Mama Ruby

by Mary Monroe

  Ruby wore the blue and white plaid bathrobe that she’d brought with her from home. She was barefoot, and she had just marcelled her hair, something she liked to do even though nobody except her seemed to appreciate it.

  Ruby was surprised to see Maureen in the doorway. From her glassy, bloodshot eyes, it was obvious that the madam was highly intoxicated. She was dressed to the nines in a black and gold floor-length dress with a collar that looked like a cabbage leaf. A tapered red wig hugged her head like a skull cap. Her face was more heavily made up than usual. Heavy lines of black eyebrow pencil outlined her eyes, like oil along the edges of a well-paved road. Rouge covered not only her cheekbones, it had been applied all the way down to the bottom of each jaw. Several coats of bloodred lipstick claimed her lips, as well as the top half of her front teeth and part of her chin. She looked more like a piñata tonight than the femme fatale she thought she was.

  It was rare for Maureen to be in the kitchen at all during the day, let alone on a busy night like tonight. Ruby was even more surprised to see the tall white man with her—wearing a cleric’s collar at that. The first thing she thought was that one of the whores was on her deathbed and required last rites.

  “Ruby, this here is Father Dyer,” Maureen introduced.

  Ruby looked at the priest. She wondered why he was looking like he was so uncomfortable. He kept blinking his eyes and shifting his weight from one foot the other, like somebody with a bladder issue.

  “Ma’am?” Ruby said, clutching the baby closer to her bosom. “Is somethin’ the matter?”

  “I know this ain’t part of your job, and you can say no if you want to. But do you think you can help us out tonight? We are busier than ever before,” Maureen said, glancing at the priest.

  “Wait a minute now!” Father Dyer began, a hand in the air. “I know you don’t think—”

  “Will she do?” Maureen asked, nodding in Ruby’s direction.

  Instead of answering, Father Dyer gave Maureen a horrified look, and then he bolted.

  “What was that all about, Miss Mo’reen?” Ruby asked, puzzled.

  “Uh, nothin’, Ruby. You continue with whatever you were doin’,” Maureen muttered, giving Ruby a pitiful look. “I thought maybe ... oh never mind.”

  Ruby didn’t want to admit it to herself and certainly not to Othella, but the truth of the matter was she missed sex! Being in a house that was about nothing but sex, how could she not? It had been so long since she’d enjoyed the pleasure of a man. She was at a point now where she would have jumped into bed with just about anybody, even a white priest. But to get paid for it, too? That would be icing on the cake.

  “Miss Mo’reen, I know you didn’t hire me to, uh, you know ... with the men. But I’ll do it if one of your men friends want me,” Ruby said, speaking in a voice that was just above a whisper. She held the baby closer.

  Maureen gave Ruby a dismissive wave, and then she shook her head so hard her wig shifted. “Ruby, I appreciate your willingness, but that probably ain’t never goin’ to happen. My clients are way particular as it is, and even more particular when it comes to colored women. The truth is, you remind these men too much of the mammies that raised ’em. But if there was somethin’ special about you, it’d be a different story. Until that happens, you ain’t got nothin’ that none of my clients would want, I guess.”

  Except for the heavy rain, one that flooded some streets and forced several businesses to close for a few days, things went on as usual for the next couple of days. At least they did for Ruby. But Othella was having more racially motivated problems with Cat Fish than usual.

  That Friday night, Othella threatened to slap Cat Fish for calling her a coon under her breath as she walked by on her way to a room upstairs with Father Dyer. He had come back and waited three hours for his turn with Othella. But the priest had prevented Othella from getting violent.

  “Honey child, I advise you to pray for Cat Fish, and to be a little more tolerant. Because of the way she was raised, she can’t help herself. She’s from a very conservative family. It’s her nature to be a bigot,” Father Dyer said gently, his arm around Othella’s shoulder as they entered the room that Marielle and another client had just left.

  As the priest began to undress, removing his cleric’s collar first, kissing it, and then carefully placing it on the nightstand next to the bed, Othella padded across the floor and opened a window. Despite the fresh air, Othella knew that no matter what she did, every business room she entered upstairs would always smell like sex. It was a very distinctive odor, like a combination of sweat, unwashed feet, and raw fish. Spraying the room with air freshener and frequently changing the sheets on the bed didn’t eliminate the problem. She could still smell sex no matter what they did. It was like putting perfume on a pig.

  Othella promised herself that once she got away from the business of prostitution, she would never slide into such a deep dark hole again. Growing up with it had been rough. She wasn’t going to grow old with it, too. She didn’t want to be like her mother....

  “It’s goin’ to take more than prayin’ for me to put up with that Cat Fish wench! She ain’t goin’ to quit agitatin’ me until I slap her silly!” Othella hollered. “That heifer is just itchin’ for me to kick her ass, that’s all.” Othella slowly removed her light blue negligee and eased down on the bed. By this time, Father Dyer was completely naked and in bed with the sheets covering everything but his head. He had even concealed his hands. “What do you need tonight, honey?” Othella purred.

  “Whatever you got a good mind to do,” Father Dyer said with a grin. He knew what he wanted, but he was too shy to tell Othella. “Um, Maureen tells me that you have a special talent... .” he added, hoping that she would know what he was talking about. As a priest who had just recently lost his way, he didn’t know how to tell a woman what he wanted the way most men did. In some ways, he was like a young boy, just getting acquainted with the female body.

  Othella giggled and rolled her eyes. “You must be talkin’ about somethin’ in the oral category,” she guessed. And from the way the priest’s face lit up, she knew that she’d guessed correctly. She immediately snatched the covers off Father Dyer’s body and lowered her head into his lap. She was surprised and disappointed to see that the piece of meat between his thighs was about the size of her thumb. She hesitated and then blinked. Then she stared at the man’s nub in disbelief. She felt sorry for this nice man and wondered how a man with so “little” to offer a woman got by in life, especially with prostitutes. Then she thought about Glenn Boates. Even after Ruby had cut off half of his dick, he still had more than Father Dyer. That made her feel even sorrier for this nice man. It was bad enough that he had backslid from the church to the brothels, but to do so with such a tiny dick seemed pointless.

  “What’s wrong, sugar? Why are you takin’ so long ... to ... uh ... you know?” Father Dyer asked with a worried look on his face. “Would you rather we do somethin’ else first?”

  “I can do whatever you want me to do,” she said, forcing a smile.

  He smiled back and gently pushed her head back toward his lap.

  Othella was glad that he’d taken the time to bathe; he had a nice clean smell. Some of the men who showed up in expensive suits smelled like they hadn’t bathed in a week. She was trying to act like she was having a good time; she wanted the priest to request her again, maybe on a regular basis. But it was taking a lot of effort on her part, because she couldn’t stop thinkin’ about her problem with Cat Fish.

  It was a good thing that Maureen had not witnessed the altercation between Othella and Cat Fish that had taken place earlier. She had warned them that if they didn’t get along better, they’d both be working in another house, or on the streets.

  “There is more than enough men to go around in this house. I don’t know why that cow won’t leave me alone and let me take care of my business,” Othella complained to Father Dyer about Cat Fish, after she’d made him climax three time
s in twenty minutes.

  Father Dyer sat up, propping his head with three of the four pillows on the bed. In the dim light of the lamp on the nightstand, he looked so young and handsome with his green eyes, big white teeth, and thick brown hair. He had the good looks of the kind of white man whom Othella wouldn’t have minded marrying. But that was unlikely to happen and she knew it. Despite the fact that her mother was technically white, Othella had black blood on her father’s side. That made her, as well as all the rest of Simone’s kids, black by law.

  “Well, my dear, that young lady is from a family that’s even more racist than the general white southern population. You can’t expect her to be willin’ to deal with the same dicks that have been inside you on the same night,” Father Dyer said with a mild sigh. “Things of that nature just ain’t fittin’, darlin’. When I was growin’ up, the colored woman who was my mammy used to hold me against her ample bosom and rock me to sleep—in my very own bed. She was also as loyal as a puppy to my whole family. But she wasn’t even allowed to use the same glasses that my family members drank from. And then there was the bathroom facilities. That was way off limits to my mammy. When she had to go, she had to go in a bucket in my daddy’s garage.” The priest shook his head. “You people are a strong lot to put up with the way things are in this country and not complain about it.”

  Othella gasped. “Father, I don’t know how well you know colored people, but let me tell you one thing—we do complain. We have been complainin’ for almost four hundred years. We can complain our heads off, but if ain’t nobody listenin’, it ain’t doin’ no good.”

  “I know, sugar. But like I said, Cat Fish is from a very conservative family. She can’t help how she feels about you people.” Father Dyer tapped the top of Othella’s head, the same way he petted his dog.

  “I don’t care how racist her family is. Marielle told me that Cat Fish’s daddy got a baby by the woman who cleans for them,” Othella said, moving closer to the side of the bed because she didn’t like the way the priest was petting her on the head. He didn’t get the message, so she grabbed his hand and placed it on his chest. He got the message. “A colored woman black as the ace of spades.”

  “Honey child, that don’t mean nothin’. The fact of the matter is, every dollar you make is a dollar that Cat Fish thinks should be goin’ into her pocketbook. I’ve been one of her regulars for several weeks now—before you came. Heh heh heh.” The priest lifted his hand to tap Othella’s head again, but stopped. Instead he reached for the package of Viceroy cigarettes that he’d placed on the nightstand.

  “But there are women in this house takin’ tricks from Cat Fish left and right,” Othella wailed, taking a puff from the cigarette that Father Dyer had just lit.

  “True. But they are white women. There is a big difference in them takin’ business and money away from a gal like Cat Fish. I’ve been around whores for years. Even before God called on me to serve Him. I know white women who would rather have a snake slide up into them than a pecker with a colored woman’s juice on it. That’s just the way it is.”

  Othella liked spending time with the priest. In addition to him being fairly young and fairly handsome, he was a nice man. And not only was he quick, but it didn’t take a lot of effort to satisfy him.

  “Well, my dear, you can trot on back down to the parlor any time you’re ready. I’m done for the night,” Father Dyer told Othella, giving her a quick peck on her cheek.

  “Uh, if you don’t mind, can we lay here like this for a few minutes more? I want to give Cat Fish a little more time to cool off,” Othella said.

  Not only had Cat Fish not cooled off, she was angrier than ever. Instead of trying to secure another client, she was in her room holding Marielle and Fat Fanny hostage as she ranted.

  “Cat Fish, you can stay up here in this room the rest of the night and sulk about what Othella done if you want to. But I got to get back down to the parlor and make my money,” Fat Fanny said, checking her makeup and hair in a handheld mirror. “The only reason I’m in this room with you now is because I had to come upstairs to take another quick douche. I’ve been itchin’ like I got fleas down below.” She laid the mirror on the bed and frowned. “I sure enough hope I ain’t got the clap again.”

  “And you need to lighten up on this beef with this colored girl. She’s a nice girl, once you get to know her,” Marielle said to Cat Fish, adjusting her girdle. “Damn that Mazel! I told her to make sure she bought me the right size girdle, and I see she didn’t!”

  “My grandpa would roll over in his grave if he knew that I was even in the same house with a nigger whore,” Cat Fish complained, as she attempted to help Marielle into her girdle. It was about the twentieth complaint she’d lodged since her confrontation with Othella, and it was one complaint too many. Maureen entered the bedroom just in time to hear Cat Fish’s last complaint.

  “That’s it! That’s it!” Maureen hollered, shaking her fist at Cat Fish. Cat Fish jumped back and let go of Marielle’s girdle so fast, Marielle stumbled and almost fell to the floor. “I ain’t goin’ to stand for no more of your foolishness. You got till mornin’ to pack your shit and get out of my house!”

  All three of the prostitutes gasped. Cat Fish had gasped so hard, she choked on some air. Marielle had to slap her on the back to help her catch her breath before she could speak again.

  “But—but, Miss Mo’reen, I’m a white woman. You can’t fire me on account of a colored woman! It ain’t fittin’!” Cat Fish shrieked, turning to the other two women for support. “Fat Fanny, Marielle, y’all say somethin’!”

  “See there! I told you this was goin’ to happen if you didn’t behave yourself,” Marielle yelled, shaking a finger in Cat Fish’s stunned face.

  “Me, I ain’t got nothin’ to say. I got them three kids to feed, so I can’t be put out on the street, and I sure don’t want to live with my mama, or go back to my ex. Cat Fish, honey, you started cookin’ your own goose from the day them colored girls moved in, and tonight you burned yourself. And don’t you forget to return my bustier before you leave!” Fat Fanny hollered.

  Just then, Ruby entered the room. There was a huge smile on her face. Viola was in her arms with a smile on her little face that was almost as big as Ruby’s.

  “Fat Fanny,” Ruby began, looking around the room wondering why everybody was so quiet. “Uh, I just wanted to bring the baby in so you can give her some sugar before I put her to bed.” She felt the chill in the room, but knew it had nothing to do with her. She held her breath and didn’t acknowledge the chill, and she kept her smile in place.

  “Miss Mo’reen, there’s a man in a white suit at the bottom of the stairs waitin’ to speak to you,” Ruby continued. “He’s right horny and cute, and itchin’ for some female attention. He even pinched my butt when I walked by just now.” Ruby tried to look serious but it was hard for her not to keep smiling, especially after that cute man had pinched her butt.

  Cat Fish’s jaw dropped open so wide, you could see the back of her long tongue. “Miss Mo’reen, I will sure enough get up out of your place! Now that I know you got white men comin’ here that’s got so little shame, they’d tetch a booger bear like Ruby on her butt—I wouldn’t stay here if you paid me in gold!”

  CHAPTER 39

  THERE WAS NO END IN SIGHT FOR THE WAR. THOUSANDS OF young, and not so young, men from various parts of the country were dying thousands of miles away from their homes and their loved ones. Some had come home missing a limb or two. But as long as that missing limb wasn’t the one between their legs, they made their way to the brothels.

  One night, a week after Cat Fish’s departure, one of those ex-military men entered the house, grinning like he was ready to fuck the world. There were three fingers missing from his right hand and a black patch covering his missing right eye. He was new in town and had been referred by a friend. He was a small man with a big sexual appetite, and he didn’t let his missing fingers, or his missing eye, slow him down.
However, he was most interested in one type of female: virgins.

  “A virgin? You came here lookin’ for a virgin?” Maureen gave the man an incredulous look. She was tempted to feel his forehead to make sure he wasn’t sick and didn’t know what he was saying. “Sir, this is a WHOREHOUSE, not a convent. You ain’t goin’ to find no virgin in here,” Maureen laughed. “Now if you don’t mind some low quality virgin poontang, you might want to take a ride out to the bayou and cut a deal with one of them swamp men. Most of them got at least four or five real young daughters that might suit your needs.”

  “That ain’t what I want to spend my hard earned money on,” the man said, looking around the parlor, smiling. His name was Dobie Boyle. His family tree included two judges, a senator, several lawyers, and a beauty queen. He had devoted the last twenty of his forty-five years to a military career. He sniffed when Othella pranced in. “She’s a pretty piece for a colored gal.”

  “And she’s been busted more than a drunk driver,” Maureen said, shaking her head. “You could probably slide your whole fist up in her.”

  “Well, you find me a nice clean virgin, and I will pay you four times what you normally charge. As long as she ain’t still in diapers and still has her own teeth, I don’t care how young or how old she is.”

  “Oh? Are you that liberal?” Maureen asked, her eyes wide with anticipation. She was so determined to procure this man a virgin, she was already counting her finder’s fee.

  Dobie wasted no time replying. “I am more liberal than that, my dear. I don’t care how fat she is or what color she is. As long as her cherry is still in place, I don’t care. I want me some fresh pussy, and that’s that. I got plenty of it over there in Germany. As soon as those fräuleins laid eyes on us American soldiers, they practically served us their cherries on a platter. I guess you could say those gals ruined me for life, because I am right spoiled now.”

  “Oh, I know all about them European gals. Me bein’ from Ireland and all, though I no longer speak with a brogue.” Maureen paused and let out a coquettish chuckle. She was glad to see that Dobie had such an eager look on his face. “I had a gal from Paris workin’ for me last year for a few months. She suddenly got religion and took off. Now I can’t help you if you insist on havin’ a foreign gal, at least not tonight. But I might be able to locate you somethin’ close, say a Creole or a Cajun?”