He hesitated only a moment. "Okay. Ten it is. Take me to your
love-nest."
She took the arm that he extended, and they began to walk toward
Seventh Avenue. Laura was so nervous she nearly tripped on her high
heels. Even though she had rehearsed her little speech all morning, she
was surprised that she had carried it off so coolly. She was surprised,
too, at the way the conversation had changed from casual interchange to
a seamy negotiation, almost of its own accord.
They crossed 59th and headed down Seventh Avenue toward the hotel. They
chatted about the weather. Laura kept up a steady flow of light talk.
Marilyn's advice went round and round in her head. _Never try to find
out anything about them. They'll think you're prying, and anyway you
don't need to know. Always collect from them in advance. Always let
them know that you're taking them for a single trick, and make sure
they know that specialty items command a higher price. And once you get
your clothes off, get it over with as quick as you can. The faster you
can get back out on the street, the sooner you'll be turning your next
trick._
They reached the hotel. The desk clerk did not look up as Laura and
her "friend" walked past him. The bellhop on duty was a different one
from the one who had brought Laura to her room before. He kept complete
decorum as he ushered them into the elevator.
The client seemed a little surprised at the shabbiness of the hotel,
but he said nothing. The elevator stopped at eight. Laura led him down
the hall to the room, and opened the door. As she stepped inside,
seeing in one glance the towels on the iron bedstead, the little
nightstand, the dingy walls, she had a sensation very much like
vertigo. She knew that she was standing on the brink, and the moment
she let this man into the room with her and closed the door she would
begin the long descent into the abyss.
She closed the door and flipped the catch on the lock, as Marilyn had
specified. Now not even a management key could open the door.
She switched on the light and smiled bravely at the man. "I'd like the
fee now, please. You can put it on the dresser."
"Right."
He slipped a bill out of his wallet while Laura undressed. Marilyn's
words again were in her mind: _If they look well-heeled, peel to the
buff. You may get a little extra that way. Otherwise don't bother. Get
back on the street as fast as you can._
She draped her coat over a chair, unzipped her skirt, and stepped out
of it. She peeled the tight sweater off next. After just an instant of
hesitation, she unsnapped her bra. She heard her client's sharp little
indrawn hiss of pleasure and surprise as he saw that the full, ripe
mounds of her breasts were all genuine. She removed her half-slip next,
and rolled her panties down over her hips. Now she wore nothing but
garter-belt and stockings. She tried to be casual about her nudity.
As she motioned to remove the stockings, he said in a strained voice,
"Leave them on, please. I rather like it that way."
He had removed his jacket and his trousers. She took a quick look at
his body. His legs were hairy, and surprisingly lean, considering the
stockiness of his upper body.
_Make sure they wear protection_, Marilyn had warned. Marilyn had
given her a little packet just in case, but the client had provided his
own, Laura saw.
She mounted the bed, lying on her back looking up at the ceiling.
_God help me_, she thought. _There's no turning back now._
She felt his weight above her. His hands touched her breasts, squeezing
them gently, toying with the stiff little nipples. He made no attempt
to kiss her. He roamed her body with his fingers, and she felt herself
warming under his touch. He didn't seem to be in any hurry. _Some of
them may try to be regular romeos_, had been Marilyn's warning. _Don't
let them spend hours on preliminaries. Get yourself ready, and do it.
You're in this for cash, not for kicks._
She locked her legs around him, and he responded, and their bodies
joined. She closed her eyes and began to move rhythmically. It had not
been painful, as it had been with McCarten. She felt a faint sensuous
stirring in the pit of her stomach, and wished dimly, sadly, that she
could be doing this out of love and not out of callous cynicism. Every
movement brought a soft tingling of pleasure. She realized that she
could almost be enjoying what she was doing.
But Marilyn had warned her to bring matters to a swift culmination.
Laura began to gasp, counterfeiting the crisis of passion. Sweat broke
out all over her, and she closed her eyes tightly, continuing to thrust
her body, and suddenly she cried out in counterfeit ecstacy and the man
shuddered and gave a little moan, and his body shook convulsively and
it was all over.
He did not want to get up, or even to leave her body. She waited a
minute, then said, "It's all over."
"Okay. Okay."
"You can stay another round, if you like," she told him. "Same price."
_Always be a good salesman_, Marilyn said.
"No," he muttered, getting up from her. "I'll leave now." The suaveness
seemed to be gone. His lust satisfied, he hardly looked at her. He took
one of the towels and washed himself, and then, quickly, he dressed. He
was in a hurry now.
Laura remained on the bed, watching his hasty exit. _He got what he
came for_, she thought. _Now he wants to scram before the hotel gets
raided._
He muttered a goodbye and tried to open the door. But he had trouble
with the catch; Laura had to get up and let him out. He paused before
going, taking one last look at the ripe glory of her breasts and
buttocks, and then he was gone. Laura shut the door behind him and
locked it.
There was a ten-dollar bill on the dresser. She put it in her billfold.
Her watch said twenty minutes to five. So she had given him a little
over half an hour, and now she had a profit on the day of $1.50, with
hours still to go. Wearily, she walked over to the mirror. _Take a good
look_, she thought. _Take a look at the face of a whore, Laura._
She felt tired and embittered. There was a dull ache in her loins, the
throb of unfulfilled desire. Marilyn had warned her of that. The men
got you all worked up, but there was no satisfaction.
She went over to the sink and washed herself carefully, and then she
got dressed. In the dim light of the lamp, the room was unimaginably
gloomy. She felt terribly depressed. The transaction was completed. She
had sold herself to a middle-aged stranger; he had ploughed his furrow
and had paid and was gone.
She pulled the bra cups over her breasts and fastened the snap. _Is
this what I want?_ she asked. _An ugly hotel room and a few minutes of
sweaty grunting? I can do better than this, I don't have to depend on
five or ten bucks a lay. As long as I'm selling myself, I ought to get
a good price for the merchandise._
Dressed, she locked the door and rang for the elevator. _This is
minor-league stuff_, she thought. _But it's valuable experience. I
ought to be able to better myself soon, when I've been around a little
more._
The commitment was made. She felt neither joyous nor sad about it. This
was her life, now--and, if she played her cards right, she would wind
up living a plush life. Everyone has to start at the bottom.
Outside, it was growing dark rapidly. Laura walked at a brisk pace back
to her post near Sixth Avenue, and waited for the next customer to come
along.
_CHAPTER FIVE_
Laura turned her second trick about forty minutes later. He was a tall,
sharp-faced man in his late thirties, who talked with a pronounced
Southern drawl and seemed very embarrassed about the whole thing. After
him, business slowed down. At quarter to seven she went into a cafe
opposite the Coliseum and had a quick supper. By twenty after, she
was back on her post again. It was getting quite chilly, now. Marilyn
had said that the outdoor work was done only in the spring and summer
and early fall; the rest of the year, they hung out in the many bars
in the neighborhood. Bar work was easier in many ways, but also less
profitable, since you usually had to give the bartender or proprietor
a cut of your takings if you wanted to be allowed to solicit on his
premises.
Trick number three turned up at half past eight--a short,
round-bottomed man of perhaps forty-five. He had a strong body odor,
and he seemed more interested in playing with Laura's breasts than in
making love with her, but she finally managed to get rid of him. Now
she had taken in thirty dollars; she was $21.50 ahead on the day, after
about five hours' work. She decided to quit after one more trick, since
it was getting cold.
The trick came along. Jovial, well-dressed, fairly high. He wanted to
take Laura for a few drinks first, but she kept her mind on business
instead. When he asked about the price, she upped it to fifteen,
figuring she could always let herself be bargained-down. He looked like
a free spender, though, and he was. Fifteen was okay with him. They
went to the hotel.
At quarter to ten, Laura returned to the little room she shared with
Marilyn. She felt tired and filthy all over; the sweat of four men had
mingled with her own, and four men's bodies had pressed down heavily on
hers. She took her jacket off, stripped off her clothes quickly. Every
square inch of her body seemed to itch. She went into the bathroom and
turned the hot water on. She wished Marilyn had a shower. She wanted to
have the hot water cascading down on her from above, washing away the
day's physical contact.
But there was no shower, only the tub. She ran the water in, as hot as
she could stand it, and scrubbed hard, until her skin gleamed. She knew
now why Marilyn always spent an hour in the tub after coming home from
a day's work. It wasn't to prevent picking up any disease as much as it
was to wash away the touch of the men who had bought her body that day.
When she was through soaking, she towelled herself vigorously dry. She
felt cleaner, but there was still a residue of discomfort.
_Maybe you never can wash the feeling away_, she thought. _Not even
if you take a bath in concentrated sulphuric acid. It stays with you,
soaking into your bones, and you can't ever get rid of it._
And there was the dull throbbing of frustration in her loins, too, the
cost of being sexually aroused four times without a single fulfillment.
She felt the discomfort up through her entire body. Her nipples were
hard and painful. Her thighs ached.
She finished drying off and went into the bedroom, planning to read for
a while and then perhaps doze off until Marilyn came home. But she was
surprised to find the door opening, and Marilyn coming in. Marilyn had
a paper bag under one arm.
"You're back early," Laura said. "It isn't even eleven o'clock yet."
"I know. But I figured you'd come in by now, and I wanted to get back
here and spend some time with you. What sort of day did you have?"
"Four tricks," Laura said with a touch of pride. "Three tens and a
fifteen."
"Wow! You take to it like a natural."
"Thanks," Laura said ironically. "How'd you manage today?"
Marilyn shrugged. "Four tricks. Twenty bucks. If I had your figure, I
could charge ten and get away with it. But I don't, so I can't. How do
you feel?"
"Okay, I suppose."
"I mean, you aren't all keyed up? They heat you up, and then they don't
finish what they've started, and it leaves you all lousy inside. Or
didn't that happen to you?"
"It did," Laura said. "I took a hot bath, but it didn't help much."
"There are ways of helping it," Marilyn said. "Let me get washed up and
I'll show you." She began to get out of her clothes.
"What's in the paper bag?" Laura asked. "Groceries?"
"Sort of," Marilyn laughed. "Take a look."
Laura opened the bag. Inside was a fifth of Scotch. "Whiskey!" she said.
"I figured we'd have a little party. To sort of celebrate your debut.
It's a kind of special occasion, after all."
Marilyn finished undressing and went into the bathroom, leaving the
door open. While she bathed, she bombarded Laura with questions about
the way her day had gone. She wanted to know what sort of johns she had
picked up, whether they had given her any trouble, whether the hotel
people had been sassy, whether there had been any kind of interference
from the police. Laura found that talking about the day in this manner
eased some of the festering guilt within her. It reduced the whole
day's activities to a mere professional level. They could just as well
be two secretaries or two receptionists talking shop.
Pink and glowing, Marilyn came out of the bathroom and opened the
Scotch. "How do you want yours, honey? On the rocks, neat, or with mix?"
"Mixed, I guess."
"There's ginger ale in the fridge. Dig it out while I'm opening the
bottle. Get the icecube tray too, while you're at it."
Laura complied. When she had finally succeeded in wrestling the
frozen-in icecube tray out of the miniature frigidaire, she saw that
Marilyn had already poured healthy quantities of liquor into two
drinking-glasses. Almost a third of each glass was filled with whiskey.
Marilyn added two icecubes to each drink, and filled Laura's the rest
of the way with ginger ale. She drank her own on the rocks.
"Cheers," Marilyn said.