Stilettos and Steel

by Jeri Estes

  “Cop tricks may not be the best training wheels,” I said with a raised eyebrow.

  “I put her uptown, in City Hall. Phillip is a gentleman and I personally trained him.”

  “Phillip the D.A.?” I said, trying to hide my jealousy.

  “Money talks, Jesse.”

  Lighting up a smoke, I took in the news. I thought about Carmen being a whore. After years on the streets, I had adopted the lesbian gangster codes and values. Carmen’s turning tricks wouldn’t influence our relationship, because hookin’ was just a way of life in the Tenderloin.

  “That worries me, Phyllis. We both know how dangerous it is.”

  “You know Carmen, Jesse. She’s very determined and competitive.”

  “Yeah, you got that right,” I said in resignation, understanding that johns don’t count. Sex is just business. I knew that my girl would never kiss a trick; that would be intimate.

  “If she’s gonna work, it might as well be with you. I know you’ll do your best to keep her safe,” Phyllis said.

  “Thanks. I will. Whatever she decides, it’s cool with me,” I said sincerely. “All I know is I love her and I miss her.”

  Phyllis took a deep drag of her cigarette as she started to stand up, this time waiting long enough for me. I pulled her chair back and held her coat as she slipped into it.

  I spoke softly over the shoulder of her sexy, slick coat. “Tell Carmen the cash is a gift. She can buy herself a pretty dress. Make sure you tell your sister I’m off heroin and I’m waiting for her. I’m staying at the Queen’s Arms, apartment 212.”

  “Don’t worry, Jesse, I’ll clean this up for you.” Phyllis turned and hugged me, pressing her breasts against mine just a little too tight and a little too long. “By the way, you look good in a pimp suit.”

  As Phyllis strutted toward the door, she paused and seductively looked back, holding my gaze for a second and said, “Respect.”

  “Respect, Phyllis. Respect to you and your family.”

  Phyllis walked out the door of Compton’s back into the cold windy night that had carried her in. As I watched her disappear down the foggy street, I realized I had just crossed a line. I knew that this night had been a major crossroad in my life.

  Chapter 14

  RESPECT

  Civilians flooded the sidewalk like ants carrying briefcases and purses packed with the rewards of their daily toil. Overhead, seagulls and pigeons watched the rush-hour pedestrians in hopes of crumbs left behind. Walking through the masses of respectability like a boyish shadow, I made my way undetected to my tailor.

  A large blue awning hung above the display windows featuring male manikins dressed in Italian and British suits. Protecting this exclusive world of fine fabrics and imported leather was an ornate door with a small distinguished sign on it. A crest consisting of a top hat crossed by two long-stemmed red roses appeared above small gold letters which announced, “Est. 1948.” Arched above the crest was the name: Pasquel’s Men’s Shop.

  I entered the small, elegant clothing boutique. Ornate mahogany display tables presented neatly folded cashmere sweaters. Rows of polished Italian men’s dress shoes and sporty brown and black jackets lined the wall, filling the air with the pleasant scent of new leather. Hollow eyes of well-dressed manikins stared down at thick stacks of fine dress shirts and ties. At the back of the shop, dressing rooms with long gray curtains lined the tailor’s work area. An undressed manikin with a measuring tape hanging over its shoulder stood beside a large full-length mirror with a small wooden platform in front of it, ready for the next tailoring job.

  Not being greeted by Pasquel or hearing the customary pipes of Dean Martin crooning, I wondered if I had missed everyone. Had Junior not shown up? Loud and out of place, the Beatles’ “We Can Work It Out,” bounced around the empty store.

  Abruptly, I was startled by a strange male voice with a British accent screeching, “It’s a bird! It’s a bird!” Suddenly, the dangling gray dressing room curtain burst to life.

  Jumping back, I instinctively grabbed my gun from its shoulder holster. The thick British accent bellowed from behind the curtain like the great Oz, “Good God, ol’ chap, you’re a fucking bird!”

  Tumbling through the curtains, Austin, the lanky store clerk, fell backward to the floor. Junior fell after him, tripping onto his chest, pinning the Brit to the floor. Scrambling to get up, they grabbed the curtains and tore them from their hooks.

  Junior’s Ace bandage, wrapped around her chest, loosened. A lone tit popped out. The young man’s pale English complexion turned stone white as he saw Junior’s big breast hanging above him.

  Looking like she was doing the Mexican hat dance, Junior stumbled over him, trying to regain her balance. In the process her unbuttoned trousers fell to her ankles. As the Brit frantically sat up, he came face to face with Junior’s huge dildo loosely dangling before him in her red silk boxers. He shrieked madly, “Ahhh! Good God!”

  Mortified, Junior quickly used one arm to cover her tit and the other hand to cover her dong.

  Austin moved his mouth back and forth like a feeding goldfish. “I’m sorry, ma’am, so terribly sorry,” he said in a discombobulated state.

  “Step away from the Brit!” I yelled out to Junior like a pig on a raid.

  Junior, surprised at my presence, turned beet red and said, “He called me a fucking bird!”

  “Junior man, it’s cool. Bird means ‘woman’ where he comes from. He didn’t mean any disrespect.”

  Looking confused but calmer, Junior replied, “Okay, boss.” She regained her composure and re-entered the fitting room to get dressed.

  The young man rose to his feet staring at my .38. I calmly put it back in my holster and asked the dude, “You must be Austin? I’m Jesse. I’m pleased to meet you.”

  I shook his trembling hand.

  “Oh my God, you’re Jesse the pimp!” he said, relieved. “Pasquel told me about you. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’m so very sorry for this misunderstanding. I had no idea...”

  “Don’t worry about it, man. We’ll keep this to ourselves.” I helped him regain his feet. “Next time Junior comes in here, hook her up a full wardrobe. She’s my new personal assistant. By the way, did you get her measurements?”

  He professionally replied, “Yes, I did, and that’s how I unfortunately disturbed the young lady’s breast. I assumed she was a young man who had injured himself in a sporting accident. You can imagine my surprise when I found my hand firmly around her boob!”

  I fought back a bubbling spurt of laughter as I pulled out my money clip and handed him three Benjamins and a Jackson. I set him at ease with a warm smile and asked, “What part of England are you from?”

  “I’m from Matlock,” said Austin proudly as he began to tidy up the area.

  Junior stepped out of the dressing room in a spiffy pair of black trousers, an expensive burgundy silk shirt and new black leather wingtips.

  “You did well,” I commented. “Very stylish, Junior.”

  “Thanks,” Junior replied, abashed. She was in no mood for small talk.

  With a stiff bow Austin handed Junior a Pasquel’s Men’s Shop bag stuffed with her old clothes.

  As we left the store I told him, “Put the three hundred down on Junior’s wardrobe and keep the twenty for your troubles.”

  That cheered him up considerably. “Thank you so very much. Good evening…ladies!” he cried.

  I stepped back into the world of respectability with Junior by my side. As we headed down Market Street, I said to my brooding companion, “Don’t worry about it, man. It’s kind of funny when you think about it. At least now your tailor knows your measurements.”

  Junior shot me a weary look.

  “One thing, though,” I said with a chuckle, “The pigs will beat your ass worse for packing a dick than packing a piece. I better give you more bribe money.”

  Junior gave a faint smile as I continued.

  “Know what, Junior? I
have a theory. I think our asses were born with too much testosterone.”

  Junior looked at me with curiosity. “I never thought about that, boss.”

  “The first boy I ever beat up got his ass whipped because he asked me to be the wife when we were playing house in the backyard. I didn’t want to be a dumb woman who did all the housework and didn’t get paid shit. I wanted to be like the guys who got to do everything and have all the fun.”

  “Yeah man,” she chimed in, “back home I hated dressing like a girl, especially when I had to wear a frilly first communion dress.”

  “Damn, Junior, you had to wear that thing too? My aunt and mom would always try to stick me in a dress with lacey socks and patent leather shoes.”

  “How awful!” We both laughed loudly, startling a pair of prim and proper suburban matrons as they passed.

  We made our way to the Turk Street night scene. I viewed the familiar bustle of street walkers, drag queens, hippies and other regulars. A stream of daring taxis and slow-moving cars lit the street as a cool wind blew on us.

  “Dykes!” An angry voice assaulted my senses from behind us. Junior and I realized that we were the object of the verbal attack. We turned our attention to a white guy who stuck his blond head out of the car’s driver-side window.

  A deep purple El Dorado stopped beside us. Sitting shotgun, a pale Asian girl with long straight hair turned her gaze on us. She was the hooker Prince and Giuseppe had worked over in the alley. Their captive’s right eye was filled with blood.

  I offered the girl a smile, glad to see that she had survived. Her hollow stare and expressionless face ignored my silent gesture.

  The handsome young driver jumped out of the car. He rushed around the front of the Caddy and came toward me and Junior. He sneered scornfully at us and spat, “Fucking lezzies.”

  Realizing this was an attempt at insulting us, I replied, “Thanks!”

  I now recognized the dude. Blondie the Swede was well built, quick of wit and impressive-looking, like a Hollywood movie star. The image was blown the moment he spoke with his thick South Central L.A. accent.

  Momentarily slapped to silence by my reply, he continued, “Listen up, dyke ho, Prince wants a word with-cha.”

  The darkened backseat window slowly went down. Behind the sinking glass was a black man with a large Afro. Contemptuous eyes studied us from head to foot. He sneered, disgusted and amused, and his pockmarked horse face broke into a sinister smile. He exposed one gold tooth surrounded by large yellowed ones. He pointed his bony finger at me. The curly manicured nail reminded me of a hawk’s talon as it extended from his purple velvet sleeve. A heavy gold-and-diamond bracelet hung from his wrist.

  “I’m the Prince of the bitches,” he hissed. “I want a word with you.”

  The rear door flew open. Out of the back seat unfolded a six-foot-five pissed-off pimp. Prince pulled his leather jacket aside. The butt of a silver-plated .45 caught my attention as the bastard put his huge hand on the piece.

  Glancing at Junior, I saw she had problems of her own. Blondie held his bulging arm around her waist, like she was his girlfriend.

  Junior stood stark still as a stiletto was pressed against her side. Blondie grinned and said to Junior, “Where’s your briefcase, bitch?”

  Prince bent down and got in my face. I could smell his foul booze breath as he raged. “Pussy pimp!” he growled. “Think you’re somebody, motherfuckah? You and that pink Caddy cunt! Tryin’ to show my ass up! You better watch your motherfuckin’ backs!”

  Fear rose through me, though I forced myself not to react. I stared him in the eye. Showers of spit hit my face as he shouted, “You’re a fuckin’ pussy! Act like one! Don’t be poundin’ on my fuckin’ crew!”

  I calmly replied, “I think we can have this conversation later.”

  Prince pulled back, surprised at my calm response. I motioned my head toward the corner. We all glanced over at a beat cop strolling our way.

  Blondie the Swede slipped his blade away as quickly as he had pulled it out. Prince gave up a big grin for the heat as he rose up. I smiled back at him and said, “Respect. It’s been nice chatting with you.”

  He gave me a withering look. “I’m watching you,” he whispered.

  Prince slinked back into his car. The electric window rolled up and they drove off. A shiver slithered up my spine. Junior searched my eyes.

  I merely grinned and remarked, “Never thought I’d be so happy to see a pig.”

  Chapter 15

  NATURAL WOMAN

  My apartment acted as a comfortable hat rack until I could find a nicer place. It was as empty as my refrigerator, which contained a few bottles of Schlitz and tonic water. The starkness of my crash pad with its simple couch and coffee table matched my mood. The stillness engulfed me as I put my keys away in the kitchen drawer next to my buck knife.

  The shiny black and silver knife had been a sweet sixteen gift from my brother, Max. My kid brother had always recognized and accepted the twelve-year-old boy in me. Tonight, his affection and loyalty gave me small solace.

  On the white-tiled counter sat a bottle of Jack and a carton of cigarettes next to a small dish rack filled with a few glasses and dinner plates. The narrow stove bumped up against a small white refrigerator in the corner of the compact kitchen. Atop the back burner was a silver coffee percolator that had never been used due to my deficiency in domestic skills.

  I pulled open the fridge and cracked a cold Schlitz to keep me company, prepared for another lonely night. Despite taking occasional refuge in Bunny or Rosie’s arms, a nagging void haunted me. My yearning for Carmen had turned into an obsession. Phyllis had reminded me of the energy of her sister last night, temporarily satisfying my longing. I thought about Phyllis and her promise to help me as I despondently sipped my beer.

  I slammed the refrigerator shut and slung my hat onto the couch. On the empty queen-size bed in the open alcove attached to the living room, a simple white comforter covered the bed. I tossed my jacket aside and lay down, exhausted. My gun rested on my shoulder in its leather holster. Its heaviness made me feel safe.

  A knock on the door startled me and I jumped up, cocking my .38. I went to the door and said in a deep voice, “Who’s there?” I heard no verbal response, just another tap on the door.

  Peering through the peephole, I saw Carmen. She was standing on my doorstep. Quickly, I put my gun back into its holster. My heart fluttered with weird spikes of nervousness. I wanted to rush into the other room and throw on my new suit jacket, comb my hair, brush my teeth and put on cologne all at the same time. Instead, I just took a deep breath to slow the flurry of unnamed emotions running through me.

  I ran my fingers through my hair and tucked my shirt into my trousers. I calmly opened the door.

  Carmen simply said, “There’s something you want to tell me?”

  Her radiant green eyes challenged me to answer as I awkwardly stood before her. My voice rose higher than its normal range and undercut my self-assured response. “Hi, baby doll. Come on in, it’s good to see you.”

  “I bet!”

  Yet Carmen’s mouth betrayed her, showing a hint of warmth as she walked arrogantly into the living room. I was captivated by the shine of the thick auburn hair which fell down her back. Her slender frame was accentuated by a stylish white rabbit coat. Her well-defined calves were raised by soft blue satin high heels.

  Carmen reached into her shoulder bag and pulled the envelope out that I had given to Phyllis. As she turned to face me, I forced myself not to grab my unexpected visitor and kiss her on the spot. My senses were alive with anticipation and the need to read her mood.

  Carmen’s beautiful face reddened as her cheeks flushed in anger. She violently slung the cash-fat envelope onto the coffee table. Her moist red mouth twisted in a sarcastic sneer. “Is that the best you could come up with? Whatever happened to flowers and a phone call?”

  I fought back tears as a feeling of shame filled me. I did not hav
e the courage to risk being rejected by her. My big shot gesture of cash to win my prize had just been thrown back in my face.

  We stood gazing at each other, motionless. Carmen’s finely shaped features—the small cleft in her chin, the way she held her long, elegant neck—made her look like a glamorous 1940s movie star. It always amazed me how flawless and clear her skin was. Her eyes had a fire in them and underneath resided a wild animal alertness.

  She began to unbutton her coat as she continued to stare into my eyes. She slid it off her shoulders and casually placed the fur on the sofa with her purse. An overwhelming passion possessed me. All I wanted to do was fuck away her aloofness.

  I went from looking at her mesmerizing eyes to tracing her sexy body. Her firm breasts stood at attention in a strapless powder blue dress. My vision rested for a moment on her inviting cleavage as I mentally started to undress her. Interrupting my lust-inspired trance, Carmen said, “I want to work for you, Jesse.”

  “What did you say?” I asked, stunned.

  “Jesse, I’m not new to the world of hooking,” she said casually. “I’ve been coming to the TL before you arrived here. My sister and every other lesbian brave enough to live here pays with her body. What’s the big deal?” She shrugged, calling my attention to her bare shoulders. “I had to act straight slinging drinks at the Why Not eight hours a day,” she went on. “I’ve done my time getting groped by crude men for cheap tips. I’ve decided I’d rather close my eyes for a few minutes and make a fortune.”

  “Carmen, are you here on business?” I asked, confused.

  She just held my stare.

  “Why did you give me back the cash?” I asked. “I gave you the money as a gift. The money I gave Phyllis is different. That’s business. Did you think I was actually trying to buy you?”