Stilettos and Steel

by Jeri Estes

  “Glad you like it, Bunny,” replied Carmen. “Jesse picked it up for me.”

  “Oh, how nice,” Bunny said, shooting me a look. “Jesse was sweet enough to give me one just like it. Mine may be a little longer, though.”

  “I would imagine most of your clothes fit you a little long,” Carmen replied, looking down at her.

  Bunny swiped right back, “My breasts usually lift up my coats a few inches, so I’m glad for the additional length. At least then my clothes don’t look like they’re just hanging on me.”

  Bunny was quick, but she didn’t know who she was dealing with here.

  “You might have a point there, Bunny. My mother’s breasts have also gotten larger as she’s grown older.”

  Rage crept across Bunny’s cheeks as she stepped closer to Carmen. “I think,” she bit off each word, “I’ll wear the mink Jesse gave me when she takes me to the opera this weekend.” Skillfully delivering her coup de grace, Bunny smugly smiled.

  I decided to end the proceedings before the fur started to fly. “Well, ladies, it’s time we got out of here.” Quickly, I slipped on my coat. Putting on my hat, I tilted the brim slightly over my eyes.

  Noticing Bunny struggling to put on her mink, I came to her rescue and lifted it over her shoulders. Bunny and Carmen both gave me weak smiles. Before exiting, I kissed Bunny on the cheek goodbye. I opened the door, allowing the girls to walk out in front of me.

  As we left, I said good night to Mr. and Mrs. Chow and exited the front door that now displayed the sign, “Rawlson’s Fine Jewelry.”

  From the sidewalk we saw Nick, my cabbie, parked at the end of the block waiting for us. Bunny headed toward the Cadillac in her long, flowing snow white mink.

  “Have a good time, Jesse! Bye, Carmen!” Bunny shouted as she got into her pink chariot.

  Carmen gave an indifferent wave goodbye. “Jesse,” she said, turning to me, “I feel a need for a vacation. Why don’t we escape to L.A. for a few days? I want you to take me to the opera in a new coat. We can go shopping in Beverly Hills for something original,” Carmen said pointedly.

  “Baby doll, there’s no opera in L.A., just singing waiters.” I grabbed Carmen, kissed her on the lips and flagged Nick. “I’ll take you to the opera in Milan.”

  Nick’s yellow bomber screeched abruptly to a halt in front of us. Through the windshield I saw a small statue of Jesus on the taxi’s dashboard and smiled. We hopped into the backseat. I said to Nick, “Shit, I would hate to see how you drive without Jesus as your co-pilot! Hell, man, you damn near jumped the curb!”

  The cheerful Greek chuckled. He adjusted his worn cabbie cap over his salt-and-pepper curls. “Wow, you girls look hot tonight. What’s your pleasure, Jesse?”

  “Take us to the Drake,” I said.

  “You got it, boss!” Nick always performed his religious rituals before he took off. He rubbed the Saint Christopher medal that dangled from his rearview mirror, patted Jesus on the head and then threw down the meter arm and slammed on the gas.

  Nick was one of my best birddogs. He would send busloads of Japs over to the house. Japs and Greeks seemed to know how to make money and find good pussy.

  Carmen rested her warm soft hand over mine. We sat nestled in the back of the cab, content in each other’s company.

  “It’s nice to have a little alone time with you.” I took her hand and kissed her fingers lightly. “Sorry I’ve been working like a maniac. I’ll make it up to you.”

  She caressed my cheek with her palm and warm breath as she leaned close, kissing me passionately. “You can start tonight, Jesse.”

  I slipped my hand between her legs as the lights of Chinatown blurred from view.

  In a few minutes, the sights and sounds of Post and Powell greeted our cab as we entered Union Square. I rolled my window down for some fresh air. Rows of elegant stores, fine restaurants and historical landmark hotels lined the world-famous shopping district. The trolley car jingled with an upbeat clank, heralding the excitement of San Francisco’s heart. Like town criers, conductors yelled, “All aboard!”

  Hotels bearing the names of ancient knights shone in bright neon above the crowded sidewalks. Windows exposed the elegance and grandeur of opulent wealth, advertising escape from mediocrity. Gold-framed menus stood regally in front of establishments of fine dining and spirits. Shuffling the expensive luggage, smiling bellmen verified the importance of the guests entering the Sir Francis Drake Hotel.

  Instantly, our car’s rear door was flung open by a greeter of the elite dressed in a billowing red beefeater costume. He saluted us with a cheerful grin.

  Leaning forward with a ready twenty, I told my jovial jockey, “Have a nice night, Nick.”

  With Carmen at my side, I stepped out of the cab and onto the red carpet. “Welcome to the Sir Francis Drake. Do you have any bags?” asked the silver-haired imitation beefeater.

  “No, we’re just having dinner. Thanks,” I replied as I handed the gentleman a bill.

  With Carmen in tow, we walked into the realm of the dignified for a bite to eat. Soft jazz notes twinkled from ebony and ivory keys. The gazes of elegantly dressed men and women lingered on the auburn-haired beauty by my side as we strolled through the lobby. Cathedral ceilings hung heavy in crystal rose above the gold-veined marble at our feet. Brilliant, massive bouquets sprang from elegant vases.

  I caught the reflections of Carmen and me in the beveled mirrors. My brown slacks complemented the rich gold-toned camel hair overcoat. Topping my expensive garment was a chocolate brown Stetson with a cream-colored feather in its band. Carmen’s luscious black mink and classic hairdo barred anyone from questioning her occupation or sexuality.

  As we passed through the lobby, we looked to the unsuspecting eye like a glamorous straight couple. Carmen and I flew under the radar. Our fellow diners had no idea that we were the king and queen of the Tenderloin queers.

  Near several marble columns sat Asian Pearl and Linda from Missouri on silk Baroque furniture. The ladies were holding court with a few black-tied debonair gentlemen. My jewel from the east and the farmer’s daughter looked like fashion models on the cover of Vogue.

  We walked past my working girls with a quick nod. A leather-padded lectern with a tiny lit desk lamp stopped our entrance into the fine dining room. We dropped our coats at the small wooden coat check. Luis the maître d’ saluted us with his pearly whites. “Nice to see you, Jesse, Carmen.”

  His manicured fingers ran over the guest book. “I see your reservation, Jesse. Please follow me.” His lacquered pencil-thin mustache matched his French accent. We followed him to the white linen-draped round table in the romantic back corner of the restaurant. Candles and silver sat prepared for our meal.

  We were greeted by our favorite waiter, Daniel. The handsome young gay boy, working his way through college, was thrilled to see us.

  “Jesse, Carmen, great to see you two here. What’s the occasion?”

  “Romance. I’m taking out my special lady,” I replied.

  “Really?” he said with a raised eyebrow. He knew I’d brought other ladies to the Drake. “That is so sweet.”

  “So, Daniel, how’s school going?” I asked.

  “It’s going great! I am finally almost finished. I cannot wait to be done.”

  “Don’t finish too soon. You don’t want to get your ass drafted,” I said.

  “That’s for sure. Don’t worry; I’ve got a ‘get-out-of-Saigon-free card!’” He gestured with an exaggerated fey limp wrist and we all laughed.

  “What can I get you two to drink?” asked Daniel.

  “Let’s start with a bottle of Dom Perignon,” I said.

  “Oh, Jesse!” exclaimed Carmen.

  “Very good, coming right up,” Daniel said as he flitted away.

  We toasted our love with pricey champagne and enjoyed a sumptuous meal. As the last plates were taken away, Carmen rubbed the top of her foot up my calf. “This moment with you is paradise. I don’t want it to end.
”

  Daniel stopped by our table and inquired, “Jesse, will that be all for tonight?”

  I told the cute waiter, “Yes, Daniel. Thanks for everything.”

  He placed his check portfolio on the table. “Have a great night.”

  Glancing at my watch, I told Carmen, “Damn… I gotta get back to work. I’m supposed to hook up with Junior.”

  As she took a sip of champagne, I detected sadness in her beautiful green eyes.

  “Carmen, why don’t you come with me to Compton’s? I have to make the rounds and meet up with Junior.”

  “Sure, Jesse, that would be cool,” Carmen said as she sat up, elated.

  I put a couple of Bennies in the check holder and we got up to retrieve our coats. We dressed for the night and walked through the mammoth lobby. In the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the distinguished-looking district attorney, with his devoted wife by his side at the lobby bar. He held a rolled-up playbill from the Geary Theater. His eyes spotted Carmen just as we noticed him. His glance lingered on her. She seemed to welcome his admiration as I detected a small smile cross her lips. I reassured myself that her reaction was strictly business. His Nob Hill wife, completely oblivious to the moment, missed her husband’s flushed face and lustful stare.

  We quickly left the Drake, walked into the chilly night and made our way up Post to the TL. I held Carmen’s hand when we hit Taylor and strolled toward Turk. Hookers replaced well-coiffed ladies. Neon signs, hanging from cheap hotels and topless joints, lit the way as we entered our ghetto home. Working queens competed with their ovary-packing hooking sisters for cruising johns. Irritated, the queens purse-slapped loitering hobos; shoving them off their sidewalk.

  Rows of Harley hogs lined the outside of Compton’s large picture windows next to shit-talking bikers enjoying the night. As Carmen and I approached, we saw Junior on the corner talking to Animal, my biker dude. Animal was on my payroll to provide muscle and baby-sit our hookers. Six-foot-three, with long flowing hair down to his waist, he had refined good looks that appeared almost effeminate against his heavy leather and chain jacket.

  Junior, tabbed back and looking slick in her three-piece Italian men’s suit, happily called out, “Good to see you, boss. Carmen, you look great!”

  “Thanks, Junior,” Carmen replied. “I’ll be joining you bad daddies on your rounds tonight.”

  “What’s up?” I asked Junior and Animal.

  “Same old, same old, boss. Threw a couple of rowdy tricks out of the Camelot tonight,” replied Animal.

  “What’s up with that, Animal? Maybe the girls aren’t properly qualifying their johns. They’re not taking any young ones, are they?”

  “There’ve been a lot of soldiers on the streets. The girls feel sorry for them,” confessed Animal gruffly.

  “Yeah, I can understand that,” I said sarcastically. “They’re also cash-heavy while on leave. I’ll talk with the girls about this. I’m glad to hear they’re so patriotic.”

  “Been crackin’ the whip a little,” bragged Animal. “Had a couple of lazy hookers taking too long breaks smoking in the doorways. Got it all under control now, boss.”

  “Good job, Animal. Keep up the good work.”

  Animal turned around and got on his big hog. He kick-started the candy-apple red Harley. His long hair flowed in the wind as he roared away down Turk Street.

  The three of us ventured on to Chuckkers down in the Mission district. The streets got darker as the area got poorer and poorer. The lonely sidewalks on Taylor echoed our footsteps as we made our way onto Mission Street.

  Suddenly, like a brick wall from nowhere, an army of men sprang out of a parked purple El Dorado. Prince towered in front of me with his kid brother Giuseppe at his side. Blondie the Swede stood next to another lowlife I recognized from the past, the redheaded mutton chop chump who had tried to steal Junior’s briefcase. The odor of booze and smoke fouled the air.

  Instinctually, Carmen, Junior and I halted. Like hikers in the wilderness coming face-to-face with grizzlies, we stood our ground and showed no fear.

  “Gentlemen, nice to see you all again,” I said. Carmen’s hand tightened like a boa constrictor around my arm as she indifferently looked the other way.

  “Gimmie your money, bitch!” Prince demanded. “Enough is enough, cunt lover. It’s tax time, bitch!”

  Prince’s three flunkies, dressed in loud vulgar pimpwear, stood by his side, but they didn’t faze me. I’d been building my empire for months, and they hadn’t shown their faces once.

  Prince’s giant hands swayed through the darkness in a chuckin’ and jivin’ manner. “Pimpin’s a man’s trade. You fuckin’ stud daddies are snatchin’ up my johns. You’re spoiling your bitches and giving my girls ideas. I ain’t losing a john or a fuckin’ whore to a woman. Pussies aren’t gangsters, you motherfucker!”

  I replied to Prince in an extremely calm and cool voice, though enraged that the son-of-a-bitch would have the audacity to speak to me like that. I was aware of the subtle movement by Junior as she reached for the gun in her belt. Carmen was prepared to pull out her small silver mother-of-pearl handled .22 pistol. It was a handy snub-nosed hooker’s special that she always carried in her coat pocket. I coolly raised my hand as I watched Prince’s henchmen also reach for their pieces.

  “Cool it, gentlemen. Prince and I got business to talk,” I said confidently.

  The henchmen hesitated, awaiting Prince’s reaction. He looked surprised as he waited to hear what I had to say. I noticed a large gold Star of David hanging around Prince’s neck.

  Pointing to the jewelry, I said, “I’m surprised, Prince, that a brother who’s a Jew, and knows the sting of persecution, would hassle me. Why would you be prejudiced toward a sister who’s in the same boat you’re in? After all, we’re both minorities.”

  Prince was shocked and actually embarrassed because he knew he was no Jew but couldn’t admit that he didn’t realize he had a loud-ass Star of David hanging around his neck.

  Realizing he looked foolish, he tried to regroup like every street person does when they’re confused. “It’s cool, it’s cool. I ain’t gonna give you no fuckin’ disrespect. Stop servicing my johns, dyke. If one of my bitches comes to see you, you send her ass back to me quick and in hurry or you’re dead, motherfucker. Take this as a warning, bitch.”

  I felt the tension drain out of the air as I nodded and said, “We got an understanding. Respect, man, respect.”

  We both shrugged and laughed a little. I said to him, “Prince, drop by my jewelry shop in Chinatown. Tell my guy, John Chow, that you want a diamond put right in the middle of that beautiful star of yours. It‘s on me, man. Giuseppe, you pick out something for yourself too. For old time’s sake, my friend.”

  “You’re fucking-A stylin’ now motherfucker,” Giuseppe said, not sure how to take my generosity. “You’re not sleeping on the floor anymore now are you?”

  “No, Giuseppe, I’m not. But I’ll never forget your hospitality when I first landed in the TL.”

  Everyone’s faces showed confusion as they tried to figure out Giuseppe’s and my connection. Addressing the audience like a Shakespearean actor with grand gestures, I started to give a summation of our history.

  “Giuseppe is a stand-up dude—”

  “Jesse, no…its okay,” said Giuseppe, trying to cut me off. “You don’t need to run it down now. It’s all cool, Jesse.”

  “Miss Zada, Miss Penny and I crashed at his pad when we were between residences,” I reported. “He was a complete gentleman. He never took advantage of me or wanted anything for his generosity. Giuseppe is a class act all the way.”

  “What? You took in queers?” Prince asked Giuseppe and then slapped him upside the head. “Ain’t you got no sense?” He knew his intimidation play had fallen flat. “Come on, let’s get out of here, before I find out my brother’s a cocksucker.”

  Prince and his crew jumped into the El Dorado with Giuseppe defending himself. “I had
no idea those sweet chocolate bitches had cocks!” he said. “I swear I didn’t!”

  When their taillights finally faded from view, we roared with laughter.

  “Jesse, that was fuckin’ slick!” complimented Carmen.

  “Whew, that was a close one. I thought we were all dead,” said Junior sincerely. “Did you see that briefcase stealin’ chump’s nose though? It’s still fucked up,” she added proudly.

  “I never thought I’d see him again,” I said. “He is dressing better these days.”

  “Yeah, he is,” said Junior.

  “But Giuseppe…what’s up with that tomato red suit?” I jeered. “Now that’s really tacky!”

  “You got that right,” Carmen said, playfully mimicking my favorite phrase.

  We all laughed in agreement.

  “I gotta tell you, I hate violence,” I said, reflecting on the near-ugly confrontation. “I’m grateful for what a little fast-talking can do.”

  “Yeah, talk isn’t always cheap, Jesse. If word ever got out that you allowed anyone to disrespect you, we would all be dead,” Carmen pointed out.

  “Yeah right, that includes you, baby doll,” I reprimanded her.

  As we headed to our camp at Chuckkers, though, I wasn’t feeling so cheery inside. My turf was spreading, and next time I might not be so lucky. It was time to find more reinforcements.

  Chapter 19

  A JOHN NAMED JOHN

  The characters, Tony Curtis and David Niven, playing in the movie I was watching, were living my dream. They were gigolos romping through Europe on an adventure with gorgeous women paying for the pleasure of their company. After all, I had wealth and a sophisticated lifestyle like the cads on the tube. All I had to do is look down at the expensive black-and-white checkered slacks I was wearing and my classy “pimp” socks. The black, pin-striped knee-highs cost more than the old shirts I used to buy at the five-and dime-store, that’s for sure.

  Sipping my Jack, I relaxed on the couch in our tricking pad. The apartment was used by all of our hookers. Bunny had carefully picked a corner unit on the fourth floor with a fire escape. Many of the neighbors were seniors and, fortunately, hard of hearing.