The Daughters' Story

by Cyr, Murielle;

  “Let’s go, kid, before the guy starts bitching I’m late.” She hurried to the room across the hall. “See this?” She pointed to a small knob at eye level on the wall beside the door. “Slide it sideways when you want to see what’s happening. It opens up a vent in the wall heater and gives you a pretty good view. You won’t hear Madame Anna admit to this, but I know she uses it to check up on us.” She reached for the doorknob. “Whatever you do, don’t let her see you peeking through the vent. She figures no one knows, but one of the girls saw her do it. She’s liable to kick you out now that I’m on the job. We’ll have a minute together when I change outfits. Get the folding chair from the next room to sit in the hallway here. We’ll crack up about this later at the restaurant.” She disappeared behind the closed door.

  The legs of the old folding chair wobbled back and forth. Nadine hadn’t figured out how to secure it, so she tried not to move around too much in case it collapsed beneath her. Her position at the end of the dim-lit hallway sheltered her from whatever was taking place in the foyer. From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the customers as they crossed the end of the hallway to Madame Anna’s desk. She pretended to be busy with something in her lap in case one of the men happened to glance down the hallway. She didn’t dare turn her head in their direction. If one of them asked Madame Anna what she was doing in the hallway, she’d be in for it. She had to look like she had a reason for being there. What if she met up with one of these men on the street one day? He’d probably think she was one of the workers here.

  The men didn’t wait very long for services. After a short exchange with Madame Anna, they’d sit in the foyer for a short while before she sent them up the creaky staircase to the rooms on the upper floors. The telephone rang every few minutes, bringing a new customer shuffling to her desk. Nadine’s wait for her friend appeared endless. All she heard were the scraping of shoes across the foyer floor and the rumble of male voices interacting with Madame Anna. The upstairs noises were more pronounced, giving free rein to the imaginings of those waiting to take part. Steady, rhythmic banging of bed posts against walls. Squeaking of mattress springs. Muffled moans, and at times, the eruption of shrill laughter.

  Not much noise came from the room behind her. Muffled comments from Manon’s client about garter belts, false eyelashes and padded bras at times broke the silence. Manon hadn’t moved from her chair against the wall behind Nadine. Her remarks, though vague and never exceeding two or three words, filtered through the wall, loud enough for Nadine to know she was doing OK.

  She controlled her urge to slide the vent knob open to peek at the guy in girlie clothes—cotton bloomers didn’t seem very likely. She hadn’t dared to try this when Manon was busy with her first gig. The thought of Madame Anna catching her in the act had kept her sitting almost motionless. Plus it hadn’t seemed right to spy on the guy like that. He paid good money to live out his fantasy in private and not have someone sneak a look at him through a hole in the wall. But if she took a quick look, she and Manon might have something to laugh about later.

  There had been no time to talk when Manon finished her first gig. She had rolled her eyes at Nadine and rushed to the changing room, giving her the thumbs up as she trotted back dressed as a nurse.

  Nadine yawned and stretched her back. A man had just darted past the hallway, and from the sound of the terse voices, seemed to be insisting on something. The image of the thick, succulent smoked meat awaiting her made her belly growl.

  Manon’s voice cut through the wall separating them. “You’ve got the girdle on backwards.”

  Nadine straightened in her chair, imagining the hilarious scene behind her. Manon must want her to see this or why else would she raise her voice like that. She’d only take a tiny peek and sit back down again. The guy won’t know… and it might be possible that he didn’t mind a bigger audience. If he was already parading in front of Manon, it must mean her gig was almost over. Madame Anna seemed less menacing to her knowing the woman stayed glued to her phone not to miss out on any clients.

  She sprang to her feet without first steadying the chair. It snapped back, crashing down on the hardwood floor. A head popped into view at the end of the hallway. Before Nadine had time to haul the chair back up, the person had disappeared. She hesitated before reaching for the vent knob or even sitting back down again. If it was Madame Anna’s head she had seen, standing up to confront her seemed less humiliating than having to stare up at her angry face.

  A short while went by with no reaction from the foyer. Maybe the noise hadn’t bothered anybody. She reached up to slide the vent open, reminding herself to snap it back as soon as she caught a glimpse of the man with the girdle on backwards. The narrow rectangular opening only showed the tip of Manon’s head and a large-sized bed with a frilly bed cover. The client must have been standing out of view away from the bed. She decided to adjust the vent opening when someone jerked her hand away.

  “Getting our undies wet, are we?” Madame Anna stood beside her, eyes blazing and her voice a low rasp. “Nothing’s free here. You owe me two hours of service, you little bitch.”

  Nadine didn’t have time to protest. Madame Anna gestured to a tall bald man hovering behind her. He grabbed Nadine’s arm and steered her to the next room. Madame Anna carried the chair back, clicked it back into place and shoved her down.

  Nadine’s heart pounded through her chest. She struggled to push herself up but Madame Anna shoved a hand over her mouth and snapped her head back.

  “Listen good, little lady. Nobody gets their rocks off here without paying.” Saliva spurted out of the madam’s mouth. “A regular of mine is waiting with no one to service him. So you’re going to sit here and watch him do his thing just like Fern’s doing next door. You’re lucky I’m letting you off with only that. My bouncer here hates peepers as much as I do. Once he gives them a good going over, they can’t ever peep again. So if you want to keep that little goody-goody face of yours in one piece, you better sit here quiet on this chair. The client’s coming through that door right behind that screen to get himself dressed up. And when he comes out, you’ll be watching and getting your pussy as wet as you did before in the hallway.”

  Nadine squeezed her eyes shut, her stomach knotted up tight.

  “Perk up. You better look like you’re enjoying yourself. Any complaints and you’ll be starting over with my next customer.” Madame Anna cuffed the back of Nadine’s head. “My loyal bouncer’s going to keep watch outside this door. No funny business. Forget about opening this door till the client has zipped his pants back on. Don’t show your face here again unless you plan on paying for my services.”

  The door closed behind her. Nadine jerked her eyes open, her breath coming in short gasps. She gripped the side of the chair with shaking hands. She needed to get out before the guy showed up. The door on the opposite side of the room might lead to the black door and she’d bypass the foyer. But what if it didn’t and she came face to face with Madame Anna? Sitting here made her just like all the girls working here—exploiting men’s sexual fantasies for cash. Not her. She didn’t have the stomach for this. She tried to focus on how to get off the chair without it snapping closed again and alerting the bouncer.

  Then the other door opened and closed. A bulging duffle bag dropped down between the stubby legs of the screen. Too late. She hadn’t moved fast enough. She swallowed the hard lump in her throat and gasped for air. The Harlequin ladies on the wallpaper inched in closer and closer. She dug her fingers into her wool coat to block a scream from escaping. She had to get a hold of herself. The bouncer was ready to spring through the door any moment. One hour, Manon had told her. About thirty minutes for the guy to get dolled up before he springs out from behind the screen.

  She held her breath. She had no choice.

  I can do this... I can.

  If the guy attacked her, the bouncer was in the hallway—one good thing
going for her.

  Deep breath, Nadine. You’ll get through this.

  All she had to do was pretend she was Manon.

  We’ll laugh about this later.

  We will.

  The folding screen, painted the same shade of pink as the Harlequin ladies on the wallpaper, stood on four short legs. The man had removed his shoes and socks and was standing beside his duffle bag. He hung his shirt and pants over the top of the screen, let his underwear drop to the floor and kicked them out of the way. Her stomach tensed. Did he have a wife at home keeping his dinner warm? What about that duffle bag full of sexy undergarments—did he store it in the trunk of his car, or hide it in a secret locker at the train station?

  The sound of a zipper ripping open. The soft thud of clothes hitting the floor. He must be leaning down, naked, rooting through his bag. Red stiletto-heeled shoes appeared on the floor below the screen. “Finally found a pair my size.” His words tremulous, almost boyish.

  She squeezed her knees together. No way was she going to encourage him. He could talk all he wanted, but she didn’t have to answer him.

  Loud grunts and sighs, and the occasional thump against the screen. He must be struggling to force delicate undies onto a hairy, angular body.

  Sweet Jesus.

  Please don’t make the screen come crashing down.

  The guy dressed in girlie things is bad enough.

  But not with his private parts flapping all over the place.

  “Love these silky undies. My mother always wore rough cotton ones and my wife buys the cheaper ones that look like cut-off bloomers. These are a little tight around my weenie, but… what a feeling.” He dropped a pink garter belt on the floor and leaned down to pick it up.

  She pressed her lips together and averted her eyes at the sight of the tufts of dark hair on his wrist.

  “These stockings will take a while. I’ve got to be careful to pull that back seam nice and straight. Don’t want to snag these black fishnets after paying so much for them.” He fell silent a moment and continued, louder, sterner. “Helen never buys these. She thinks only sluts wear them. God forbid. Just thinking about wearing fishnets would make her run to confession.”

  Nadine cocked her head towards the screen. His abrupt change of tone caught her attention. The authoritative way he pronounced the name ‘Helen’ triggered a vague memory of someone she knew—with an identical name and addressed in the same harsh manner. The only one who came to mind was Aunt Helen, married to Uncle Peter, but she had only ever seen them together at Christmas or Easter. He’d always been gruff with the timid woman. She might also be thinking of an old classmate. The nuns at school didn’t always speak kindly to their students, especially the poor ones who were too hungry to pay attention.

  “Now for my makeup.” His tone soft and excited again. “I didn’t forget my hand mirror this time, so I won’t take too long.”

  She clasped her hands together on her lap and then shoved them deep into the pockets of her coat. It was one thing to listen to him while he stayed behind the screen, but having to face a grown man wearing feminine underwear was another ball game. What was she supposed to do when he made his grand appearance? Look away? Stare down at the floor? But pretending he looked sensuous in his girlie clothes was part of the bargain. He’d complain to Madame Anna before she had a chance to escape.

  And what if she got the giggles? That bouncer was bound to hear. He was probably peeping through the vent.

  Run. Now.

  Before the guy shows himself.

  That damn bouncer. He’d attack as soon as she stood up. She’d have to force a smile and keep it fixed until the end of the ordeal. Manon’s gig would be over soon. Thinking of that juicy smoked meat sandwich would keep her smile going. She’d imagine the spicy smell of mustard and the crunch of the dill pickle.

  A sigh from behind the screen.

  The red stiletto-heeled shoes were now on his feet.

  A soft moan.

  He stepped out and—to her surprise—inched out with his back to her. She gripped the seat of her chair, holding her breath.

  Stay like that.

  I won’t have to face you.

  Legs wide apart, shoulders pushed back, his hips wobbled in his stiletto heels. He massaged his rump, flattened in the tight pink silk panties with matching garter belt. His long blond wig reached down to the pink nylon bra that dug into the folds of the loose flesh of his back. Patches of dark hair covered his shoulders and lower back, contrasting with the delicate silk undergarments. One of the back straps of the garter belt had unsnapped, showing a large expanse of bluish white skin above the top of the black fishnet stocking.

  The musty smell of the room along with the clumsy shape in red stiletto heels wobbling in front of her triggered a wave of nausea that surged up her throat. He turned to face her. She shot a quick glance around the room for a wastebasket. Her heart skipped a beat. His gyrating movements had shifted his blond wig sideways, revealing oily black hair pushed back from his forehead. The sloppy eye makeup accentuated his thick black eyebrows and five o’clock shadow.

  She recognized him right away—the same telltale cleft chin and full lips as the other men in the family.

  “Uncle Peter.”

  She spotted the wastebasket under the bedside table and bolted for it.

  Chapter 18

  Lisette examined the front of the apartment building before opening the car door. “Don’t come up just yet, Serge. Give me a few minutes to check things out before you haul everything up to the second floor. I’ve already told her that I’d have to see it before I decided.” Maybe she should’ve waited to tell him about Nadine’s offer until after first going to visit the apartment on her own. He had acted like it was a done deal. She’d expected him to get cold feet about them living apart. But his face had lit up when she mentioned it and he started rooting through the cupboard right away for black garbage bags to help her pack.

  “I’m sure the room will be just fine.” He reached into the back seat and tugged on one of her bags. “It’s rent-free. Can’t get any better than this. And it can’t be too shabby judging by the looks of the front of building.”

  “What if there’s no room for a crib?” She had asked him to leave the crib behind in case the place wasn’t to her liking.

  But Sylvie had insisted. “If they bust us, they’ll see the crib and connect the dots.” Connections—the focal point of Sylvie and Pit’s daily menu of platitudes. Cops only operate with connections, Pit liked to repeat. Without dots to connect, they attack the pawns.

  “Wait till we bring the bags up. I’ll just leave the crib in the car if I don’t see enough space in the room. There must be some kind of dresser in the room. Slide one of the drawers out and use it as a cradle for a few months.” He pushed his door open, dropped the bag on the sidewalk and reached for the other two. “Stop stalling, Lise. Jump on the chance. You can’t beat free rent and board. Once the panic about Laporte has died down and you’re back on your feet, we’ll get our own place. Let’s go. We’re in a no-parking zone.” He grabbed hold of two bags with one hand and the third one with the other.

  She let out a long breath and reached down for her knapsack. “Why do I feel like… I’ll never see you again? You won’t even let me call you.”

  He hesitated a moment, set the bags down, and walked around to the passenger side to open the door for her. “Come on, Lise. We’ve gone over this. I can’t take any chances in case they’ve tapped the phone. If they trace your mother’s number, they’ll haul you both in for questioning. I’ll be staying somewhere else from now on, so you can’t reach me at that number anymore. Pit and I decided it was best we stay at separate locations.” He took a quick look around at the neighbouring apartment buildings. “Try to be reasonable. You’ll be safe here. I even took the company car today to make sure no one followed.”


  She climbed out of the car and swung her bulky knapsack over her shoulder. “You’re making a mountain out of a molehill about all this. Or maybe it’s only an excuse for getting rid of me.”

  It wouldn’t be the first time a guy had come up with a sorry excuse to drop her. I don’t see her showing much loyalty to the cause, had been Pit’s lame objection to her living with them. We all have to be of one mind to move forward, his favourite mantra.

  All nonsense.

  Pit had resented her from the moment she moved in. Not that Serge went along with all of Pit’s foolishness. But Laporte’s death had put a damper on things. Pit and Sylvie had jumped on the chance to stress the danger of a pregnant woman being exposed to police raids, long interrogations and jail time.

  “Don’t start, Lise. Even Pit says someone’s on his trail now, so I can’t be imagining things.”

  “But what if there’s an emergency and I need to reach you? I’m sure my mother won’t mind you staying here with me. That sacred mission of yours can survive without you for a few months—at least till after the baby is born.” Wrong choice of words, but his refusal to put family before his political activities got under her skin. “The fight for an independent Quebec has been going on for over a hundred years. What are a few short months in the grand scheme of things? I hate to shatter your illusions, but the fight will continue with or without you.”

  He turned on his heel and snatched the bags from the sidewalk. “Where do you want me to dump these?”

  “Hold on, Serge.” She hurried after him. “That didn’t come out right. I didn’t mean what I said.” They had discussed his political vision many times over. He had never budged from his position before this—why did she expect him to do so now? Arguing would only keep him away. One of these days she’d learn to think before opening her mouth.