Stilettos and Steel

by Jeri Estes

  Between rides in Santa Barbara, we were stranded on the side of the freeway with no food and no transportation. A Highway Patrol officer pulled up, got out of his car and asked, “Who are you?” He screwed up his face. “What are you? And what are you doing here?”

  “We’re going to San Francisco, sir, with flowers in our hair, like everyone else,” Miss Zada replied as she seductively touched the gardenia adorning her long, glossy Cher-like locks.

  Unimpressed, the officer curtly answered, “You’re going to jail with flowers in your hair if you don’t get out of town in fifteen minutes.”

  Miss Zada tried hiking her skirt up, but the gentleman was not amused. So I quickly replied, “We were just visiting Santa Barbara, officer, and we’ll be happy to be leaving.”

  Disgusted, the cop jumped back in his cruiser, and before slamming the door, he shouted, “You all better be off this road when I come back or you’re going to jail! It’s illegal to impersonate the opposite sex, assholes!”

  As the dust from his spinning tires flew into our faces, we stuck our thumbs out in a big show. While waiting for our next ride, we smoked a few joints and got the munchies. In a few minutes, as if sent by angels, a Helms Donut truck pulled up. The nice old bakery man asked us if we needed a lift. We jumped into the back alongside the jelly donuts and headed toward the city by the bay.

  With tears of laughter in her eyes, Bunny said, “Oh, my God, Jesse, I think that’s the funniest story I’ve ever heard.”

  She pulled a gold cigarette case from her purse and removed a filtered Kool. I quickly flipped open my Zippo and gave her a light.

  “Will that be all, girls?” Alabam inquired, approaching our table. “Sorry, young lady, we’re fresh out of cupcakes.”

  “I’ll have a beer,” I said.

  “Hmm…a drink sounds good. I’ll join you with a glass of Chardonnay,” requested Bunny.

  “Sure thing, girls. Be right back,” Alabam said, cheerful as a sunbeam.

  “My story is not as entertaining as yours,” Bunny said modestly.

  She had left home shortly after meeting Jean. The hulking dyke was like no one Bunny had ever met, to say the least. Jean was getting a tattoo on the boardwalk in Atlantic City, and Bunny couldn’t believe a woman was getting inked. She stopped to chat with her about it and the next thing she knew, they were in bed.

  Bunny’s mom was infuriated over Jean. She cut off Bunny’s trust fund allowance. Bunny had a simple choice: hell in New Jersey or freedom and love in California.

  “I’m really sorry,” I said. “Are you okay with your mom now?”

  “We’ve made up. She realizes that she can’t change me. In fact, recently my stepfather has been very generous to me. Go figure,” Bunny said.

  “Why are you hooking now, then? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “I love the power and the cash,” said Bunny with a shrewd grin. “It’s one hell of a business. Hooking is just acting laced with lust.”

  “I’ve never thought of it that way,” I replied. “But you’re absolutely right. Last year I had my own pad at the Camelot Hotel.”

  “Everybody’s stayed at the Camelot,” she exclaimed. “I used to work Turk Street. That’s a rough beat.”

  “No kidding,” I commented. “I’ve made a lot of money on Turk.”

  Bunny took a drag of her cigarette and exhaled slowly. I noticed the small pink lipstick mark on her Kool as she set it in the ashtray. She looked up at me with calculating baby blue eyes. “I admire a butch who’s willing to turn her own tricks. Real butches can’t get a decent job. They’re lucky to make minimum wage in drag.” She pointed at my new shirt. “Jesse, you don’t look like a minimum-wage kind of girl. I have to admit you look very handsome in drag.”

  I felt a slight blush come to my cheeks and heat to my loins. “Thanks.”

  “Here you go girls, enjoy,” Alabam happily said as she placed our drinks down and shuffled off.

  My fingers played down the side of the cold glass, avoiding Bunny’s gaze.

  “Jesse, you know why I broke up with Jean? I wasn’t in love with her anymore. I was also very uncomfortable with how lazy she had become. I’m looking for a new pimp to work with.” She paused to take a sip of her wine. “I have this neighborhood pretty well sewn up, but my plans are to get out of Los Angeles. A john of mine, Rampart Randy is a cop, and he told me Alvarado Street is going to get real hot. Mayor Yorty is hellbent on cleaning up vice before the elections. So last year I bought a house in San Francisco.”

  “It’s very cool to have a cop for a trick,” I said, thinking of Captain Clancy. “That can be more dangerous than hitchhiking.”

  Bunny acknowledged my comment with a sexy smile. “Jesse, I’m moving up north.”

  “Wow! Is Jean okay with that?” I asked, stunned.

  “No, she’s not. I fronted her some money to get on her feet. I own everything, Jesse.” Seeing my surprise, she said, “You’ll find that I’m a little different than most whores. I believe in saving money and looking toward retirement. If Jean hassles me too much, she knows I’ll use force if I have to. Deadly Chang is in love with me.”

  My head shot up. “Oh, my God! He delivers his enemies chopped, in a to-go box with a fortune cookie that reads, YOU’RE NEXT.”

  “Oh, he’s a teddy bear once you get to know him,” Bunny said nonchalantly.

  Visions of decapitated heads at the hands of Deadly Chang’s ninja warriors made me tense up. Like all street people, I was aware of the San Francisco Chinatown mobster. I nervously blurted out, “Cool.”

  “The boys told me that if I ever needed a favor to just ask. I’m sure Randy and Chang would do anything for me.” She gave me a shared look of women’s wisdom. “It’s amazing what they’ll do for a little head. I really don’t think Jean will fuck with me.”

  The way Bunny said “fuck with me” made my skin crawl. A new edge under-pinned that hushed and helpless voice of hers: an edge of pure cold steel.

  “Besides my hookin’ money, which isn’t exactly chump change, my stepfather has contributed quite a bit,” she continued. “The house in San Francisco is a beautiful old Victorian right in the heart of Chinatown. I’ve turned it into a bordello for some of the ladies that I’ve recruited.”

  The more I heard, the more impressed I was. “That sounds like a great investment, Bunny. I miss San Francisco. I used to work North Beach and sometimes Chinatown.”

  “So you know the city well?”

  “Of course,” I answered. “I still have a good book of business in San Francisco. I’ve got a lot of steady johns, all the way from Columbus to Turk. I’ve made a fortune from tricks sent to me by Alex, a Filipino guy who owns a classy men’s hair salon on Powell Street.” I frowned momentarily. “My clients have been neglected lately, but I know I can still work ‘em once I get back to the TL.”

  “Jesse, I want to talk with you about a business proposition. You know, I have plenty of cash. I might be interested in buying your book of business from you while allowing you to retain a percentage of what your johns bring in.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “If you’re open to taking on a new position, you won’t have to turn your own tricks anymore. How would you like to be promoted to management?”

  Her words were like an angel’s voice trumpeting from heaven. I listened very carefully as Bunny went on.

  “Jesse, I like you and I can see in you the makings of a great pimp, if you stay off heroin,” she said pointedly. “All you need is a good femme to back your play. With a little help you could back up that cocky attitude of yours with genuine confidence. Your sexy, arrogant stride and soft, classy good looks packaged right could make you a real femme magnet.”

  I was feeling better and better, but she wasn’t trying to butter me up. She had an agenda.

  “The same game you play walking into the Open Door, acting like the head rooster in the yard, is the same front a whore needs in a good partner. I think you have the loo
ks and class to get johns on a higher level than Jean ever could. The way you carry yourself and your charming softness could help fill my books with wealthy clients. The fact that you‘ve worked the streets yourself is a big plus. You really understand what prostitutes have to go through.”

  I nodded my head in rapid agreement. Yet concern filled Bunny’s eyes.

  “Jesse, look at me and be honest with me. How hooked are you?”

  As she spoke, all I could do was look at her glossy moist lips. Instantly, my mind was racing to tell an acceptable lie to avoid answering.

  “Jesse?” she asked softly, touching the back of my arm as she waited for a reply.

  Instead of telling a story filled with elaborate excuses, I heard myself say, “I’m pathetic.” Discouraged by the past few months, I laid it out on the line. “I’m so broke; I don’t have enough money to support a real habit. I’m just a chippie. But smack has fucked me up. I have a girlfriend back in the TL and I haven’t been able to go back because I just can’t let her see me like this,” I confessed with a quiet sob.

  Bunny opened her purse and pulled out a fresh handkerchief. She reached over and handed it to me. Her soft fingers lifted my chin. She looked me in the eyes, forcing me to hold her gaze. “Jesse, you just need someone to believe in you. Dr. Li and I can help you clean up.”

  Grateful for her offer of help, I said, “I haven’t known what to do. I’ve been hanging out here with Speedy and his damn dog Grady. Well, I guess Grady’s not too bad.”

  She withdrew her hand and sat back in the booth. “Jesse, I can teach you the art of pimping. My instincts tell me you have what it takes to do a man’s job. Trust me, pimping will be your way up and out!”

  I heard the strength in Bunny’s words and stopped crying. The heat of shame that had enveloped me faded as I wiped away the tears.

  “Jesse, we’re street people. We don’t look at prostitution like normal people do. We’ve got an understanding. Johns are just a job. We’re women. We have a special kind of love for each other. Tricks don’t count, because they’re just business. Our body is a commodity, sex is our currency and every day we fight for survival. Honey, it’s time we went into mass production.”

  I was caught up in a wave of excitement. “Salesmanship is in my blood. My father taught me everything he knows,” I replied. Bunny’s confidence reminded me that I had potential. I confidently told her, “We’ll make a hell of a team, Bunny.”

  “Jesse, I believe we will.” She cocked her finger like a gun. “I want you to come with me downtown and I’ll buy you a new wardrobe. You’re gonna need a new front. I want you to return to San Francisco in style.”

  “I’m up for that,” I responded. “Thanks, that’s very generous of you, Bunny.”

  “Today you start ‘Pimp 101.’ The first lesson is: It’s all about the front. Rich rags and flowery rap, backed with a badass attitude. I think you’ll be a natural.”

  “That works,” I said. “Pimping is simply marketing and sales management. I learned from the best. My father could sell ice cream to an Eskimo and charge interest. I’ll teach the girls everything I know and treat them well.”

  She took a long sip of her Chardonnay. Sparkles danced in her eyes.

  “You’ll love the house in Chinatown. It’s an elegant place, with a wonderful Old World charm. The house is perfectly located, close to North Beach and five minutes from the Tenderloin district.”

  North Beach reminded me of the Sunset Strip with its abundance of nightclubs, restaurants and tourists. It was an upscale Little Italy and party section of San Francisco. The neighborhood was flooded with restaurants, coffeehouses and topless clubs. Though it didn’t have the red-light ambiance of the Tenderloin, North Beach had plenty of hookers. They just looked classier than most of the TL girls.

  “I already have many talented ladies in my stable,” Bunny chatted on, “and I know a lot of first-class prostitutes that want to work for me. But I need help in managing them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Most gay women work better for a pimp whom they’re emotionally involved with. I’m a woman who can share my butch sexually, as long as I know she has my best interests at heart.”

  I boldly announced, “I’m a very good lover.”

  Bunny laughed. “We’ll see.”

  I grinned and asked, “When would you like to find out?”

  Bunny ignored my pass and told me, “First things first. You need to stay off of smack and remember to eat. Every day you need to have at least one good meal with protein in it.”

  “That’s an old street rule. Miss Zada used to always say the same thing.”

  I was flattered that this beautiful, talented woman had seen what I had to offer. I made a commitment to myself, right then and there, that I was going to stay off heroin and become the best business partner this woman ever had.

  Bunny slowly took another sip of the golden wine and sweetly said, “Your eyes are beautiful when you cry, but honey, never let anyone see you cry again. To cry is to look weak on the streets. Please keep your tears inside of you, okay?”

  “I promise,” I replied.

  “We’ll head up to San Francisco in a few days,” she said in her familiar freshly fucked voice.

  I reached across the table and shook my new partner’s sweet pretty hand. We were in business.

  Chapter 7

  VENTURA HIGHWAY

  Ventura Highway spun out before us as we zoomed down the fast lane toward San Francisco. The Caddy was packed and topless, showing off its pretty passengers. Bunny and I reveled in the California sunshine that bathed our tanned bodies. My ambitious chauffeur had insisted that I recover on the shores of Malibu before starting my new position.

  We passed through Woodland Hills, where I had grown up. As we drove to the peak of Chalk Hill, I could see my family’s home from the vista. The wind blew strongly, ruffling my newly highlighted hair. Bunny, who collected Barbie dolls, had me dressed like her own personal Ken.

  Taft High School hugged the side of the freeway. I was glad my dark sunglasses and hard drag shielded me in anonymity. I pointed toward a large ranch style home on top of a hill and said, “That’s where I used to live.”

  “It’s lovely, Jesse. Looks like you had a nice view.”

  “Yes, you can see the entire west end of the Valley.

  “Do you keep in touch with any of your old friends?” Bunny asked sweetly.

  “Nah, and I won’t be attending any high school reunions. That’s for sure. This part of my life is over,” I answered resignedly.

  “I understand, Jesse,” Bunny replied as she took my hand. “I actually enjoyed getting dressed for my prom,” she added with a girlish giggle.

  “I didn’t go to mine. I broke my quarterback boyfriend’s heart when I ran away from home.”

  “I’m sure you did.”

  “I thought it was best to split before anyone found out I was gay. Suburban parents can be vicious, you know. My best friend Renee went to bed with a Mexican boy. When her parents found out, they shipped her to Israel to live in a kibbutz. The next morning she found herself picking oranges and being shot at by Arabs.”

  I lit up a cigarette to Bunny’s laughter.

  “When I found out what the medical treatment was for lesbians,” I continued, “I thought Renee got off easy. Middle-class girls like me received the best of care: private mental asylums, shock treatments and lobotomies.”

  Bunny shivered at that notion. “I can’t wait to hit the TL.”

  I took a deep drag and looked at the side mirror. We passed the sprawling Warner’s Horse Ranch.

  “It’s so green and open here, Jesse. I can’t get over how pretty it is.”

  “Yeah, but not for long. I heard that ranch was sold. They’re planning on building a huge mall and hospital here. When I’m old, I can tell people I lived in the Valley when it was nice.”

  As we silently drove through the rolling hills, I had a sudden vision of playing a
rmy in the fields of my youth. The only war I knew back then was the big one, the war we won because we were good and the Nazis and Japs were bad.

  The best thing about World War II as far as I was concerned, was my father’s army shovel. It was just the right size. It had a small V-shaped blade and a short handle, a perfect tool for a ten-year-old tomboy. I would crawl on my belly quietly and quickly, with my shovel strapped over my back and my army canteen hooked on my belt. I loved my canteen. The cap was attached with a small chain to the round silver canister that fit snugly into an army green canvas case. It was so butch, so very cool the way you could open it and take a sip.

  Behind me, my troops would be making progress crawling though the high grass in the field down the block from my house. My “troops” consisted of my younger brother Max and my best friend, Ronnie Hickenbotten. I figured that any soldier who had survived being named Hickenbotten and who had “Okies” for a mom and dad could handle any German.

  The rest of my loyal troops usually included my cousin Suzanne, a five-year-old little girl with unruly, black curly hair. I would see her at the end of the line trailing behind her older skinny sister, Christine (when she was willing to join in the game), with her small helmeted head bobbing up and down just above the tall grass.

  Suzanne was always the straggler and because of this, she would often fall into enemy hands. More than once we had to rescue her.

  After sneaking up on the enemy’s camp, I would whisper to my men, “Get prepared to attack and don’t shoot until you see the whites of their eyes.” I’d adjust my helmet over my ponytail, grip my rifle firmly, rise to my feet already running and yell at the top of my lungs, “CHARGE!” That powerful command would unleash a furious full-fledged assault, and the battle would begin.

  “Rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat.”

  “You’re dead, lie down!”

  “Give up you lousy kraut!”

  “Put your hands up!”

  “Stop crying, you sissy!”

  In the heat of battle, above the noise and clamor of war, I would hear that dreaded sound in the distance coming from my front porch: “Jessica, Max, come on in for dinner!” It was my mother calling us, telling us to stop playing. She would yell at the top of her lungs, joining the chorus of other young mothers whose voices sang out through the warm summer night air.