by Mary Monroe
After everyone agreed to the arrangement, they scribbled phone numbers down where they could be reached. Before Baltimore sent the men away, he advised them to stay sober and wait for his call. The pieces were in place, and now all that Baltimore needed was the right card game to hit. Waiting and wondering, that was always the hardest part.
Uncle Chunk waddled into the back room as the men passed by his office. The stern leer he saddled on Baltimore conveyed what he didn’t have to say with words. The older man was serious about keeping his establishment out of the headlines and off the district attorney’s radar. Henry turned his eyes away and pretended to read the newspaper, but Baltimore acknowledged his concerns.
“Ain’t none of this gonna come back on you Unca. You have my word on that. Those men are helping me to set up a floating cathouse is all. Just that all them opened legs we’re positioning is bound to ruffle some feathers.” Baltimore knew right off, the crafty bar owner didn’t believe him for a minute, but the scheme had only moments before been hatched. That early in the game, even the thinnest lie was better than the whole truth.
Henry, feeling out of sorts, decided to plug in the black rotary telephone, with hopes of making Baltimore’s lie seem more plausible. As soon as he plugged the long cord in the wall jack, the phone started ringing and didn’t stop until very close to midnight. Business was booming. Baltimore gave Franchetta the job of recruiting five new girls and managing the back end of the operation because the demand necessitated new stock to keep up with the growing clientele. Pudge’s brother hired on as a secondary driver to shuttle the women between the “white only” hotels, while giving them a minute to freshen up at a black boardinghouse nearby.
Money was coming so fast that Baltimore doubled the companionship rate to ten dollars. Oddly enough, the phone calls didn’t tail off a single bit. Bellmen made money on both ends, from Baltimore and the customers alike. Some of the working girls cleared one hundred dollars that first night, when, typically, it would have taken a month to knock down that amount. Henry couldn’t believe how many white businessmen were practically standing in line to try out what others were talking about over breakfast the following morning. On the other hand, Baltimore knew that the novelty would wear off at about the same time those businessmen’s wives expected them to catch the homebound train. The more things changed, he thought, the more they stayed the same.
Around about one in the morning, when Baltimore couldn’t see taking any more requests for late-night company, he unplugged the cord to the illegal phone line and stretched his legs. “Franchetta, I’m getting too old for this line of work,” he joked, as if he was the one actually putting in the work. He peered over at her when she didn’t respond. At first glance, the longing in her eyes was a giveaway. Baltimore suspected what played on her mind. “Alright, alright. I know that look,” he said, chuckling warmly. “I need to talk at Henry, and then we can slide by Club De Ville or the Blue Room. Now, I can’t close it down tonight. Someone has to see to it that the money makes it all the way home by morning.”
Baltimore had his stable of hostesses give their drivers two dollars after being sneaked up the side entrance to deal personally with customers’ most intimate needs; then he would collect the money at the end of the night from them and issue kickbacks to the bellhops on the following morning. And, because he and Franchetta set up each appointment and dispatched the talent personally, there was no way for the taxi drivers or the girls to circumvent the process. He’d be the wiser immediately. It was nice and easy, just the way Baltimore thought it up, and Franchetta was glad she’d successfully persuaded him to engineer it, along with the help of friends who didn’t mind joining in to make it hop.
Although Baltimore’s outsourcing cathouse idea was rolling along without a hitch, stepping away from the grind was a pleasant detour. Club De Ville was a ritzy nightclub, where those who considered themselves hip went to spend the spare change they did have. The doll of a hatcheck girl smiled at Baltimore as he handed her a woman’s fur coat and a whole dollar to make sure she’d guard it vigilantly. That didn’t slide by Franchetta’s eye, but she wasn’t at all concerned, because that young lady was simply admiring what she’d brought to the party.
“Over there, Baltimore,” Franchetta cooed in his ear, while pointing toward an open booth near the bandstand. “I’m going to powder my nose,” she told him before sauntering off in the other direction. Baltimore attempted to hand her a few dollar bills for incidentals, but she smiled and declined, thinking there was nothing in the restroom she’d want to blow money on. There was something refreshing about hitting a nightclub with a date and a sense of normalcy. Franchetta’s smile glimmered as she washed up in the porcelain washbasin. “A girl could get used to this,” she heard herself say aloud. “If only for a little while.”
As soon as she exited the ladies’ restroom, a slick-dressed stranger pulled at her arm. “Hey there, gorgeous,” he said, easing up closely beside her. “I seen you come in. Why on’t you take me up on a discussion about me and you getting lost in each other at my place?”
“Huh, since you saw me come in, you had to see me come in with him,” Franchetta said politely as she stared lovingly at Baltimore, who was watching the band prepare for another set.
The snazzy stranger ogled Baltimore peculiarly, as if he didn’t necessarily approve of Franchetta’s taste in men. “Can’t say I know his face. What’s his name?”
Franchetta batted her eyes and grinned brightly. “Who? That tall, skinny papa on my hook? I calls him Daddy.”
The fellow was persistent. He pulled her even closer so he could whisper in her ear. “Don’t tell me that sly cat is your man?”
“He’s my man when I’m wit’ him,” she answered quickly, wrestling her arm away from his grasp. “That’s more than enough for me.” That’ll teach him to rough handle a lady, she thought. Especially one who’s already nuzzled up on a date for the night.
Franchetta celebrated an evening on the town until she’d had her fill of joking around the dance floor, with Baltimore hot on her heels, as if he’d never had his way with her before. The sensual way he held her close to him, all the belly rubbing and carnal grinding, drew the attention of several other couples sharing the same music, time, and space.
A woman sitting next to the dance floor pouted continuously at her husband. “How come you don’t move me like that anymore, Harry!” she spat. “Wait until I get you home. You’ve got your work cut out, mister. Go get my hat and coat.”
Baltimore escorted Franchetta back to the table, and they collapsed, perspiring and pleased to let their hair down. The night went perfectly until another couple, seated a few tables over, began arguing loudly. “I don’t give a good goddamn what you think you saw,” shouted the tough-looking man with gold caps covering his two front teeth.
“You trying to tell me, I didn’t see you slip that bitch three dollars for a pack of fifty-cent cigarettes when you ain’t brought groceries home in weeks?” the woman fired back. Most of the onlookers tried to ignore common alcohol-induced lovers’ quarrels, but that one caught Baltimore’s attention when he recognized the woman’s face from Abel’s Diner. It was Macy, whose husband had a handful of her skin clinched in his fist, underneath the table.
Without thinking, Baltimore moved to slide out of the booth, but Franchetta had been watching the couple squabble as well. “Uh-uh, Baltimore. Please don’t,” she begged, stifling his interference. “We’re having too good a time for you to get tangled in that man’s affairs. Besides, his business don’t have nothing to do with you.” When Franchetta sensed that Baltimore’s indecision teetered, she practically climbed on his lap to discourage him from causing a scene and ruining the first night out she’d had with a noncustomer in over a year. “Don’t be a dope behind a girl who won’t use the good sense God gave a dog to walk away after somebody’s kicked her in the head the first time.” Franchetta’s summation was correct. Baltimore had seen enough of mean-spirited men wh
o acted out against women. He decided on the spot that Macy’s husband needed a rudimentary course in anger management, even if it killed him.
CHAPTER 8
THINGS PEOPLE DO
When three a.m. rolled around, Baltimore had seen enough of the flashy women and loud music for one night, so he made his way out front and hailed a cab. An orange Continental taxi pulled up to the curb. It quickly whisked him and Franchetta off to the north end of town. Franchetta, very intoxicated, snuggled up next to Baltimore in the spacious backseat, like a woman who was utterly in love and couldn’t get enough of it. However, the man she couldn’t seem to get enough of was seeing red, blood red. He was counting the seconds until he’d render Macy’s husband sorry for handling her that way, especially in public. Baltimore would find a way to meet up with him and pull on his coattail for a discussion, man-to-man.
In the meanwhile, he had Franchetta on his arm and a bunch of money that needed to change hands. When they reached the pale yellow-colored house, Baltimore helped his date up the stairs. Franchetta laughed riotously when she came dangerously close to falling off the cement porch.
Daisy opened the door after hearing a commotion out front. “What happened to her?” she asked, wearing a childlike smile across her lips.
“Too much whiskey and beer,” Baltimore replied, struggling to hold Franchetta up.
“Looks like she fell in the bottle, but good,” Daisy concluded as Baltimore ushered Franchetta into the bedroom and closed the door behind them.
“Uh-huh, we’re out there peeling white boys’ peckers, and Frannie’s tripping the light fantastic,” Melvina snarled, objecting wearily from the divan. “Ain’t that a bunch of nothing?” she added, having not too long ago made it in herself.
“What’s that?” asked Chick, returning from upstairs in her flannel housecoat and slippers. “Who done peed down your leg now?” she teased, plopping on the divan, next to Melvina. Chick lifted her legs and anchored her tiny feet in Melvina’s lap. Instinctively, Melvina began massaging them.
“Nobody, child,” Melvina answered. “Frannie done went out and had herself a grand old time with Baltimore, and I would be up bitching about it, but I’m just too tired to care.”
“Tired ain’t even the name for it,” Chick sighed, laying her head back against the divan. “I’ve had the damndest time trying to figure out what one of those white fellas wanted from the next.”
“Isn’t that something?” Daisy contended. “Two of the mens tonight just wanted to look at me. Nothing else.”
“Look at what?” Melvina hollered in a comical manner.
“I on’t rightly know,” Daisy said and chuckled. “We started kissing and fooling around. Then I gets naked, and they just stood there looking, like it was their first time doing that sorta thing.”
“Ahhh-ha,” Melvina laughed, still working the tension out of Chick’s barking dogs. “I wish I could get my fee while a man was wasting his time gawking. I had three fellas in a row who all just rather squeeze and suck on my teets. Then, of course, I opened my legs and let ’em touch on it, too, expecting ’em to pull their peckers and go to work. But, they sat there, spilling their sacks while holding the little pink things in their hands. What a mess it was,” she said, curling her lips like she could have done without all that. “Although, it made for cleaning myself a jiff.” Encountering white customers wasn’t such an infrequent occurrence, but those men were in the habit of cruising for dark-skinned entertainment and were a lot more comfortable in their midst. Some of the white men Baltimore had booked were well-to-do executives and captains of industry, as opposed to nine-to-five working stiffs looking for a diversion from their normal deviant trysts. But as far as the girls were concerned, it was all pretty much business as usual. Well, almost.
“What about you, Chick?” Daisy asked, watching Melvina rub away at her heels.
“Huh?” answered Chick, semisedated. “Oh, tonight was different, alright. The men paid up front, and there wasn’t no haggling on the price, either. I guess because I’m small, white boys wasn’t so flabbergasted after seeing me with my clothes off. Although my last customer, he was an odd one. Offered me an extra twenty if I’s to slick my toes down with grease and then ram them up his lily-white behind.”
Daisy, who had been drifting off, tried to imagine such a spectacle. “So, what’d he say when you told him to go jump in a lake?”
“Nothing,” Chick muttered, half asleep during one heck of a massage. “I took the money, slapped some grease on my ones and twos, and mashed my foot so far up his tail that my ankle damn near got stuck.”
When Melvina realized what that meant, she flung Chick’s feet from her lap and hollered frantically. “You nasty heffa! Got me rubbing your hooves what’s been shoved up in some man’s filthy crack. I’m gonna go and soak my hands in a tub of bleach. You’d do the same if you knew what was good for you.”
Daisy’s eyes flew open wildly. She hoisted her leg up and peered at her size 10 foot, hoping she’d have an occasion to run into a customer with the same fetish. “You gotta admit, that’s one for the books!” she wailed. “The white man paid Chick good money to put her foot up his ass. I know plenty of colored men who’d gladly stomp a big hole in it for free.”
“Oomph, he might like having it done at that,” Chick mused. “Y’all should have seen him, just a squealing like a pig and yanking on his privates, like nothing I ever seen. I took the money from off the dresser, got my clothes, and left him laying there, balled up like a baby, slobbering on his thumb.”
Baltimore walked away from Franchetta’s room, tired and hungry. “Hi, y’all. What’s all the noise about?” he asked, buttoning his dress shirt to cover his bare chest underneath it.
“Nothing you’d want to know about,” Melvina jested. “It’s just that Chick got her foot stuck in the mud.”
“Oh, good,” Baltimore answered, scratching the top of his head. “I thought maybe one of your customers asked for something kinky, like a full-foot screw.” He didn’t see Daisy about to bust a gut holding in her laughter behind him, but he did notice Melvina’s face lighting up with surprise. “Well, then, I’ll take the cab drivers’ and the bellhops’ tips now so’s I don’t have to bother with waking y’all when the sun comes up.” After accepting the money and thanking the girls for their business acumen and efforts, Baltimore made himself a turkey sandwich. When he returned from the kitchen, with the sandwich on a saucer, Chick was the only one stirring downstairs.
“So, it looks like you and me tonight,” she suggested shamefully, after playing impossible to get the night before.
“I’da thought you’d be all spent after taking in three more pricks than the other girls tonight,” Baltimore assumed.
“Nah, I was saving my best for last,” Chick replied seductively, without as much as a hint of shame to speak of. She tossed Baltimore a come-hither stare, and then she playfully pushed him down on the divan.
“As I recollect, you passed on the party in Franchetta’s room last night.”
“Well, I don’t share their fondness for peanut butter,” Chick informed him, raising her housecoat to straddle him. “Besides, I like to ride alone. That way nobody gets bent out of shape if’n I’m not in the mood to let up off the pedal.” She unzipped his pants and manipulated the situation to suit her. “Oh yeah, that’s the way I want to go, Daddy,” she groaned tenderly. “Now, mash on the gas.”
Baltimore continued mashing on the gas until Chick coasted off to sleep on top of him, broken down and bewildered. Henry came in afterwards, angry and out of sorts, as Baltimore eased Chick aside. He laid her down gingerly before pulling up his pants. “What? You want me to wake her and see if she can stand some more attention?”
“Uh-uh, I’ll pass,” Henry declined. “I followed behind you once before and made a fool of myself. Chick looks plum tuckered out, anyway, and ain’t likely to be able to stand up until around noon.”
“Fine by me,” Baltimore said casually. He
sunk his teeth into the sandwich he’d made before Chick prolonged the late-night snack. “Where’ve you been, anyway?”
“Working on a little something I met over at Unca Chunk’s when you and Franchetta ditched me,” Henry barked halfheartedly. “We shared on everything, from canned meat to big-chested, brown-eyed triplets, but we need to talk about being stacked up in this house. Let’s get to town and find a spot to stretch out.”
Considering Henry’s pleas, Baltimore nodded assuredly and tore the sandwich down the middle. He handed his best friend an equal share to devour. “Okay,” he said evenly, “we’ll move out in the morning.”
Morning came soon enough. The fellows were both packed up and gone when Franchetta awoke to find Chick in dreamland on the divan, bundled up comfortably beneath the thick, multicolored quilt Baltimore had found in the downstairs storage closet. Stumbling into the kitchen, Franchetta stretched and yawned before discovering a note scribbled on a piece of wax paper. Faye, me and Henry are going to stay in town for the rest of the week, she read. Signed, B. Franchetta stood there, staring at her middle name, written in block lettering. She predicted that Baltimore was up to something he’d be sorry for later and was merely getting at the apologizing part early. Franchetta also suspected that whatever he had on his mind to do wrong, she’d be there to forgive him afterwards. She was convinced he’d do the same for her. He had already proven that too many times before to see it any other way.
After two hours of catching up to bellboys and prostitutes to make the scratch come out right, Henry was tired of watching Baltimore play facilitator for what amounted to fifty dollars worth of compensation to be split between the two of them. “That’s enough Baltimo’. Let’s knock off and go have something to eat,” Henry suggested, while massaging his empty stomach.