Ladies In The Parlor (9 page)

The doorbell rang.

Mr. Skinner was brought into the parlor.

The girls greeted him cordially, while Alice said to the housekeeper, “Mother wants to talk to him.”

The grim woman nodded.

Mr. Skinner, a decaying veteran in the army of sex, was stooped and wrinkled. His face was the color of leather, and sharp as an axe. The housekeeper led him away, while the girls smiled.

He was a tradition of laughter in the house. He believed, as Alice explained to Leora, that Mrs. Rosenbloom’s mission in life was to find virgins for him. His price was two hundred a virgin… the girl would receive half. Doris and June had each been “ruined” by him. “You’ll earn your money,” Doris smiled, “it’s like trying to sleep with an eel.” She gave a slight shudder. “His damned old hands are never still.”

“Give him a line, Leora,” said June, “make him feel he’s hurtin’ the hell out of you. He’s a rich old thing.”

It was a new experience for Leora. She had, for a moment, a slight feeling of repugnance. June seized the opportunity to caress Leora. “It’ll be all right . . . just pretend he hurts you and sob a little—he’s too darned old to do anything more anyhow.”

“And don’t mention money to him,” said Doris, “Mother’ll take care of that. Money spoils the romance for him.” Doris looked about the room languidly.

The housekeeper came for Leora.

Alice went with her to Mother Rosenbloom.

Mr. Skinner sat, half dozing, in a chair near by.

“He will talk to you here a while,” said Alice, “He wants it just to happen—like you met him and couldn’t resist him.”

The housekeeper delivered Leora to Mrs. Rosenbloom as stiffly as a sheriff would a convicted criminal to the warden of a jail. Without saying a word, she bowed primly and left.

“Now be shy,” said Alice, as Mother Rosenbloom put her hand on the professional seducer’s shoulder.

“A little lady saw you passing through the room and wanted to meet you, Mr. Skinner.”

His rheumy eyes blinked, as he rose and said, “Ah, so, so.”

Leora, half bashfully, stepped before him.

The old man’s eyes dilated. He caressed her hands.

“We will go and join the girls now, Mr. Skinner, and do be nice to her, for everything is so strange.” Mother Rosenbloom stepped heavily away, followed by Alice.

Once in the room, Leora stood bashfully in a far corner.

“Come, my pretty pet,” the old man coaxed. Leora did not move.

He advanced cautiously toward her, while she pushed against the wall, her body a-tremble with what Mr. Skinner thought was fear.

“Why, my dear child—you wouldn’t think that I would hurt you, would you?” He touched her lightly. She swayed and fell in his arms. In her helpless position, her breast pressed firmly against him. The perfume of her body went to his ancient nostrils, and roused desire in him, and nothing else.

Feeling that it might be too great a strain for Mr. Skinner to drag her to the bed, she rushed blindly toward it, with her hands over her eyes, and apparently sobbing.

As he drew near she said plaintively, “My mother always told me to be careful—and I know you won’t—I’m so young.”

Her skirt, by design, was above her knees, and revealed silk-clad legs, more perfect in contour than many which greater men than Mr. Skinner had separated.

He touched one of her knees. It shocked her so much that she fell backward on the bed.

The winds of passion howled through Mr. Skinner. He fussed with Leora until nearly exhausted.

Then she got up.

The old man had never met such a girl. Neither had he ever engaged in such a battle. Even had he been a student of genuine acting, he would have been in no condition to appreciate it. Instead he floundered about the room, driven by an urge greater than himself.

At last he coaxed her to sit on the bed again.

“You’ll behave if I do,” she pleaded.

“Certainly, my precious,” he panted, “I wouldn’t harm a hair of your head.”

“It’s not my hair I’m worried about,” she said innocently,— ”I promised my mother I’d always be a good girl.”

“Why you can be a good girl, dear—such ideas are old-fashioned,” explained the veteran in the army of sex.

“My mother didn’t think so—she told me to always guard my honor—and I promised.”

Leora began to cry.

“Now, come dear, come, come, you can trust me.” He touched her cautiously.

“I wouldn’t have come here, but I knew Alice, and I told her how poor my mother was, and how much she needed a hundred dollars. She told me about Mrs. Rosenbloom running this school for girls, and that I might get work as a maid.”

Mr. Skinner shook his head at such innocence.

“Suppose I offered you a hundred dollars.”

“Oh, Mother wouldn’t let me take it—she’d scold terribly.”

He placed the money in her hand while she protested weakly.

She clutched the money while the ruthless Mr. Skinner attempted to despoil her. Sobbing quietly when he rose, she said pleadingly, “Please don’t tell Mrs. Rosenbloom what happened—she may not engage me.”

Manfully, Mr. Skinner promised. When Leora entered the parlor later with Mr. Skinner, June was at the piano, playing and singing. Her low voice could be heard

Oh give me a home where the buffalo roam,

Where the deer and the antelope play—

Where seldom is heard a discouraging word,

And the skies are not cloudy all day

The girls induced Mr. Skinner to buy a bottle of champagne. They now gathered, with their withered benefactor, around June.

“I love that song,” said Mary Ellen, her brown eyes vivid with joy, as she sang with a rich voice,

Oft times at night, when summers are bright,

By the light of the twinkling stars

I’ve stood here amazed, and asked as I gazed,

Does their glory exceed that of ours.

Mary Ellen put her arm around Mr. Skinner, and turned to the girls and said, “Now the chorus, all together.”

A deeper, richer voice than Mary Ellen’s joined

Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam, Where the deer and the antelope play—Where seldom is heard a discouraging word, And the skies are not cloudy all day.

The girls turned and applauded Mother Rosenbloom as she finished singing.

Upon her face was joy, and in her eyes were tears. Alice drew Leora aside.

“Was everything all right?” she asked.

“Yes,” replied Leora, “everything is in his head.” Then she smiled, “but he gave me a hundred dollars.”

“Did he tell you he’d come back again?”

“Yes,—tomorrow night.”

“Well,” said Alice, with advice that was useless, “string him along.”

“I will,” said Leora.

They moved closer to June, while the other girls were still debating what to sing next.

“Let’s have FRANKIE AND JOHNNIE,” Selma suggested.

June began,

Frankie she sits in her crib house,

Beneath the electric fan,

Telling her little sister,

To beware of the gawdam man

He’ll do you wrong, just as sure as you’re born
.

June, like Leora, had been born in poverty.

Her playground had been a junkyard in Cleveland. At nine years of age, she lost a dime near a railroad station. A man saw her crying and gave her a quarter. It gave her an idea. Whenever possible she would pretend she lost money in a public place and cry as if her heart would break. The ruse never failed to work.

Seduced at thirteen, she was in a whorehouse at sixteen. She was now twenty-one; though she claimed to be eighteen.

More forward than Leora, she was not as intuitive. That which Leora sensed without knowing, June had learned through experience. She had to lose the dime before she learned that crying might evoke the pity of man. Upon her first entrance into a sporting-house, she had trusted a man for the night’s entertainment. She had seen him often before, and he had spent money freely. When he had gone the next morning, with a promise to return, the landlady asked her for a division of the night’s profits—or five dollars.

“He told me he would bring it to me tonight,” returned June.

“I can’t wait on a man’s word… I want my share now.”

For several days June expected him. The man never returned. Then the landlady said, “It’s worse than payin’ for a dead horse. They’ll only pay for a thing like that before they get it.”

June trusted men no more.

She was fond of Leora, who, at that time, was unaware that one woman could become overfond of another.

There was something whimsical about her that appealed to Leora.

One quiet evening at dusk, before the men began to arrive, the two girls sat in the parlor watching the blaze in the fireplace. She had told Leora of a handsome man she had entertained a half dozen times some months before. She recalled the pleasant hours with longing, and then said, almost to herself, “I wonder what his name was.”

She rose suddenly and kissed Leora on the mouth.

Leora was slightly flustered.

“Some day I’m going to get out of all this.”

“Then what?” asked the practical Leora.

“I don’t know and don’t give a damn—I’m damned sick of sellin’ my body.”

“You don’t sell it—you just loan it for a while.”

June looked surprised. “That’s right, you do get it back, don’t you—I never thought of that.” She was silent again before saying, “Then why do these damn-fool dames always talk about selling their bodies?”

“They’ve got to talk about something,” replied Leora.

“Anyhow,” continued June, “I’ve been in houses five years, and that’s enough—I’ve been here a year and a half, and Mother doesn’t want a girl in the house over two years . .. the men get tired of them—and I don’t blame them either— I don’t know why in the hell they like us as long as they do—what the devil are we—sometimes I feel sorry for the poor bastards who come up stairs with me . . . but what the hell—if I don’t hook them, they will me.”

“Were you ever in love?” asked Leora.

June rubbed her firm breasts for a moment before answering slowly, “May—be—once—almost.”

“Who?” asked Leora.

“A damn fool whose name I never knew.” She rested her deep blue eyes on Leora, then said, “Damn him anyhow—what a hard bastard he was.” She smiled faintly, “And I thought I was hard.” Her voice rose, “Why he was so God-damned hard the iron rattled in his pockets—there wasn’t anything between us—not that he knew—the night he left he called a taxi and says to me, ‘Listen, Baby, you ain’t goin’ to see me no more, see—never no more—see… and if anyone ever asks you if you knew me, tell them yes—I’m Jack the Ripper’s bodyguard—see—’ He was a good-lookin’ son-of-a-bitch, and he murdered the king’s English something awful—

“When I said to him, ‘Why don’t you tell me your name, honey’—I can hear him laughin’ yet. He put his arm around me and I thought he’d choke me— ‘Catch ‘em young, lay ‘em hard, treat ‘em rough, and tell ‘em nothin’,’ he says.”

June shook her head, then pushed a wave of black hair from her temple. “Jeeze,” she exclaimed, “What a hard son-of-a-bitch he was... I think he knew he had me, and do you know, he didn’t give a good God damn for me—I’d be exhausted when I got through with him. I’d have one thrill after another, and then I’d pretend, and he’d damn near shake me to pieces—till I was limp as a God-damn rag—then he’d laugh at me.”

“What did he look like?” asked Leora.

“I’ll be damned if I can tell you exactly. His skin was pounded down on his face like a prize-fighter’s, and his shoulders were as big as Mother Rosenbloom’s bottom—he had a woman tattooed on his breast. You could see her lyin’ naked like she was in a woods, his black hair standin’ over her . . . there was big dents in his jaws, and once when I hit him in fun with my fist, I damn near cracked my knuckle—when they yelled that his taxi was down front, he slapped a twenty dollar bill on the dresser, and he’d already paid me; then he says —gurgling the last of the liquor on the table

'An old mare and an old whore—

Is only good for a few loads more—

“‘So get out of the racket, kid—throw hash somewhere and sleep with a section hand.’ Katie heard him tell the driver to take him to the Sherman House. I went there this week on my day off and hung around—but I didn’t know his name,—damned if I could locate him.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t like him if you knew him better,” said Leora, by way of solace.

“
Know him better
,” June sighed. “That first night with him was enough for me. I think I knew then I’d
met the right guy
.”

A silence came between the girls. Finally June said petulantly, “Oh—to hell with it—he was some damn roughneck, I suppose.”

She talked no more until her mood became lighter.

She then went to the piano and began to play and sing.

Once in a blue moon,

There will come the right one—

The verse of the song finished, June turned to Leora with, “Were you ever in love?”

“Not yet,” she answered. “I thought I was once.”

The house doctor came the following Monday to examine the girls for venereal disease.

When he finished his task he reported to Mother Rosenbloom that all were in excellent health but June.

“What is wrong with her?” asked Mother Rosenbloom.

“A rabid case—she had better go to the hospital at once—it may develop. I’ll telephone Judge Slattery; he’ll arrange,” said the doctor.

“All right—do that—I’ll talk to him later.”

Mother Rosenbloom twisted the gold chain about her hands, and said slowly, “Well, well—poor June.”

The doctor lifted his satchel from the chair and made a few steps toward the door. “It’s too bad,” he ventured; “it’s the first case I’ve ever found in your house.”

The immense woman released the chain from about her fingers. Her words came sharply, “I’ll take care of it, Doctor—but you might phone Judge Slattery.”

She walked slowly to June’s room.

“Well, dear, the doctor tells me you’ve been elected—I’ve told you so often to examine men carefully.”

June turned suddenly, “
Mother, are you joking
?”