"Fine," Laura said in a choked voice. _Now I'm in business_, she
thought.
"We usually prefer it in advance when the party doesn't have any
luggage," said the desk clerk blandly. "Do you want to see the room
first?"
"That's all right. I'll take it anyway."
"As you wish, ma'am. Would you sign here?"
He shoved the register toward her. Laura signed in as Lois Harper,
giving a fictitious Brooklyn address. Then she counted out three
singles and two quarters, and shoved them across the counter. The clerk
scribbled a receipt for her and handed her the key.
"Room 804," he said. "The bellhop will take you up if you want a look."
"Thanks," Laura said. She took the key and walked toward the elevator.
The bellhop, a boy of about eighteen, got in and clanged the wire cage
shut. Creakily, the elevator began to ascend.
"You're new, aren't you?" the bellhop said.
"I don't know what you mean."
"I mean, you've never been around here before. We don't get classy ones
like you, much."
Laura's face reddened. She looked at the floor. "Just show me to my
room," she said.
The elevator halted jerkily on the eighth floor. The bellhop led her
down the dark corridor, with its threadbare carpeting, to a room near
the end of the hall. Taking the key from her, he opened the door. She
followed him in. Grinning, he put his arms around her and tried to
kiss her. Laura's first impulse was to slap him. But more advice of
Marilyn's came to mind. _The bellhop will probably fool around. They
always try to grab a free feel. Let them have it, because otherwise
they could make big trouble for you. A nasty bellhop could tip off the
cops and get you raided. But don't let them get more from you than a
feel, Laura. You start giving out tricks on the house and pretty soon
you're everybody's doormat._
She let the bellboy kiss her and squeeze her breasts. He pressed his
body against hers, until she quickly eased away.
"That's enough," she said.
"Let's have some fun, baby!"
"You've had all I plan to give," she said. She nudged him toward the
door. He left reluctantly but without putting up much of a fuss, as
though it was all part of the rules for the bellhop to do a little
smooching but then to leave.
Laura surveyed the room.
It was not much. There was a wide bed--one of the reasons Marilyn
preferred this hotel was that the single rooms came with wide beds--and
half a dozen clean towels were draped over the iron bedstead. There was
a rickety dresser, a yellowing mirror, an ugly lamp, a small table. The
room had its own sink and toilet bowl, but no bath or shower. Instead
of venetian blinds, there was a greasy-looking windowshade. The room
was painted a depressing dull green, and didn't seem to have been
painted within the last ten years. It was a cheerless, bleak room. But
it only cost $3.50 a night.
Laura locked up and rode downstairs, and walked briskly back to Central
Park South. According to Marilyn, the block running along the bottom
of Central Park, 59th Street between Columbus Circle and Fifth Avenue,
was one of the best places in the city for streetwalkers. Usually the
cops didn't bother you, especially if you were well-dressed and quiet,
and since it was the street bordering a park you didn't run the risk
of being complained about by shopkeepers whose storefronts you might
be sullying. Marilyn had told her, _If a cop comes over and starts
trouble, just say you're waiting for your boyfriend. Stick around
another ten minutes, then walk away. They can't arrest you unless they
actually catch you in the act. Loitering isn't enough to stand up in
court. They have to follow you to your hotel room and break in on you
and the john you've picked up._
Marilyn's area was near the Columbus Circle entrance to the park.
At her advice, Laura moved further east, on the other side of Sixth
Avenue. That way they wouldn't be competing with each other, and,
besides, more high-money men were likely to come walking from east to
west along 59th than from west to east.
There was no sign of Marilyn. Laura wondered if she had a client. She
walked past Marilyn's post, heading toward Sixth Avenue. The time was
ten minutes to three; the weather was warm, the sky very blue. Laura
leaned up against the low wall that rimmed the park, and began to wait.
Marilyn had been a little surprised, the night before, when Laura had
announced her decision. At first she had tried to discourage Laura from
sharing her profession; then, seeing that Laura was determined to go
on the streets at least once, Marilyn had set about to instruct her.
They had been up half the night, the teacher and the willing pupil, as
Marilyn poured out all the benefits of her three years' experience.
Laura's heart raced furiously now. _If they only could know about me
now back in Kansas_, she thought. _They'd have fits if they knew what
line of work pure and lovely Laura Haynes has gone into._
Although she was not fond of smoking, she lit a cigarette now to
mask her nervousness. She was dressed in her smartest clothes--a tan
trenchcoat over a tight cashmere sweater and a crisp skirt. She had the
trenchcoat dangle loosely from her shoulders, revealing the eye-opening
thrust of her bosom and the trim lines of her waist and hips. To a
casual passer-by, she might have been some Fifth Avenue beauty waiting
for her beau.
Twenty minutes went by. A number of men looked at her with keen
interest, but moved on without stopping to speak to her. _Maybe I'm
too chic to look like a streetwalker_, she thought. _Most of them have
a kind of bedraggled look that tells a man they're available. But
maybe men are afraid they'll get slapped in the face if they try to
proposition me._
When it was nearly four o'clock, and she had been on her territory
almost an hour without any sign of a client, she came close to giving
the whole thing up. She told herself, though, that Marilyn spent nine
or ten hours a day to find four or five clients; presumably a girl
as attractive as Laura would do better business, but, still, she
hadn't expected to be ignored this long. She felt ambivalent about the
situation: she wanted to be picked up, yet at the same time she wanted
_not_ to be picked up. She would have preferred to retain her virtue.
On the other hand, she had already spent $3.50 in rent and $5 in
bribery to get a hotel room. Marilyn had told her to charge $10, but,
even if she got a client at that rate, she would have only $1.50 to
show for her first encounter. With a fixed overhead of $8 or $10 a day
for a hotel room, it was necessary to have several clients, at least,
to come out ahead.
Laura went tense. One man, who had already gone past her twice, was
coming back a third time--and now he was walking toward her! He had
come from the Fifth Avenue direction, had eyed her carefully, and had
gone on walking toward Columbus Circle. Then, a few moments later, he
had returned, as though for a second look. He had gone on to Fifth,
again. And now he was back, and cutting away from the sidewalk to walk
over to her.