I can still see him sometimes when I close my eyes. Those green eyes studying the gamblers and the drunks, like a rattler watching mice.
One night, just after sundown, I went outside for a smoke on the rooftop. One of the fellows was keeping watch there but I told him to go away. I wanted some time alone to think about Ethan, try to talk myself out of hungering for him, tell myself again that I only dreamed about him because I couldn’t have him.
The fellow argued with me a bit. He said that something could happen. There’d been talk that the law would raid this joint. It was his job to protect Johnny’s place.
I told him that I’d keep an eye out. If anything happened, I’d sound the alarm.
He left finally. Reluctantly but he left.
Heaven help me but I forgot about keeping watch before the door closed behind him. It was easier to picture Ethan in my bed.
So I stood up there, looking out across the alleys and rooftops in the last rays of light. Of course, I started thinking about all the possibilities of that cruel mouth of his. And his hands—slender but fast and deft. Or that beautiful ass . . .
Suddenly a hand slid up my throat and pulled me back against a man. I jerked and fought but the man’s other hand slid down my breast. He nipped my earlobe and then my neck below it. I froze when I recognized Ethan’s touch from my dreams.
He muttered in my hair that maybe, this time, I was worth the effort. I tried to turn so I could slap him for that but he kept me tight against him.
He caressed my breast insolently and I began to tremble against him. Every movement roused me still higher until I was writhing against him.
I closed my eyes to enjoy the feeling. But he growled in my ear to keep my eyes open and watch the city, look at the streets. I pleaded that I couldn’t pay attention to buildings while he touched me like that. His hands went still and I knew that he wouldn’t fondle me again unless I looked out at those piles of brick.
I opened my eyes and he stroked me again. I blinked and then gasped when he ran his hand up my leg. So I stared out at the city, eyes wide and moaning his name, as he worked me over.
Suddenly a string of police cars pulled up the alley and surrounded the speakeasy. I opened my mouth to scream a warning to Johnny but Ethan’s teeth bit hard into my neck. Climax struck me like a bullet just as I realized how my blind hunger had betrayed my dear Johnny. . . .
Give me another drink, will you, sugar? Some French brandy, please. I need to wash away that memory.
The cops arrested Johnny and his fellows then turned them over to the IRS for tax evasion. Taxes, can you imagine that? Well, if it was good enough to put Capone away, I guess it was good enough for Johnny.
There was blood on my neck when the cops found me on the roof. They hustled me out of there to the hospital so a doctor could take a look. Actually I think they just wanted me out of the way.
The last thing I saw before getting into the ambulance was Ethan standing with two other men, just beyond the cops rushing around like roaches. He was with the steak house’s owner and that wine waiter, the big Spaniard and the Frenchman.
Ethan treated the big Spaniard with a reverence that he’d never shown Johnny. I knew that he’d come to the speakeasy because that man wanted him to. Maybe for the money to be gained from taking over the speakeasy but maybe not. I never heard talk of any big Spaniards running a fine speakeasy, then or later. Maybe the Spaniard just wanted a more peaceful town.
I felt so sick then that I was glad to be heading for the hospital. I swore that I would never be disloyal to Johnny again, in any way . . .
The newspapers were full of talk for weeks about all of the speakeasies being shut down and their owners hauled off to jail. When things quieted down, speakeasies started opening up again with new owners. Wild Bill, Hickok’s younger brother, bought Johnny’s place and reopened it. The new owners were very careful to keep things quiet and avoid attention from the cops.
Johnny spent ten years in the Big House before his heart got him out of there. We got married on his first day of freedom. See my ring? Big diamond, isn’t it? Johnny always did know how to treat a girl right.
I saw Ethan again right after Johnny got out. He was standing under a streetlight, flipping a coin. It had been ten years but he didn’t look a day older, still young and sexy as sin.
As soon as I saw him, I turned around and went the other way as quick as I could. I couldn’t bear to look at him and remember what he had made me watch. Then I talked Johnny into moving someplace far away. That wasn’t too hard to do. Speakeasies weren’t the same after Prohibition ended and he felt like taking things easy after the Big House.
Now we live down here in Florida where the weather’s always warm. We play gin to pass the time, and sometimes we’ll play canasta with friends. Or we’ll walk on the beach.
Johnny still talks about the shows I used to put on for him with other girls. He even teases me about looking at other fellows. I don’t do anything more than look now. I haven’t asked permission to be with another man since the night they arrested him.
But mostly Johnny and I just hold hands. It’s what he’s best at doing these days. . . .
I drink brandy now if I drink anything. But sometimes I feel the need to remember the past. Then I go out and find a good champagne cocktail, to relive the days when I was young and bubbly as the wine.
Thanks for listening to me, sugar. You’re a very kind man to listen to the ramblings of an old lady. I sure do appreciate the offer of a taxi.
I’d better be going now before Johnny wakes up from his nap.
the great chicken roost a tale of jean-marie st. just
Okay, Mary, I’ll tell you the story. You’ve heard parts of it before and I guess it’s time to tell you the whole truth, now that you’ve turned twenty-five. You’re married with a baby on the way so I think you can understand. And we’ve talked about some very racy things before.
Besides, it’s better than watching for news about Korea, even if your husband isn’t in the Army and my husband is retired. But I can only tell it just this one time, because I promised him then. If you ask any questions later, I’ll have to say that I can’t answer you.
I was wild when I was growing up but usually a good girl. I’d do some things like ride my pony down the town’s board sidewalks. Heck, all the boys pulled tricks like that too back then. But nobody expected a girl to do crazy stunts, and I wound up with a reputation for being willing to do anything.
My parents weren’t much help since they put most of their attention on working hard. All of us nine children were expected to do our chores and stay out of trouble, without requiring much attention from them.
One night, the local preacher’s son and I played a game of double dare in the graveyard. He won—if you can call it that—and you were conceived that night. Of course, he denied everything, my parents wouldn’t speak my name, and I went to Aunt Mabel’s in San Antonio to have you.
You’ve heard all of this before but I still like to talk about it. I loved you from the minute you were born and couldn’t give you up. All those black curls on your head, those big blue eyes, and your perfect little fingers. I thought you were the most beautiful baby in the world.
Aunt Mabel understood and she offered to raise you, if I could get some money to help out. Times were tough then, with the wind constantly blowing and the dust swallowing up houses and farms and towns too.
I tried to find respectable work but couldn’t. Finally, I ended up at Miss Jessie’s place, where I worked as a boarder. That’s what the working girls were called: boarders.
It was pretty simple work, especially once you and the client were alone in the bedroom. Just fifteen minutes to negotiate price, pay, undress, and do the act. Only the missionary position was permitted and Miss Jessie would wallop any client she caught trying some of that “foreign” nonsense. She was a slip of a thing, no taller than you were at thirteen. But every man paid attention when she swung that thin iron
bar.
Yes, “foreign” included anything involving the tongue on any portion of the boarder—or the client. The boarder couldn’t be on top of the client, or . . . I’m sure you get the idea.
You’re giggling, Mary. Well, so did I, after I learned better.
Miss Jessie’s rules of conduct for the boarders were actually a lot harder to live by. But she was fair and she spelled out all of her rules in a proclamation posted in the kitchen, where everyone could see it regularly. There were rules for receiving callers too, Miss Jessie’s name for a man that a boarder saw regularly outside of a business relationship.
I visited you and Aunt Mabel to celebrate your first birthday. But it was after ten that Saturday night, thanks to the bus breaking down twice, when I got off in Susanville.
It had been a hot day and was turning out to be a hotter night, unless a thunderstorm came along to cool things off.
Susanville was a little town then and worse hit than most by the hard times. San Leandro, the next town west, was doing better. Of course, it had Rafael Perez and the Santiago Trust, rather than a mayor who claimed a personal chunk of every nickel.
Scientists had found ancient animal tracks in Susanville, made millions of year ago. Rich Eastern folks wanted to dig those rocks up and take them home. The locals thought the rocks had been sent from heaven to give them jobs. The mayor believed the rocks were there to make him rich, and he was making sure that no rock left Susanville until coins clinked in his pocket.
I started walking to Miss Jessie’s as soon as I got off the bus. Miss Jessie’s rules said boarders had to be back by six in the evening and I was late. Her place was just outside town and next to the highway. It was so near that folks passed it every Sunday on their way to church.
I stayed close to the buildings, trying to keep in the light from inside. I had just paused under an awning before crossing the street when three men came out of the saloon behind me: Mayor Jones, his crony Bixby, and a stranger.
The stranger was a tall man, dressed beautifully in a linen suit, good boots, and a snappy Panama hat. He looked cool and calm, as if he’d never raise a sweat, no matter what the weather or companion. He was handsome, with deep blue eyes, brown hair, and clear skin, and appeared more of a gentleman than anyone I’d ever met. He seemed young too, perhaps twenty-five, until I saw his eyes. They were weary with a knowledge born of experience and grief. I wondered if he was a bootlegger who hoped to join one of the mayor’s rackets.
The mayor was a big man who liked to pretend that he still had the trim figure of forty years ago. He always dressed a little too well and sweated continuously in hot weather.
Bixby had followed Jones since grammar school. He stood taller than the mayor and was rail thin. But he was so mean and nasty that he never had to explain twice to anyone what the mayor meant.
The mayor told the stranger, using some very impolite language, that the rocks could stay in the ground for another million years for all he cared. He’d take his money first, before giving permission to dig up those rocks.
The gentleman was unmoved by the mayor’s ranting and waited him out. He looked a bit regretful at the mayor’s language but not angry.
“You’ll give permission tonight, Mr. Jones, or you’ll regret it.” He had a lovely voice, with the slightest hint of France, which made me want to sit down and listen.
“What are you going to do to me? You’re just a fancy lawyer for the Santiago Trust with no say in what goes on here. This is my town and I say there’s no digging until I’m happy. You understand?”
“I understand that Susanville will have another mayor within a week.”
I shivered at his tone of voice. I’d heard threats before but only from drunkards and fools. His words were a promise that chilled the air.
The mayor was shocked for a moment and then he sneered. “Never happen, not in my town.”
The gentleman shrugged slightly. “We’ll see.”
“What’re you doing out this late, Annie?” Bixby smelled like cheap whisky as he leaned down to talk to me. I flinched, wishing I had kept going instead of looking at the stranger. Bixby was a regular at Miss Jessie’s and every girl tried to evade her turn with him.
“Heading to work, Mr. Bixby.” I stayed put, knowing from hard experience just how much he liked women who ran.
“Well, now, isn’t that fine? I was just heading that way myself.”
I tried to think of something to say but my mind kept picturing me seated in a car next to Bixby. Then the stranger’s voice sliced into the silence.
“The lady is traveling with me.”
Bixby laughed as he spun to face the stranger but fell silent under the stranger’s glare.
“If you wish to be useful, Bixby, you may put the lady’s suitcase into my car. After that, I’m sure that you and Mr. Jones have business elsewhere.”
My eyes widened as Bixby meekly took my suitcase and carried it to a beautiful Packard parked next to us. I couldn’t have said anything to save my life. The mayor snarled something that began with a string of unrepeatable syllables and the stranger spun on him.
“You will respect this lady’s presence, Mr. Jones, or you will be silent. Do you understand?”
Mayor Jones spat tobacco juice and sneered. “You’re a fool for treating her like a lady when she’s available to any man who can find a chicken to pay with.”
He started to say more but suddenly stopped and clutched his throat. I stared at him and then at the stranger, who was studying the mayor regretfully, as if saddened by the mayor’s words.
“Since you have nothing of consequence to say, Mr. Jones, I will bid you farewell. I look forward to dealing with the next mayor about the excavation.”
“That’ll be twenty years from now,” Mayor Jones managed to choke out, and the stranger laughed at him. I was very glad that he wasn’t laughing at me.
“Mademoiselle, will you do me the honor of accompanying me?” The stranger finished his words with a polite bow to me.
“My pleasure, sir.” I’d heard a girl say that in the movies and it seemed fitting for this gentleman. Then he smiled at me and offered me his arm. Suddenly the two nasty men and their mumbled curses fell away into nothingness. I was going for a drive with a fine man.
He seated me in the car with a flourish, waiting to be sure that I was comfortable and my dress tucked neatly inside. I wondered if he’d reach for me after we drove off but decided being groped would be a small payment for rescuing me from Bixby.
“Allow me to introduce myself, mademoiselle. My name is,” he finished with something French and complicated. I blinked, caught off-guard by a formal introduction.
“Mr. Jim, Jimmy?” I tried, stumbling over the occasion and the foreign name.
He grinned at that. “Yes, please call me Jimmy. It will do very well.”
“Anne Smith,” I mumbled, flushing red over my clumsiness. I hadn’t thought that I could blush about anything after working at Miss Jessie’s.
“Where should I take you, Miss Smith?”
“Miss Jessie’s house. It’s right next to the bridge.” I was surprised at his ignorance. We drove in silence for the few minutes it took to cross the bridge and park in front of Miss Jessie’s.
That rundown collection of buildings had never looked more wretched than with that lovely car in front. The shabbiest building was the main house, with the rabbit’s warren of boarders’ rooms trailing behind it. A row of trees shaded the yard and shielded any cars parked there from notice. The trees also sheltered the household’s chickens, as was common back then.
Scamp, a big yellow mutt and the leader of Miss Jessie’s watchdogs, came rushing over to greet the car. I petted him and gave him the last scraps of my chicken sandwich.
Jimmy spoke quietly to Scamp and the other dogs when they investigated him. He squatted down on his heels and held out his hand, which Scamp sniffed warily before wagging his tail. Scamp’s enthusiasm built when Jimmy gave him an expert ear ru
b.
“Thank you for the ride, Jimmy. You don’t have to see me in.”
“Are you sure you’ll be all right? Mr. Jones and his man aren’t the best men for a lady to spend time with.”
I nearly laughed at that. If the mayor and Bixby came by later in the evening, I’d spend time doing anything they wanted. Just like any other girl there would. They were the only exceptions to Miss Jessie’s rules, and I know she hated them for that.
“I’ll be fine.”
Jimmy studied me then and I think he saw everything I wasn’t saying about those two. He gave me my suitcase only after he looked back down the road to town.
“I’ll be by later to see how you’re doing.” He touched his hat to me and waited to see me go in.
I spent the rest of the evening wondering if Jimmy would come by. All types of men came to Miss Jessie’s but I’d never seen him there. I didn’t think he’d need to pay a woman for the act but you could say that about many of Miss Jessie’s regulars. Still, Jimmy was a handsome man and he’d treated me very well. I kept imagining what he’d be like to spend fifteen minutes with.
The evening was a strange one. It saw very few clients, some spectacular lightning, but no rain. We boarders spent our time waiting in the small sitting room, staring at the bell on the wall, which announced a client’s arrival, and jumping whenever a particularly loud thunderbolt hit.
By one o’clock, I was counting the minutes until three when Miss Jessie would close the door to new clients. Linda and Clare, two of the other boarders, were giggling and laughing in a corner. They were quieter about their love games in the sitting room than they were in their shared bedroom. I envied them their fun, while I wished I didn’t have the room next to them.
Jimmy came at two o’clock when I’d given up on seeing him. We filed into the main room and seated ourselves demurely on the straight-back chairs lined up in a row. Another row of chairs faced ours for the clients to sit on, which made it easy for Miss Jessie to manage matters from her post at one end.
The Hunter's Prey Page 5