The Lonely Lady

by Harold Robbins

  Then the flower-laden coffin was carried out to the hearse and borne to the cemetery, where he was laid to rest. Later after the neighbors had all gone home, Mother and I were alone.

  “Let me make you a cup of tea,” I said.

  She nodded. “He hadn’t been feeling well that morning before he went to work,” she said, sipping her tea. “I wanted him to stay home and rest. But he said he had too much to do. His secretary said he was dictating a letter when he suddenly slumped over his desk. She called for help right away. But there was nothing anyone could do.”

  “Try not to think about it now,” I said.

  Her eyes met mine. “Sometimes I think I did not give him enough. He might have wanted a son of his own. But he never said anything. He knew how busy I was with the two of you.”

  “He loved you,” I said. “He was happy.”

  “I hope so,” she said. “I would not like to feel that I cheated him of anything he wanted.”

  “All he ever wanted was you, Mother,” I said.

  We were silent for a long time.

  “You know many things will have to be changed now,” she said finally. “Without Father’s income, we’ll have to cut back.”

  I didn’t speak.

  “I was thinking it might be a good idea if you came back home to live.”

  “What would I do, Mother?” I asked. “There’s no work for me here.”

  “I won’t be able to continue sending you the hundred dollars a week.”

  “I can understand that, Mother. I’ll manage.”

  “How?” she asked directly.

  “I’ll get something soon,” I said. “And I’m almost finished with my new play. Fannon promised me that he would put it on.”

  “What if it fails like the other one?” she asked.

  “Then I’ll try again,” I said.

  She rose from her chair. “I think I’ll go up and lie down,” she said. She started from the room, then turned back. “You know there’s always a room for you here if things don’t work out.”

  “Yes, Mother. Thank you.”

  I watched her slowly climb the stairs to her room. She was still a good-looking woman. Her back was straight and she held her head high. Suddenly I had a feeling of admiration for her. I wished I could be like her. She always seemed to know exactly what she had to do.

  ***

  My apartment was hot and musty. I threw open the windows. Even with the noise of the traffic it was better than the dank dead smell of the closed-up rooms.

  I picked up the mail that had accumulated in the week I’d been away. It was mostly bills.

  Idly I opened the latest copy of Casting News. I went through the casting calls and open auditions. There was really nothing for me. Then an ad caught my eye.

  WANTED! ACTRESSES, MODELS, SHOWGIRLS! WORK IN YOUR SPARE TIME. MEET IMPORTANT PEOPLE.

  If you are between assignments, over twenty-one, not less than 5'5", good figure and conversationalist, and can give us at least four nights out of the week, we have a job that might interest you.

  STARTING SALARY $165 per week, including all Social Security and Unemployment Insurance Benefits plus Costume and Tips. Increases after three months. Based on a forty-hour work week.

  IF INTERESTED APPLY:

  TORCHLIGHT CLUB, EAST 54TH STREET OFF PARK AVENUE, MONDAY THROUGH FRIDAY THIS WEEK BETWEEN 2 PM AND 5 PM.

  *IMPORTANT—NO HUSTLERS! ALL EMPLOYEES WILL REQUIRE N.Y.P.D. AND N.Y.S.A.B. LICENSES AND APPROVALS.

  I reread the ad slowly, thinking that it must be a new club. The only two I knew of were the Playboy and the Gaslight. In my financial condition, a hundred and sixty-five dollars a week sounded good, and they had to be legitimate. They did require police department and state liquor board licenses. The hours seemed right for me too. It would leave me time to write and follow up any other jobs that might turn up.

  I checked my watch. It was almost noon. And it was already Thursday. The ad had been in all week. If I wanted to get a crack at it I had to move quickly. Having made up my mind, I went into the bathroom, dumped a whole bottle of bath salts into the tub and turned on the water. While the tub was running I lined up all my makeup including the false eyelashes on the shelf over the sink. I was determined to look my best.

  ***

  It was a wide gray stone building with black-painted double doors. On either side of the door were heavy brass coach lamps that matched the brass late on the door. The letters etched into the brass read simply, “Torchlight.”

  I tried the door but found it locked. I checked my watch. It was after two o’clock. Then I saw the small buzzer almost concealed under the brass plate.

  When I pressed it the door opened automatically and I stepped inside. There was a smell of new paint and in some of the rooms off the entrance hall I could see workmen hammering and tacking draperies on the walls and over the windows.

  One of the workmen saw me. “Upstairs,” he said, pointing. “The front room.”

  The girl sitting behind the desk looked at me with a bored expression.

  “I came in answer to the ad,” I said.

  Her expression didn’t change. “All the jobs are filled.”

  “The ad said interviews all week.”

  “I can’t help that. We had over four hundred girls here in the first two days.” She reached for a piece of paper. “The place was a madhouse. You can leave your name and number if you like. We’ll get in touch with you if there’s an opening.”

  The telephone on her desk buzzed. “Yes, Mr. DaCosta. Right away, Mr. DaCosta,” she said. After putting down the phone, she looked up at me. “Do you want to leave your name or not?” she asked impatiently.

  I played my hunch. “Tell Mr. DaCosta that JeriLee Randall is here.”

  The expression on her face changed suddenly. “Why didn’t you say so? I’ve heard him mention your name,” she said, picking up the phone again. “Mr. DaCosta, JeriLee Randall is here to see you.” She listened for a moment, then looked at me. “Next floor up, first door on the right.”

  He was standing in the open doorway waiting for me, a smile on his face. “How did you know I was here?”

  “I didn’t,” I said. “But I heard the girl downstairs say the name DaCosta and I took the chance it was you.”

  “I’ve thought of calling you many times,” he said. “But something always came up.”

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  “How’s it been going?”

  “Not good. I came in answer to the ad. But the girl says that all the jobs are filled.”

  His face grew suddenly serious. “Do you have any idea of what the job is?”

  “Only what I saw in the ad.”

  He walked around behind his desk. “It’s a kind of superexpensive Playboy Club with extras—sauna, swimming pool, massage—as well as a cocktail lounge and restaurant. There’ll also be a discotheque in the basement.”

  “Sounds like quite an operation.”

  “It is,” he said. “We have eight hundred people who have already laid down six hundred dollars apiece for membership. We’ve been looking for some very high class girls to act as hostesses. They have to be very special type girls because they will set the tone of the place. Just as the Bunnies do over at Playboy.”

  “How will your hostesses be different?” I asked.

  “First, they won’t have to wear those silly costumes. Each hostess will wear a gown especially designed for the room in which she works. Second, they have to be able to talk, to be friendly without being pushy. They must make the members feel comfortable, almost as if they were in their own home.”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” I said.

  “It is,” he said. He looked at me. “Would you like to see some of the gowns?”

  I nodded.

  He went to a closet in the corner of the room and took out two gowns. One was Grecian, soft and flowing and very decollete. The other was granny dress of flowered chiffon with a square deep-cut peasant neck
line. He held them in front of the window. They were almost transparent. “The girls wear these,” he said. “And nothing else.”

  I was silent.

  “No bras, no panties, nothing but high-heeled shoes.” He put the gowns back in the closet and returned to his desk. “What do you think?”

  “I didn’t think I was applying for a job in the kindergarten,” I said.

  There must have been something in the expression on my face that made him come suddenly toward me. He put his hands on my arms and looked down into my eyes. “What happened?” he asked.

  “My father died,” I said. Then the tears came and I buried my face against his jacket. “And for the first time in my life I’m frightened.”

  Chapter 21

  I looked up at the wall clock. It was after eleven. The ten o’clock changeover should have been completed by now. It was time to begin the check. I stopped and looked in the full-length mirror on the door of my small office.

  The sheer floor-length granny clung smoothly. I was satisfied. The first few days I had felt very self-conscious about wearing it, but I’d since learned that no one seemed to pay any attention, so I’d stopped thinking about it.

  I took the elevator down seven floors to the disco in the basement. It was my job to see that all the stations were covered and make sure that there was always someone to replace the absentees, as well as to arrange work schedules. The club had been Vincent’s idea and it had succeeded even beyond his expectations. Now, six months after the opening, membership applications were backed up for two years. It wasn’t what Vincent really wanted to do but his family had been on his back after allowing him two years to chase film deals that always seemed to evaporate into thin air. And when the Paoluzzi business fell apart his father had drawn the line. Vincent was offered two choices. Either he get into what they considered a proper business or he had to come in with them. Vincent chose the lesser of the two evils. It cost his family more than two million dollars to open the club but they didn’t seem to mind. The money was insignificant. The important thing was that their son was making something of himself.

  The loud music echoed in the partially filled disco. It was still a little early for any action there.

  Dino, the stocky little maitre d’, came over to me. “Everything’s cool,” he said. “Come down later. We’re trying out a new D.J. He’s supposed to be terrific.”

  “I’ll try to make it.” He gave me the checklist of the girls that were working and I went up to the cocktail lounge on the ground floor. Angelo was at the desk in the corner. “It’s good tonight,” he said.

  I collected his list and went up another flight to the restaurant. The dining room was just beginning to thin out. Carmine hurried over to me. “I’ll need a couple of extra girls Saturday night,” he said. “I’m just about making it now.”

  “I’ll take it up with Vincent.”

  “Do it for me, baby. We got to keep up the standards. We can’t afford to fuck up.”

  All the floors above the third were reserved for members only. I decided to look into the health club. There were a few men lolling about in the raised swimming pool and some girls sitting around the edge looking bored. They paid absolutely no attention to the fact that the men were nude.

  Tony came out of his little office. “Quiet,” he said. “There’s nobody in the steam or sauna.”

  The gym and massage parlor floor above was just as empty. Only one of the little booths had the curtain drawn. “It’s dead tonight,” Rocco, the trainer, said. “Nobody’s got a hard-on. They’re all staying home with their wives.”

  I laughed.

  His face was serious. “It’s not funny. The girls are beginning to practice on each other. I caught Joan giving Sandy a massage.”

  “You can’t let that happen,” I said with a straight face. “You’ll have to make some sacrifices and let them practice on you.”

  He stared at me in disbelief. “My wife’ll kill me!”

  I laughed and went upstairs. There was absolutely nothing happening on the sixth floor, which had private rooms for guests who wished to stay the night. Gianni and his two girls were playing gin. I waved and went up to the office.

  I put the checklists in a time box for the bookkeepers, lit a cigarette and went to Vincent’s office. He hadn’t come in yet. That was strange. When I had left his apartment just before eight o’clock he had said he would be in by ten. Since there was nothing else for me to do at the moment, I thought I might go down to the disco and check out the new D.J. A hip D.J. made all the difference. The right music for the right crowd kept the room jumping.

  But I made no move to go. I really wasn’t in the mood. I didn’t feel like talking to anyone. It wasn’t easy having to smile at people all the time, pretending to be interested in what they were saying.

  I ground out my cigarette. What I really wanted to do was get stoned. But I couldn’t do that either. The rules were very strict. No grass, no coke, no drugs on the premises. “We take absolutely no chances,” Vincent said. “Everybody’ll be looking to bust us if we make it. We make sure we don’t give them a handle.”

  But at his apartment it was different. He had everything from grass and angel dust to poppers, which he loved to use while we were balling. But there was never anything on him. I used to wonder sometimes how the stuff got there but I didn’t ask. There were some things I just didn’t talk to him about and that included his family.

  I remembered the only time I had seen his father and his two older brothers. They had come in one night shortly after we opened. There were two other men with them. Vincent took them right up to the office. About a half hour later they came down and Vincent gave them a tour of the club.

  I happened to be at the entrance as they were on their way out. Vincent saw me but made no move to introduce us. His father was a thin gentle-looking little man with iron-gray hair and black, impenetrable eyes. Vincent bent over him and kissed him on each cheek.

  The old man smiled, gently touched Vincent’s face and nodded. “It is good, my son,” he said. “We are proud of you.” Then he turned and left, followed by the others.

  Vincent glanced at me and, without a word, took the elevator up to his office. A few minutes later I followed him.

  There was a bottle of scotch on his desk and he was refilling his glass as I came in. I had never seen him take a drink at work before. “It’s okay,” he said quickly. “It’s okay.”

  But I noticed that his hand was shaking as he carried the glass to his lips. He took a swallow of the drink. “I want to fuck you,” he said.

  There was a strange expression in his eyes. Somehow I knew he was afraid of what my answer would be. “Okay,” I said.

  “Right away.”

  “Shall I lock the door?”

  “Not here. At my place. Change your clothes.”

  Minutes later we were on our way. We didn’t say a word until we walked into his apartment, which was only a few blocks from the club on Sutton Place, overlooking the river.

  He turned on the light and crossed to a built-in bar. “Do you smoke?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  He lit a joint for me and another for himself. It was sweet stuff. Very easy. Usually it took only two tokes for me to get stoned but this time it didn’t seem to be working.

  “Come on,” he said.

  I followed him into the bedroom. He turned toward me, taking off his jacket. “Strip.”

  I put the joint in an ashtray and began to undress. I bent down to unfasten my shoe straps, and when I straightened up he was naked. He stared at me for a moment, then opened a drawer in the night table beside the bed. He brought out a yellow box, a small white vial of powder and a tiny gold spoon. He came toward me with the vial and spoon.

  He took the cap off the vial and spooned out some white powder. Then he held it to his nostril and snorted. Afterward he took a deep breath and repeated the process under his other nostril. His eyes began to lighten. “Bang,” he said, hold
ing out a spoonful of powder to me.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Coke,” he said. “Take it. It won’t hurt you.”

  He held the spoon to my nose. I snorted. The powder made me sneeze. He laughed and held the spoon under the other nostril. I snorted again. This time it only stung a little.

  “How is it?” he asked.

  “I don’t feel anything.”

  “You will,” He laughed. “Takes a few minutes.”

  He was right. Already my nostrils were numbing and there was a dryness in my mouth. Suddenly I was up there. He had been watching me. “Good?”

  “Way out.”

  He put down the vial and pulled me toward him. His mouth was rough and bruising and I could feel his hands gripping hard into my arms. We stumbled and almost fell across the bed. I felt his teeth biting into my breasts, hurting my nipples. I moaned in pain and he raised his head.

  His eyes stared into mine. “I’m crazy about you. Do you know that?” he said, almost angrily.

  I shook my head. My pain seemed like nothing compared with his. His world of pain was far beyond me.

  He reached across to the little yellow box and pulled out an amyl nitrite capsule. Holding it in his hand, he pushed my legs back in a jackknife position against my chest and rose to his knees, poised over me. His entire body seemed like a tense steel spring.

  There was a strange faraway glaze over his eyes. Then, before I had the chance to be frightened, he fell forward across me. I could feel the length of him pushing into me and at the same time he broke the popper.

  My head seemed to explode with the rush of blood and heat to my brain and at the same moment his orgasm began. He raised himself away from me suddenly, digging his arms into the mattress on either side of me. His eyes were closed and his face contorted.

  “No! OH, Christ! No!” he almost screamed, trying to control his spasms. “No, no, no!”

  I pulled him down to me. “Don’t fight it, don’t hold it back. Let it come.”