Tallulah Bankhead Slept Here

by Sam Lollar

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Mimi said, excusing herself to go to the ladies’ room, leaving Scott and me alone at the table. He scooted his chair a bit closer to me and spoke in a low voice.

  “Aaron, I’m so very sorry about tonight.”

  “Think nothing of it,” I responded coolly.

  “Of course I think of it. Don’t be such a shit. You don’t have any reason to be angry.”

  “I know, I know. Miss LuLu explained how I should be flattered that you find me desirable.”

  “Are you?”

  “Am I what?”

  “Are you flattered?”

  “Jeez, Scott. I’m horrified. How can I feel flattered? I’m supposed to like girls. I’m supposed to be fucking my brains out every Saturday night. I’m not supposed to be attractive to men, goddamn it.”

  “You can’t control how others see you, Aaron. No matter what you do or how you act, another person, male or female, is going to find you attractive. Is that such a crime?”

  “Well, don’t I feel better,” Mimi said, returning to the table with even fewer inhibitions than when she left. “I just had the biggest dump of my life.”

  “Mimi, I don’t think we want to hear about it,” Scott admonished her.

  “Oops. That vino is good stuff. It loosens the tongue like it loosens the bowels, I guess.”

  Just then, Ron and Miss LuLu returned to the table.

  “Ron, take control of your wife. She’s getting out of hand.”

  “What’d she do now?” he asked. “Earlier she was a prostitute, now what? I’m beginning to wonder about the girl I married.”

  “Ah, relax, sweetie,” Mimi said. “I was just telling Scott and Aaron about my pleasant bathroom experiences.”

  “And I’m sure they appreciated hearing about it, too, dear, but let’s think about going home now,” Ron said.

  “Yes, dahlings, it is getting a bit past my bedtime, I’m afraid. I really need my beauty sleep, believe me,” Miss LuLu said.

  In short order, we were outside the nightclub, hailing a cab to take us to the bridge.

  Chapter Nine

  The Yellow Sedan de Ville

  “You all go on ahead,” I said. “I’m not quite ready to go home yet.”

  “Aaron? What do you have in mind?” Miss LuLu said.

  “Oh, nothing, really. I just want to clear my head a bit, that’s all.”

  “I really don’t like leaving you alone over here, Aaron,” Scott said. “Are you all right?”

  “No…I’m not sure. I think I am. I don’t know.”

  The cab came and everyone piled in except me. “I’ll see y’all later,” I said as I walked away. I could hear their questions and Scott’s insistent voice that I get in the cab, but they pulled away from the curb, and I was alone in Juarez. I walked a short distance and was immediately accosted by one of the men at a burlesque house.

  “Come in, señor. Come see Betty Boobs. Only one dollar, señor.”

  *

  “Betty Boobs?” Junior and Number Three asked simultaneously. “Are you serious?”

  “Yep. Betty Boobs. Way back in the old days, there were dozens of burlesque houses along the main drag in Juarez. Men would stand on the sidewalks outside them and grab men by the shirt sleeve and entice them into the…uh, theaters, I guess you’d call ’em. It was usually a dollar or two to get in, but then they had a two- or three-drink minimum. Some of the girls were real toads, but some were all right. They even advertised in the El Paso papers, listing the names of some of the more prominent headliners of the strip shows. Not very PC, I suppose, but there you are.”

  *

  I impulsively pulled a dollar out of my pocket and gave it to the man, entering the room. It was little more than a bar with a runway that went the length of the room. As I entered, a woman walked about on it, attempting to dance to the loud music blaring from large speakers. Many men watched, entranced as the woman paraded around. She had on pasties and a G-string and wore high heels and long black evening gloves. I suppose if the men in the room had had several drinks, she would have looked appealing. To me, she just looked like a heifer that needed to be milked. Her enormous boobs hung low. I found a seat uncomfortably near the runway and sat down. Almost immediately, a near nude waitress came up to me and said, “Three-drink minimum, señor. What’ll you have?”

  Calculating in my mind quickly, I realized I only had about five dollars left, so I ordered three beers, leaving me a couple of dollars for a cab to get back to town. She promptly returned with three bottles of warm beer. Beer was one of my least favorite drinks. It either gave me a headache or made me pee, but it was cheap. By then the first dancer had finished her act, and the audience was applauding. Almost immediately, another woman came out. She must have been Betty Boob, because she was dressed in a Betty Boop costume, down to the garter on her leg. Of course, her boobs were enormous, too.

  She didn’t waste any time getting out of her costume, but she left the garter on. By the time she walked over to me, her bosoms were bare, not even pasties, and all she had on were panties. Leaning forward over the side of the runway, she began swaying from side to side, swinging her boobs about. The guy next to me was salivating as he stuffed a dollar bill into her garter. I stared in amazement. Her breasts were like small animals with lives of their own. They bounced about, they twirled in circles, and took turns. One would bounce up while the other went down, and then they would switch. It was mesmerizing.

  I stayed and watched three other girls, none with breasts as large as Betty Boob’s, however. I finally left and decided to walk back to the bridge. I was a bit concerned because it was not a particularly safe place to be at night. Despite the fact that I was a bit loopy from the beers, I crossed the bridge and hailed a cab. I went to pull out the money I had left, when I realized I had no money left. In horror, I spun around trying to see if I had dropped the bills. Nope. I guessed I had been the victim of a pickpocket at the strip joint.

  It was a long walk back home. I was a bit nauseous and somewhat drunk from the two beers I’d had at the strip club. Releasing the cab, I decided to call someone to pick me up. But who? I couldn’t call my roommate because he worked the graveyard shift. All of my friends lived at home, and I didn’t want to awaken their parents. In desperation, I pulled my last dime out of my pocket and called the motel, intending to speak with Scott.

  To my surprise, Bob answered the phone. “Rancho Sonora.”

  “Hi, Bob. It’s me, Aaron.”

  “Aaron. Where are you? Scott said you wouldn’t leave Juarez when they did. What’s going on? Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. But someone stole my money, and I’m at the bridge, unable to pay for a cab ride. I was hoping I could get someone to pick me up. Why are you answering the phones, anyway?”

  “Oh, you know we’re still looking for a night clerk. I was up anyway, so I decided to come into the office for a while. Where are you? I’ll come get you.”

  “Bob, I feel bad having you come for me.”

  “Well, it’s either me or Scott. And I’m sure you don’t want him to pick you up.”

  “You’re right, I suppose. I’ll wait outside for you.”

  “I’m in a yellow ’67 Sedan De Ville. Scott bought it this afternoon, and the previous owner’s just brought it by tonight.”

  “Wow. A Cadillac. I’ll watch for it.”

  About a half hour later, Bob showed up in the yellow Cadillac. When I got into the passenger seat, Bob turned to me. “What’s going on with you and Scott? Did he make a pass at you?”

  I gulped at the frankness of his question, and responded somewhat vaguely. “Yeah, I guess he did.”

  “I figured he’d do something like that sooner or later. Didn’t I warn you about him?”

  “Yes, you did. I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

  “Sure, kid. I’m wondering, though…”

  “Wondering what?”

  “Oh, maybe it’s late and my brai
n is fried from trying to balance the books tonight, but…”

  “Come on, Bob. I’m too pooped to try to figure out what you’re saying.”

  “Okay, do you want to do anything with Scott?”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, accept his advances, for one.”

  I remained quiet for a moment as Bob piloted the big car through the silent early morning streets of the city. We drove by the downtown plaza, and Bob finally spoke. “This is a long shot, kid, so don’t get pissed, but you look like someone who would enjoy Scott’s companionship, if you know what I mean.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Bob. What does that mean?”

  “Well, you know…”

  “No, I don’t know. Are you saying I look queer?”

  “No, not that exactly. I’m more surprised you didn’t take him up on his advances than I am that you are so angry about it. That’s all. You know what Shakespeare said: methinks he doth protest too much.”

  We entered the parking lot of the motel when he finally asked the question that was obviously burning in his mind. “Aaron, have you ever had a woman?”

  “No, Bob. But that doesn’t make me queer, does it?”

  “I didn’t say it did. Would you like to go to one of the whorehouses in Juarez? Some of the girls there are really nice and some are quite pretty.”

  “Is this personal experience talking, Bob?”

  “Yes. Yes, it is. I go there from time to time. Helen isn’t quite as interested in sex as I am. I’m telling you this in confidence, Aaron. It would hurt her very much to know this.”

  It was my turn to be quiet for a bit. “Thanks for being so honest with me, Bob. Maybe I would like to go to a whorehouse. When could we do it?”

  “Whenever you say, sport. Tonight. Tomorrow night. Whenever.”

  “How much do they charge?”

  “It depends. Usually about ten bucks for a half hour. Sometimes less. Sometimes more. It depends on what you want to do.”

  “What do you do?”

  “Oh, Aaron. That’s getting a bit too personal, I’m afraid. But for a straight missionary fuck, plan on ten dollars, my treat.”

  Bob locked the car as we exited. I staggered my way to the Falcon to drive home, when Bob stopped me. “Aaron, you’re drunk. I don’t think you should be driving.”

  “I’m not drunk, Bob.”

  “How much did you have to drink, then?”

  “Two beers.”

  “And when you were with Scott and the others?”

  “Oh, come on. I had a couple glasses of wine, Bob.”

  “That means a lot of drinks, Aaron. For someone who’s not used to drinking, that can make you drunk.”

  “Well, I’ve got to go home, drunk or not.”

  “Let’s go, I’ll drive you home.”

  “Jeez, Bob. How will I get to work tomorrow? I can’t just leave my car here.”

  “Just get in the Cadillac, Aaron. We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”

  I got back into the Cadillac as Bob started it up again. “Where do you live, Aaron?”

  “Oh, not far from here, really. On New York Avenue, near the university.”

  “Right. I know where that street is. Do you live there alone?”

  “No, I have a roommate.”

  We were quiet for the rest of the drive until Bob dropped me off at my home. “Call me tomorrow, kid. I’ll come pick you up.”

  “Okay. And thanks, Bob.”

  “Sure thing. See you tomorrow.”

  Although I didn’t think I was drunk, the next morning I did have a bit of a headache, reminiscent of the margarita experience. About ten, I called the Rancho, and, as expected, Bob answered.

  “Hi, Bob, this is Aaron.”

  “Hey. Hi sport. How d’you feel today?”

  “Fine, really. What time do you want to pick me up?”

  “Oh, I’ll be there about three or so.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you then.”

  At three o’clock, Bob appeared, again driving the yellow Sedan De Ville. “Wow. This really is a pretty car,” I said as I got inside. “I didn’t get a good look at it last night.”

  “Yeah, it’s nice all right. Scott has a knack for finding really nice cars. He got this off a young couple who apparently couldn’t keep up with the payments. Military types, I think. They always seem to buy fancy cars and then have to unload them when they can’t make the payments. What say we stop for a bite to eat before going back?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. I just ate a little while ago, so I’m not really hungry.”

  “Well, I’m starved. You can watch me eat.”

  We pulled into a little Mexican restaurant on Mesa Street and went in to eat. We finished about forty minutes later, and found the Cadillac was missing.

  “Someone stole the car,” I said as Bob looked around the lot.

  “Yeah, it looks like it, kid. Guess I’d better call Scott and let him know.”

  We went back into the restaurant, and Bob called the motel. After a few minutes, he returned, shaking his head. “Typical. Just typical of something Scott would do,” he said as he saw me.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He didn’t pay for the car. He just took it and told them to expect a check to be delivered this morning. When the check wasn’t delivered, the owners decided Scott had stolen the car, and they went looking for it. Apparently they found it. They just spoke with Scott and are threatening to have him arrested. I have no idea how he’ll get out of this one, but I’m sure he will. He seems to have a special ability to do really dumb things like this and come out smelling like a rose.”

  “Do you think that’s what happened with that pink Mustang he bought from that guy in New Mexico?”

  “Probably. I never saw it, so I’m not sure. He’s bought about six or eight cars since he and Dollie took over the motel last year.”

  “You know, I’m curious. Where did they come from? I really can’t figure them out. If Scott is telling me the truth, which I doubt at this point, he and his mom are really rich and live off his trust fund. They left Chicago because of her arthritis?”

  “Who knows what part of Scott’s stories are true? Dollie paid cash for the motel, I do know that. And it was a bit over two million. I think it was her money, though, not his. I think they came here to get away from some situation going on in Chicago. At first, I figured Scott had gotten some girl pregnant, but since he’s apparently homosexual, that couldn’t be the problem. I did hear a rumor about some legal problem Scott had. Maybe it involved stealing cars there. I just don’t know.”

  “Maybe I know what the problem was.”

  “What? Do you think he attacked someone like he did you?”

  “Hmm, maybe. What did they do, before coming here?”

  “Well, Dollie had a motel, actually. She’s no dummy. She is quite familiar with motel operations. I think she had two properties in Evanston. Why? What do you think happened?”

  “Oh, I’d rather not say. Let’s just say I’m not surprised they had a motel. I bet I know what Scott did,” I said under my breath.

  Moments later, Scott arrived in the black Lincoln, and Bob and I piled in. “Christ, Scott, what did you do?” Bob asked.

  “Now, Bob, you don’t know the whole story.”

  “I know that couple took their Cadillac back. Are they going to charge you with stealing their car? Did they call the cops?”

  “No, I talked with them. Marvin called them and got everything straightened out.”

  “Who’s Marvin?” I asked from the backseat.

  “Dollie’s lawyer,” Bob said. “If Marvin’s involved, it sounds like it must be serious.”

  “You know these low-life street trash kinds of people, Bob. Marvin will pay them off with a few hundred dollars and we’ll never hear from them again.”

  “God, Scott. You’re really pushing things. Aren’t you concerned that the next time Marvin or Dollie won’t be able to save your ass? You’d better be caref
ul.”

  “Lighten up, Bob. Nothing’s going to happen. Hey, Aaron. I’m glad to see you survived Juarez last night. Man, we were really worried about you. Miss LuLu had us circle the block to get you to come with us, but you were gone by the time we got back to the Mammouth. Where’d you go?”

  “I went to one of those burlesque houses.”

  “Oh my God,” Scott said in mock horror. “What did you see?”

  “Betty Boob and some other women.”

  “Was it fun?”

  “It was interesting, I’ll say that much.”

  “Just interesting?” Bob said.

  “Oh, nuts. Here we go again,” I said with exasperation. “Aaron’s sex life is now officially off-limits. I’ll not talk about it any more with you perverts.” I tried to sound flippant, but I was really getting uncomfortable with them trying to sort out my sexuality, a process I was just beginning to address myself.

  “Big titties?” Scott ignored my statement.

  “Yes, Scott. Huge titties. Some as big as watermelons. So big that one girl had to use canes to keep from falling over.”

  “Yeah?” Bob asked.

  “Would you stop it. They were big girls, okay? Big knockers. Huge boobs, whatever you want. If you’re so curious, why don’t you go there yourself?”

  “Is that an invitation?” Scott asked.

  “Not from me. You and Bob can go anytime you want, just leave me out of it.”

  “Well, Scott, when do you want to go see these watermelons?” Bob said, clearly in jest.

  “Um, how about tonight?”

  “Yeah? What say, Aaron? Want to join us tonight? We’ll return to the scene of the crime and see the world’s biggest hooters.” Bob turned in his seat to wink at me. I wasn’t sure of his message. “How about it, sport? Is tonight the night?” he asked in a softer voice, and I immediately knew what he meant.

  “Okay, Bob. Sure, tonight’s the night,” I said, feeling resigned to the inevitable.

  “What do you mean, tonight’s the night?” Scott asked.

  “Nothing, Scott, nothing at all. Aaron and I are going to the burlesque house tonight. You want to go with us?”