by Eliza Lloyd
“Do we have enough money?” she asked.
Danny smiled for the first time. “We do now, thanks to your gentleman friend.”
The rickety door creaked open to reveal a dark, dank room. Two windows at the front were boarded over and the floor was covered with sawdust and large spots of damp dirt.
“One whole shilling?”
“You watch. We clean the place up a bit and that thieving bastard who rented it to us’ll be wanting more,” Frank said, stepping inside and staring up at the roof. “Least the roof ain’t leaking.”
“Yet. Looks pretty worn to me.” Imo strolled into the dark, running her fingers across the slated boards as she made her way around the room. Her vision adapted to the darkness and she saw the outline of a second door in the back and a single wooden shelf in the corner.
“The walls are tight. They’ll keep out the worst of the wind and rain. Varmints’ll get in, though,” Danny said.
“We won’t keep food here. It shouldn’t matter,” she said.
“Is this ours?” Charlie asked.
“Nearly. We only have to say yes and Tubbs will let us have it.”
“It’s too dark. Imo doesn’t like the dark.”
She brushed the top of his head. “Don’t worry. We’ll have candles. And you and Frank and Danny will be here to watch out for me.”
He’d been wearing a frown since they entered the place. Imo suspected he imagined only bad things happening to her. Yeah, bad things did happen to whores, but she had faith in Danny. And Frank wasn’t someone she’d ever want to seriously upset. Yes, she was safe.
“We need a blanket or something to block the view. Don’t want everyone watching what I’m doing.”
“We’ll find something. String it up along there. And a candle,” Danny said. From his expression, she could tell he counted the coins he’d have to spend.
“And a bucket for water.”
Imo walked to the corner where she imagined she’d complete the sex acts that would bring in the precious coins. And then she imagined this very same scene repeated night after night for as long as she could see into her future.
She stopped her thoughts. Thinking about a lifetime in this dingy room wasn’t part of her dreams.
“I ain’t doing it on Sunday. I want Sunday to be for us. Just like it always was.”
“Nothing’s going to change. You won’t be doing anything more than what you do now. Only now it will be inside and more often.”
Imo faced Danny. Frank and Charlie examined the back door, peeking their heads into the shadowed spaced behind the building.
“You may not admit it, but this does change things,” she said.
“Yer not a whore yet.”
“No, just doing what whores do.”
“It’s speck, but we’ll either do it without regrets or we don’t do it at all. I’m not gonna have you whining and complaining about your lot in life. We can go on just like we are.”
“What am I going to do? The three of you can take care of yourselves. The moment I don’t have you, every jack within walking distance is going to think he can use me. No shopkeeper’s son is going to get down on bended knee and propose to a homeless nobody with nothing in her pockets. I want this on my terms. And you can kiss my arse if you think I’m not going to regret doing what half the women in the rookeries have to do to survive. But I won’t whine about the money.
“And one of these days, if this works, I’m going to march right up to you with my hand open and demand you buy me a dress. That’s all I want.”
“And a ribbon,” Charlie said. He wasn’t ever going to let her forget.
“Yes, and a damn ribbon.”
Chapter Four
The candle cast an eerie light in the small cubby area where Imo stood waiting for the first man. She flattened her palms against her legs and pressed down, trying to wipe away the sweat. How many would there be? How long would it take?
Danny had stayed with her. Frank and Charlie went looking for sailors and tradesmen and horny adolescents who might willingly part with a couple of pence. She heard Danny’s familiar voice and knew that he talked with men who would momentarily walk behind the screen and demand she service them.
Forty-seven. She’d had her hands wrapped around forty-seven cocks. Three of them were the same man who’d come back at different times. He supervised two warehouses for a wealthy gent from York. So forty-five different cocks. Another four, another six, another ten tonight would make no difference.
Every sound seemed magnified. Clicking metal resounded as coins passed from the buyer’s hand to the seller’s. The creak of the door as it opened to admit another man ready to be pleasured. Danny’s voice hushed and secretive as he confirmed, “Yes, she’s a pretty girl. And clean.”
Did either of those things really matter if, in the end, the white seed spilled and the urgent release was satisfied?
“No, she ain’t spreading her legs for nobody tonight.”
“What if I pay more?”
“Then find yourself a brothel. Here? You get what you pay for. Nothing else.”
Imo feared the building would add a sense of significance to the act. A seriousness that implied a professional rather than an immature girl who’d never been kissed or had her tits fondled or lay down in front of a man. A girl who’d never been naked.
When it happened, and Imo knew the day would eventually arrive, she wanted to be prepared. She wanted to be experienced enough not to fear and innocent enough to demand the price of her freedom.
In the darkened room, waiting for the first man of the night, she didn’t know what the price would be, but the charge would be high enough to buy a set of wings and a flight to a permanent haven in the sunniest part of England. Wherever that was. Or to Paris, the home of beautiful women and fine gentlemen.
“Imo!”
She glanced up at the ceiling and hoped Charlie’s angels were looking down on her.
The curtain swept back. The broad face and leering smile were much as she’d seen on the street. His hands already worked at his trousers.
“Stand there,” she said.
“Can I touch your tits too?”
Danny’s voice sounded near. “It’s extra and you can’t afford the cost.” Danny forgot the part about her being unwilling to have them touched.
“How much?”
“Do you want your turn or not?” he demanded at the same moment he threw back the sheeting. “There’s other men waiting.”
When he nodded, his hands reached inside the slit in his trousers and pulled out his cock. Imo’s response was automatic. She didn’t look at their faces, only down at her hands—the sight of the protruding flesh as important as the feel when the time came to finish.
Close enough to smell the fried fish and potatoes of his supper, she cupped the hanging balls. Her thumb and index finger circled the tip and then slid downward in a strong, smooth motion. His hips jerked in response and a groan ripped up his throat. He’d be less than a minute. He hadn’t had a woman in a while.
She pulled two long, slow strokes outward. The odd, raspy draws of breath combined with the firm and elongated flesh were the first indication of completion. The familiar hardening in her palm suggested the business was at an end. She squeezed, then thumbed the tip with a flourish, stepping back.
His hips jerked once and again before he leaned toward her and then stood upright as he tucked the fading member in his pants and headed around the curtain without a word. Imo had seen him around. She didn’t know his name and now she didn’t care to ever know.
The palpable relief almost caused a smile. Now that the first one was over, the act would be a job, a routine, a way to make money. Somehow this night was meant to be a turning point. It wasn’t. It was more of the same. She was idiotic to believe it would be any different.
A man argued with Danny outside the curtain. “I want to go last.”
“You’ll go when I tell you to go.”
“
I want to watch first.”
“Watching costs extra. Now, all of you turn around,” Danny barked.
She heard the shuffle of feet and a few odd grumbles, but in no time a man came around the curtain and the act was repeated.
Six times in all. Twelve pence.
When the door closed behind the last man, she was glad to see him go. Her hands, her shoulders ached from standing in the slightly awkward position and the continual push-pull movement of the fleshy man parts.
The water bucket stood waiting. None of them had thought to clean themselves and her hands reeked of musky man scent and urine and unwashed, filthy bodies. She dipped her hand in, cupped a palm full of water and briskly scrubbed. Soap would have been nice, but she hadn’t seen a sliver of a bar in over two years.
Nasty smells had always disgusted her. It was part of the reason she wanted a new life out of London. Stories about country estates and seaside cottages seemed like fairytales to her, but every once in a while, she’d catch a faint, clean draft of air after the rain, or on the first spring day when it seemed like all the flowers bloomed at the same moment. Those teasing bits of purity made her long for something better.
Her hand sluiced the water again and she attempted another cleaning ritual, hoping the smell would go away. Growing immune, ignoring the stench would be best. This was what she could expect for the rest of her life. And worse.
It was hard only because she remembered being clean. Smelling the scent of soap and remembering her mam and that they were loved once.
She supposed for the right amount of money, she could force her will and subject her body to the foulness of her profession.
“Imo, look at this,” Danny said. He spread his palm wide. Coppers and more coppers.
“Twelve?” Imo questioned, thinking she had added correctly.
“Fifteen.”
Her tongue clucked against the roof of her mouth. “I hate adding.”
“We got extra. Frank! Stand on the other side of the curtain. Now.”
Imo laughed. “What’s he doing?”
“That’s what we got to see while you were jerking them off. A whole show! Like a real live opera, ’ceptin’ they were watching you with your hands wrapped around the cock of the guy in front of them. The ones who paid couldn’t keep their eyes off.”
“You charged more?”
“Shit, yes.” In the dark, his eyes had taken on a greedy glow. “Imo, if you do that for them every night, we’ll have you in a nicer place in no time at all, with all the customers you can handle.”
“You mean you want me to do something behind the screen? Amuse them?”
“They are going to pay for a woman behind the screen. A woman that can reveal womanly parts, get them more excited, so they pay more. You follow?”
Frank slapped back the curtain. “Can I stop now?”
“Tell her, Frank. Tell her what those men looked like while they watched.”
“Their tongues were on the floor. Craziest thing I ever saw. Most of them were already pulling on their wankers before they stepped around the curtain.”
“Go back behind the curtain, Imogene, and take off the binding thing you have wrapped around you.”
“Knife it! I’m not showing my titties. I won’t.”
“It’s just us. I want to see what they look like. And it ain’t like I don’t see them at home.”
“They ain’t Molly Smith’s tits, that’s for sure,” Frank added, not that that made her want to obey their lewd request.
“Then what?”
“Just stand there. Hell, I don’t know. Move around. Dance. Bend over. Whatever you women do to entice men.”
“This is stupid.”
“You’ll think it’s stupid when we go down the Honey Lane Market and pick out two ribbons for you.”
“Two? Really?”
“We don’t have all night.”
She tugged her shirt from the baggy trousers and reached underneath. She worked at the knots she kept in the front and after a few tugs, the bindings gave way. “Now what?”
She turned, then looked up at the ceiling.
Danny’s somber face appeared. “Imo, do as I tell you now, no arguing. A body can’t see nothing with that baggy rag you’re wearing. Take off your shirt. I just want to see what they’ll see. I’m not looking at you! Only your shadow. Do it now. Quick.”
He disappeared again. They had seen her a hundred times. Frank was the only one horny enough to leer. Still, in a dark, old building, alone with the candle, knowing what they saw would change the way they viewed her. It felt wrong, like they were really sinning.
She slipped the three buttons and lowered the shirt over her shoulders.
“Oh shit,” she heard Frank say.
Fiery embarrassment flooded up her body. She stuck straight out, with little points hard as a rock. They were big and ugly and floppy.
Danny cleared his throat. “Bend forward, slow-like.”
Then she heard Frank swear, “Saints above. We’re gonna be rich.”
Imo jerked upright and yanked at her shirt, buttoning quickly, ready to smack Frank in the face. “That’s it. I’m not doing anything else. If you think I’m going to be in a room with a bunch of horny bastards and take off my shirt, yer sorely mistaken.”
She hustled from behind the curtain, still jamming her shirt inside her trousers. Face-to-face with Frank, she said, “Don’t ever say nothing about me.” She balled up her fist and aimed perfectly, catching him right in the eye.
“You little bitch. Danny, I’m going to hit her. Not an angel in heaven would hold it against me.” His fingers gingerly touched the wounded eye.
“Don’t hit her,” Charlie said in a low whisper from the corner where he sat. His knees were drawn up and his cheek rested against the bony pillow.
Danny had gotten all serious. “Grab the bucket and candle.”
“What about the curtain?”
“It should slip right off. Charlie’s about to fall asleep in the corner. We need to get home.”
Imo had a hundred questions, but it came down to one. “What did you see?”
“Frank’s right. I think we could be rich.” He nodded toward the door, their signal the he was impatient and they were holding him up.
On the way to Old Fish Street, the boys were quiet. Imo went inside with Charlie while the boys spoke in subdued tones on the stairs. Charlie crawled to the shakedown bed and curled up. Rather than lay down beside him, she tiptoed to the door and eased it open. Their talk was about tonight and about her. She wanted to hear what they said and decide for herself if she liked their conclusions.
“Shit, Danny, I want a whore.”
“Whores cost money.”
“What about Molly? I know you’re sweet on her and all, but would she?”
“Frank, stay away from Molly. She ain’t for you and I’d be awful sore if you tried to use her. ’Sides, you’ll want your own girl someday.”
They were fighting over Molly? Molly Smith?
“Is it wrong to want something so bad?”
“Not wrong, but very, very uncomfortable.” They both laughed in kinship about something she would never understand. Men were a mystery to her. Why they needed women, why they wanted to be touched, why fucking was so all-fired important that they sometimes took instead of waiting to receive.
“Frank, we have to protect Imogene. She’s too pretty for her own good and someday some toad is going to try and take advantage. Imo doesn’t need to know about the things men really want from her. Not yet.”
“We can’t watch her every minute of every day.”
“I know, but we’ll do what we can. And if this works out, next month, I promise you’ll get your whore.”
“’Bout damn time. Every boy I know’s already shagged ten women.”
“They have not. Don’t you know they’re a bunch of liars?”
When she thought too deeply about what she was doing, her stomach knotted uncomfortably. A good li
e-down sometimes helped restore her hope. A fairy godmother riding up in a fancy coach would do in a pinch.
The road to whoredom was well trod and Imogene Farrell seemed destined to travel down that path along with countless others.
She eased away from the door. A good lie-down was all she’d get since the fairy godmother only delivered wishes to those fancy houses up in Mayfair.
* * * * *
Sinister as it had seemed the first night, the small ramshackle building was more welcoming the second night. She knew what was expected and how to perform.
However, Danny hadn’t given in about showing the other things. He’d used the argument that it wouldn’t hurt her and any extra money would be like sugar cream frosting that Mrs. Bunton sometimes poured over her apple tarts.
Taking off her shirt with ten men in the room didn’t seem like such a good idea. She’d convinced Danny to allow only five until she got used to the idea.
What if they saw she was naked, and Danny and Frank couldn’t stop one from taking more?
Not all the men who frequented their dark little room wanted her to touch them—some just wanted to watch. Really, it wouldn’t take any extra effort on her part to prance around without her shirt. If they got a particular thrill out of seeing her pointed titties, why not make money from the show?
The first night was awkward, but it provided a perfect opportunity to remind Danny she needed a dress. Nakedness was odd enough in a cramped room with just her family. Exposure like this, out in the open, with a candle casting her shadow across the thin sheet while five men waited on the other side seemed almost funny. Imo worried she was close to hysteria and lowered her hands to her knees while she bent over and breathed deeply.
The men weren’t just waiting. They drooled, lusted and fantasized. They were different tonight. Lewd and coarse words were hollered back and forth between the men.
“I’d like to fuck that little girl with all of you watching.”
“You don’t have a shilling to scratch with.”
“Heard she’s ’ticular about who she lets between her legs.”