Live Girls

by Ray Garton

  “Uh, I-yuh...” Davey looked up at him, fingered the token a moment, then let it drop again. He smiled at the driver and shook his head. “Never mind. Never ... mind.” Davey stepped away from the bus, the doors rattled shut, and it drove away in a belch of stinging exhaust.

  Her booth was empty and she was still there, as if she had been waiting for him to return. When the panel rose, she was smiling.

  As he walked out of Live Girls afterward, his hair was mussed, his breathing uneven, and his gait a bit unsteady. He could feel the biting sting again. He could feel the moist warmth soaking into his briefs against his skin.

  He was bleeding.

  3

  ____________________________

  WALTER BENEDEK BELCHED FIRE INTO HIS NAPKIN AT THE same instant that Davey Owen walked out of Live Girls for the second time that day. He pushed aside the paper plate with leftover egg foo yong on it and leaned toward the window to watch the young man across the street. He seemed to be limping, trying hard to stay on his feet as he walked into the crowd and quickly disappeared from Benedek's view.

  He leaned back in the small plastic chair and belched again, wishing he hadn't eaten the day's special in Lim's Chinese Kitchen, New York's Fastest Oriental Eatery. The acidic sizzling in his stomach showed on his face as he stared across the street at Live Girls.

  Such a plain little place, and yet something about it held Benedek's gaze, something that he couldn't actually see but something he felt, maybe.

  He'd waited for the police in the apartment next to Doris's. Mrs. Shaunessy, an old widow, had heard him shouting and came over to see what was wrong. When she saw the bloody mess in the apartment, she'd taken Benedek's arm, ushered him to her apartment muttering comfort and assurances, then put him on the sofa and poured him a glass of scotch.

  Riley had come, Detective Kenneth Riley. They'd met on a number of occasions, never pleasantly. Riley did not like Benedek because he was a reporter and reporters got in the way. Benedek, as a rule, did not judge people by their occupations; he did not like Riley because Riley was simply not a nice man.

  After seeing the bodies in the apartment, however, Riley had shown Benedek a rare moment of compassion.

  “I'm ... very sorry, Walter,” he'd said, coming into Mrs. Shaunessy's apartment.

  “Yeah, thanks,” Benedek had said hoarsely.

  Riley had seated himself on the sofa beside Benedek. “You know, Walter, I'll have to question you,” he'd said softly.

  “Right now?"

  “Well, I'd like to get as much information from you as possible now."

  Had Vernon Macy been acting strange lately? Were there some domestic problems between Mr. and Mrs. Macy? Where might Mr. Macy be found?

  Benedek had told Riley everything he could, especially about Vernon's strange behavior of late and his visits to Live Girls.

  “That was out of character for your brother-in-law?” Riley had asked.

  “You kidding? Way out."

  After a pause, Riley had asked carefully, “You think he might have done it?"

  Benedek had looked up at him with disbelief. “Might have? Isn't it as obvious as the fucking weather, Riley?"

  “Well, we'll see. We've gotta find him first. We're going to start with his place of work."

  “Go to Live Girls. Times Square."

  “Yeah, we'll go there, too, eventually."

  “Go there first, Riley."

  Riley had frowned at him, apparently puzzled at Benedek's insistence. “What're you thinking, Walter?” he'd asked firmly. “If you know something, you'd better tell me now."

  Benedek had started to speak, but his voice never came and he'd finally swallowed the unspoken words with another shot of scotch. He was sure of nothing. He just felt something, but that didn't count.

  When Benedek didn't answer, Riley stood and said, “We're looking to contact his dentist, too. You wouldn't know his name, would you?"

  Benedek shook his head. “Why?"

  Riley hesitated. “They were, um, bitten. Extensively. M.E. thinks they might've ... bled to death if ... if they didn't go right away."

  “There wasn't that much blood,” Benedek had said.

  “Yeah, that's what's got the M.E. scratching his head. You go home now, Walter. I'll have to talk to you some more, but it can wait till tomorrow. You can work out all the arrangements and ... Just go home now. Get some rest."

  He'd gone to Times Square. He'd walked for a while up and down the sidewalk across from Live Girls, watching. Waiting to see a familiar dumpy figure hurrying through the crowd. But it never appeared.

  Not long after he'd arrived, around ten-thirty, maybe eleven, he'd noticed the young man. He'd stood out of the crowd, totally unlike most of the customers going in and out of Live Girls. All the others looked like typical peep-joint clientele, maybe a little on the unhealthy side, gaunt and worn. This guy, however, was young and in apparently good shape; he was well groomed and wearing a suit. When he came back out, Benedek had noticed that he was limping, almost staggering. Then he'd seemed to make an effort to hold his balance as he fell into step with the others on the sidewalk.

  Now why, Benedek had wondered, would a respectable-looking young man like that visit a place like Live Girls?

  A few minutes later, though, the young man was almost completely forgotten. Benedek was just watching for Vernon, smoking, drinking coffee, letting his mind wander.

  He'd stepped into the Chinese place because the view was good from the window. He was not hungry but he ate anyway. Now he regretted it.

  The irritation of his upset stomach was forgotten when the young man returned. He'd gone in and, after a while, come out again, walking unsteadily, just as before.

  Okay, Benedek thought after the guy was gone, once is fine. Maybe he was just curious. But twice within a few hours? Uh-uh. And why the limp?

  Something was not right.

  Benedek stood and left the humid little restaurant. He went to the corner and stepped off the curb to cross the street, go inside Live Girls, see for himself. But he didn't. He wasn't sure why but it didn't feel right. Not yet.

  He watched Live Girls for a long time. Even as night began to fall, Benedek watched the black-curtained doorway and tried to see in whenever someone walked in or out. But all he saw was darkness. And that darkness made him strangely uneasy.

  He finally gave up and took a cab home.

  The moment he slipped his key into the lock, he heard Jackie hurrying through the apartment to get to the door. She stood in the doorway in her red and white bathrobe, worry creasing her smooth, gentle face. She opened her arms and took him in, held him for a moment. She smelled of lavender bath soap, clean and fresh.

  “I heard,” she whispered, her head on his big shoulder. “God, I was so worried when you didn't show up all day. Riley called”—she moved back and looked into his eyes—“to see if you got home okay. Are you all right?"

  He nodded, closing the door. “Riley called?"

  “Mm-hm."

  Benedek chuckled. “He better be careful. Somebody might get the idea he's a nice guy, or something."

  “Come sit down. Would you like a brandy?” she asked, slipping his coat off.

  “Please.” He watched her leave the living room, her robe fluttering around her feet as she moved; her prematurely silver hair shimmered in the apartment's soft light. Chopin played quietly on the stereo.

  He'd met Jackie Laslo at a dinner party he hadn't wanted to attend. She made reporter jokes when she found out he was a reporter; he made gynecologist jokes when he found out she was a gynecologist. He'd asked her to move into his apartment eleven years ago and they'd been living together ever since. They'd never seemed to find the time to get married, but they referred to one another as husband and wife most of the time for convenience.

  “Here,” she said, bringing him the brandy. “Anything else?"

  “No.” He sipped. “Just stay with me."

  She held his hand, sitting on
the armrest of the chair.

  “I'm sorry you had to find them,” she said.

  “So am I, hon. Did Riley say if they'd found Vernon yet?"

  “No, they haven't."

  “Mmm.” He leaned back his head, closed his eyes, and sighed as she began to gently stroke his hair.

  “You think he did it, huh?"

  He nodded.

  “Jesus Christ, what could've...” She didn't finish. “You want to go to bed, Walter?"

  “In a little while.” He was enjoying the attention she was showing him. She was usually busy with one thing or another. If she wasn't, he was. Feeling her close was nice.

  Benedek thought of that young man stumbling out of Live Girls and wondered if he would return there tomorrow. Probably. Benedek decided he would return, too, and wait for him. And follow him.

  “You're frowning,” Jackie said.

  “Yeah. Thinking."

  “About?"

  “Well ... you know how I've always said I don't believe in hunches?"

  “Mm-hm."

  “It's the damnedest thing. I think I've got one."

  That night in bed, long after Jackie's breathing had taken on the rhythm of sleep, Benedek lay awake, staring into the darkness. He thought of Doris and Janice, how thrilled Doris had been when she got pregnant, how inquisitive Janice was as a little girl.

  Before he slept, Benedek cried....

  4

  ____________________________

  IT WAS A COLD NIGHT AND THE AIR WAS BRITTLE.

  Sondra lit a cigarette, cupping a hand over the lighter's flame to protect it from the wind. Its warmth felt good on her palm. She leaned against the wall on the corner of Eighth and Forty-third just outside Donut Heaven. Tall and striking in black fishnet stockings, black leather mini, and a gray fur jacket, Sondra turned heads with no effort. Men smiled at her and she smiled back with a toss of her blond hair. She nodded at men who slowed down as they drove by the corner.

  A short man with a big nose eyed her and slowed his pace as he walked by. In a moment, he turned around and came back, leaning against the wall just a few feet from her.

  “Cold night, ain't it?” he asked.

  “Yeah, well...” Sondra shrugged. “You just gotta find yourself a way to keep warm, know what I mean?” She smiled and drew on her cigarette.

  “Yeah.” He wore a long, pea green coat, his hands deep in the pockets. The wind blew his stringy hair off his creased forehead. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other rapidly, never meeting her eyes. “Yeah, so, how much'll it cost me to keep warm, huh?"

  Sondra smiled. “Depends on what you want warmed up. And for how long."

  “Yeah? Well ... how about a blow job?"

  “Twenty-five."

  “Shuh...” He paused, stepped away from the wall and fidgeted. “Showers?"

  Sondra immediately turned away from him. “Nope. Wrong corner."

  The man pushed his hands deeper into his pockets and hurried away as if he'd been slapped.

  “Got ‘em,” Hildy said, coming out of Donut Heaven. “Cruller, right?” She was a petite Asian girl with a streak of magenta running through her long black hair on the left side.

  “Yeah."

  “They only had the vanilla frosted kind.” She handed over a cruller wrapped in a napkin.

  Sondra tossed her cigarette away and bit into the donut. For nearly an hour, she'd had a craving for something sweet, one of those cravings that buzzed like an abscessed tooth. As she chewed the donut she regretted getting it; the taste reminded her of the last time she saw her daughter.

  “Any sign of Chase?” Hildy asked, reaching into the bag again.

  “Uh-uh."

  Holding a chocolate-covered custard bar in her hand, Hildy wadded up the bag and threw it down on the sidewalk.

  “So what's his fuckin’ problem?” she asked, annoyed. “He was supposed to be here forty-five minutes ago."

  “If he got the blow,” Sondra reminded her. “Maybe he didn't."

  “Yeah.” Hildy took a bite of the custard bar and purred.

  Sondra looked down at the cruller, remembering the smile on Maggie's face when she'd bitten into her donut two months before. Sondra had visited her in Connecticut; they'd spent the afternoon together.

  “My daughter loves these,” Sondra said quietly, smiling.

  “I didn't know you had a daughter,” Hildy muttered.

  “Yeah. Maggie. She's six."

  “God, this is good. So what's your daughter like?"

  Sondra took another bite of the cruller, dabbed her lips with the napkin. “Curly blond hair, big blue eyes. And smart? She was talking long before I ever did. ‘Course, I wasn't around when she started; I was working for that prick Cedric. Till somebody comes along and does the whole fuckin’ world a favor by sticking a knife in that asshole's neck.” Her voice became bitter. “He was found in a trash bin behind some Italian joint on Broadway."

  “Yeah. Heard about it."

  “Best thing to happen since the invention of penicillin.” She turned the half-eaten cruller around in her hand. “She's staying with my sister in Connecticut. Maggie, I mean. I hate my sister and she hates me. But she's really good with kids, so I figured that'd be best for Maggie.” She started to bite into the donut again, but didn't. “I try to see her as often as I can.” She wadded the crescent-shaped remains of the cruller into the napkin and threw it away.

  Two young Hispanic men, one holding a portable stereo that throbbed with a heavy beat, hurried by. They both smiled at Sondra and Hildy.

  “You threw away your cruller,” Hildy said, wrapping her lips around the end of her custard bar. When she pulled it away, a bit of custard clung to her lower lip; the tip of her tongue slid out and licked it up.

  “Not hungry anymore."

  “Hey,” a voice called. “I like the way you eat that."

  They turned as a man in a rainslicker approached, his eyes and smile on Hildy. He had frizzy hair that was disappearing on top and very thick eyebrows that tangled with his lashes.

  “You do, huh?” Hildy said with a smirk.

  “Yeah.” He stood before her. “Think I could get you to eat my custard bar like that?"

  “If you're nice enough, I'll eat your whole fuckin’ bakery, friend."

  “Yeah?” His head bobbed up and down. “Yeah, sure, I think I can handle that. Whatta you say we take a little walk and talk about it?"

  Hildy turned to Sondra and held out the custard bar.

  “You want the rest of this?"

  Before Sondra could reply, the man grinned and said, “No, no, bring that along,” his head bobbing like a beachball on the surf.

  “See ya,” Sondra said as Hildy walked away with the man.

  Sondra lit another cigarette and paced on the sidewalk. The wind was icy and her stockinged legs ached with cold. She was twenty-three years old but the lines around her eyes and mouth, though not unflattering, made her look over thirty.

  “Heya, babe,” a slurred voice said.

  A fat, disheveled man, probably in his late fifties, approached her. When he was still several feet away, she could already smell the gin on his breath and on the front of his coat.

  “'Cha doin’ with yerself out here inna cold, huh?"

  “Waitin’ for my limo, thanks.” She walked back to the wall.

  “Aw, c'mon, honey. How much? Twenny bucks? I got twenny bucks."

  “Sorry."

  “C'mon, babe."

  “Walk."

  “You ain't gonna turn away bidness now, are ya?"

  “Go to bed and fuck yourself, friend,” she snapped.

  He staggered toward her, sneering. “Can't handle it all m'self.” He cackled. “Need some help. You wanna gimme a hand?” He stepped forward and reached for her arm.

  “Hey, hey! Back off!"

  He laughed a strained, wheezy laugh. “Whatta you gonna do, sweetie, call a cop?” His laugh turned into a cough and he doubled over a moment, holding his s
tomach. He spat, then stood and took another step toward her. “C'mon, babe, let's have some—"

  “Excuse me."

  The deep, clear voice made Sondra turn. A startlingly tall figure stood at the corner of the building, blanketed in shadow, his hands in the pockets of a long black coat.

  “What do you say you go somewhere else for company, hm?” he said to the drunk, his voice barely raised above a whisper.

  The drunk waved a hand in dismissal. “Aw, fuck off, I was just lookin’ for a little fun's all. Who the hell you think you—"

  “Go. Away."

  The drunk straightened his posture, jutted his jaw. “It's a free country, buddy. I'll do whatever the fuck—"

  The man stepped forward and closed a fist over a clump of the dirty coat and shirt, and lifted him off the ground, backed him against the building. The drunk's feet dangled heavily several inches from the sidewalk.

  “I said go. Now.” The man let go and the drunk fell in a heap onto the sidewalk. He scrambled to his feet and staggered down the walk away from them, mumbling curses into his collar.

  The man turned to Sondra and stepped into the light.

  “Well,” Sondra said, uncertain at first. “Thanks. I guess."

  “No problem."

  Sondra put a hand on her hip and looked up at the man, half smiling.

  “So, is there anything I can do to show my appreciation?” she asked.

  “Maybe,” the man said, nodding slowly. “Why don't you walk with me?” He stepped closer, held out a hand.

  Sondra squinted slightly as she looked him over. Very tall, thin reddish brown hair that fell almost to his shoulders, pale skin.

  “Where to?” she asked.

  “Just a few blocks."

  “You haven't answered my question yet."

  “Well, actually, it's for a friend."

  “A friend, huh? Sorry. He'll have to come see me himself."

  “She doesn't get out."

  “Oh, she? Well, that's interesting. So what is she, a crippled dyke? I don't do amputees, none of that shit."

  “She's in perfect physical condition, I promise you."