Ladies In The Parlor (7 page)

“Yes, I do,” said Leora sleepily, “but don’t you understand?”

“Yes, I do,” replied the doctor, and then added, “I thought you’d be too homesick to sleep.”

“Homesick for what?” yawned Leora.

As the train rushed across the Indiana fields in the morning, Dr. Farway said to his companion, “You’ll forget who paid your fare to Chicago, won’t you?”

“Why?” Leora asked innocently.

The doctor replied, “It may cause trouble if you talk. You see there’s a law called the Mann Act. It makes it a penitentiary offense for a man to travel across a state line with a woman not his wife.”

Leora opened her eyes wide, as she said, “You pick the strangest things to worry about.”

“I know,” he said, patting her hand, “I can trust you.”

The train stopped at Englewood.

When it started again, a trainman called, “Chicago the next stop.”

“I wired Alice Tracy to meet me, dear.”

“Why did you do that?” asked the doctor.

Leora smiled, “I knew she’d know the city. Besides, she never talks.”

“Well,” said the doctor, “what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

When Alice greeted them at the station, Dr. Farway was in a thoughtful mood.

They rode to the Vaner Hotel.

The doctor could not realize the change that had come over Alice. She was fashionably dressed.

“Do you like the city?” he asked her.

“Well,” she paused, “I don’t like the city as well as I do my work.”

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m a cloak model,” she answered.

“I’ll register alone,” said the doctor, looking at Alice, when they reached the hotel lobby. “Do you wish Leora to stay with you?”

“If she likes,” returned Alice. “But I wouldn’t spoil your fun for anything.”

“Oh that’s all right,” returned the doctor, “you’ll want to visit with Leora.”

“All right, we’ll telephone you this evening,” Alice suggested.

“Okeh, if you miss me, try later,” he suggested.

“We will,” said Leora.

Again in the taxi, Leora smiled at Alice, saying,

“He thinks I might have him arrested for bringing me here.” The girls laughed.

“But don’t you love him?” asked Alice.

“I did, maybe, for a little while, I don’t know,” Leora sighed.

“But how you’ve changed, and you’re prettier than ever—now tell me all the news—does my mother look well?”

Leora and Alice talked for several hours.

When Leora saw the doctor that night he asked her what she intended to do.

“Alice intends to get me work as a model,” was the reply.

“But you’ll need money to get started.”

“Yes,” agreed Leora, and waited.

He gave her a hundred dollars, saying, “When you write to me I’ll send you more.”

“I’ll write,” said Leora.

“Now don’t talk about who brought you here,” he warned.

“If you mention that once more, I’ll never see you again.”

There was something in her manner which made him believe.

More confident, he coaxed her to go to his room.

Leora shook her head. “Never again. That’s all over. You’re the only man, and you’ll always be the only man.”

“Suppose you get married?”

“That will be different.” She hesitated, “But that’s not likely. I’ll have to get you out of my mind first.”

Dr. Jonas Farway was proud of himself.

Leora was now of medium height, and slender. Her red-brown hair fell in natural waves to her shoulders. Her mouth was slightly full. There was a glow to her skin. At no time did she look more than a school-girl. Her manner was innocent and trusting. She wore, whenever possible, a white linen suit. Simple and graceful, it added to her appearance of innocence. Plain dark green was another favorite color. A plain gold crucifix attached to a thin chain about her throat was her only jewelry.

From her childhood she had the gift of keeping conversation alive. A constant reader of newspapers, she knew all that was current about leading personalities. She had the manner of one who had always lived in the city.

Alice Tracy was a lithe brunette, slightly taller than Leora. More beautiful than her mother, she had Red Moll’s passion for wearing red. In contrast to her vivid taste and coloring she wore her hair severely combed back and tied with a wide ribbon. This accentuated her girlish appearance. She seldom wore jewelry. Her movements were as quick and graceful as her mother’s.

Alice had many adventures after leaving home. Like all pretty women she had fought different battles in the war of sex. They had ended in victory, defeat, and surrender, according to the opposing side.

She had left the boat at Louisville to join a carnival company that played across Indiana.

Unlike Leora, she was oversexed. From being “man-crazy” at fifteen, she now blended cunning with desire, and was, as a result, much less a feather in emotional storms.

She had early been the plaything of men who came to her mother’s house. Seduced soon after puberty without romance, she accepted without concern.

From then on, she was only miserable when not sharing her body with several men.

She found her way to Mother Rosenbloom as naturally as her native Ohio River flowed to the sea.

After four months at Mother Rosenbloom’s house, she was placed in an apartment by a manufacturer of tires. Over seventy, apoplectic, and a widower, he had been a caller at Mother Rosenbloom’s establishment for many years.

Mother Rosenbloom, under the name of Mrs. Maurice Thorndyke, had direct connection with his home and private office.

She had studied Alice for a month before suggesting her to adorn an apartment for J. Whitlau Everlan.

Mother Rosenbloom assured Alice of the high honor bestowed, and how, with tact, she could line her nest with gold.

“It will be easy to live with Mr. Everlan,” she explained. “You will have none of the cares of a wife and none of the physical violence of living with a younger man. If you do not like the touch of so old a man, you must consider that at least it is less heavy and will leave you with fewer bruises. Though I’m a woman, I feel that most women are silly as geese and less important. And the poor things would mate with eagles. All of this comes from reading romantic novels. It’s been my observation, Alice dear, in a life that’s already too long, that the more a woman is like a man, the greater she is. And you must realize that even though you are young and beautiful now, it will not last forever. If Mr. Everlan makes a good tire he’s entitled to his profit. If he treats you well and gives you an allowance of a thousand dollars a month, he is entitled to obedience and respect. If he should find pleasure in the arms of another girl, you must allow the poor man that—for very soon he’ll be dead, and then what? If you are clever you will make yourself so agreeable that you can bind him with an invisible chain that’s stronger than steel. If he brings you a toy from the ten-cent store you must be thrilled beyond words. I read a great deal when I was younger, and there was a woman in France who was a whore at heart—she slept with everything—but she held Napoleon—and I remember how the poor man went into her room after she was in her grave, and when he came out he’d been crying.

“She flattered him and petted him; she could read him to sleep—I don’t know the answer, neither did Napoleon, but the bitch had no fear. Until she was thirty she was the perfect whore. If anyone asks me what it got her, I can ask them right back what sleeping alone got St. Cecilia.”

Alice was never to forget the words that followed. “And remember, dear, you cannot be a perfect whore unless a man likes your body. That must come first. And never contradict him either—if you’re wise as Solomon, and contradict him, he’ll leave you and sleep with a Salvation Army leader. Whenever a man wants intelligence from a woman, he has none himself—

“If you agree with him, you’re intelligent—and if you are brighter than he is and let him know it, you’re stupid.

“I’ve been watching men for more years than you’ve been in the world and the half dozen big ones I’ve known have been lonely fellows who didn’t care any more about anything than I do.

“Nearly everything is poppycock—it’s a sin to sleep with different men in this country—in some other country—maybe Ireland, I hope—” she smiled grimly, “it’s an honor. And remember, dear, again, that a woman’s like a parrot—she’s never any bigger than the biggest man she’s known.”

That Christmas, at Alice’s suggestion, Mr. Everlan bought her many volumes concerning Josephine and other lovely ladies now no more.

Being a leading member of different philanthropic and civic organizations, Mr. Everlan made many journeys about the nation.

A long-distance telephone call generally found her at home. If she were out, the maid could immediately tell the operator where she could be found.

Always circumspect, she made every effort to please Mr. Everlan. Though she had lovers when he was out of the city, she nevertheless brought pleasure to him, and satisfaction to Mother Rosenbloom, who had so warmly recommended her to Mr. Everlan.

When Leora became bored after two weeks of looking about the city, Alice took her to Mother Rosenbloom’s establishment.

It was in the center of the one-time “restricted district,” and had once known a wealthier day. It was still ornate, with stained glass windows, and the mechanical fixtures of fifty years ago. The gilded gas jets were now wired for electricity. It had many large rooms and gables, and a bow window in front.

Mother Rosenbloom owned four houses on the street. These were well painted, as was the house which she occupied with her girls. The paint was peeled from all the other houses on the street. It was otherwise neglected, as though the citizens were concerned with greater problems than the beauty of a neighborhood.

Negro families had moved within a few blocks of Mother Rosenbloom. She did not complain. All creeds and colors were alike to her.

She gave generously to the Catholic creed in which she had been born. Retaining its larger precepts she would go to church once each month with the comment that she wanted to be on the safe side.

If her vices were great, her understanding was greater. So far as she was concerned all people were weak and erring, and it was best to be tolerant of the major sins so long as they paid well.

It used to be said of a girl when she became immoral, “She’s on her way to Ryan Street.” It was where Mother Rosenbloom still held sway. She had the only establishment left, and she catered to the elite of the city, or rather—men with money.

Alice and Leora approached the house over which Mother Rosenbloom ruled. “Pay no attention to her,” said Alice, “she’s as sharp as a razor, but you can make more money here than in any other house.”

The door opened. They were taken before Mother Rosenbloom.

She moved swiftly toward them, more in the manner of one skating than walking.

An Irish woman who had married a Jew, Mother Rosenbloom’s name was known wherever sex was bartered.

She was between fifty and sixty, and weighed nearly three hundred pounds. Her breasts were as large as pillows. Her ear-rings, studded with green and red stones, dangled two inches. The diamond rings on the short third and fourth fingers of each hand were encased deep in flesh. It had calloused around them, giving evidence that the rings had not been removed for years.

Her red-painted cheeks were puffed and dimpled. She wore a gold watch at the end of a long chain. It went up and down like a censor as her heavy body moved forward.

Her immense legs were covered with thin silk stockings, through which stray hairs protruded.

An unusually large woman, about six feet tall, there were no curves to her figure. Except for the immense breasts, it might have been a square block. Her head was large and powerful, her hair a faded russet. Below one ear a grayish brindle tuft protruded. Her mouth was wide, and her false teeth, full of gold in front, were even. Her clothing was expensive. Her moods were as changeable as November weather. She could be precise, dynamic, volatile, full of laughter and anger at nearly the same time. Generally her emotions were facile. Then, at times, she was somber, and full of feeling for a moment. Her eyes were walled, and were curved outward like the bottoms of saucers, giving her great round face even more animation than it possessed.

It was said that in her youth she had been a fine singer. This may or may not have been true, as Mother Rosenbloom hardly ever discussed anything that touched her vitally. At times she was capable of a sweeping gusto, and sang with all her young whores around her, while customers, lulled by a voice rare among women, bought liquor with abandon.

She reduced nearly everything to mockery.

Though Leora and Alice were unaware of it, they were approaching a powerful woman who would have dominated any position in which she happened to be born.

While she did not ask her girls in what creed they had been brought up, she was always pleased to meet a prostitute of her own faith. For nearly twenty years she had had one thousand dollars on deposit, drawing interest— ”High Masses for the peace of my eternal soul.” It was to be turned over to the Church on the day she died.

She wrapped the chain of the watch around her fleshy hands. Then dropping it, while the watch dangled, she pulled at gold-rimmed spectacles attached to a chain above her melon-shaped left breast. Adjusting the glasses on a nose that had once been aquiline, she looked at the girls.

“Hello, Alice dear,” she said, with a sharp tone; then, glancing at Leora, she adjusted the glasses again and asked, “Is this the young filly you telephoned about?”

“Yes, Mother,” replied Alice.

The heavy woman stepped around Leora as a shrewd buyer would a horse.

She then stepped closer, and her pudgy hand went down the girl’s breasts; then moved upward and rubbed her cheeks. She stepped back again and gazed at Leora.

“She’ll do, Alice, indeed, indeed.” She shook her head as if an old memory stabbed her. “Dear, dear, dear,” she sighed, “what pretty hair, a shade of red.” She looked at Leora, “Have you evening gowns—you’ll need a dozen.”