by Jane Archer
"Yes, you're a hot-tempered one all right. That's the way I like you ladies. Don't worry, I've got money. Just been in port a few hours. You make it worth my while, and I'll spend it all on you," he said, his hands roving over her body until they reached her full breasts, then quickly darted under her shawl for better contact.
"Oh," he moaned, "you're a beauty, a real beauty."
As Alexandra struggled to free herself, he held her close, one hand at the small of her back, while the other kneaded her breasts, trying to get to her bare flesh.
"Let me go!" Alexandra cried sharply, hardly able to believe the man was pawing her in the streets.
"Oh, you like to play games, do you? Suits me. Now, where's your place?"
"I don't have a place, you—you slime!"
"No? With your looks, I'd have thought you'd have your own room. Well, for you I'm not adverse to a carpet. Where is it? You want to put it down right here, or you got an alley somewhere staked out?"
"No!" Alexandra cried, savagely jerking away from his embrace. She began running down the street. Her long gown hampered her so she pulled it up around her knees as she ran on, bumping into people, being caught by lecherous hands ready to feel any woman, until finally she fell over a drunk sprawled across the street. Picking herself up, hardly noticing her raw, scraped hands in her desperation, she ran on, her breath coming in ragged, burning gasps.
She could still hear pursuing footsteps behind her, and she knew the lusty sailor must surely be following her, or another equally horrible man. How could she get out of this labyrinth of terror? The street was seemingly endless, and men and women in various stages of dress lined the block, and the barrel-houses and dance-houses on either side. She had never seen such a place before or even dreamed it existed, and she was beginning to know the stark terror of fear.
Suddenly several large hands clamped down on her from all around, stopping her in mid-stride. She shrieked, horrified, and lost her balance, falling into what seemed to be a huge group of sailors, laughing and grinning down at her.
Ogling their prize as they hurried her along with them, the lusty sailors pawed her trembling body as she tried to knock their hands away. They slipped Alexandra in between buildings into a back alley, then shoved her to the ground. She shrank back from them, not knowing how to escape.
"You can't get away, my pretty, as if you really wanted to. Since you seemed to need some subduing, I called for my mates. They'll be glad to share you. Didn't I tell you she was a looker?" the sailor asked the others and they quickly agreed, coming closer.
"Please, please, you don't understand. I'm lost.
I don't belong here," Alexandra cried out desperately.
"Didn't I tell you she liked to play games? You like a little fight? Is that right, honey?"
"No! No! Stay away from me. I'll scream."
The sailors all laughed as they advanced on her. Then one said, "Won't do you no good, girlie. There's plenty of screams go on in Gallatin Street all the time. No one will care, and there's no police here. They don't dare come into Gallatin Street."
There were three of them, she saw. Big, brawny sailors who could tear her to pieces if they had a mind to, but a hot, fierce fury was growing in her and she was determined that they never touch her. As the first sailor knelt over her, she slapped him hard across the face, crying, "Leave me be, you animal!"
He growled, rubbing his jaw, then leaned toward her again, but he stopped suddenly as a hard, feminine voice rang out in the dark alley.
"Now, you boys don't have to go forcing the ladies of Gallatin Street. I've got a place with soft beds and soft, willing women. Come on, sailors, don't waste your time with this one. Come with me.
Alexandra hardly breathed, anxiously awaiting the sailors' reaction. Would they leave her to go with this woman? All three men had turned to look at the curvaceous body silhouetted in the soft glow of the street lamps. There was a moment as the men hesitated, trying to make up their minds.
"Now, come on, boys, I ain't got all night, neither have my girls. Gallatin Street's busy tonight so you'd better find your spot early."
This seemed to decide the men for after glancing at Alexandra once more, they quickly followed the woman back onto Gallatin Street, the last one giving Alexandra a final pinch before throwing her a few coins and laughing as he left her alone on the dirty, littered ground of the alley.
Alexandra huddled there for what seemed a long time, trying to collect her thoughts, her courage. She had come so close to being raped that she still felt weak. How could a place like this exist? Would she have been better off having stayed in New York City? This could never have happened to her there. But yet she had been raped there, in her own home. She thought longingly of Jake for a moment. He would never hurt her. But no, she wouldn't think of him. He was gone from her life forever. What she had to do now was get out of this place called Gallatin Street and to a church somewhere without being raped or molested.
She felt the coins that had been thrown into her lap, then laughed harshly. Well, she had been paid, paid because they had thought her a streetwalker. Nevertheless, she was no longer without funds!
Silently she vowed that she would not succumb to the terror and weakness that threatened to overcome her. She had been pursued by men ever since she had left New York City, but she would take care of herself. She was a Clarke and she Would do whatever was necessary to survive. Her green eyes turned hard as she clutched the coins in her hand and stood up. She would learn the rules of this cruel world and play the games that had been thrust upon her.
Reaching down for her brightly colored shawl, she understood that it, the low-cut gown, and the smell of whisky that clung to her branded her as a streetwalker. All right, then, she thought, if that is what she appeared to be, she would play her part, but only up to a certain point. She would do whatever was necessary to get out of this dreadful place called Gallatin Street. And throwing the bright shawl over her shoulders, flinging her riotuous curls back from her face, Alexandra stepped out boldly onto Gallatin Street, determined to survive.
There was a horde of streetwalkers, sneak thieves, garroters who openly carried their deadly strangling cords, and footpads with sling shots looped about their wrists who swooped down on the country men, sailors, and steamboat men seeking women and diversion in Gallatin Street. Alexandra walked among them all, calling back to the men who propositioned her in a friendly, easy way, but always saying no—regretfully. She was popular, a radiant beauty among the street's throng, and she began to feel her power as a woman again.
Her plan was working well, for she was accepted as a streetwalker, and she was even beginning to grow accustomed to the noise, the pinching, groping, and jibes that she received everywhere. And since she was taken for one of the street's own, she was not molested or hurt. As she made her way down the street, hoping to soon find her way out, a man grabbed her, jerking her in off the street and into his dance-house.
She blinked blindly into the light after the half darkness of the street as he whispered urgently to her, "Business is brisk tonight, baby. You're lucky. We can use a good looker like you in there. You know the rules—ten percent of the drinks and all the tips you get, and I'll bet you get plenty. If you do well tonight, I just might take you on permanent." He leered at her with small, beady eyes, his sour breath warm on her face.
"I—I—"
"Don't thank me. Business is good, and we can use a looker like you—give the place class. But remember, you got to pay for the room upstairs in advance. All the bawds do. I'll take it now. You'll have a man later I've no doubt." And with those words he grabbed the money from her hand and shoved her into the room.
Alexandra started back toward the door, anxious to get out of the place, but as she did, a greasy, dirty man grabbed her around the waist and began hauling her across the room. She was not given a chance to say no, or to escape, for the man was strong and held tightly to his prize.
As he hurried her across the
room, she had a chance to look around. It was her first glimpse of the inside of a dance-house. There was a long bar running the length of the front room and behind it, on high stools, sat the bouncers. There were four or five of the giant rough fellows armed with clubs, sling shots, knives and brass knuckles on both hands. Alexandra had never seen such a sight before and gawked in astonishment as her partner pulled her by the bar and toward the back room. One of the huge bouncers nodded at her, his eyes raking her body in evaluation and obvious approval. She looked quickly away, afraid that the great brute might take an interest in her.
The back room, she soon discovered, was the dance-hall where music of a sort was being made on a tinny piano, a fiddle and a dented trombone. The dance-house women wore knee-length calico dresses, slippers which were badly scuffed and rundown at the heel; their hair was worn long and loose. They were dancing, if the rowdy movements they performed could be called dancing, with scowling, black-bearded, red-shirted men who presented such a motley throng that she could imagine them as part of a pirate crew in Lafitte's day.
There was a sort of grim determination set on their faces that she found interesting. She wondered if these people ever laughed, ever really enjoyed themselves. The women might have been pretty at one time, she thought, but now they were dirty and rough looking. The men seemed quite satisfied though; perhaps it was all they expected.
"Here, honey," said the man who had brought Alexandra into the dance-hall. "This'll make you dance like a dream. What's your name?"
"Alexandra," she muttered under her breath, hoping he hadn't heard and wishing she'd given another name.
"Lannie. Nice name. Here now, down your drink. You know the rules."
He put the drink in Alexandra's hand, then tilted her arm toward her face. She wasn't going to resist or struggle. That would only get her hurt. She would play their game the best she could, then escape. She put the offensive smelling drink to her lips, wondering how clean the glass was. He nodded encouragingly, his slightly glazed eyes watching her closely, then threw his head back as he downed his glass in one swallow. She tried to do the same, but as the fiery liquid slid down her throat she choked, coughing in misery and confusion.
He was soon slapping her on the back, saying, "It wasn't that bad, honey. Same as any other liquor in these dives."
Finally, when she managed to catch her breath, feeling as if her throat and stomach had been burned, she gasped, "You like it?"
He almost smiled, saying, "Like it? Never thought about it. Who drinks it for taste?"
Alexandra nodded in dumb disbelief as she felt the raw alcohol spread through her veins, leaving her flushed and relaxed.
Alexandra had no way of knowing that her floor length gown, bright shawl, and gleaming hair was causing a sensation in the dance-hall, and it was not the men who were most concerned—they enjoyed the sight. The strumpets had a strict dress code and any girl not adhering to it was asking for trouble from the others. Without realizing it, Alexandra had broken the code and it was only a matter of time before the girls decided to take action against the newcomer.
As the man started to pull Alexandra out onto the dance floor, one of the roughest, toughest-looking girls working for the dance-house walked up to Alexandra. She stopped in front of her, hands on hips, feet wide spread, and Alexandra's partner seemed to fade away. He had seen this kind of trouble before and he knew better than to get involved. Anyway, these street girls knew how to take care of themselves.
After looking Alexandra up and down, the woman said, in a deep, loud voice, "I'm Wanda. You new here, honey?"
Alexandra looked around uncertainly as the other dancers stopped and formed a circle around them. "Yes. I'm—Lannie."
"Lannie, is it? Well, Lannie, how come you think you can get away with wearing clothes like that?" Wanda asked, snorting derisively.
"It's all I have," Alexandra said, sensing that the woman wanted trouble. Yet, she felt no fear and wondered if it was the unaccustomed liquor in her body, or just a belated reaction to all the recent violence.
"Ha! Don't give me that trash, bawd. You don't need this pretty shawl," Wanda cried, tearing it from around Alexandra's shoulders to throw it high in the air. It landed midst the crowd and there was an immediate scramble, then it was ripped apart and thrown back to Alexandra. She looked at the tattered remains on the floor beside her, then back at the woman. She said nothing, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.
Wanda was grinning, a harsh twist of her mouth, "See, honey, you didn't need that. You don't need that fine long dress either."
And she reached out, ripping Alexandra's gown at the shoulder. Suddenly Alexandra had stood all she could. Her anger finally boiled over. She shoved the woman back from her. Wanda growled •and glared at Alexandra like a wildcat after its prey. They paced each other warily. Alexandra was too angry to feel any fear. The crowd surged around them, calling out to the women. Sides were taken. Bets were placed. Some called out for Lannie, as they thought of Alexandra, but most of them called out for Wanda for she was a well-known fighter on Gallatin Street.
Wanda was a tall, large-boned woman with long, heavy straight blond hair, sharp blue eyes, and large red lips. Her Germanic heritage showed in her buxom breasts and ample hips, and she reminded Alexandra of a Valkyrie as the woman lowered her head and charged.
Alexandra stood still a moment, hesitating as Wanda plunged toward her, the large strong hands outstretched, then Alexandra ducked back just as the woman reached her. Wanda turned around, frowning as she found Alexandra again, closer now. She jerked out, clasping Alexandra's small wrists, and pulled hard. Alexandra fought against the woman, struggling back from the massive breasts, but her strength was not nearly as great as hers.
Alexandra was suddenly snapped against the strong chest and squeezed until the breath left her. Anger swept through Alexandra as she gasped for air and in her fury, she kicked out savagely at Wanda's shins, causing the woman to scream in pain as she let go. Immediately, Alexandra flew against the woman, scratching, clawing at the fair skin. Wanda fought back, grabbing Alexandra's hair and jerking it fiercely. Alexandra moaned with pain and began pulling at Wanda's own long hair.
They struggled, straining against each other, until Alexandra grabbed Wanda's bodice, pulling until the fabric gave way, exposing one huge breast. Growling in rage, Wanda let Alexandra go and reached up to rip Alexandra's gown clear to the waist—both breasts glistening naked in the light, their taut rosy peaks an invitation. The men groaned, straining closer to see more of the exposed women.
Then, facing each other once more, the two opponents threw themselves bodily against each other, fury overriding any other emotion in their attempt to be victorious. They went down, falling heavily to the dirty, littered floor, struggling in each other's grasp, rolling over and over against the feet of the watching crowd. As they fought on the floor, pulling each other's hair, scratching, biting, tearing at their clothing, neither could seem to gain supremacy. It was obvious to the crowd that neither had any intention of giving up.
But just as Wanda drew back her arm, her fist clenched, to give Alexandra a stunning blow, it was grabbed by one of the bouncers. She turned on him and hit him in the stomach instead, then turned back to Alexandra, who took the opportunity to land a well placed fist in Wanda's eye. She screamed and began clawing at Alexandra. But the bouncer summoned help. Now, two brawny men got between the struggling women much to the dismay of the crowd. The crowd knew better than to oppose the huge bouncers, and grumbling, went back to their dancing.
Alexandra felt her anger cooling as one bouncer held her tightly, dragging her up the stairs to the second floor of the establishment. She began to look wide-eyed at the small rooms where the harlots did their private entertaining during the day. She tried to struggle against the iron-like grip of the bouncer, but he simply tightened his hold until she could hardly move.
Suddenly they all stopped before one of the rooms. The door was opened and Alexandra and Wan
da were pushed inside. One bouncer looked Alexandra up and down and she clutched the tattered remains of her gown over her breasts, determined to fight him off if he approached her. But instead he said to Wanda, "Give her a dress. Hers is ruined."
"What!" Wanda exclaimed. "Do you think I'm made of dresses?"
"Shut up, slut," he snapped. "Give her a dress. The boss wants her back down on the floor. He's got a special interest in her. He thinks she's classy. Get her the dress, then come on back down. You know it's a busy night." He glared at them in warning, then slammed the door shut, enclosing the two women in the room.
Alexandra could hear the bouncers' heavy footsteps retreating as she and Wanda eyed each other warily. She did not know what to expect next.
Finally Wanda spoke. "Well, honey, you may be new, but you're not a bad fighter. With a little more experience, who knows?"
Alexandra felt a surge of relief that she would not have to fight again.
"We'd better get you dressed," Wanda went on. "I've got a gown that'll about fit you." She pulled two rumpled dresses from a drawer, then threw one at Alexandra before shucking her torn dress and methodically putting the other one over her naked, dirty body.
"Is there a place to wash?" Alexandra asked hopefully.
Wanda laughed harshly. "Hell, honey, nobody washes here. Forget that. Won't make no difference later anyway. You'll just have a man up here, and they never notice."
"Well, I really don't think—"
"Sure dancing's hard work, but you paid for a room, didn't you?"
"Well, yes—" Alexandra began, slipping off her torn dress then hurriedly putting on the other.
"Then you'd better get your money's worth. Pick out a rich looking man. And if you need any help later getting his money, just call on me. I know how to handle a man who doesn't want to be parted with his money."
"I can well imagine."
"Come on, we'd better go down. The boss wants us out there."
Alexandra tried to push up the bodice of the low cut gown for it barely covered her nipples, but nothing could be done about that or the short length. She would just have to endure the evening.