Skippy said, "You're just jealous because all you got is those damn, little fried eggs on your chest!"
This playful insulting banter filled the room for a few more minutes and then, noticing that I was still standing the middle of the room with a puzzled look, Patty came over to me. She was stripped to the waist. On her bottom she wore a very brief pair of tights with black lace leotards stretching to her black shoes.
"I'm sorry. Here, take this locker," she said. She pulled open a bent green door, gathered up a handful of trash from inside and tossed it in the corner. "Wonder who the hell had this locker last?"
"That was that damn broad from Gary," Skippy said. "What the hell was her name? Monica, or something like that. Mona? I don't know."
"Take off your clothes, Lori. I'll get you an outfit. What size do you wear?"
"Well, I'm a...."
"Never mind. All this crap is two sizes too small anyway," she said. She opened a wardrobe and rummaged through the interior, examining various pieces, then tossing them back in. "Here," she said, finally, "this ought to fit. Come on. Get your clothes off!"
The clothes I had so carefully selected in the apartment, I now hung in my locker. Down to my pants and bra, I turned around and picked up the 'uniform' Patty had given me. Rolled into a ball. the entire costume wasn't any bigger than a handkerchief. I tried to untangle it.
"Brassiere off, too, Lori," Skippy called to me. "You don't need one with these outfits. Let 'em hang out a little. The fellas get their kicks that way and give you bigger tips. Patty, tell her to get those damn pants off, too. These are tights, baby, and you don't need any skivies with them. Teach her the facts of life, Lard Butt!"
Modestly, I stripped nude and slipped into my costume. I still felt naked. Patty helped me fasten the snaps while Skippy looked on approvingly.
"Here," she said, "pull this up in the front a little more and tuck those things in. Hey, Pat, she's got a hell of a lot more than you have!"
"Oh, shut up!"
"There, now you're ready for the floor. How do you feel?" Skippy asked.
"Scared," I answered, pulling at the bottoms of my tights.
"Scared? Why? Ever do this kind of work, before? Hell, I should have asked," Skippy blatted. "I know you haven't." They both eyed me with what seemed to be pity. Patty looked at Skippy. Skippy looked at Patty. They shrugged their shoulders in unison.
"Well," Patty said, helplessly, "let's give her the inside story on Life at Murphy's Mad House of Marauding Males!"
"O.K., Pat," Skippy cut in, "Don't forget, you had to start somewhere. You weren't always such a hard-nosed bitch like you are now!"
"Yeh, and how about you?"
"Ignore her," Skippy continued, "she's frustrated. No bust!"
"Better'n all bust!"
"All right, Lori, let's go to school. We'll give you all the help we can for the next couple nights but after that you're on your own. We're in this lousy racket for only one thing ... money! The more we flash our asses around out there, the more moola we make. You go just so far while you're on duty, though. If some wise guy wants to grab a feel, put him in his place, but fast! Murph doesn't go for any B.S. out on the floor. Don't hang around one guy too long, don't mess with phonies who want to 'take you away from all this', and don't ever get caught short-changing a customer. I said 'don't get caught'! If a drunk wants to stuff a bill down your front, hell, let him, but get the hell away from him or he'll think he owns you. I know a gal who got a hundred dollar bill that way once, but you don't run across those deals very often."
"And, whatever you do," added Patty, "don't monkey with any of the help in here. You know, like the bartenders, waiters or musicians. Murph will throw your ass out in the street so fast you won't know what hit you!"
"What about Mr. Murphy?" I asked. "What kind of man is he?"
They looked at one another and grinned.
"Well," Patty said, "you use your own judgment about Murph, but let me tell you something. You can make a good buck here and the job is worth hanging on to. Sometimes, you have to keep the boss happy or he might decide to replace you with someone who will. Do I have to say more?"
"You mean he...." I started to say.
"Well, honey, this ain't exactly no Sunday School you're working in!"
"Oh."
All went surprisingly well. I bungled my way through the first night without disaster, although a number of times I shook so bad I thought I would have to run from the room. The second and third nights were definite improvements over the first and, by the end of the first week, I felt so confident that I looked forward to going to work. It was all very exciting! The big city, the night life and the thrill of actually taking part in it, lifted me to electrifying heights I thought I would never experience. Although my salary was small, the tips were exceptionally good, and I soon learned how to increase them to double what they had been. A smile here, a wink there, a pause at the table of an elderly businessman ... it was all part of the game. Where at first I had been bashful about the scanty costume, I now was pleased with it. In fact, had they left the costuming up to me, I might have removed every stitch and cavorted gaily about in the nude!
The first month passed. Somewhere in the dim past I remembered what Patty and Skippy had told me about Murph but, inasmuch as he had made no advances, I almost forgot about it. Nor did I give much thought to Thelma and the life we had had together. It all seemed like a dream now. I felt no longing for her or what she had done to me and my sex life. I had just about forgotten sex, for I was so completely enraptured with my work there was no room for anything else. This situation was soon to end.
During one particularly slow evening the three of us, Patty, Skip and I, gathered at the end of the bar and exchanged chit-chat. Freddie, the bartender, added his two-bits worth occasionally and, before long, Murph came over and joined in. While Patty and Skippy left to deliver some drinks, Murph pulled one of the bar stools up next to him, waved an indifferent hand at it, and said:
"Sit down, Lori. Nothin' doin' tonight, anyway. May as well sit while ya got the chance."
"Thanks, Murph," I said, and plopped down on the bar stool.
"Yer doin' a nice job, kid," he said. "I figured you would when I first saw ya."
"Thanks," I said, "but you know, I had my doubts those first few nights. This costume scared hell out of me."
"It's good for business. Hell, if ya got somethin' to show then why not show it?"
"Well, I suppose you have a point there but I didn't feel like I wanted to show everything!"
"Why not? You oughta be proud you got a shape like ya have."
"I guess it's all right Patty and Skippy have nice figures, too."
"Yeah, 'specially that chest on Skip. When she came in fer a job I took one look at her and hired her on the spot!"
"Oh? And why did you hire me?" I teased.
"You kiddin'? You not only had the chest but you had everything else to go with it."
"I didn't think you noticed," I lied.
"Oh no? You'd be surprised what Ole Murph notices!" His eyes drifted slowly down and he let them linger so long on my bust that I felt the warm hint of a blush creeping up my cheeks. I fluttered a hand in front of me to interrupt his study of my bulging architecture.
"I'll bet your boyfriend has a ball with you and those...." he continued, nodding toward my bosom.
"Oh, no, he doesn't because I don't even have a boyfriend."
"You must have had one or two at some time or other, didn't you?"
"Oh, sure. Back when I was in school I...."
"How about then? Did you let the boys get ahold of them?"
"Mr. Murphy! How you talk! Realty.'"
"Oh, come now, Lori, there's nothing wrong with that. Hell, I've seen a million knockers come and go in this joint. Big ones, little ones ... all kinds. Never saw a broad yet that didn't like someone to notice them."
"Notice them ... yes, but, well...."
"Play with 'em? Hell, you know you like it!" He paused briefly as he studied me. "Don't you?" he asked, taking hold of my upper arm and turning me toward him. At that moment I felt he was my master regardless of how embarrassed I felt at his question I would be forced to answer.
"Well, ah, yes ... naturally."
"Of course. That's normal. What the hell good are they if somebody doesn't play with them? That's what they're fer."
"I thought they were for nursing babies," I said.
"That's strictly a sideline these days. More men chew on them than babies! Right?"
"Murph!"
"What on earth are you two talking about?" Patty asked, as she walked up behind us. Skippy was there, too.
"Hell, Patty, leave them alone. You know what Murph wants, don't you?"
"Sure, I know. He wants to get in her pants!"
"Oh, shut up!" Murph exploded.
"Well, what else?" Patty asked, tittering and elbowing Skippy in the ribs.
"What the hell would you know about it? Just cuz you ain't had any for awhile!" Murph chided.
"I know what Murph wants," Skippy giggled, "he's a tit man and-look at Lori!"
"You oughta know about that!" Patty said. "Hell, look at those things you got!" Instinctively, we all looked at Skippy, who quickly clutched both hands over her chest.
"Never mind these things. They get me a lot of tips!"
"Yeah, and I know what kind of 'tips'!" Patty exclaimed.
"How about it, Lori?" Murph asked, after both girls had left. "What?"
"You know what I'm talking about."
"Oh, that. You have a very crude way of asking for a date. I thought we weren't supposed to fraternize with the help."
"I'm not the 'help'. I'm the boss ... the guy who signs the pay checks," he stated. I got the idea. Now I remembered what the girls had told me about 'gettting along' with the boss. Either you cooperated or you found yourself looking for another job.
I debated the question. I liked my job and the people I worked with. In fact, I liked Murph. He wouldn't be the worst bed partner a girl could have. Why not? Hell, if that's all it took to keep my job, then I'd just have to buy my employment!
"Well, what do ya say, Lori? Wanna go out and have a little fun tonight?" he asked. Just what kind of fun he had in mind I wasn't sure, but I had a pretty good idea of what the end result would be.
"Tonight?" I stalled.
"Tonight is as good a night as any."
"Just where do you plan to go?"
"Oh, I have some joints in mind." Like a motel, I thought, or maybe his apartment. I didn't know very much about him nor did the other two girls. At least they never mentioned anything about Murph, outside of his job at the High Hat. Where he went and what he did outside the club, no one seemed to know or care about. He never mentioned a wife, but that didn't mean he didn't have one. He might have had a wife and ten kids for all anyone at the High Hat knew!
After I had changed into my street clothes Murph and I left the club and stood in front, waiting for a cab. When we got in he sat close to me and immediately took my hand in his. I was thrilled that I should be going out with the boss, yet I trembled at the thought. I hadn't been around enough to know exactly how to act in the lofty atmosphere of the big city ,and it made me nervous. We chatted during our ride, but no mention was made of where we were going. I watched the bright lights flash by and, aside from my nervousness, I felt very much grown up.
I was taken by surprise when the cab suddenly pulled to the curb in front of an apartment building. I didn't see any lights from a night club. The street seemed deserted. I wondered if this was a temporary stop but, before I could wonder too long, Murph tugged at my arm, opened the door on his side, and got out. "Come on," he said. "This is it."
"What is it?"
"It's where I live. Let's go."
He strode ahead of me and had the door unlocked and open by the time I caught up with him. A single, dim lamp burned on a stand across the room, but even in the semi-darkness I could see this was a luxurious apartment. I was utterly amazed at the expensive furnishings and, as I walked slowly across the soft rug, I felt my legs tingle with excitement. Never before had I seen anything quite so regal as this!
"D-do you live here alone?" I finally managed to stammer.
"Yup."
"It's beautiful ... simply beautiful!"
"Drink?"
"Ah, yes, I guess so." He had already started mixing before he got my answer. It would have been useless to refuse.
Murph handed me my drink and, while I settled comfortably on a sofa with it, he put some soothing selections on a stereo set. Then, glass in hand, he came to the sofa and settled himself beside me.
"Uhmm," I murmured, "the drink is good, the music soft and sweet ... everything is just perfect!"
"Except for one thing, honey...."
"What's that?"
"You're sitting too far away. C'mere." He put his arm around my shoulders and drew me close to him. I managed not to spill any of my drink,-and drank more from it-to steady my nerves!
"Now," said Murph, "tell me all about your boy friend in high school and how he played with your titties and how you felt the first time one of them made you."
"Murph!"
"C'mon, Lori. Don't start that routine of acting shocked again, because it just ain't so."
I giggled, partly from the drink and partly because Murph could see through my facade of girlish innocence. "Okay," I said, and proceeded to tell him, in detail, what he wanted to know-including my feelings after my first affair with Larry Mitchell, and how I felt after other boys had been with me. I concluded with, "Now, tell me about your experiences."
Murph chuckled, got up and made us each another drink. When he was beside me again, with his arm around me, his hand lightly caressing my shoulder, he said that, with one exception, all the girls in his life had been a great disappointment.
"Tell me about the one that meant something to you," I perisisted.
"Not now. Maybe some other time," he replied, and drained half his drink. I drank mine, too, and for long silent moments we listened to the sweet music drifting through the room. For a short time, we were alone with our thoughts.
"You like working for me, don't you, Lori?"
"That's a silly question, Murph. Of course I do!"
"Fine. Now, drink up, then we'll see how much you like me!" I knew what he meant, and his hand moved down and brushed lightly over my breast. He took my glass and set it beside his on a nearby end table. Without bothering to dim the lights, he turned and took me in his arms and kissed me. His arms pulled me tightly to him and I gasped as he kissed me again and again but my gasp was one of pleasure. How good it was to have a man in my arms again!
"One thing, Murph," I whispered, teasing a bit. "What?"
"You aren't married are you! I mean, ah, no one will come in and...?"
He chuckled softly, kissed the lobe of my ear. "To be very honest, baby-no, I'm not married, and no one will come in."
I breathed a genuine sigh of relief. I returned his love making with a passion of my own. His fingers fumbled for the tab on the zipper on the back of my dress, and I felt my breathing get deeper as the zipper slid down. Next my bra came off, which he tossed on the floor at the edge of the sofa. He buried his face in my heaving breasts, kissing them and running his hot lips across the nipples.
"Lori ... Lori, baby ... let's go to the bedroom...."
"All right ... all right...." I heard myself say.
He did not have to force me-I went eagerly. It had been so long! I was aflame for the touch of his body. The bedroom was dark, but we could vaguely see each other by the dim glow cast from the living-room.
"Take 'em off, baby," said Murph, indicating my panties.
"No, you," I said. It was an excuse to feel his hands on my body. He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled my hips close to him. Then he stripped the panties off and steadied me while I stepped out of them. Suddenly his face was buried in my stomach and he began to trail burning kisses up to my breasts and down again.
"Please, Murph," I panted, "take your clothes off. I want to be naked against you."
He stood up and quickly stripped down to bare skin. I was thrilled to see the loom of the dark shape of his manhood, and could scarcely wait for it to penetrate my aching loins. Murph, as if sensing my impatience, threw me down across the bed and dropped over me. His rigid manhood touched my pelvis, and I shivered with excitement.
"Spread your legs, baby," he whispered. "Let me put it where it belongs."
I threw my legs wide apart with a sigh of sheer joy and Murph plunged between them with a brute force that rocked the bed. Again and again he rammed into me, and with each thrust I moved up another notch toward heaven.
Were my feelings wrong? Were they wicked? I could not have answered the question, for I was out of my mind with hunger for the good feel of a man. As he drove into me with steadily increasing vigor, all thought fled from my brain, and I rocked against him with a searing passion that burned all the brighter for having been denied so long.
Murph began to pound me unmercifully, and I sensed he was near his climax.
"Wait, darling," I managed. "Just a ... little ... bit ... longer." But he had reached the point of no return. Abandoning myself to the frenzy of his love-making, I screamed as the slow tide of ecstacy began to build in my blood. I just managed to make it to the heights of sheer bliss, when Murph gave a harsh cry, went rigid, and then fell across my body as if unconscious.
It was 3 A.M. when I awoke. I tried to orient myself. I had forgotten for the moment where I was but, when the snores of Murph pierced the darkness, I realized where I was. I lay there in silence for a long time. Then, feeling brave, I slipped from the bed and made my way to the bathroom. When I returned, Murph was awake. The dim glow of a cigarette shown in the darkness and I made my way gropingly toward it. My knees bumped the end of the bed and I crawled across the foot and under the covers.
"Miss me?" I asked.
"Yah. I woke up when you got up."
I snuggled up to him and he put one arm under my neck and let his hand fall on my breast. He toyed with the nipple and I could feel my sex life begin to awaken again.
"Are you satisfied with them?" I asked, pushing upward.
"You kiddin'? They're beauties!" He put out his cigarette and turned on his side, facing me. He pulled me close and a thrill shot through me as I felt his masculine body against mine. He kissed me ... hugged me ... caressed me. He squeezed me to him until I was panting with anticipation.
"Lori," he whispered. "Did you ever do anything 'different' in bed?"
"What do you mean?" A shock ran through me. I remembered my life with Thelma and for one horrified moment I thought he knew about it.
"I don't know what you mean."
"You know ... something 'other' than what we did?"
"No. Like what?" I asked. "You know. Did you ever kiss it?" 'You mean this?" I squeezed the hardened staff he had pressed against me. "Yes."
"No ... never!"
"Why not?"
"I don't know. I never thought about it, I guess. I don't think I'd like it."
"Why not?"
"I don't know. It just doesn't seem right, I suppose."
"Would you like to try it?" He had begun to slide upward in the bed and I could feel his heated organ between my breasts. He worked it up and down, back and forth between my breasts, and across the nipples. One of his hands went around the back of my neck. I could feel a gentle pressure as he pushed me downward.
"I don't think we should do that," I said, pulling my head back.
"It's all right, Lori, it's all right!" He applied pressure on my neck again, until I could feel it under my chin and on my neck. It felt hot. With one quick motion, he pushed on the back of my head.
He was my master! I enrolled in an advance course of sex!
Sometime later, after we had each finished a cigarette, I cuddled up to my hero and kissed him on the cheek. I fondled him and felt the erection rise in my hand. Lovingly, I handled his body. I pulled him to me and kissed him on the ear. Impassioned once again, I breathlessly whispered:
"D-did you ever do it to a woman that way?"
"Did you ever have it done to you?" he countered.
"That's not what I asked you, darling." He made no reply. He lay almost lifeless, on the back, as I tried to arouse his desires.
"Do you want to kiss me?" I asked. "You know, like I did you?"
"No!"
"Why not?"
"I just don't want to, that's all."
"I kissed you."
"I know, but that was different."
"Is it different to you?"
"Forget it!" he snorted. "I just don't do that!"
"All right, darling. Just love me some more then."
"I'm tired. Do you want me to call a cab for you?" The brusqueness in his voice shocked me. I rolled away from him and groped for the bed lamp. I gathered my clothes from the floor, but even before I was half dressed, Murph had called a cab. I had to hurry to get completely harnessed up for fear the cab would be there. My well-satisfied lover just lay on his side, smoking, while I got ready. He said nothing.
In the stillness of the Chicago night I heard the cab brake to a stop. I picked up my purse, paused to look at Murph for some sign, but he did not move, nor did he as much as say good night. I left the apartment by myself, puzzling over the attitude of my reluctant mattress companion, a puzzlement that was later to turn to bitterness.
CHAPTER NINE
"I hear you were out with the boss last night," Patty said, the next evening, as we changed into our costumes.
"Yes."
"Well, how was it?"
"How was what?"
"Oh, ho! What, she says." Patty and Skippy both giggled. "He finally got to you, eh, kid?"
"I went out with him," I stated helplessly.
"What do you mean out? He never takes anybody out! Hell, kid, we've been around here long enough to know Mr. Murphy! He takes you up to his pad and lays you! That's the extent of his taking you out!"
"Well, we went to his place," I said, "but...."
"He's really built, ain't he? Man, that thing he's got...!"
"You girls are terrible-honestly!"
"Oh, come on, Lori. There's nothing to be a-shamed about. Hell, if you're going to shack up with somebody it may as well be the boss!" Skippy blurted.
"Yeh," Patty said, "but the only thing I didn't like about him was his tryin' to get me to blow him! I don't need this damn job that bad! I hope you didn't fall for that old crap of his!"
"N-no, of course not. Uucch! How could IP" I lied.
"Well, don't ever!" Patty said, firmly. Then as an after thought, added, "Unless, of course, you want to."
The days passed uneventfully. Murph treated me politely whenever we chanced to meet, but I tried to avoid him. I felt he had used me unfairly. I was willing to give myself to him, wholly and completely, and I had expected the same from him. But he had disappointed me. His desire for me had apparently waned, but I felt the time would come when he, a-gain, would cast a lustful eye in the direction of my sex-craving body.
One evening, in the dressing room, Patty was putting the finishing touches on her make-up and when she was through she sat down and studied me as I dressed.
"Lori, I don't know if I'm out of line about this or not but I think I'd better bring it up."
"What's that?'
"Well, you know how many customers of ours want to make dates with us, and how we're told to turn them down?"
"Yes."
"Now don't you breathe a word of this to anyone."
"O.K."
"Skippy and I have been picking up some good money by playing along with some of the better class of customers."
"What do you mean?"
"If you see a particularly good-looking prospect, and he asks you for a date, or, asks if he can meet you after work-well, why not?"
"You mean-go out with him?"
"Sure. Why not? You know they're only after one thing, and they're willing to pay good money for the pleasure." She paused momentarily, to see what my reaction would be.
"So?" I asked.
"So you go along with it. Hell, these guys spend money on you. They take you to the better places, wine and dine you, and then, of course, take you to a hotel."
"You mean you...?"
"Sure. It's all part of the racket. Do you know what Skip made off one old guy, just the other night? A hundred bucks! One time, and he was all through. She said she wasn't in the room over twenty minutes! A hundred bucks for twenty minutes! Hell, we run our butts off all week for that!"
"I couldn't do anything like that," I said.
"Oh, Lori, don't be such a square! You're no virgin, and I'll bet you a hundred bucks you gave it away for nothing lots of times. Right? So, what's wrong with stuffing a few bills in your purse after you crawl out of bed?"
"I don't know. I guess it's just the word they use for girls like that."
"Whores? Prostitutes? Call girls? What's the difference? Those are just words in the dictionary."
"I don't think I'd care for that sort of thing."
"I didn't either, when Skip first told me about it, but I soon learned I was carrying around a valuable commodity between my legs to cash in on while someone still wants to pay for it! Hell, once you get old, who the hell is going to buy it?"
The opportunity never arose for me to put my body on the market for a customer of the High Hat.
A couple of weeks had gone by and I hadn't even given it a thought. Neither of the girls mentioned it again.
I had gone to the dressing room for a cigarette break one night, when the door burst open and Skippy came charging in.
"That son-of-a-bitch! That dirty, lousy bastard!" she spat.
"Who, for heavens sake?"
"That stinkin' no-good Murphy! Ya wanna know what he did? Huh? You wanna know what kind of a rat our dear boss is?"
"Holy cow, Skip, what happened?"
"Change your clothes, Lori. Get the hell out of this joint! Patty and I are leaving, too! Right now ... tonight!"
"All right, all right! Now, will you calm down and tell me what happened that's so terrible?" I held her shoulders-shook her gently for an answer.
"Lori, sit down. No, don't sit down. Take off that damn monkey suit and get out of here." She pushed me toward my locker. "And don't ever work and play in the same joint. You wanna know what that lousy crumb did just awhile ago?"
"He and some guys ... customers ... were sitting at the bar, and Murph was talking about you. These guys were looking you over and making some comments about you. You know, like they always do. Well, this stinkin' boss of ours proceeds to tell them, and whoever else is listening, how he had you up to his apartment. Tells them all about layin' you and all that, which is bad enough, but then he goes a little farther and, right in front of Freddie and some of the other help, blurts out: "And she gives you a real blow-job, too!"
"Of course, they all guffawed like a bunch of damn jackasses, and even went so far as to ask Murph to fix them up with you!"
There were no words applicable for an answer. The thunderbolt Skippy had discharged on my unsuspecting ears left me speechless, numb. In the swirling turmoil of my mind, following the disclosure of my excursion into unnatural sex pursuits with Murphy, I manipulated my arms and legs like a marionette and managed, somehow, to change clothes and make my exit from the High Hat. To have remained would have been pure, undiluted hell.
Stunned, I made my way to my apartment. My head seemed to be filled with noises of varying tones, ringing, clanging and pounding but, most prominent of all, forcing its abusive intonations to the forefront, were the derisive titters and sniggers I had left in my wake
CHAPTER TEN
In the quiet of the night, I slipped out of my comfortable little home and walked aimlessly through the streets. During my walk, suitcases straining at my aching arms, a number of cars pulled up at the curb and the men occupants offered to give me a lift. That's just what I needed ... a lift!
It was getting daylight when, after passing a number of cheap-looking hotels, I came to one that seemed to be a little better, in outward appearances, at least, than the ones I had rejected. The room I got was small, dark and dreary, with tired, weary looking furniture which looked as depressed as I felt. At least, I was not alone. My ancient furniture and I could mourn together.
The next day, I did not leave my dungeon-like abode. Intermittently, I slept, cried, stared through the dirt-covered window; and repeated the process many times. Hunger pangs finally drove me from my self-imposed exile from society to a nearby cafe.
Once back in my dingy little room, I took stock of my predicament, and formulated a plan of action. Carefully, with shaky fingers, I counted out my money. When the last wrinkled bill had been placed on the pile I found my total capital came to $112; and a glance at the change in the bottom of my purse, told me there was about a dollar's worth of silver.
Well, I wasn't in the poor house, yet, but the necessity of finding another job was paramount. I made plans to find something the next day. At least, I had experience in something now.
Getting exactly the kind of job I wanted wasn't going to be easy. After four or five calls at the neighboring night spots, I still hadn't found anything to my liking. Oh, there were offers, but they included more than mere employment. I had been that route before. The mere thought of entering into a situation similar to the one with Murph appalled me and, when I felt my prospective employer's eyes roam over me, I experienced only disgust and fled the scene.
I had made all my calls in the afternoon and decided to try at least one or two more places before returning home. At the Capri, a beautiful, expensive-looking dinner house, I found no openings; but left my name for future possibilities. Two blocks down the street, I saw the dancing neon letters spelling out the words Golden Garter. I made my way toward the sign. As I walked, I glanced up occasionally at the huge sign, with its arrow running lights that indicated the entrance. I was semi-hypnotized by this gaudy bit of advertising, and I felt an assurance in me that the would be my next place of employment. It was.
An immaculately attired doorman graciously opened the large, varnished door with its triangular window and, once inside, I was greeted by a very attractive woman in her mid-thirties. Her hair was jet-black and hung down her back to hide the bareness left by her backless, black evening dress. She seemed to glide when she walked and she smiled warmly as she greeted me.
"May I help you?"
"Why, ah, yes. I'm looking for a job," I replied, somewhat hesitantly. I had been brave when I came in, but the luxuriousness of the interior somewhat unnerved me.
"Would you follow me, please? You'll have to see Mr. Victor." Her hand drifted gracefully through the air, beckoning me to follow. I felt clumsy and out of place as I trudged along behind this woman who seemed to be oozing with poise. I had a sudden inclination to turn and bolt for the door.
"Here we are, Miss...? By the way, what's your name, and what type of work are you looking for?"
"L-Lori. Lori Miller." This woman rattled me, just looking at me. "I'm, ah ... I want to be a cocktail waitress."
"My name is Frances. If Mr. Victor hires you, you can call me Fran. If he doesn't, well, lots of luck." She rapped lightly on the door, where we had halted then bent her head to listen. She turned the knob and went in. The door clicked shut behind her, but shortly it swung open again and she motioned me in.
A short, middle-aged man sat behind a huge desk, the desk lamp making his semi-bald head glisten. Although his clothes looked expensive, he gave the appearance of having dressed in a hurry. His tie was loose and turned slightly askew, and the ash tray full of butts indicated he was a heavy smoker. Bits of ashes clung to his lapels, and the fingers on his right hand were stained from nicotine. He half-rose from his chair when I came in, then sat down quickly, as though the effort was too much. All in all, he seemed entirely out of place.
Briefly, I told him, lying about my experience and my age, and then sat back to wait for his reply.
After a few sketchy questions, the interview was over. He instructed Fran to usher me to the dressing room. He waved his hand as though to shoo both of us from the room, then began pawing through some papers on his desk. As simply as that, I was hired!
During the weeks that followed, I managed to bungle my way through the intracacies of working in a high-class dinner house. I carefully followed the instructions given me by Fran and, when I made mistakes, she was always sympathetic and kind. Never a harsh word. There were four of us on shift during the less busy days but, on week-ends, the staff was increased to six or seven. All the girls were very attractive. Our job was only to serve drinks. Waiters handled all the food.
I enjoyed my work. It was easy, my co-workers were pleasant, and the tips were extremely good. Although Mr. Victor was there every night, he seldom spoke to us except to nod or say 'hello'.
The Golden Garter had the same rules as the High Hat ... be friendly with the customers, but don't make dates or spend too much time at a table. And, the male employees were strictly off limits!
The weeks stretched into months and, at the end of my sixth month, I felt reasonably certain that Mr. Murphy was out of my life. For where I had once feared reprisal at his hands, I now began to relax. I had taken a new apartment and started once again to bid the warm glow of a pleasant life. I gave no thought to men, although there were many who gave some thought to me. Maybe someday, I thought, the right one will come along.
On Saturday nights, our crowds included a number of students from the University of Chicago, and it was always with a certain amount of dread that we faced them. They demanded too much of our time, tipped little or nothing, and made suggestive remarks as we went about our duties.
One Saturday night, as I approached two young men seated off to one side, I had the feeling I had seen one of them before. Each time I went by I couldn't help but look at the more handsome one of the two. Finally, I could stand it no longer. I went up to this young man and asked him where he was from and what his name was.
"Larry Mitchell. I'm originally from up-state ... Clairmont. Why?"
"Larry!" I almost shouted, "Don't you recognize me?" He squinted at me in the dim light, and leaned across the table.
"You're not...!" He studied me for a moment, then blurted, "Lori Miller! I'll be darned! What are you doing here, in Chicago?"
"Working here. Doesn't it look like it? And what are you doing here?"
"Going to medical school. Gonna be a sawbones."
We made arrangements to meet later to discuss old times. After we had stopped at a small restaurant for coffee, I took Larry and his pal up to my apartment and we sat until almost dawn, rehashing our school days. It was very pleasant. I felt elated to have found someone I knew and, after they had left, I realized how lonely I had really been. And, my stars, how handsome Larry had become!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
For the next couple of months, Larry came to the club every Saturday night. I traded tables with the other girls so that I could wait on him, but I didn't dare spend too much time with him for fear Fran or Mr. Victor would notice. She did, however.
"Lori, you're spending too much time with that young man," she said one night.
"I'm sorry, Fran, but he's from my home town and...."
"I don't care where he's from!" she snapped. "He's just a customer while he's in here!" The sharp ness of her tone surprised me.
"All right, Fran, I'll watch it."
Larry had gotten into the habit of coming to my place after I got off from work and, although we had journeyed into the world of sex together when we were in school, Larry behaved like a perfect gentleman. He never as much as suggested that we renew our horizontal relationship. It didn't bother me too much, but I was puzzled. After the horrible episode with Murph, sex hadn't entered my mind to any great extent. Yet, when Larry and I petted too amorously, I began to get an urge for something more. Larry sensed it. I know he must have felt the same way but, whenever the danger point approached, he reverted to his gentlemanly ways.
"No, Lori. We shouldn't. It wouldn't be right," he would say, as he disentangled himself from my entwining arms. "There's too much at stake. If anything ever happened my whole career would be ruined."
"I understand, Larry," I'd say, while my body craved his love. I wanted him. I wanted his body.
I began to look forward to Saturday night, more and more. Eagerly, I waited for his occasional phone call during the week. The conversations got longer and longer and, when he didn't call, I felt depressed and alone. Suddenly, it dawned on me ... I was falling in love!
But, could I love? Could I return a man's love when, deep in my heart, I felt a bitterness toward men ... all men? Deep in my heart, also, I remembered Thelma and the pleasures she had given me. Was it possible that I could erase this from my memory? Is it something that many women go through, or was my association with Thelma something unusual and unnatural?
When Larry held me in his arms and kissed me, my feelings were quite normal. I enjoyed every moment of it. But, later, when the love-making had ceased, and my body craved sex, my thoughts wandered aimlessly about until they settled on Thelma, and the tingle in my system told me there was sexual pleasure, too!
One night, after Larry had left my apartment, I was very much surprised when I heard a knock on the door. Thinking it was Larry returning for something he had forgotten, I flung the door open to see what he wanted. My mouth dropped open as I stood there, facing a total stranger; a stranger in a policeman's uniform!
"Your name Lori?" he asked. "Y-yes."
"I want to talk to you." He was inside, with two quick steps, and pushed the door shut behind him. "Wh-what do you want?" I asked. "You work at the Golden Garter, don't you?"
"Yes."
"You're in a lot of trouble, kid!"
"Trouble? What kind of trouble?"
"Girls get locked up for things like that."
"Things like what?"
"I think you know."
"No, I don't know. What are you talking about?"
"I think you know," he repeated. He went over to the couch and sat down. "Cigarette?"
"N-no. No thanks," I stuttered. My heart was pounding and I felt my knees shaking. I held onto the back of a chair for support. What on earth had I done wrong?
"Wh-what have I done, officer? Are you sure you have the right place?" He smiled, took a deep drag from his cigarette and blew smoke toward the ceiling.
"Will you please tell me what you're talking about?"
"Well, we got word that you and some of the other girls down at the Garter were doin' a little hustling on the side, so we...."
"Hustling?" I gasped. "Whoever told you anything like that is a damn liar!"
"Well, that's what we heard. We have to check it out, anyway."
"You check all you want to. You won't find out anything like that about me nor any of the other girls down there!"
He sat back on the couch, looking at me with half-closed eyes, while he tapped the ashes off his cigarette. Grinding out the butt, he stood up, unfastened his gun belt and tossed it on the couch beside him. He unbuttoned his coat and took it off. He tossed it on the cushion beside the gun, then folded the gun belt neatly inside.
"Mind if I relax?" he asked, simply.
"Wh-why, ah, well...."
"Just to clear your mind a little," he said, as he loosened his tie, "Murphy, down at the High Hat, told me to look you up." His words hit me like a sledge hammer. So that was it! Murphy, that louse, after all this time, had finally come back to haunt me!
"M-M-Murphy?"
"Yeah, you know Murph. You used to work for him. Remember?"
"H-How did he know where I lived?"
"Murph? Hell, he knows everything. He knew you were at the Garter the first week. He told me a lot about you." His eyes leered at me. I wanted to chop the smirk off his face with an axe!
"So, what does that mean?"
"Like I said, if you're willin' to cooperate, I think I can satisfy my boss that you're on the up and up ... not hustlin'. Follow me?"
"Just what do you mean by cooperate?"
"Let's not play games, Lori. You been around. You know what I'm talkin' about."
"And if I don't?"
"First offense is 90 days. It's a...."
"90 days! You mean in jail?"
"It ain't no PTA meeting, kid!"
"You can't prove anything because I haven't done anything! There's no one in this whole town that can say I ever did anything like that!"
"How about Murphy?"
"That was different. You can't call that, ah, you know...."
"Murph says there are a lot of guys around his place that...."
"He's a damn liar!"
"Well, according to Murph, he can line up a couple dozen or so. Claims you made a real fast buck while you worked there."
My head was spinning. I couldn't organize my thoughts. Everything was all jumbled up in my mind. This couldn't be true! Everything had been going so well. Larry was part of my life. A wholesome, clean life. Decent in every way. This just wasn't true! It was a dream ... a bad dream! It would go away. Yes, that was it. I would close my eyes and when I opened them I would find that my imagination had been playing tricks with my mental processes. I closed my eyes tight and squeezed out the tears that had formed. I felt them trickle down my cheeks. When I opened them I knew it wasn't a dream. It was a cruel, horrid nightmare!
The officer standing in front of me was no dream. He was smiling. He reached out to touch me. I cringed as his hands gripped my trembling shoulders.
"Well, how about it? You wanna be nice to me?"
"And if I don't?"
"Court convenes at nine in the morning. You wouldn't want to be there, would you?" He raised my chin with his thumb and forefinger, then made a fist and chucked me lightly on the jaw. "C'mon, baby, let's get acquainted. My name is Frank."
When he turned out the light our "acquaintanceship" began. But it didn't end with this one visit. Once, twice a week, he came to my apartment, stealthily, like a thief in the night. It was entirely a matter of him forcing me to "cooperate".
Gradually, after a number of visits, I found his company not too unpleasant. In fact, had he not entered my life the way he did, our relationship might have been most enjoyable from the beginning but, somehow, I couldn't erase from my mind the fact that Murphy had had something to do with Frank's coming to me. Somewhere, somehow, I knew I was not free of the mistake I had made with Murph. The tentacles of betrayal would some day twist their slimy way into my once-again troubled life.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Late one night, as I lay beside my naked bed partner, it came.
"Honey," Frank said, "now that we're pretty well acquainted and we know where we stand, I'd like to ask you something." These terms of endearment had become quite common between us.
"Yes?"
"Well, you know when I first came up here and told you about the hustling charge?"
"Yes, and you found out it wasn't true, didn't you?"
"I wouldn't say that but, you know, I've been thinking. Why don't you?" His suggestion shocked me.
"Y-you mean have other men come up here? And charge them?"
"Sure, why not?"
"Why, I wouldn't think of it!"
"You can make a lot of dough."
"Never!"
"Look, I've got a pal who...."
"Frank! What are you trying to do? Make a whore out of me? Isn't this bad enough?"
"Aw, look, Lori-what's the difference whether it's me, or some other guy? Once you've had it from a couple guys what difference does it make who you have it with, or how many times you do it?" His manner had changed noticeably, and the tone of his voice suggested he was more serious than his words indicated. My heart sank. I had bought my way out of one false charge. How far would I have to go this time?
"Frank, how could you even think anything like that?"
"Do you realize how much you could make? Hell, you ran your ass off for a bunch of slobs, who want to pinch you or grab a free feel, and all you get out of it is peanuts. With your looks and shape you could make a fortune! And I can see that you make the right contacts!"
"You mean you'd send men to me? Don't they have a name for people like that?" I replied, trying to fight back.
"Let's not get wise, kid!"
"Well, do you want to be called a pimp?"
"Knock it off! I'm tryin' to show ya how ya can make some real dough!"
"And just where do you come in? Would you be happy knowing I'm laying up here, with two or three different men a week?"
"What do you mean a week? I'm thinking about two or three a night.'"
"Oh, stop Frank! I wouldn't think of it!"
"Look, Lori, I'm not gonna argue. I'm gonna send this friend of mine up tomorrow. And you take care of him, you hear? Then, we'll take it from there."
"You send someone up here and I'll call the pol...." My voice trailed off, hopelessly. Frank was the police! How did I ever get mixed up in some thing like this? A prostitute! What was happening to me?
Everything had seemed so nice. Larry had come back into my life, and a hint of love had toyed briefly with my heart. What if he ever found out? How could I possibly go on seeing Larry, deceiving him, pulling his decency into the gutter with me? How could I tell him that our love had been stamped out by the greedy, besmutted feet of a police officer? Officer of the law! Some joke! A disciple of the Devil is what Frank was!
"No, no, no! I won't do anything like that!" I shouted.
"With enough witnesses, a first offender can get a year," he reminded me. He seemed so sure of himself it sickened me.
When Frank had left, I sat on the edge of the bed, stunned. I was afraid to turn on the light. I didn't want to see myself in the mirror. I didn't want to see anything. What could I do?
Plans bounced around in my head, like a ping-pong ball in a bushel basket. Go away ... run away-that was it! I didn't have to do something I didn't want to do. But where would I go? Back home? That was definitely out. Another city? Maybe across town, where no one knew me? Chicago was big. So, that across town was like going to another world. Could I get away without being seen? They had found me before, so I would have to be careful.
Quickly, I packed my clothes. My two suitcases had now been joined by two more, to hold the clothing I had acquired over the past months. At the door, I took one last look at my apartment while I waited for the cab.
Once in the back seat of the cab, I sighed with relief as we sped through the Chicago night. I was free! Now, I could start over. Somehow, I would get word to Larry and, maybe, bury in my conscience what I had done. At least, I had the courage to reject the impossible situation Frank had lined up for me!
So obsessed had I become in fleeing from Frank and his suggested life of filth, that I failed to notice the squad car following us, after the first block. The red light which flashed through the rear window was a significance that I, at first, failed to comprehend. But when we stopped, and Frank strode up to the side of the cab, I realized the red light meant more than a mechanical device atop a police car ... it meant a way of life for me ... a white slavery life!
"Who's your passenger, cabbie?" Frank asked.
"I don't know, officer. Never saw her before." Officiously, Frank shined his flashlight in my face.
"O.K., sister, get out!" Frank opened the door and pulled at my arm.
"Leave me alone! I haven't done anything!" I cried.
"Oh, no? I suppose you're just out joy-riding at this hour, eh? You call girls never learn. You know yer gonna git caught sooner or later."
"You know I'm no call girl, Frank! Now, leave me alone! Cabbie, can't you help me?"
"Don't git me mixed up in yer troubles, lady!"
Helplessly, I got out. In the damp, cool night I watched the cab driver pile my luggage into Frank's patrol car.
"She jes' tole me to take her across town, officer. I didn't know what she was," the driver told Frank.
"Yeah, well, we keep an eye on all these broads. Looks like this one was tryin' to move her base of operations," Frank replied, pointing to my suit-cases."We been tryin' to nail her for a long time."
There was nothing I could do or say. Who would believe me? Surely, not the cab driver. All he wanted to do was get away from there.
"O.K., cabbie, beat it!" Frank said, jerking a thumb at the nervous driver. With a grinding of gears, he raced into the night.
"Now, Lori, let's go back home. O.K.?" Without a word, I crawled into the back seat. The tears welled up in my eyes and I cried uncontrolably, as Frank's words intermingled with the whir of tires on concrete. I didn't hear what he was saying. I didn't want to hear.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Frank's friend made his call. And Frank's friend had a friend who, in turn, had another friend. I was enmeshed in a web from which I could not free myself. The only freedom I knew was during the time I was at work. Many times I wanted to quit my job, but Frank advised against it, stating simply that I had to be employed for appearance sake.
All the while, Larry made his weekly visits. Dear, sweet, honest, decent Larry. I didn't have the heart nor the courage to tell him anything but lies. It was the last bit of my life that was not decayed, and I intended to hang onto this morsel of decency at all costs. But how could I ever hope to keep on deceiving him? The footprints of immorality had been stamped eternally into my being, but, somehow, there must be a way to remove these wicked etchings. Smear them over, fill up the chinks with new plaster, so no one would notice.
But, as quickly as I mentally contemplated these repairs, Frank's greedy and sinful determination bared the heel marks of the gutter, with a continuous stream of 'friends'. The money they left behind, for their pleasure, was hungrily snatched from me by Frank's rapacious fingers. Not that I cared anymore. It was filthy money. I wanted no part of it!
Frank called on me regularly, but only to get the money. No longer did he find me desirable as a sex partner. He even went so far as to berate me for not being more cooperative. He had had complaints, he told me, that I was too cold. His friends wanted more 'action'. "And furthermore," he said one time, "what's this about you not Frenchin'? When I send a guy up here and I tell him you'll go all the way, that's exactly what I mean. So get off yer high horse and do yer job! Get me?"
"I don't do that," I said, "and I won't!" Somehow, I knew it was a hopeless argument, but I thought I'd try anyway.
"The hell you won't! The next time I hear that, I'll come up here and knock the hell out of ya!"
"Look, Frank," I pleaded, "I'm doing everything you ask now. Don't make it worse. Please!"
"Worse? Hell, that's all part of the game, kid. What's the difference? You've done it before! It won't hurt ya none." It seemed like Frank was deliberately testing me with his demands.
The next few weeks, his 'friends' all wanted something different. I had no choice but to comply. I knew if I didn't they would report my short-comings to Frank. The degradation which beset me was now all-consuming. Strange men-old men,-fat men,-dirty men-demanded the unusual, the different, the exciting. And as I crawled to them and felt their lustful trembling hands on my head, it was as though they were pushing my face deeper and deeper into the mire of shameless, never-ending smut! There could be no recovery from this. I had reached the end of the line.
Slowly, as I emerged from the trance into which my shocking and unbelievable life had placed me, I realized there was still hope. I would escape this prison of evil, this incredible, soul-strangling cancerous jail.
I made plans. This time I would not get caught. I must be very careful. And escape I did!
Without luggage or personal belongings of any sort, I flew from my dilemma of decay. Why hadn't I thought of this before? I simply left my apartment one morning, walked a zig-zag course through the stores and side streets, until I was positive no one was following me. Then I got on an elevated train and let it clatter me to freedom!
As I sat, slouched in my seat, I looked at my reflection in the window. But I had to turn away when I realized what I was-a prostitute! This mark would have to be erased, however, for I couldn't go on torturing myself with a past that, I was sure, was now behind me for good. Erase the past with new surroundings, a new job ... a new life! Exactly where or how I would begin this journey into a virtuous existence, I didn't know but, somehow, I would make a very determined effort to bathe my soul so that I could once again look decent humanity straight in the eye without flinching!
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The job I finally landed was in an office and, although the excitement of night clubs was not there, I was pleased with my work. I didn't mind the lesser pay, either, and I went about my new duties with a lightness of heart I hadn't known for many months. Any thoughts of sex, were out of the question. I had had enough sex to last me a lifetime and, if there was anything I didn't want-it was a man! The very thought of another naked man revolted me!
Yes, there was still Larry, but I would require many bouts with my conscience before I would be able to face him again. But when that time came, I was sure I could find him and straighten everything out again.
The duties assigned me were routine and required very little thinking. Although they might have seemed boring to me at one time, I enjoyed the work and the people I worked with. For the most part, I kept to myself and joined into the idle banter of the office only when someone asked me a question. There were 10 or 12 girls working there and we ate our lunch and took our coffee breaks in a small room in the rear of the office.
"Lori, how come you don't have a boyfriend?" one of the girls asked me one day.
"Who says I don't?"
"Oh, you'd talk about him if you had one. Golly, a pretty girl like you should have all kinds of men chasing after her."
My inquisitor was a girl named Roberta Engels. She sat at the desk across from me, and we talked frequently. She was about 28 or 29, dressed rather plain, had dark brown hair, cut short, and wasn't what anyone would call good looking. Everyone called her Bobbie, a name she had stitched onto almost all her blouses.
"Oh, I don't know. I guess I just don't care to bother with a boyfriend. At least, not yet," I told her.
"Didn't you ever have one?" she asked. "Oh, sure. In school, back home, I...."I mean now."
"No, not at the moment. Not since I came to Chicago," I lied.
"Don't you ever get lonesome? I mean, to have someone take you out?"
"No, not really. I stay home and read and watch TV." Another lie.
"Why don't you and I go out this Saturday? I know a nice little place where we could sit and talk."
"I don't care. Sure, why not?"
"You drink, don't you?" she asked.
"Oh, sure. Not much, though. Maybe a couple, and I've had enough."
"Me, too," she replied, ending the conversation abruptly.
It was a nice little place where Bobbie took me. It was called Sally's.
Bobbie and I took a couple stools about three quarters of the way down the bar. There were three or four other girls in the place, but no men. "Like it?" Bobbie asked.
"Oh, yes. It's very nice. Nice and quiet-just the way I like it!" I was introduced to Sally, after the second round, and she shook hands with me warmly. She held my hand tightly while she patted me affectionately on the forearm. "Bobbie told me about you, Lori. You should have come in sooner," she said. She squeezed my hand to indicate she meant it.
Bobbie and I sat and talked for almost two hours. The drinks kept coming and, I suppose, we must have talked our way through six or seven, when I began to feel them. As I watched the dancing bar lights, they blurred into a wiggly little bunch of colored lines, and I closed one eye to get them in focus. Bobbie didn't seem to feel her drinks, but she noticed that I was beginning to experience some difficulty maintaining an even keel. She took my upper arm, and turned me toward her. I felt her knee touch mine. I haphazardly tried to pull away, but I was pinned against the bar and couldn't move without getting completely off the stool. This would have been too obvious.
"Why don't we leave here, Lori?" she whispered.
"Yes, I guess we'd better. I can't hold any more."
"Why don't you come to my place? I can make us some coffee and sandwiches. It's just around the corner," Bobbie said. She didn't wait for an answer but took me by the elbow and steered me toward the door.
"Good night, kids!" I heard Sally call. She lived on the second floor of an old, brown-looking building, that came right up to the sidewalk. About three steps up, there was a little landing. I noticed five or six mail boxes lined up on a dirty, cracked wall. Bobbie's apartment was in the front and, from the window of her small living room, you could see the on and off neon light of a jewelry store, across the street. All the other stores were dark.
Bobbie did not turn on the lights, but, with the periodic blinking of the store light, I could make out a couch under the double window and I made my way toward it. I knelt down, facing the window, and put my head on my crossed arms.
"Do they ever turn it out?" I asked.
"Turn what out?"
"The light ... that blinking light across the street."
"Oh, that. Yes, I think around mid-night. Why, does it bother you?"
"No, not really, but I wouldn't want a steady diet of it every night."
"I'm used to it. It doesn't bother me. It did at first, but then...."
"How's the coffee coming?" I asked.
"Coffee?Oh, the coffee! How about a short one, while you're waiting?"
"Coffee."
"All right, coffee it is, then."
I sat and looked at the light. It seemed to hypnotize me, for I don't recall saying anything for quite a while.
"Here, try this while you're waiting," I turned slowly to find a clenched hand holding a highball glass, stretched toward me. "I thought you were making coffee," I said. Mechanically, my fingers accepted the offering, however, and, just as unthinking, the glass went to my lips.
"It's boiling," Bobbie said. I noticed she had a drink of her own and that, as she took a sip, she sat down beside me
"Whew! What have you got in this thing?" I gasped. It was powerful, to say the least.
"I just had a little left, so I thought I'd make it a good one. Why? Too strong?"
"It's that, all right! Wow!"
"Sorry."
"That's all right. I'll manage."
"I know one thing," she said, "I'm going to get comfortable. Get some of these things off." She tugged at her blouse and pulled it from its moorings around her waist. She pulled her legs up and flipped off her shoes and let them fall at die edge of the couch.
"How about you? Aren't you going to relax?" Without waiting for an answer, she waggled her shoulders, reached around behind her and exclaimed, "Ooh, this bra! It's killing me!" In the stillness I heard the dull 'thunk' as the snap disengaged and released her imprisoned anatomy from its suffering.
She noticed that I was apparently content to remain fully clothed, for she reached over, plucked my unsuspecting legs into her lap, and estranged my shoes from my feet. Still holding these distant members, she rubbed them gently, massaging the instep lovingly.
"Better?" she purred.
"Oh, yes, I said, "that feels good."
"Tell you what," she said, "I have an extra house coat. Why don't we get out of these things so we can get comfortable?"
"Oh, I have to go pretty soon. It's getting late.
If I drink this-this thing you made for me, I won't be able to walk." I took another sip.
"You don't have to go home, Lori. Why don't you just stay here, and go home in the morning?"
"No, I don't have to, I guess, but I should."
"You'd be better off here, anyway. Who knows what could happen to you on the way home? C'mon, I'll get you a robe."
Before I could reply, Bobbie was across the room and pawing into her closet. In a moment, she was back. She threw the robe down beside me, and said, "Now, stand up and I'll help you. C'mon." She took me by both arms and raised me bodily from the couch. I stood there tottering as she carefully unbuttoned my blouse and slipped it off my shoulders. Methodically, her hands found the snap on my brassiere, the zipper of my skirt and, before I had time to realize it, I stood before her completely naked! With nothing to say about my unclothed condition, I merely giggled.
When Bobbie had arranged my clothing neatly on a pile on the chair, she took off her own clothes and inserted her bare torso in her robe. I sat down with my drink, still clutched in my hand, and watched with fascination. The robe still lay beside me. The nakedness had a certain feeling of pleasantness. It was a wicked feeling, and I knew it was wrong, but, somewhere in my mind, my unsavory memory told me I liked it!
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"You have a nice body," Bobby whispered. "And these," she continued, as her hand cupped my left breast, "are beautiful.' I've noticed them, you know."
"Really?"
"Oh, yes. Ever since you first came to work at the office. You know," she giggled, "I wondered sometimes if they were real."
"They're real."
"I know. They're beautiful," she purred. Her hand moved to my right breast and she toyed lovingly with it. I felt her fingers, warm and soft, move to the nipple. She ran her forefinger around the taut little tip. A tingle went through me, my fingers gripped her leg.
"Ouch, honey! Not so hard," she admonished, softly.
"Sorry. You ... you ... you did something to me just then...."
"Do you mind?"
"N-no."
"Did you like it?"
"Y-yes ... ooh, yes!"
"Why are we talking, then? Let's go to bed!"
In bed, I lowered my face and kissed her gently heaving breasts, one, then the other. She gasped, found the sensation pleasant. Her fingers were entangling themselves in my hair. I felt her move slightly upward and I remembered the many times Thelma had thrust me upward.
I clasped Bobbie's breasts in each hand, pushing them together, forcing the nipples to touch. We then went sailing off into our own little world of twisted hungers, compelling and undeniable desires, not caring whether the world came to an end just then or not.
Bobbie pulled herself farther up on the bed, leaning her head against the headboard. From the reflection of light in the room, I caught the excited, yet misty look in her eyes.
"Don't forget," I said, "you have to do...."
"I will! I will!!" Her hands reached out and held my head as I leaned forward. Bobbie twisted and squirmed and emitted ecstatic gurgles and gasps of delight as I ministered to her longing body. She collapsed with a sigh when her satisfaction was achieved.
"Ooh, Lori, ba-by-you were wonderful!" she panted.
"I'm glad you liked it, real glad. And now--"
She did not hesitate. She changed position on the bed with me and started to love me in a manner that sent my passions soaring to dizzying heights. I moaned, I gasped, I cried out in sheer ecstasy. Gone were my past trials and tribulations with men, gone was everything except the present, and what Bobbie was doing to me.
Then it was over, and I went limp, and my voice was a bleating tone in the stillness of the room.
"Oh, Bobbie! Darling! You were wonderful-absolutely precious!"
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
But the next day, it all seemed like a nightmare. As soon as I awoke, I slipped out of bed, being careful not to wake Bobbie. I dressed quietly and then left the apartment. It was early, about seven o'clock, and at that hour on a Sunday morning almost no one is on the street in any city. Chicago was no different and I was glad.
A sudden depression came over me, bringing tears to my eyes, and if a truck had been passing at that moment, I would have gladly flung myself in front of it and let it squash my troubled life from me.
I knew that I had to find some point of stability to tie my life to. I felt I had to find some bed-rock of normalacy, or I would go mad!
Larry!
Larry, of course. Why hadn't I thought of him before? So long ago I had wanted his understanding, but I'd been afraid that he would smell the taint of my wanton life. The feeling wasn't as strong now. I wanted his comforting assurance that we could be again as we once were. The cleanliness and decency that was Larry stirred in me a longing that became almost uncontrollable. I knew I had to see him again!
After numerous phone calls to the university, I finally reached him. His pleasant voice made my heart feel as though it wanted to leap from my straining chest! Oh, how wonderful!
"Hello, Larry. How are you?"
"Well, hello, stranger," he said, noticeably reining his emotions.
"Fine. And yourself?"
"Fine."
"What happened to you? I went to the club and they told me you didn't show up for work one day. Then I went to your apartment but no one seemed to know where you went. What happened? I was worried about you."
"It's a long story, Larry. I'll tell you about it, sometime." The 'sometime' I hoped would be soon, and I was just a bit annoyed that he didn't ask to see me, so I could tell him.
"Yeah, I'd like to hear all about it," he said. He sounded indifferent.
"How are you doing at school?" I asked, hurriedly adding, "I'd like to have you tell me everything you've done since I last saw you."
"School's fine. Getting a little tougher, though. Lot more work than it was a few months ago."
"Oh?"
"Yes. Don't get out as often as I used to." He sounded like he was building up to an excuse, but surprised me with: "Can I see you some time?"
"Sure. When? I mean, when will you have some time?"
"Let me see," he muttered. I pictured him looking toward the ceiling as I waited. "Saturday would be all right. Does that suit you?"
"Saturday would be fine!"
"Where are you living now? And what are you doing? Working in another club?"
"I'm out on the west side-River Forest. No, I'm working in an office how."
"Like it?"
"Oh, yes. The pay isn't as good, but the hours are better. I get to sleep nights, instead of days."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Larry's and my reunion was mostly a re-acquaintance. Diplomatically, he probed into my puzzling past. He seemed to accept the deftly-delivered lies I ladled out, and only occasionally did he appear to question the plausibility of what I told him.
With cleverely concocted untruths, I disguised my past to his apparent satisfaction. Fortunately, he was somewhat less than avid in his inquisitions, for there were many unexplainable occurrences in connection with my sudden departure from downtown Chicago. Had he probed deeper, it would have proved embarrassing.
Our meetings were less frequent than they had been before, partly because of Larry's increased study load at school and, partly, due to a certain feeling of coolness on his part. But I couldn't blame him. I had left without letting him know and had not bothered to get in touch with him for months.
Gradually, however, he warmed up and seemed to be his old self. Not entirely, but enough so that I looked forward eagerly to our dates. Had I insisted, I suppose he would have dated me more often, but I knew Larry's character and knew he would have to work his problems out his own way. So I was patient.
Not only was I patient while waiting for his love for me to return, but I was also grateful that he even considered having me back. It was as though the clouds had suddenly lifted, letting the sun shine through on my damp, mildewed life.
I was happy. I would make Larry happy. I would erase the doubts he had about me. Maybe it would take a blizzard of lies to do it, but I was determined to scrub up my life and present it to Larry, like a bundle of fresh, sweet-smelling laundry!
It was June. The university would be out in a few days. Larry planned to go back to Clairmont for the summer. I had no plans. Stay on the job and work, I guess. I wished that Larry's plans included me, but he had made no mention of Lori Miller for the summer months. The thought of spending three long months in Chicago without him, depressed me.
The university let out on Friday, and Larry called me. We made a date for Saturday night. Instead of looking forward to seeing him, I found myself saddened by the idea. It would not be a joyful date. It would be a parting date. No Larry in my life for three long, lonesome months! The thought was almost unbearable.
In a corner booth, Saturday night, we sat in our quiet little rendezvous. Larry and I sat in nerve-shattering silence. The words we spoke were nothing more than idle burblings of uneasiness. Words spilled out merely for the sake of spilling-of no value-meaningless.
Larry looked at me deeply and, for the first time since I had known him, I saw a sensitivity and depth I had never seen before. He took my hand in his. I felt his warmth as he squeezed and, then, gloriously, almost like magic, I had the sensation that his entire soul was flowing into my body! So heavenly was this transference of love-my emotions directed me to take action!
I flung both arms around his neck and kissed him, greedily.
"Larry ... oh, Larry, I love you!" I cried. I kissed him again and again. He was trying to say something but I smothered his words. He finally managed to turn his head aside, and whispered into my ear. "Lori, I love you, too!"
The remainder of the evening melted into a haze, glowing with the embers of avowed eternal love. The days that followed were as light and airy as brightly colored cotton candy, and I twirled them around in my head, like a child. My joy was limitless!
Bravely, I looked in die mirror and told-convinced-myself that absolutely nothing unsavory had ever scampered across the pages of my book of life. 'Hush, Conscience, what do you know about it anyway? So, go away, look back through someone else's mirror! And while you're at it-keep your little voice quiet!"
Larry didn't go to Clairmont for the summer. Larry had other plans. I was happy he did, for they included me!
Two weeks after what was supposed to be our parting date, I became Mrs. Larry Mitchell! Not without misgivings, though. My conscience tried to talk me out of it, but I wouldn't listen. At least, I wouldn't listen very hard.
Thelma and Bobbie rushed through my mind. And Murph and Frank and their 'friends', but love, with its overpowering guidance, chucked them all neatly in a crack and smeared mortar over the scar. The wound was healed-to my satisfaction.
The entire summer was a beautiful, happy, giddy experience. Larry moved in with me, where he would stay until school reopened, in the fall. Then, we would find a place near school. I could find a job nearby, if I wanted to, but it wasn't really necessary. Larry's allowance from his parents was more than enough to support both of us. Each day was like a life reborn. The thrill of coming home was surpassed only by the thought of who I was coming home to. The sight of Larry watching from the window, as I came down the sidewalk, made my steps quicken and, often, I found myself running the last half block!
I would meet him just inside the door, throw myself into his arms and kiss him soundly. He would laugh that cute little laugh of his, and ask innocently, "Miss me?"
"Oh, yes, darling! Yes, yes, yes!" I'd hungrily emphasize each 'yes' with a kiss. Our love flamed into a fiery, searing adoration of hypnotic enchantment which sent our inhibitions up in shameless smoke. There was no function of the male-female relationship we did not explore. Without compunction, we sought, discovered and enjoyed every emotion which nature had so thoughtfully given to us. And I was actually glad to now employ past experiences with Larry, to please him!
Summer moved into Fall, and carried us along without disturbing the cloud of ecstasy we had boarded. Indeed, many times I had just that feeling. I was lying on our jointly-occupied cloud, feet dangling limply over the side, drifting and dreaming lazily into the love-enriched raptures of heaven. There was no beginning, no middle, no end. Just the present-the now. Live ... enjoy ... forget ... and love. Wonderful, wonderful love!
Winter strode boldly into Chicago, but Larry and I scarcely noticed. We didn't go out much, anyway, except for me to go to and from work and Larry to and from school. We snuggled warmly in our nest and turned our backs on the outside world. Christmas rushed at us, lingered its alloted day, and went on its way, leaving in its wake the joys of all the 365 days, packed happily into its short visit.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
On December 31st, Larry was, of course, not in school and the office where I worked let out at noon. When I got home that day, Larry was humming gaily and greeted me at the door with:
"Honey, we're going out tonight. Yup, we're going to celebrate!"
"Celebrate? Why?"
"New Year's Eve, that's why!"
"Oh, yes, I'd almost forgotten."
"You could forget, when the office gives you a half a day off?"
"I guess I was so thrilled at being with you that-everything else slipped my mind!" I hugged him from behind and laid my head against his back.
"Oh, come now. How about that guy in the office you told me was so handsome?"
"I didn't tell you any such thing! There's no one in my office that I'd take a second look at!" I squeezed him so hard he grunted.
"Just checking, honey, just checking," he said. He loosened my arms enough so that he could turn around.
"You know I wouldn't look at anyone but you, darling," I said. I put on a hurt look for effect. "Better not, because you know what?"
"No, what?"
"Because I love you, dammit!" I felt his strong arms lift me from the floor, then swing me like a limp pendulum.
"I love you, too, darling ... dammit!"
"Yes, but I have to squeeze it out of you!" He suddenly turned me loose.
It was a little after nine when we left the apartment and, even though the weather was cold, we walked the five blocks to our little bar. There weren't too many people around and the quietness didn't fit our mood.
"Let's go somewhere else," Larry said. "O.K."
"Where would you like to go?"
"Anywhere you lead me, honey."
"I don't suppose you'd want to go to the Golden Garter?"
"Nope."
"I understand. So, let's just walk and see what we can find. O.K.?"
"O.K."
Three or four blocks down the street, we saw the large, blinking neon sign of a bar. It looked full of life.
Inside, there were a lot of people seated at the bar, and most of the tables were occupied. A man, whom I presumed to be the head waiter, came up to us and guided us to a table. It was to the right of the small band stand, on the edge of the crowded dance floor. It was fairly dark in the room, except for the small stage, where a lot of instruments lay on chairs. Even without the music playing, it was noisy.
The low murmur of many voices was occasionally sliced with the shriek of a woman and the happy, raucous laughter of a man. The place was alive with activity.
We sat and talked, laughed, drank and held hands, lovingly, as we watched the revelers amuse themselves. Two or three times we got up to dance, but neither of us was too fond of it, so we just sat. We had arrived a little after ten, I think, and it was now getting close to midnight-the crazy time at New Year's Eve when everyone suddenly goes wild-the few seconds of the year that are remembered by everyone for almost the entire year after. Everybody seems to remember exactly what they were doing at midnight on New Year's Eve with the possible exception of those that have passed out!
Larry looked at his watch, smiled at me.
"Just five more minutes, and the place will go nuts."
"I know," I said, "I'll
"Well, well, well," a drunken voice cut in, "if it ain't l'il ole blondy. 'Member me, honey?" My heart suddenly plummeted like a lead ball to lodge somewhere near my nervously twitching feet.
"No, I'm sorry," I lied, "I think you must be mistaken. I'm Mrs. Mitchell." Of course, I knew him. How could I forget him? Especially, if I'd seen him five or six times at very close range and, I shuddered inwardly, without any clothes on! I prayed he'd take the cue, when I hit him with that Mrs. bit, but he was either too stupid or too drunk to understand.
"Aw, c'mon, blondy, you 'member me. Yer name's ah, lemme see, now...."
"I'm sorry, Mister what-ever-your-name-is, but I never saw you before in my life! Will you please leave us alone! My husband doesn't know you, either!"
"I got it," he said, snapping his fingers almost under my nose. "Lora, ain't it? No, Lor ... Lor ... Lori, that's it! Sure, you used ta have that place over on ... lemme see ... anyway, second floor, nummer seven, wasn't it?"
For a few horrifed moments, I could do nothing but stare back at the man's drunken, stupid face. I was stunned into disbelief-horrible, stupefying disbelief. I felt Larry's hand slide from mine and saw him look at me and then at the obnoxious intruder. The latter wasn't through, however. No, he had to go on. Had he just shut his cavernous, smut-spewing mouth, there might have been a chance for me.
"Sure, I 'member ya, Lori. How's things goin'? Hey, Mac, lemme clue ya in 'bout this babe. She's a...."
"Will you please go away!" I shot out, hoping it was not too late.
"Let him talk, Lori," Larry said.
"Please, Larry, let's go. He doesn't know what he's talking about!"
"No, let him talk. Maybe he's got something to say." Larry's slow words seemed encrusted with ice. He pushed my hand away, roughly.
"You got a real doll here, fella," the clown blubbered. "Yah, a real doll. Ain't ya, blondy?" He reached out and clumsily patted me on the head.
Enraged, I struck viciously at his arm, sent it flying loosely to one side. To keep from falling, he tried to grab the table with his other hand, and dropped his drink on the floor.
"Whassa matter with ya, blondy? Gettin' high and mighty er somethin'? Don't gimme that crap ... see? He waggled a finger at me.
"Larry, please! Let's go!" I pleaded.
"Yah, Larry, please," the drunk went on sarcastically, "take her outa here. Ya wanna know somethin', Larry? Ya wanna know? You seem like a nice guy so I'll tell ya. O.K.? L'il blondy here ... L'il Lori, is a hustler! Ya know what a hustler is, Lare? Thas a whore ... a prostitute ... prossi ... a whore. Unnerstan'?" He teetered back, then forward. Raising his eyebrows, he studied Larry. Then he leaned over the table, and said, "Bes' damn lay in Chicago, even if she is mad at me. An', ya know somethin' else? Huh? Ya know somethin' else? She's a good blow job, too! Don' believe it, jus' ask ol' Murph, over at the High Hat. He kin tell ya." He turned, leered at me. "So don' git uppity with me, blondy. Nex' time, I might slug ya back!"
"Ah, are you sure you have the right girl?" Larry asked.
"Sure I'm sure! She worked at the Gol'en Garter. She was husslin, all the while she wuz there. Nummer seven, 'at was her apartment. A lot of us used ta...."
Larry didn't wait for him to finish. He was half way across the dance floor before I realized what had happened. I snatched up my belongings, and raced after him.
"Larry! Larry! Wait!" He either didn't hear me or didn't want to. As I pushed my way through the throng, I heard the band start to play 'Auld Lang Syne,' while celebrants chimed in, "May old acquaintance be forgot...."
How appropriate were the words for my moment of horror-filled hell! Rising from the stench of the gutter, an 'old acquaintance' had made my New Year's Eve an unforgettable remembrance!
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I half-walked, half-ran, lurched and stumbled through the bitter Chicago night, while tears of helplessness froze on my cheeks. Larry must have run the entire way home, or had caught a cab. I didn't catch up with him. When I got home he was already there.
The door to our apartment was open and, as I climbed the stairs, I saw things flying out the door. From somewhere inside I heard Larry swearing, something I had never heard him do before. A number of my dresses were strewn in the hallway, and one hung over the stair railing. My suitcases lay on the hall floor.
"Larry!" I shouted. "What do you think you're doing?"
"I'm throwing you the hell outa here, that's what!"
"You're what!"
"Out ... out ... out! You damn pig! I don't want you in my sight anymore! Out!"
"Calm down, Larry! For heavens' sakes! Do you want to wake the whole building?"
"The hell with the building! And the hell with you, you dirty bitch! You rotten whore! You lousy, crummy, no-good, dirty whore!"
"All right, all right! If that's the way you want to act," I said, surprised at my own calmness.
"Act? How the hell am I supposed to act? Calm? My wife turns out to be a prostitute and I'm supposed to act calm! Balls!"
"Have it your way, Larry. If that's the way you feel...."
"Feel? Hell, woman, how would you feel? Just keep your damn mouth shut and-get the hell out of my life! Here!" He flung a box of my jewelry at me, spilling the contents on the floor. He kicked the box across the room. When he had thoroughly ransacked the closet, the dresser drawers and whatever else he could find, he turned to me, his face livid with hate. "Now, will you please get the hell out of here, out of my life? Please ... go.' Now!" He pointed a shaky finger at the open door.
"All right, Larry," I said, softly. "I'll go." Slowly, I placed some of my things in the suitcases, snapped the clasps shut, and set them beside the door. "I want you to remember one thing, Larry. I want you to know I love you. I always have and always will. No matter what you think of me, I'll never change my feelings for you. Good luck. I'm terribly sorry."
He stood in the middle of the room and didn't say a word. Not even 'good-bye'. As I pulled the door shut, and stood in the hall outside, I heard his uncontrolled sobbing.
The strangeness of it all struck me. He loved me and I loved him. Yet, we would no longer have one another. But for one, two or three minute period, when my 'old acquaintance' entered our lives, we might have remained together forever. Why did Fate decree that we should all meet at precisely the same time? Had Larry and I been at another table, a few feet away, he might not have seen me. Had Larry decided to go to the washroom those few minutes, I might have been able to send him on his way, without his damning revelation. Why did we have to go out at all? Like puppets, we were, with the strings of our lives entangled in the unfeeling fingers of Fate. A Fate that had manipulated our three lives to a common reunion that horrible night. A lot of things might have happened differently, but they didn't. I had to accept once again, the bitterness of Fate's verdict. Was there no justice? Couldn't a person enjoy the fruitful rewards of repentance? Maybe the repentance was not of sufficient sincerity. Or was it because the sins were too severe to start with? I didn't know where the answer was.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Once again, I found myself trudging slowly down a Chicago street, looking for a place to live. The bitter cold bit into me. The shock of what I had been through strained at my nerves, pulling them so taut my entire body screamed with pain. Here and there, a passing car, filled with New Year's Eve celebrants, shouted mirthful greetings at me, but these salutations fell on grief-deafened ears. The irony of it all! The toot of the gay, little horns was like a pit of gleeful, dancing demons, taunting my thwarted attempts for a decent life.
My arms ached from their load. My mind ached from its predicament, and my feet ached from the cold. I stopped, set my suitcases down in the snow. Finding a cab on this particular night would be difficult but, even if I did manage to hail one, where would I go? Maybe a small hotel, somewhere downtown. That would be suitable for one night. Then, tomorrow, I could find something else.
Maybe Fate, thinking over the harshness of its treatment of me, would relent and decide to salve the ragged wound it had rent.
The first cab I flagged crunched to a halt at the curb, and the door flew open.
"Where to, Ma'am?" the driver called cheerily. He didn't bother to get out, so I tossed my luggage in myself. I gave him a general idea of where I wanted him to take me, and we were off.
He let me out on a corner, downtown. I looked up and down the street for a hotel sign. Any kind of a hotel would do. About a half block down the street, on the other side, I saw a faded red neon light blinking on and off. The 'e-I' was out and, had I been in better spirits, I might have found amusement in the remaining word, 'Hot'.
Hastily, I made my way toward the hotel. I signed the register, then followed the aged bellman down a worn, but clean hallway. He opened the door to a room, set my bags down inside and handed me the key. Without a word, he was down the hall before I had a chance to thank him. Or give him a tip.
I walked slowly across the room and turned on a bed lamp. I doused the ceiling light. This seemed to help.
The bed sagged, groaned unceremoniously as I sat on its edge. I pulled the wallet from my purse and counted my money. I had cashed my last pay check and still had most of it left. When I had thumbed through my little pile of bills twice, a sudden fear gripped me. I had only $52 and not enough change to make another dollar.
The remainder of the night did not reward me with sleep. I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Occasionally, tears spilled onto the pillow. The gnawing dread of what lay ahead, dug icy fingers into my strife-molested stomach, twisting and wrenching, until the gray light of dawn crept slowly into my forlorn room.
Desolate in spirit, I rose to face the new day.
What to do? I had to find some kind of work, but what? I couldn't possibly return to my job. No, it would have to be a new and different job. Somewhere where no one knew me. I couldn't stand the gaiety and familiarity of my previous employment. There would be questions about how I had spent New Year's Eve. There would be referrals to Larry. I was in no mental condition to face anyone I knew.
I changed my dress. When I had almost finished, I realized it was New Year's Day. No one would be hiring on this day. No offices would be open. I resigned myself to a very long and dreary day in my dismal room.
I plopped back on the edge of the bed. It received me with its usual groaning comment which, at that moment, sounded almost pitiful enough to be sharing my grief, I dropped my face into my hands and released a river of tears, which trickled through my trembling fingers, down my arms, causing a feeling of coldness that matched my gloom-filled mental state.
The day crept by. Each hour seemed reluctant to pass into history. Even the minutes dawdled. In the meantime, I was about to go mad! I finally undressed and fell into a fitful slumber.
The following day proved unfruitful as far as finding a job went. It was January and many firms were beginning to cut back. Jobs were scarce after the first of the year, I was told. 'Maybe in a month or so' I heard many times that day.
The following day was no different. The room rent was nibbling unconcernedly on my meager bank roll and I began to feel more depressed than ever. And, after the fourth day of unproductive searching, I began to panic. When I checked my funds I was startled to find I had already spent over thirty dollars!
Staring at the ceiling at the end of my fourth day of job-seeking, I thought matters over very carefully. An idea was beginning to incubate. The more I pondered this embryo of thought, the more it grew. It strained to survive. I nursed it, coddled it, fed it idea after idea, until it was a flourishing, sturdy plan. Unholy and indecent, but, nevertheless, a working, life-saving plan!
I searched my purse for a coin. Two dimes, cowering among the stray bobbie pins at the bottom, were easy prey for my eager fingers and I apprehended both, just in case. I pressed them tightly into my guilt-moistened palm and went to the phone booth, in the abbreviated hall that my hotel had the audacity to call a lobby.
For a moment, as I waited for the answer on the other end, I had just a slight feeling of misgiving. Then, realizing my plight, I shrugged it off.
"Hello, High Hat Lounge," a voice said.
"Hello, I'd like to talk to Mr. Murphy," I said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
For the next few weeks, I found myself once again employed as a cocktail waitress. That is, the tide was my front. At first, I worked my shift, and went straight home after work. Oh, I cooperated with Murph every so often because I had to. But I had one thing in mind, and one thing only. I wanted to make enough money to get out of Chicago, for keeps. Outwardly, I forgave Murph for what he had done but, inwardly, I hated him-and all men.
I didn't hate so deeply, however, that I didn't take advantage of the fact that nature had bestowed on me the title of woman. And I used this weapon to the best of my ability. Repugnant, perhaps, but lucrative. The first opportunity for a big score came soon enough.
A young man, sitting alone at a dark table, asked to see me after work, and I played the usual hard-to-get game. I teased him just enough so that he wanted more and, finally, I let him talk me into a meeting.
As I walked up to him, at the corner where he was waiting, he smiled pleasantly and touched the brim of his hat.
"Hi," he smiled.
"Hi." Before I could say another word, he took my arm, pulled me against the building and said:
"Murph told me all about you, so let's get everything straight before we start. How much?"
"Oh, I see, Ah, twenty-five," I said. The 'weapon' I had so cozily tucked away between my thighs no longer was a weapon, but merely a piece of flesh for sale; a piece of desired merchandise, available for the right price.
There followed, during the next two or three weeks, maybe a half a dozen similar episodes. While my conscience deflated me, my purse inflated.
Murph took me aside one day, saying he wanted to talk to me about something important. I listened carefully while he unfolded his business proposition. I was not surprised.
"Look, honey, we can both make a lot of dough, if you're willing to go along. I know I sent Frank to see you, but he's small potatoes. Let me work with you. I'll steer you onto just a few, choice customers. You can up your price to a hundred bucks a trick. II you work with me, of course. I'll take 25 per cent. You'll still come out a lot better than you are now, 'cuz I know you're not gettin' that kinda dough. O.K.?"
That was that. Of course, I agreed. Who wouldn't? As long as you're in the business, you might as well get top prices! A couple 'tricks' a week and, before long, I would be able to kiss the whole lousy racket good-bye.
The two or three tricks a week I expected didn't develop. It just isn't everybody who wants to take you to bed for a price, and it wasn't everybody who could afford the fee I asked.
I turned down anyone who didn't have Murph's stamp of approval on them, and this cut down my income considerably. Two whole weeks went by, and I hadn't had one customer at my new, inflated price. I was getting discouraged. A couple of the other girls who worked at the High Hat were pulling some tricks, I knew, but we never discussed our after hours activities. Patty and Skip had gone the same week I had, so I stayed pretty much to myself.
Just about the time I was going to go to Murph and ask him to let me take some of the low-priced jobs, he called me over and pointed out a rather distinguished looking gentleman sitting alone at the bar.
"See that man down near the end?" he asked, nodding toward the man. "He's ready. It's all fixed-hundred bucks to start, and you take it from there. I understand he's loaded, so don't be afraid to give him a little extra-if you know what I mean." I saw Murph go over to the man and tell him something. The man got up and sat at one of my tables. This was my cue to go to him. We arranged a meeting immediately, following work.
I had taken a small apartment a short distance from the club, so we walked there together. Once in the apartment, I told him to sit down and make himself comfortable. I then went to the bedroom and turned on a small bed lamp. I slipped out of my clothes and into a filmy negligee. My companion was still sitting on the couch, so I went in and asked him if he'd like a drink, first.
"Sure, but make it a light one. I had quite a few at the club."
When I had mixed us both one, I sat down beside him and we drank and chatted, then, the usual questions. How long had I been in the business? Why had I started doing what I was doing?-all routine stuff to me. They all asked the same thing. It got to be a bore after awhile, but I had to be pleasant.
"Ready?" I asked, setting my glass on the end table.
"Ready if you are."
"I guess Murphy told you the price-a hundred dollars?"
"Now?" He stood up, reached for his wallet and flipped it open so I could see.
The concussion from what I saw sent me backward, and I clutched at the chair arm for support. It was not a plain, leather wallet stuffed with bills that greeted my eyes, but a gleaming silver badge. Pinned neatly inside, it seemed to stab at me like a shiny, pointed saber!
I couldn't believe it. This had never happened to me before, and I didn't know exactly what to do.
"Wh-what...?"
"You're under arrest," he said, simply. "Get your clothes on. We're going to the station."
My mind was in a whirl. Was this one of Murphy's tricks? Or had he been fooled, too? It was possible he didn't know. He knew a lot of people but, then, he didn't know everybody. How could he? Especially, when a man of this man's age and distinctive looking appearance came along.
On legs of stone, I went to the bedroom and groped haltingly for my clothes. Mechanically, I got into them and went to the policeman.
"Isn't there some way I can get out of this?" I pleaded.
"No, ma'am."
"Do you have to take me in? I've never been in trouble before."
"Sorry. It's my job, miss."
He called a squad car. We sat like statues while we waited. Neither of us spoke. Within ten minutes, the car was there and a young officer sat idly behind the wheel. He reached across the front seat, opened the door for us.
"What ya got. Bill, 'nother hooker?" He smirked as he said it. My "hundred dollar customer" merely grunted.
I went through all the humiliation of being photographed, fingerprinted and questioned and, when they got through, I was advised that I could call a lawyer if I wanted to.
Who on earth could I call? I didn't know any lawyers! There was only one person who could help me, if he wanted to-Murphy.
I placed a call to him. I woke him up, then told him what had happened. He was very congenial. He didn't seem in the least bit concerned over my predicament.
"Don't worry about it, honey," he said, calmly, "I'll get ya outa there. Relax."
Relax, indeed! How could I relax? My name was on record as a prostitute and, most likely would appear in the papers. They did things like that. I had read them. Always buried with a lot of other arrests but, nevertheless, printed so that anyone reading the paper carefully would be sure to see it.
To make matters even worse, I was taken to another room and examined by a police matron. A cold, unfeeling matron with eyes of steel and hands of ice. When she was through, she took me roughly by the arm and ushered me down a long, cold hall and through a huge metal door.
"Here ya are, dearie," she said, steering me into a dark, evil-smelling cell, "make yourself at home." The clank of the steel door echoed through the darkness. The only light in the cell block came from a small window in the metal door, and I stared at this faint glimmer of light in a trance. I was alone in my cell, but there apparently were many others in the cell block.
Somewhere, across the way, I heard a female voice mumbling, while the sound of heavy breathing and snoring grated into my nerves like sandpaper. And there were some who were still awake.
"Crummy deal. Who the hell do they think they are anyway?" I heard a voice say, while someone close by yelled: "Quiet, you bitch, I wanna sleep!"
"Screw you, too!" the complainer answered.
"Shut up!" someone else called out.
I surveyed the interior of this metal cubicle. I sat down on the steel-slatted bunk. The previous tenants had spread newspapers on it, which smelled of bodies and sweat. I leaped to my feet. I rubbed at my behind, trying to rub away the taint. I walked to the barred door, stood looking at the light in the door.
I had no cigarettes-they had taken everything from me-so I couldn't smoke. I didn't even have a match or lighter to examine the cell with. My watch, too, was with my other belongings, so I had no way to tell time nor to keep track of how long I was locked up. It seemed like hours, but more probably was only about a half-hour that I stood there, hanging onto the cold, steel bars.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I heard the footsteps nearing the door and suddenly the room was flooded with light. The husky matron walked directly to my cell, unlocked it, and said: "C'mon, dearie, you're sprung. Let's go!"
"I'm ... I'm what?" I stammered.
"You've been bailed out-freed!"
"Freed? Really? By who?"
"How do I know? Your lawyer, I suppose. C'mon!"
When I got to the main desk a strange man smiled at me."
"Miss Miller?"
"Yes."
"Mr. Murphy asked me to get you out. You're free to go now. I'll be in touch with you in a few days. Don't worry about a thing." With that, he handed me his card, turned and left.
I picked up my belongings, signed the release slip with shaking hands, and left. Outside, the fresh air felt good. I stopped at the foot of the station stairs and drank deeply of it. How clean and sweet it tasted!
Murph called the next day and wanted to know how I made out. I gave him all the details, and thanked him for sending the lawyer.
"All part of the game, kid," he said. "I told ya we'd work together. Don't worry about a thing."
"Don't worry? I'm only out on bail. What do I do when I go to trial? Or will there be a trial for something like this?"
And, apparently, Murphy and his lawyer had been through this before, for when it came time for me to appear, they told me again not to worry.
"Cops always slip up somewhere," Murphy said. "And, if they don't, well, we got ways of fixin' things."
"Oh?"
"Sure. Take this deal, for instance. They have to have marked money, hand it to ya and then use the money as evidence. In yer case, he didn't hand over any money, so he doesn't have a leg to stand on. Now ya get it?"
"You mean I have to have the money in my possession before they can...?"
"Now yer gettin' it," Murph gloated. "Fer all the copper knew, you were just gonna be nice to him. Legally, you weren't sellin' anything. He can't prove that you asked fer money. Clear?"
"I never knew that before." The lawyer and I stood briefly before the judge's bench and, when the case was explained, the judge only shook his head, looked angrily at the arresting officer, then dismissed the case.
Two weeks passed without incident; then the third and fourth. I began to regain my confidence. Murph was checking our customers more carefully and was directing me to two and three tricks a week. He had to. The lawyer's fee was astronomical. I had no choice, but to pay. I knew if I didn't there would be no easy way out the next time. And Murph, too, increased his percentage. He explained it simply enough.
"I'm sendin' you a lot of good, gold-plated tricks, kid. Besides, I'm takin' a big chance havin' ya here after yer first booking. Takes dough to keep these people greased, ya know. I think 40 per cent oughta take care of it-"
"Forty per cent? Between you and your lawyer, I'm working for practically nothing!"
"Yer makin' out all right," he told me. I felt that his tone of voice meant just that. Be good, Lori, I told myself, save some money and get out as soon as you can. But it wasn't that easy.
Oh, I saved money, all right, but somehow or other, I always seemed to need something. If it wasn't a payment to the lawyer, it was a new suit or dress and, as fast as I built up a small bank roll, I spent it. Besides, once I had steeled myself to my profession, it wasn't really so bad. I lived comfortably, didn't work too hard and associated with the better classes, even if I did have to go to bed with them. No longer was the task entirely distasteful. My customers were older men who satisfied easily and went their way quietly. Half-ashamed, perhaps, over what they had done while away from hearth and home-and loving wife. No undue demands, no haggling over price and no lengthy sessions. All quick, half-way pleasant ... and profitable!
There was only one incident I recall as being completely unbearable and unthinkable. The man was a short, fat, middle-aged character with a face that seemed too red for normal. His mouth was a loose, watery thing that turned me against him from the start, but Murphy assured me he was loaded and would pay more than the usual price for his pleasure.
Reluctantly, I agreed to a meeting.
With the preliminaries over, we crawled into bed and I asked him how he liked it. I touched the flab of his porky stomach and cringed at the feeling. His miniature organ did not respond to my fondling and, for a gleeful moment, I thought I had made a tremendous profit for almost nothing. He pawed at me crudely and slavered over my breasts like an untamed beast, and when he slobbered his wet lips on mine I wanted to vomit!
"All right, all right," I said, "shall we try it now?"
"Oh ... oh ... oh, all right," he panted, "yeah ... yeah ... yeah ... all right."
He rolled over on his back, clawed at my midsection and pulled me on top of him. Instead of attempting normal intercourse, he sat me on his chest and pushed me back and forth. After about a minute of this rocking horse routine, he stopped abruptly and asked me gaspingly to go to the bathroom on his chest! I wasn't sure I had heard right but he assured me between blubbering pants of passion that this is what he wanted!
"You're kidding," I choked.
"No ... no ... no ... please ... I like it ... I like h ... I love it!"
"Not on your life, buster," I almost yelled. "Get the hell out of here!" I leaped from atop him and snapped on the light. He was still lying prone, head moving from side to side, with saliva running from the corners of his mouth. His fat legs pumped up and down as though he was riding a non-existent bicycle, and his bulbous stomach jiggled to the motion. I was revolted at the very sight of him. He was not a human. He was an animal!
"Out ... out!" I ordered, when he did not move. When he opened his eyes, he seemed puzzled. He didn't seem to know where he was. He looked at me strangely, then slowly hauled his blubber to the edge of the bed and sat there, with his head in his hands. The folds of fat hung so heavily in front of him that it was impossible to see if he was a male or female.
"I'm ... I'm sorry," he mumbled. "Did I do anything to offend you?"
"Are you kidding? Who in hell ever did anything like that for you?"
"Wha ... what?" He was in another world and I don't think he really knew what he was doing or what he had asked me to do. He dressed, slowly and deliberately, waddled to the door and went out without another word. So sickening was the thought of this creature that I had to streak for the bathroom and throw up.
The following day, I marched straight to Murph's office and turned loose a volley of words that left him stupefied.
"What the ... what are you talkin' about?" he asked.
"Never mind. Just don't steer me onto any more kooks like that!"
"What's the matter? What the hell did he do to ya?"
"I'm ashamed to tell you. It's too awful. If he ever comes around again, tell him to get lost, will you? He's sick, and I do mean sick! Don't ask me any more, because I don't want to be sick right here in your office! O.K.?"
"O.K., O.K., so how the hell do I know how these guys get their kicks? It's a funny business."
The following week, Murph pointed a man out to me who looked exactly like a cop. I let him lead me on but didn't agree to anything.
"Murph, I don't like his looks," I said. "He looks too much like a cop."
"I don't know him. All I know is that he asked if I knew any broads. You suit yourself. Pass him up if you want to." I thought I'd be brave, so I went over to his table and chatted a little with him. He seemed friendly enough and didn't talk like any cops I'd ever known. In fact, he seemed quite innocent. I teased him a little and flirted with him until I felt I had him stirred up enough.
"You're a policeman, aren't you?" I asked, boldly.
"Me? A copy? Hell, no!" he scoffed.
"All right, if you're not, let's see your wallet."
"Wallet? Why?"
"I just want to see what's inside it, that's all."
"Oh, all right. Here." He fished it out of his hip pocket, handed it to roe. I opened it carefully and studied the name on the identification card. There was no badge.
"Satisfied?" he asked.
"I guess so." I handed it back to him.
"What were you looking for?"
"Just wanted to see if you were carrying a badge. Never can tell who you're dealing with." I smiled to reassure him.
"Oh."
When we went to the apartment, everything seemed normal. We didn't stop for a drink. I got into my negligee immediately and told him to get his money out and get undressed. When I came back to the living room, he was standing in the middle of the dimly-lit room with his shirt off. He handed me a wad of bills and I took them over to the lamp to count them. Satisfied that the amount was correct, I turned and started to put the money away. But before I could move more than two steps, my potential customer stopped me. He reached into his pants pocket with his right hand, pulled it out and sent my heart to the basement! In his palm was his police badge! "Oh, no!"
"Oh, yes! Let's go."
He took the money from me and put it in an envelope. The routine was the same. Squad car, interrogation, booking, examination and lock up. I made a call to Murphy, heard him tell me not to worry and, about an hour later, was released. Nothing had come of the last incident so nothing would come of this one, I told myself. My lawyer would see to that.
How wrong I was!
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
"Lori, it's going to be a little tougher this time," the lawyer told me. "They've got you, dead to rights. There's still a chance that I can get it fixed, but I can't promise you anything."
"Why? What's the catch this time?"
"The catch is that I'm not sure if I can get the right party to cooperate. There's a little heat on this sort of thing right now and, well, you know if the papers get on something it gets awful damn expensive."
"So, it's expensive. I can pay. I did the last time."
"Well, the papers will want to know why the city attorney isn't doing his job. They can put a lot of heat on him, too, you know, and right now he can't stand too much heat."
"What do you think will happen, then?" I asked. I was beginning to feel a little sick.
"Well, maybe it might be better if we went a-long and pleaded guilty this time. That would satisfy them. Then, next time...."
"What do you mean, plead guilty? Go to jail?"
"Well, ah, yes. It wouldn't be so bad. I think the first offense is only 90 days and...."
"Ninety days! No! You'll have to do something! I've had all the jail I want! Even that hour or so I spent in a cell, convinced me of that."
"We'll see how it works out," he said.
It worked out fine. Fine for the city, that is! Ninety days is what it was and, when the judge gave me the sentence, my lawyer tried to console me.
"It's probably better this way, Lori. I'll see if I can get the sentence suspended. Maybe I can get you out-in less time, too."
"Oh, please, please! See what you can do! I'll die if I have to spend three months in a cell!
For one solid week I waited for the word I hoped would come, but it never did. I was transferred to the jail on California Street, where I stayed the entire ninety days. The matrons were all alike. When they examined me they made certain they let their feelings for prostitutes be known by their rough handling of me. Gentleness was not a condition of their creed, either in their physical being nor in their vocabulary.
"Here's another whore for you, Helen," one of them said, as she pushed me into the examination room.
"Over here, whore-get your ass on the table! You oughta be used to that." Then, as I lay prone and waited for the inevitable prodding and poking, I would hear:
"Hey, you're a good lookin' little bitch, ain't you?" Jab, jab, jab. "How'd ya ever git to whorein'? Like it, I suppose?" Poke, poke, poke. "Boy, I'll bet that thing gets a work-out, eh?" Gouge, gouge. And so it went, with the matrons. With my fellow prisoners it was even worse.
"Hey, blondy," one of them would call, "I'll bet ya miss yer nookie in this joint, eh?" I'd try to ignore them but someone else would take up the chiding.
"If yer hard up, kiddo, just wink those pretty blues at the guard. I hear he's got one that big,'" She'd hold up both hands like measuring a fish, and everyone would laugh.
"Lookit 'er. Cute, eh? Hey, Annie, here's one you'd go for."
"Yeh, Annie," another would add, "but you could blow her! She's a doll."
At first I felt deeply hurt and self-conscious, but later I learned all new arrivals were given the same treatment. In a few days, I was one of them and they left me alone. I answered when spoken to but didn't go out of my way to be too friendly with anyone in particular. I even kept a reserved attitude toward my cell mate, a middle-aged woman in for shoplifting.
"Ninety days they give me and all I did was take a lousy dress, worth a couple bucks," she told me.
"Is that all?" I asked. "How many times have you been caught?"
"Oh, hell, maybe ten, ah, twenty times. I been here nine or ten times, but I never took nothin' worth more'n a few bucks. Cheap bastards, you'd think they'd be a little more considerate!"
During the days and weeks of my confinement, I had time to ponder my situation. What was happening to me? I had tried to iron out the creases in my life, but had managed only to rumple the material still further. Why hadn't Murphy's lawyer been able to fix my case this time? From what I'd heard about Chicago, anything could be fixed, regardless of the seriousness of the offense. Was there something I didn't know? Something I wasn't supposed to know?
I wondered about Murph. I was making money for him, right and left, but was this what he wanted? Why didn't he know the policeman that had picked me up? Maybe he did. Maybe he arranged it so I would be picked up. But, why?
The questions raced around in my head like a cornered animal, but found no way out. Did Murphy really care, one way or another, what happened to me? Would he come and see me?
He didn't.
I spent the entire ninety days without a single visitor. I knew very few people well enough to have them visit me. Murphy never showed up and the only people I knew probably didn't even know I was here. Bobbie, Patty, Skip and Thelma. These were the only girls I knew. Then, of course, there was Larry, but he surely wouldn't bother with me anymore.
When the day finally came to turn me loose, I walked alone down California Street and wondered what I should do. I walked, because I had no particular place to go. I must have walked miles before I realized I was getting tired.
I hailed a cab, directed him to take me to my apartment. I had no idea what had happened to my belongings. Surely, the landlady would keep them for me. Store them or leave them where they were. She had no way of knowing what had happened to me, but she must realize that I wouldn't go off and leave everything behind.
Very much to my surprise, all my belongings were still intact, and appeared to be undisturbed. The landlady came in shortly after I got there and greeted me warmly. She either didn't know where I had been, or didn't care, and burbled happily about everything and anything. She told me my rent had been paid, but that she didn't know who had paid it. A young lady had come to her with an envelope of money, and paid it. Simple as that.
Although Murphy had not come to see me, I felt no animosity toward him. After all, what was I, a small town girl, to have someone like Murphy worry over me? I imagined he had many more problems besides mine. I decided to go and see him. I needed a job and I hadn't really done anything wrong in connection with my work, so I went to the High Hat to see where I stood.
I waited until evening, when I knew Murph would be there. When I walked in, he saw me almost immediately and came rushing over to greet me.
"Hi, kid, how are ya?"
"All right, I guess."
"How was it at the ... the...?"
"The clink? It was no picnic, believe me. It's terribly lonesome there." I thought I'd make him feel bad about not coming to visit me.
"I'm sorry about that, kid. I meant to come up to see if you needed anything, but you know how it is. Hope they weren't too rough on ya."
"Rough enough. Those matrons...!"
"Bags, huh?"
"You can say that again." I related some of the milder incidents of my three-month stay, thinking I might be able to shock him but he remained undisturbed.
"Ready to come back to work?" he asked, after he had heard enough. "Sure. Any time."
Murph suggested we lie low on my after hours activities for awhile, and I agreed. It wouldn't do to get picked up so soon after just having spent three months at the California Street Calaboose!
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Things went along pleasantly enough for the next two or three months. I was making out fairly well on my tips and salary, and really had no pressing need for extra money, other than the fund I planned to stow away for my eventual get-away. For the time being, though, I let myself forget about leaving town. All the ambitions and aspirations for a grand and glorious new life lay fallow and, rather than frustrate myself, I let them lie unmolested and peaceful. The time for a get-away could always come later when I would be in a better mental state.
One night, at the club, while I was busy waiting on a cluster of grabbing, pawing and well-juiced businessmen, one of the other waitresses told me I was wanted at a table over in the corner. I saw a lone man sitting in the shadows, so I went over to him. For a moment I didn't recognize who it was, but then it struck me. It was Frank! Frank, the policeman. Out of uniform, nattily dressed, in a dark blue suit and white shirt. A half-smile smeared itself across his face.
"Hello, Lori," he said, casually. "Long time."
The anger boiled up in me and my words spewed as though from a seething cauldron like scalding steam.
"Not long enough!" I hissed. My eyes, sizzling with the fuel of fury, scorched the short space between us.
"How've you been? Understand you got...."
"How I've been in none of your damn business!" I spat. "And what I did isn't, either!"
"Now, now, honey, calm down. I just wanted to...."
"Wanted to what? I don't have time to talk to you. If you want a drink, I'll get it for you, but I can't stand around talking. I have work to do. Furthermore," I added, acidly, "even if I did have time to talk, I wouldn't waste it on a misfired bowel movement like you!" I spun around and left him trying vainly to put out the fire of my words-words I pictured were like white hot coals.
I didn't go near Frank, after that. He stayed about a half hour and, just before he left, he called Murphy over. I saw the two of them talking briefly. Two or three times they both turned and looked in my direction, and I knew they were talking about me. After Frank left, Murphy came over. He smiled sheepishly at me.
"What the hell did you say to him, Lori? Hell, you really scorched his ears!"
"I just told him off, that's all."
"I gathered that. Did he ask you to, ah...?"
"No, I didn't give him a chance to."
"I'm sorry I got you mixed up with him in the first place, but it always helps to have a cop on your side. He helps us quite a bit."
"Well, don't let him help me! He's helped me all he can! I don't want any part of that jerk anymore ... here or anywhere! Let someone else wait on him if he comes back!"
"Better not get too rough with him. You know how these damn cops are. Once they get on your back, they stay there. He could give you trouble, you know."
Staying clear of Frank wasn't quite as easy as I thought. He came in almost every night, He'd stand by the door until he saw which station I was working, and then he'd sit where I had to wait on him. I'd try to get one of the other girls to take him but, when we were busy, this was almost impossible.
After a while, I resigned myself to waiting on him and putting up with his bedroom propositions. I rejected his offers, with taunts and sarcasm.
"Sure, you can have some, Frankie," I'd say, just to make him burn, (he hated to be called 'Frankie') "Anybody can have it for a hundred bucks, but to you, I'll let you have it for five hundred!"
It got to be kind of a game, after a while. The other girls got a charge out of it and would try to be near the table so they could hear what nasty wordage I would blast him with. Murph didn't seem to care, one way or another, but once in awhile he would caution me to ease up. I didn't though.
Keeping a wary eye on Frank, I managed to work a few tricks during the next few weeks. Sure jobs. People that I knew to be all right from past experience, or men that Murph knew to be on the level.
I employed numerous tactics to keep Frank from meeting me outside, after work. There were always two or three cabs in front of the High Hat, and I would leap into one and have the driver go around the block four or five times first to make sure that Frank wasn't following. I even traded coats with one of the other girls, and slipped out the alley door.
Almost every night, Frank would stand out in front and wait, but I managed to give him the slip. I knew he must be furious. He didn't know where I lived so, once out, I was safe:
One night, while scurrying busily about with my trays of clinking glasses, I marched up to a table where two men were seated.
"What will you have?" I asked, glancing at one of the men. Then I turned my eyes to the other man, and suddenly my legs turned to molten lava. My tray of empty glasses crashed to the floor from hands that were now nothing more than pudding with fingernails.
It was Larry!
Hastily, I dropped to my knees to recover the glasses, groping foolishly under the table.
Larry moved his chair back and poked his head under the table. "Hello, Lori."
"Hello," I answered, wishing I could find permanent refuge under the protective cloak of the table. When I felt I had stayed under the table long enough, I grudgingly relinquished my temporary lair and stood trembling before him.
"I see you got your old job back," Larry said.
"Y-yes."
"How've you been?"
"Oh, fine," I lied. "And you?"
"Oh, O.K., I guess. Could be better."
I didn't have to ask him what would make him better. His eyes, always so full of feeling in the past, failed to mask the reflection from his heart. Remembering his companion, he introduced me, but conveniently neglected to call me his wife. But then, why should he? That was all over now. I presumed he had gotten a divorce and, even if he hadn't, there would be no point in calling me anything but a friend. II that! Yet, the half-concealed glow in his eyes told me I was still more than a friend!
When the tremors of my private little earthquake had subsided somewhat, I went about my business. I didn't purposely avoid Larry. I was kept busy with other customers and just didn't have time to visit. Besides, there was really nothing to discuss with him. It was over. This one, lovely, shimmering page of my life had been entered in the record and labeled coldly as past history.
Occasionally, as I glanced his way, I noticed Larry looking at me, as he and his companion talked. I read no meaning into this, other than youthful reminiscence or just plain curiosity.
When I saw he was getting ready to leave, I went over to bid him good night, just like I would do to any good customer.
"Lori," he said, haltingly, "there are some things I have to talk over with you. Can I call you? In a day or so?"
"Sure, call me here, if you want to. After five."
"All right."
"Anything important?" I asked, my voice sounding almost hopeful. He must have read the expectancy of my question, for he quickly added: "No, just some papers I want you to sign, that's all."
It was foolish of me to think he would even consider having me back, and I was angry with myself that my eargeness had been detected.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Two days later, Larry called. He said there were some things we should talk over before he could have the papers made up. His time was limited and he wanted to get everything in order as soon as possible; tonight, if it was all right with me.
"I can meet you at the club about 8:30 or 9," he said. "See if you can get off for a half hour or so. I guess we can go to your place. You live somewhere near the club, don't you?"
"Yes, but let me ask Mr. Murphy if it's all right. I'll call you right back. What's your number?" He rattled off a number, which I had to have him repeat a couple times. For some reason, the meeting with Larry made me nervous and, whether it was the embarrassment of sitting alone with him, both of us knowing what my past was, or whether it was the nervousness of hopeful anticipation, I didn't know. It was a giddy feeling.
Murph agreed to let me off, and Larry was waiting shyly in the entry way at 8:20.
"Hello," he said, flatly.
"Hello. Ready?"
"Yup."
"So am I. Let's go."
He opened the door for me, but did not offer his arm as we strolled toward my apartment. Our conversation was terse, pointless, almost as though words were top priority on the ration list. Our footsteps punctuated the abbreviated pauses in conversation.
"How's school, Larry?"
"Fine."
"Getting good grades?"
"Yup."
"Good."
"How about you?"
"What about me?"
"Getting along all right?"
"Oh, yes ... fine."
"Good."
"Heard from home lately?"
"Yup. Mom wrote."
"Anything new?"
"No."
"How is everybody at home?"
"Fine."
"I haven't heard from anyone."
"Oh?"
"No."
"Remember Annie?"
"Annie? Oh, yes!"
"She got married."
"To who?"
"Some guy."
"Oh."
"These papers you mentioned. What are they all about? I mean, what are they for?" I asked, suddenly tipping over a whole basket of verbiage.
"Oh, they're, ah, well, they're settlement papers. You know, so' we can go our separate ways without any strings attached. Like...."
"Did you file for a divorce, Larry?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"Right after you, ah, left. I thought...."
"I didn't hear anything about it."
"Nobody knew where you were, so we couldn't send them to you."
"Is it legal that way? I mean if one party doesn't know about it?"
"Oh, sure. They put a notice in the paper for a certain period of time-I think it's seven days-so that the other party has a chance to see it. If they read the papers, that is."
"I don't read the papers."
"Well, it was in there."
"I wouldn't have seen it. Besides, what if I had seen it? What would I do?"
"If you wanted to protest, you'd come in and, well, protest."
"You mean if I didn't want a divorce?"
"That's right."
In my apartment, I asked Larry to sit down. He tossed his coat on a chair and sat on the edge of the couch, with his knees pressed together and his hands folded neatly over the top. For one strange, illusionary minute my mind, nonchalantly ignoring the present situation, plucked me from the darkness of reality and hopefully whisked me back into the illuminated fantasy that was yesterday. This ruseful abduction, an obvious oversight of logistics, swept me heavenward and unfurled before my startled eyes, the undefiled banner of domestic happiness. It was just like always. Larry was there on the couch, ready for my love. I was dutifully and contentedly performing some housewifely chore. I impatiently waited to squander this overly-abundant love on him. He had but to beckon. I would leap into his arms. I would smother him with love, as I had in the past. We were still the same two people. We had shared our love ... a beautiful, inspiring love, stirring our souls as our bodies melted into one!
My mental meandering was checked abruptly when Larry stood up and handed me a sheaf of papers.
"Here, look these over. This part right here." He indicated a section on the paper with his forefinger.
"I think that's the most important part."
My hand shook as I tried to read. The small print was like an animated alphabet. I laid the papers on the table, sat down to try another reading. I had laboriously plowed through about a quarter page of 'first party--second party' stuff and was trying to digest the significance of this legalistic repast when there was a loud knock on the door. I jumped from my chair and looked at Larry. He merely shrugged indifferently, as though knocks on my door must be a frequent occurence. I frowned, looked questioningly at Larry, as the pounding was repeated.
"Don't look at me," Larry said, a touch of venom spicing his words. "I don't know who you've got coming up here."
"Who is it?" I called, ignoring Larry's caustic comment. There was no answer. The knock came once again, only louder this time.
I walked slowly to the door, my heart pounding, for fear it was one of many people; like a former 'customer' Or maybe someone connected with the law! I didn't want Larry to be involved in anything of mine, no matter what.
I stopped just short of the door, and called out: "Just a minute!" Then I motioned Larry toward the bedroom, whispering, "I don't know who it is, but I imagine it's the landlady. Go in the bedroom, quick! She doesn't want us to have men friends in our apartments!" It was an impossible lie, but I couldn't think of anything else at the time. Larry tipped his head slightly, shrugged, then disappeared silently into the bedroom. The door closed quietly behind him.
I reached for the knob, took a deep breath, and opened the door a few inches. Before I could say or do anything, the door was pushed open roughly and my caller barged in. It was Frank!
It was obvious he had been drinking. And too much. He reeked of alcohol and his eyes were a watery red, magnifying his loathesome appearance. He teetered back and forth as his eyes tried to focus on me. I felt my flesh crawl from his look of lust and hatred.
"So, Lori, you thought you could give me the slip, eh?" he snarled, drunkenly. "I saw ya. Yeh, I saw ya with that guy ... that young punk. I know...."
"So what if you did see me with him? He's my...."
'Yeah, and I saw ya come up here with 'im, too.-Whatta ya say ta that? Huh?"
"Frank, please!"
"Frank, please," he mimicked. "Please what?
Whatta ya want me ta do? Let ya pull the wool over my eyes? I know ya been hustlin'; right along. I know, see?"
"You don't know any such thing, Frank," I said calmly.
"Not any more."
"Not any more, eh? Who ya tryin' to kid? I wasn't born yesterday, kid. Yer jus' tryin' to cut me out. What ya lookin' for-nother little vacation on California Street?"
"Please, Frank, that's all over. Why can't you leave me alone? Haven't you done enough harm to me already?"
"Once a hustler, always a hustler. Yer not kiddin' me. I know what yer doin'. Where is he?"
"Where is who?" _
"Don't gimme that! The 'Joe College' ya brought up here. Where's he hidin'? In the bedroom?"
"There's no one here ... no one! Honest!"
Frank waved a hand loosely toward the bedroom. His look was a smirking smile, which turned quickly to an angry snarl.
"Les' have a look in there, Lori." He started for the door. I tried to stop him, but he pushed me away, sneering, "Bet he's hidin' under yer bed. Hah?" His sarcasm seemed to please him. His hand reached for the knob, but before he could touch it the door flew open and Larry stormed in, his face white with rage. Both of his hands were clenched into white fists, which he held in front of him, chest high. He took two steps into the room and stood almost nose to nose with Frank.
"Get out of here!" he spat. For a moment, Frank looked puzzled. He squinted at Larry, then blinked.
"Go on! Get out!" Larry snarled. Frank took a step or two back, studied the enraged face before him, then threw his head back and laughed.
"And just who's gonna make me? You?" His laughter was derisive.
I think Frank meant to laugh some more, but he never got the chance. Larry's fist moved like lightning and cut short the braying with a sharp 'smack'. Frank reeled backward, and almost fell. He wiped his hand across his mouth, looked down at it, and saw a smear of blood from his split lip. He regained his balance and stood, feet spread wide apart, and shot daggers of hatred at Larry. Larry had not moved. He stood across the room, waiting.
"Now get out of here. Go on ... get!" he yelled at Frank.
Frank didn't wait for any more. He came on like a tank, charging directly into the surprised Larry, knocking him sprawling against the wall. Frank backed away a foot or so, and I saw his hand grope for his pistol.
"Frank!" I screamed. Larry, shaken slightly, pawed both fists toward Frank, but the blows were harmless. He tried again, this time snapping Frank's head around with a solid right to his jaw.
"Why, you bastard!" Frank roared. He had found the pistol and, for one horrifying moment, had it pointed directly into Larry's face.
"Larry! Look out!" I screamed again. Larry twisted aside, clawed at the hand holding the gun. He got hold of Frank's wrist and I saw the gun slowly point toward the ceiling. Frank's other hand was on Larry's throat now, and I could see Larry squirming to get free. His head twisted from side to side but he couldn't loosen the iron grip. He was weakening.
Frank's gun hand began to overpower Larry's struggles, and the gun moved closer and closer to Larry's face. I was terror stricken! I had to do something! I looked around the room for a weapon of some kind. The lamp? No, too light. My purse? No. My eyes streaked through the room. Nothing suited their searching look. Then ... yes, there it was! A large, heavy glass ash tray. It seemed almost to be waving at me for attention and, when my hand snatched for it, it appeared to leap from the table to meet me half way!
Clutching the cold glass, I took three quick steps toward the struggling men, then brought the sharp edge crashing down on Frank's arm. He screamed with pain.
Larry shook Frank's arm until the gun flew from his hand. But Frank was not an easy foe. The hand that had held the gun now flew to Larry's throat. Larry gagged. He gasped for breath. His face began to turn a livid red and his eyes bulged grotesquely.
"Frank! Frank! Frank!" I yelled. I tried to pull him away, but it was useless. His muscles felt like steel under his coat. My foot touched something. I looked down. It was Frank's pistol. I had dropped the ash tray when I hit Frank. Insinctively, I bent down and grabbed up the gun. Somewhere up above, I could hear gurgling. I knew it was Larry struggling desperately for air ... and his life!
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The gun in my hand felt awkward and heavy. I stood up, back away, and brought it up.
"Frank, stop! You'll kill him!" I shouted. But Frank did not stop.
"Frank, I've got your gun! I'll shoot! Stop it!" He paid no attention to me.
The gun sagged slightly in my trembling hand. I reached out with my other hand, brought it back up. I steadied it, pointed it straight at Frank's back, and squeezed on the trigger. Nothing happened. I squeezed again. Still nothing. I had never fired a gun in my life. I had no idea why it didn't shoot. I was in a panic. I glanced at the horrible black weapon. I took one hand away and looked at the gun. What was I doing wrong? Why didn't it go off? The trigger! Sure, you had to pull the trigger. That was it! My finger was curled harmlessly around the trigger guard! That's why it didn't shoot!
I quickly slid my finger onto the trigger, supported the pistol with my other hand again, and pulled as hard as I could. I squeezed my eyes shut as the gun thundered in my hands. When I opened them, I saw a filmy wisp of smoke in front of me and I could smell a strange, acrid smell in the room.
Frank and Larry still stood as they had. Then, Frank's hands loosened and dropped limply to his sides. Larry gulped in the life-giving air and tried to move from under the heavy weight of Frank's sagging body. He pushed at the slackened form and both of us stood wide-eyed as Frank's listless carcass slid slowly to the floor, and lay still.
He lay on his face. Neither Larry or I moved and neither of us spoke. We stood in the deafening silence and stared down at the lifeless form at our feet. We were in a trance. Then, I noticed a small hole in the back of Frank's coat which shook me from my temporary coma.
"Larry ... Larry, are you all right?"
"Y-yes, yeah," he croaked, rubbing his throat. "Is ... is he...?"
"I-I don't know," I said. Neither of us wanted to check to see what Frank's condition was. Finally, though, Larry, pushing me gently back, knelt down and felt for a pulse. He pressed his fingers tighter, and I saw him frown. He looked up at me, slowly.
"I-I think he's dead," he said. His voice was so low I could barely hear.
But I had to get Larry out of there! I could think of something. Larry didn't have to be involved. No, he had to go! This had nothing to do with him. If he got entangled in this sordid mess, his whole career would be ruined.
"Larry ... Larry, you'll have to get out of here. Go, please!" I took him by the coat sleeve and tugged.
"W-what?"
"I don't want you mixed up in this. Hurry, please! Go out the back way! No one will know you've ever been here!"
"But what about you? What will you do? I can't leave you here alone to face ... and what about ... about him?" He pointed limply to Frank's inert form on the floor.
"Never mind what or how-just go! Please!" Again, I tugged. He moved reluctantly toward the back door. He kept staring back at Frank's body, and I had to practically push him to the back door.
"To the end of the hall-right there," I whispered, pointing. "Down the stairs-the door leads into the alley. Don't let anybody see you-hurry!" I gave him a gentle push. I could hear pounding on my front door.
Larry stopped suddenly and looked at me. He took hold of my shoulders and I could hear the pounding on my door being repeated. His fingers dug into my skin.
"Lori ... Lori," he said, shaking me. "I can't run away like this. I'm in this as much as you are."
"But you have to, Larry! You have...."
"No! No, Lori, I'm not running. The best thing to do is call the police."
"The police! But you can't!"
"Yes, I can! We'll only get in deeper otherwise."
The pounding on my door was getting louder. Larry calmly led me back into the living room. I sunk listlessly into a chair and watched as Larry picked up the phone and called the police.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The remainder of that evening was like a badly put together dream. First the neighbors were there-some men and some women-and then a lot of policemen. Policemen asking questions, policemen taking pictures and policemen just standing around mumbling to other policemen. The voices of the tenants penetrated the mumbling:
"I heard a loud bang and wondered who had their television set on so loud."
"It sounded like a car backfiring. You know, like the kids do with their hot rods...."
"I knew it was a shot! I've heard guns go off before. I could tell it came from in here...."
And so it went. A conglomeration of words all poured together in a dictionary stew of reports.
They were nice enough to Larry and me. The neighbors were sympathetic, for the most part, although they were over-anxious to get a look at us, I thought. And a look at me wasn't enough. They had to stare! Oh, well, let them.
The policemen paid little attention to us at first, seeming more concerned with their fallen comrade, but then, one of them came over and sat on a chair facing us. He introduced himself as Captain Pringle and casually waved his credentials to prove it. He seemed polite enough, yet there was a coldness in his eyes that frightened me.
He advised us of our rights. You know, about not saying anything that could be held against us. Briefly, Larry gave him a sketchy report.
"You'll have to come down to the station," the captain told us.
"All right, captain," Larry said. Then, turning to me, he said, "It's all right, Lori. I'll call a lawyer as soon as we get there." He patted my hand affectionately.
The crowd at the door parted to let us through. Although a man-Frank-had been killed, the police did not handcuff us, and we were led to the waiting patrol car under the stares of the tenants. Others had gathered on the sidewalk in front. I winced as a photographer's flash bulb went off before my eyes.
"Clear them away," the captain ordered a couple of uniformed policemen. They complied, shoving the crowd aside to let us through. We were ushered into the rear seat of a waiting police car. The captain sat in the back with Larry while I rode in the front, impassive and numb.
When we arrived at police headquarters, we were taken into the building through the side entrance, down a long, wide hall over highly polished floors that mirrored our figures as we walked. The black lettering on one of the frosted-glass doors spelled out the words: HOMICIDE. We headed toward it and went in.
Captain Pringle pointed to some chairs along the wall and told us to sit down. I glanced at Larry. His face was a sickly, grayish-white and his lips were only thin, compressed indentations. His eyes met mine. They seemed to convey a message of reassurance-that everything would be all right. Two officers and a policewoman stood near the door, arms folded, watching us as they talked.
"Are you all right, Larry?" I asked, trying to break this dreaded, unfriendly silence. My voice sounded strange, barely audible.
"Sure," he said, without changing expression. "I'm fine. You?"
I nodded. j
"I should call my lawyer," Larry said, frowning. "I wonder if I should ask the capCain now."
"I don't know," I said, "I don't know how they work these things."
Larry got up, hesitated when he saw the officers by the door tense, then asked almost pleadingly, "Captain Pringle, can we call a lawyer now?" The captain studied Larry for a moment, looked at me, then nodded to one of the policemen.
"Show him where the phone is," he stated indifferently, looking immediately back to the papers on his desk. Then, without looking up, he waved a hand at me, and added, "You stay there."
Larry went with one of the uniformed officers. When he came back he seemed to have slightly more color to his cheeks and he smiled ever so weakly at me as he sat down.
"I called him. He'll be right down," he told me simply.
I smiled. "Thank goodness."
When the lawyer came in, we both looked eagerly toward him while he spoke softly to Captain Pringle. Finished with the captain, he came over to where we were sitting, smiled and stuck out his hand.
"Hello. You must be Larry."
"Yes."
"Sorry to have to meet under these circumstances but, I guess it can't be helped."
"I know," Larry said. "Dad told me a lot about you. I never thought I'd be needing your services for anything like ... this."
The lawyer's name was David Bradley. He had known Mr. Mitchell, Larry's father, but had never met Larry in person. The had talked on the phone but this was the first time Larry had even seen him. He was tall, middle-aged, very well dressed and his eyes sparkled behind rimless glasses. On the briefcase he carried were the gold, half rubbed out initials "D.A.B."
When the handshaking and introductions were over, Mr. Bradley told me to be seated while he took Larry to another room where, he told me, he wanted to discuss the details of our plight. With that, he was gone, and Larry, too.
While I waited for them to return, I had time to think over what had happened. Why? Why, I kept asking myself, over and over, did Frank have to follow me and come to my apartment that night? Why couldn't I have been granted at least one respite with Larry to, perhaps, reconciliate our differences instead of having the revered dream shattered with Frank's untimely arrival?
"Miss Miller, ah, er ... or should I call you Mrs. Mitchell?" Mr. Bradley asked. He had come in so quietly that I jumped when I heard his voice.
"No. Miller is all right. Larry and I are...."
"I know. He told me. I made out the papers for him that I mailed to him last week." He managed a slight smile, revealing even, white teeth.
"Oh."
"I've just had a long talk with him, and he told me exactly what happened in your apartment tonight."
"Larry told you ... is he all right?"
"He's fine, Lori, if I may?"
"You may."
Mr. Bradley sat down beside me. He smiled a-gain, trying to give some feeling of reassurance. Then he opened his briefcase and took out some papers.
"Now, Lori, according to Larry, this is what happened tonight. Listen carefully and don't be afraid to interrupt if there is some detail that isn't correct." He began to read from the papers and, as he droned through them, I found no cause to interrupt because everything was exactly on paper as it had actually happened. When he was through, he carefully put the papers away, turned to me and said:
"Now, Lori, is what I have just read the truth?"
"Every bit of it," I replied without hesitation.
"Then Larry was actually being physically assaulted by this officer, Frank Bellini, and you, in turn, shot the officer in order to save Larry. Correct?"
"Yes, sir, Mr. Bradley, that's right." He smiled, a smile that danced only briefly on his face, then disappeared. He took out a pad of ruled paper.
"Now, Lori, I want you to tell me the truth about your acquaintanceship with Frank Bellini. What your relationship was, and also the truth about yourself and the kind of life you have lived while here, in Chicago. This is before you met Larry, while you were married to him and after you and Larry parted company."
I swallowed hard. "I-do I have to tell everything? I mean, ah, that is ... some things are very personal, and I-"
The smile vanished from Mr. Bradley's face again, to be replaced with an expression of dead seriousness.
"I must insist you tell me the whole truth about yourself, Lori, else, well I'm afraid...."
"All right, Mr. Bradley," I said softly, "I'll tell you everything." I felt a flush rush to my cheeks. I swallowed hard again, and said, "Larry doesn't know even half of ... about my life here in Chicago. And if I tell you, I'd appreciate your keeping it confidential. Unless, of course, it really has to come out."
I took a deep breath and, while Mr. Bradley took down my story, I told him about Frank and how I had come to know him. I told him about Murphy and all the other men in my life and, as I talked, and Mr. Bradley wrote, I noticed his face taking on an ashen color, as though he was becoming ill.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
When I had finished with my twisted, sordid autobiography, I let a huge sigh escape from within me. I asked Mr. Bradley for a cigarette. Still ashen-faced, and visibly shaken, he took out a case, snapped it open, and stuck it toward me. My hand trembled as I dug at the even, white row of cigarettes. He flipped the case shut when I had finally gotten one loose, and produced a light. He lit one for himself.
"There," I said, "now the whole truth is out." Mr. Bradley sat silent for several moments. He looked toward the ceiling, blew smoke straight up, then stared at the far wall as he rolled his cigarette between thumb and forefinger.
"I didn't mean to get into all that trouble," I went on when he still said nothing, "but somehow I did. And it seemed like the harder I tried to do the right things, the more they were the wrong things, I-naturally couldn't-wouldn't dare-tell Larry all that I've been through." I felt futile telling Mr. Bradley my life's history but I felt, also, a certain feeling of relief-relief that everything was out in the open. Open to me, at least, but not Larry. kh. Bradley looked up. Behind his glasses his eyes had lost their sparkle and seemed, rather, like penetrating blow torches.
"In view of the circumstances in your background, Lori, there will be quite a hullabaloo made over this case. That, and the fact that the victim was a policeman. There can be little hope to absolve you from this thing even though it was rather a just ending for such a ... man like Bellini. However, the fact remains that you shot and killed him, and further, implicated Larry as well. True, you shot him instinctively, to save Larry, rather than with premeditation which, of course, rules out first degree murder. The charge will probably be second degree.
"As for Larry, I'm certain that when I explain his position in this, in view of your testimony, I'll be able to plead nolo-contendre for him, or, no case, and clear him of any charges."
"Oh, wonderful!" I exclaimed. For the moment I had forgotten my own predicament. Mr. Bradley put out his cigarette, and looked at me again.
"I'll be honest with you now, Lori. If I can absolve Larry in this, I'll subsequently withdraw from any defense for you, and ask the court to appoint a public defender to you."
"A what?"
"A public defender--a lawyer appointed by the state. Unless, of course, you can get an attorney of your own. Of course, Larry will have to testify in your behalf and I will naturally be present to represent him, but that will be all. Further, and in view of what you have told me, I suggest that you agree to a divorce from Larry, and, further, that you forget all about him."
After I had gone through all the booking, mugging and fingerprinting routine, I was ushered to a cell and locked up for the night. This was a different cell block, not the one where I had been before. This time, there were no newspapers on the metal-slatted bunk. I sat down to think over the graveness of the situation into which I had been plunged. I bolted from my bunk like a shot! Murder? MURDER! Oh, no! And for the first time the reality of what I had done hit me with full force.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Mid-morning of the next day, the public defender came to see me. His name was Schneider, and he was a pleasant enough type. He listened attentively to my story, but said very little. Then, taking a note pad from his case, he smiled at me and patted my hand lightly. For the first time in hours, a ray of hope glimmered faintly in my heart.
"I want you to tell me everything that happened that night and, please don't leave anything out," he said, "regardless of how unimportant you may think it is. I know it looks bad for you at this point, but I've gone over the case with Mr. Bradley and I think, as he does, that there's a good chance for you. Since he withdrew from the case, you'll be dealing with me only from now on."
For the next three days, Mr. Schneider came to see me; and each day it was the same story. I was in the depths of despair and I thought a lot about Larry during that time. Apparently, he had been able to get out all right and I wondered why he hadn't come to see me. I still felt no reason for messing up his life by entangling him in my web of misfortune. I had given some thought to charging my story so that Larry would be held for trial, too, but I realized I loved him and just couldn't do it. If it came to the worst, I would sacrifice my life to save him.
What was there for me, anyway? Nothing, really. I had already soiled his clean life with my muck-covered shoes of sin, tromping the mire eternally into his heart. I wouldn't add the same sludge to his future. No, Larry's name and Larry's future must be kept unblemished and spotless, at all costs. I had made up ray mind to that.
Like a capable surgeon, Mr. Schneider performed his legalistic operation, stitching together the torn edges of truth and amputating the infectious untruths.
"Lori," he said, "there are going to be a lot of things brought out at the trial that will not look good for you. Your background, for instance, may be a little hard on you but, believe me, whatever I do will be for one thing, and one thing only, and that's to save you from a long prison term. We won't get anywhere trying to hide anything. The prosecutor will find out anyway, so we'll be better off to bring it out ourselves. You must have confidence in me. Don't hold anything back. No matter how bad you may think it sounds, let the truth be known. Don't volunteer any information but, on the other hand, don't try to cover anything us." He stabbed his pencil into the table for emphasis.
CHAPTER THIRTY
I felt a hush descend on the court room as I was brought in, and told to sit at the table where Mr. Schneider was already seated.
"Hear ye, hear ye, this court is now in session," intoned the sergeant-at-arms. We all rose as the judge made his appearance. In a temporary state of fascination, I watched as he marched to the bench and took his seat. His hair was straight and gray and lay stiffly on his head. I don't think it would have dared to curl! His face was gray-hewn granite.
As witness after witness paraded to the stand, I watched with only half-interest.
The state's attorney was speaking now. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this is not a summation but, rather, an account, as the state sees it, of how an honorable police officer was shot down in cold blood. The state contends that the defendent lured Officer Bellini to her apartment with but one purpose in mind-an illegal sex act. The officer, with the intention of making an arrest in the best interests of the good citizens of this city, accompanied this ... this admitted prostitute only to find death! A death that could have been planned ahead of time and not as the defense would lead us to believe. Although the testimony of young Mr. Mitchell is honorable, we believe it is false. In a contorted attempt to save his prostitute wife, this young man has sat before you and fabricated a web of lies that are almost too incredible to believe.
"Somehow, and we admit we do not know, the defendant got possession of Officer Bellini's gun and shot him in the back. The same gun that Mr. Bellini used with such bravery and valor in ridding the city of some of its worst criminals! It is ironic. No, it is shameful!"
The summation was just as bitter.
Then it was over. Mr. Schneider and I sat for some thirty minutes or more with neither of us saying anything too much. The twelve consignees of my fate had ambled, mummy-like, to the sanctity of their directed tomb of decision as life for me ground slowly to its eventual juncture of crisis.
"H-how does it look, Mr. Schneider?"
"I really can't tell, Lori. The state has a good man and he put up a real good case. I just hope the jury gives you some credit for your tolerance of Frank's treatment of you. That, and the fact that neither of you tried to run after the shooting, are the two big things going for us."
Over four hours had gone by and still there was no word from behind the formidable door of the jury room. We had gone for coffee twice, strolled around a rear anteroom and sat and sat and sat. Finally, when the fifth hour was minutes away from history, we were summoned to the courtroom. In a world of almost make believe, I watched as the statues, immobilized by their duty, migrated to their assigned enclosure. Having disgorged its cargo of indifference, the jury room door, slowly but firmly, clicked shut.
"What do you think?" I asked in a whisper.
"Hard to tell," the whispered answer came. Mr. Schneider gripped my forearm as the judge's door opened and the robed monarch of justic made his entry. We stood, then settled back in our seats. The silence of the room was ruptured with the judge's three sharp raps of his gavel. He turned toward the jury and asked:
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?" A little, gray-haired man with a gray suit to match, blinked a couple times, and stood up. His voice was so squeaky it sounded almost feminine.
"We have, your honor." He looked around as though he had just recited the Gettysburg Address.
"What is your verdict?" The judge had not changed his tone nor his expression. He seemed to be bored with everything and gave the appearance of having just been roused from a most comfortable nap.
"We find," the foreman squeaked, "the defendant guilty, your honor." Again he looked around, then sat down. After that, I don't remember what happened. Suddenly, his squeaky words had serious meaning to me. Guilty! Second degree murder and I was GUILTY!
"Will the defendant please rise and face the bench," the judge ordered, for the second time within a few minutes. The previous time it had been to face the jury. Mr. Schneider took my elbow and guided me to a point in front of the bench.
"Do you have anything to say before sentence is pronounced?" the glowering magistrate asked.
"N-no ... sir," I peeped.
"Having been found guilty of the crime of murder in the second degree, the court hereby sentences you to a term in the state penetentiary for women not to exceed twenty nor less than ten years. Officer, will you take custody of the prisoner?" He waggled a finger at a uniformed man. "Mr. Schneider, you have the right of appeal, of course."
From that point on, my life was lived mechanically. I must have lived and acted like a robot as I waited for the long trip to the state prison. Three long, unbelievable days linked with three dragging, horror-filled nights-sleepless nights-were my lot before they finally came to take me away. Hours and minutes, wadded so tightly with a million thoughts, made my head ache from the overload.
I believe, in those three days, that I lived two or three lifetimes. I had time to reflect, once again, on the past and to contemplate the future. Future? Like a dirty, prowling cat of the alley, I had already lived my alloted nine lives. At the age of twenty-two, Fate had put its unconcerned hand on the wheel of my life and given it one tremendous spin. In a dizzying whirl of unsavory episodes, I had been exposed to most of life's emotions regarding male and female relationships. Now that I thought about it, it was all my short life had consisted of. Sex ... sex ... Sex! There must be more to life's pleasures than to lay your naked body down next to another naked body! Yet, most of my delights had been derived from such pursuits.
Fate, the architect of my thus-far disastrous existence, appeared to have suddenly had a change of heart. Perhaps, through my errors, I have suffered enough for three or four other young lives. Was it possible, with my skirts dragging in shame, that a decent, wholesome life still awaited me? If, and it was a big 'if, Larry accepted me again, how lasting would our life be. Could he possibly bury the past in the years to come? And what about the children that would result? A prostitute-a lesbian-a murderess for a mother!
There were many questions in my mind-questions that only time would be able to answer. Yet, in my heart, I felt a certain relief. Fear was there, too, but it walked hand in hand with relief.
What lay ahead, I did not know. Misery, heartbreak, grief? Perhaps. Time would provide the answer. Did another Thelma await me at the prison? Another Bobbie? And when I got out, would there be another Murphy and another Frank?
I would find out soon enough. Just ahead, I made out the front gate of the women's prison and, through the windshield, the metal work appeared to have the outline of a huge question mark.
