This evening there was a gathering in the meeting room off the restaurant. Present were Cameron, Joe Blinstraub—his lawyer—Moe Green, and his wife, Margie.
Green assumed the occasion had something to do with the loan. The money was the lone bond that had linked Green and Cameron since the deal had been struck. Were he forced to guess, Green would expect Cameron to plead for an extension on the note. Ha! No way in hell.
Green had launched many deals since that loan to Cameron. A string of slum dwellings, prison real estate, and the like had absorbed Green’s time and attention. And of course there was always his medical practice. Cameron had been on the back burner these three years. Left alone, Green would remember the loan in another two years, at which point it would be time for Cameron to pay up or get lost. But, for now, Green would enjoy this well-prepared meal.
Cameron kept stealing glances at Margie. In the three full years since he had seen her in person, Margie had been photographed regularly at benefits and other social events. In society columns that featured celebrities’ names in boldface type, Moe and Margie were mentioned more often than not.
It was through such columns that Cameron had learned of the birth of Margie’s children. Two in the first two years of her marriage, a girl, then a boy. She hadn’t called to tell him about her babies … or anything else, for that matter.
He dared not attempt to contact her. Green had made it clear that if Margie became his woman Cameron was completely out of the picture.
And she surely had become Green’s woman.
When Cameron had explained to Margie the deal he’d been offered, he had expected hesitancy or downright refusal. It didn’t happen. Instantly, Margie had seen herself in a no-lose situation. If she chose Green it would be on her terms. Otherwise, she would return to the situation she’d left. After all, Cameron wasn’t so bad.
It now appeared to Cameron that these three years had not been kind to Margie. A few furrows and wrinkles questioned a hitherto flawless complexion. They seemed to denote disagreements, hostility, perhaps even pain. Maybe her relationship with Green was a lot less than loving. But it seemed she had decided to stay with the money.
Dinner conversation had been, for the most part, awkward. The only common denominator for this group was the loan, which would not be an issue for another two years.
Coffee and sherbet were served.
When the servers left, Cameron rose as if to give a speech, which, considering there was an audience of three, would have been somewhat absurd.
But there was no speech. He simply handed Green a cashier’s check for the balance of the loan, including interest.
Green was unable to mask his surprise. Wordlessly, he handed the check to Margie. For the first time this evening she gave Cameron her full attention. Her smile bespoke congratulations and a shared pride.
“So,” Green said, “you did it. You paid off a five-year loan in three. I must admit, when we first negotiated this deal, I didn’t think you’d make it. I figured in a few years I’d be the owner of a topless bar and I’d really make it move. And here you are, you son-of-a-bitch: You did it in three.”
“Yup, this wraps it up.”
Green worked his unlit cigar from one side of his mouth to the other. “Makes me think,” he said, “I didn’t play this as smart as I thought. I shoulda got to know you better … much better. I shoulda become your partner.”
Cameron snorted as he sat down.
“Never too late, though,” Green said. “How about it, Jake? We could be partners.”
Cameron thought for several moments. “Across the board, Moe? Partners in the ghetto housing, the real estate, the car dealerships, the works?”
“Very funny, Jake,” Green said. “This place. Virago. With my money, you could expand. With my influence with our state lawmakers, we could be the very first to get a permit for legalized gambling. I don’t know, you’re probably into hookers and drugs. Here, again, I could open some doors, shut some eyes. You could make it really big, Jake.”
“Turn it around, Moe. My success with Virago could spread into your businesses. You aren’t getting anywhere near what you could realize with my hands-on managing. And as far as the Congress and the cops, I may not have as many as you’ve got in your pocket, but I’m not doing so bad. And the hookers and the dope … well, it’s here. But well under the surface.”
He looked at Moe with total self-confidence. “This is a serious offer, Moe. Partnership across the board.”
Green hesitated. But not because he was giving any serious thought to Cameron’s proposition. Finally, he spoke. “It’ll never happen, Jake. I’m traveling a faster track than you’re ever going to run on. You’re not in my league. But, no hard feelings. And I haven’t changed my mind. I never change my mind. I want a partnership in this place. Don’t ever forget: Without me this place would be just your dream. It would exist only in your mind.”
“And that’s a partnership that’ll never be, Moe. This here is my dream house. You’re never gonna get in here.”
“If I had a last buck, I’d cover that bet.”
“You’d lose.”
“You should know me better. Then, again, you never had a chance to. And you never will. But I promise: I’ll be back.”
“Come as often as you want, Moe. During business hours, of course. We always welcome a big spender like you.
“Oh, and Moe …” It was said as if in afterthought. “In a little while you’ll be able to have a choice. Next month we’re starting construction on Virago II.”
“Come on, Margie. Thanks for an interesting evening, Jake. We must do this—and more—sometime.”
Dr. and Mrs. Green made their exit, leaving Cameron with a sense of accomplishment. Green was out of his life. Not that the doctor had been an intrusive presence since the loan. But the indebtedness had gnawed at Cameron. In the intervening years, he had learned more about Green’s m.o. from a series of disgruntled and hapless victims. Green wheeled and dealed and generally stripped his associates like a vulture.
Right now, Green was probably experiencing spasms because he’d failed to make the right move three years ago.
Tough.
As recently as the middle ’60s, some potent adversaries of dancers and waitresses in topless establishments were fulminating against this new phenomenon. Legislators promised constituents that this new art form would never be legitimized in Michigan.
Cameron had taken the simplest approach. Since Adam, men had delighted in looking at women. The more of women men could see, the better men liked it. Laws forbidding toplessness were foredoomed.
An earlier generation had thought it best that everyone stop drinking alcohol. That generation had learned that people liked to drink alcohol. So Prohibition was repealed.
Threats against the displaying of minimally clothed women held the same chance for success.
Cameron had put all his chips on the right number and won … big. Now he had no need nor any inclination to take on a partner. Especially not Dr. Moses Green.
THE PRESENT
Jake Cameron had finished his narration some moments before Father Koesler realized it was ended. “You mean,” Koesler said, “that Mrs. Green, that sophisticated woman I spent practically this whole afternoon with, once worked as a cashier in a topless bar?”
“Well,” Cameron hedged, “she was a cashier. She was also treasurer and …well … just about everything except dancer or bouncer. It was just plain fool’s luck that I found Joe Blinstraub. He isn’t as multitalented as Margie—but … almost.”
“And she was your … what are they calling this relationship nowadays … significant other?”
Cameron nodded.
“But she just left you and went with Dr. Green?”
Again Cameron nodded. “He had more money and power than either of us figured we’d see in our lifetimes. I don’t blame her. I’d have done the same.”
“Even with the difference in their ages?”
“When I met Moe in ’74, he was thirty-six. Margie was nineteen. Now he’s fifty-eight, she’s forty-one. What can I say? She made a commitment and kept it.”
“You know her much better than I,” Koesler said. “But this afternoon, believe me, she was no passive person. I got the clear impression that no one—no one—was going to push her around, or dominate her.”
“Oh, I see what you mean …” Cameron needed a cigarette. He promised himself one after finishing with Koesler—even if it was chilly outside. “You’re right. Ordinarily, Margie is in charge—oh, I’d say 90 percent of the time. But she came close to meeting her match in Green.
“One example: Green had been divorced before he met Margie. She made him get some kind of additional divorce—a Catholic one—before she would marry him.”
“An annulment.”
“Yeah, that’s it. They put him through the wringer. A lot of time and a lot of trouble. But she got him to do it. That’s pretty much how it’s been with them over the years. Now, I would guess it’s probably fifty-fifty. But, you gotta remember: I get my information second-and third-hand. When Margie left me, she left me. As far as I know, she’s been faithful to him. Which, of course, is probably more than you could say as far as he’s concerned.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, Father, I feel the need for a weed ….”
“Oh, of course. Just one last question: When we met a few minutes ago, I think you said that you and Dr. Green were partners. But then you said you repaid the loan two years early … you said you absolutely refused his bid to become your partner. I mean you seemed very resolute—very!”
Cameron grinned mirthlessly. “Things change. Especially when someone is pulling your string.”
THE PAST
It was 1990.
Employee turnover at Virago was high, compared with other area restaurants. Most eateries did not offer top wages or anything close to top. Many employees were young and wanted to improve their opportunities.
With the topless bar, customers—almost all of whom were male—wanted new bodies from time to time. What they got were mostly new faces. The bodies were much the same from one dancer to the next.
Virago had become the premier topless bar/restaurant in the metropolitan area. Its dancers were as good as they came, both in talent and looks. Nonetheless, the cast did change periodically.
Jake Cameron had final say at the auditions of prospective dancers. Realistically, he was a good judge of performance. More deeply, he enjoyed the hell out of beautiful women au naturel—or as close thereto as possible.
Sixteen contestants had already performed this morning. Each had received the same valedictory from Jake Cameron: “Thanks. We’ll call you.”
Actually, it was a considerable achievement to have reached this level in auditions for Virago. These women had survived three previous cuts, having been winnowed by Cameron’s attorney and chief assistant, Joe Blinstraub.
The final two applicants waited in the wings. One extended her hand. “Hi. I’m Susan Batson.”
The other took her hand. “Judy Young. Cold in here, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. But I’m so nervous I don’t notice it much.” Susan, with soft chocolate skin, was gorgeous.
“Well, I do. I don’t mind being last, but not if it means coming down with a cold.” Judy’s naturally curly brunette hair cascaded over her shoulders, as if a comb had not even been run through it. Her hair, along with everything else about her, was perfect.
She peered around the curtain. “Is Jake Cameron out there? Do you know what he looks like, Susan? Which one is he?”
Susan didn’t need to look; she had scouted this territory en route to the dressing room. “He’s the best-looking guy out there. Nice dark hair, styled. Good strong face. Broad shoulders. Probably got great buns. Sleeves rolled up. Holding the pad and pencil. You can’t miss him.”
Judy smiled. “Not after that description.”
“Susan, we’re ready for you,” a masculine voice called.
“Wish me luck.”
“You got it.”
As Susan danced out onto the stage, she was thinking of the earlier contestants whom she could outperform. That was a happy thought, because she knew that even if Judy Young were to stumble over her own feet, she’d still win a spot. No one should be allowed to look that perfect.
Judy watched Susan dance. Good. Very good. But not good enough to beat her.
If Susan had had the interpretive training and classic instruction that Judy’d had—maybe. Susan was pretty enough; no problem there. And her dancing flowed. But there was something to be said for technical excellence and classical training. Judy’s routine would knock their eyes out.
There was scattered applause as Susan finished. Cameron’s “Thanks. We’ll call you,” for once sounded sincere.
While Cameron, Blinstraub, and three other men tabulated Susan’s score, Judy tried to psych herself out of shivering. Finally, the same bored male voice called, “Okay; we’re ready for you, Judy.”
That’s what they thought.
Judy bounded onstage to a crashing chord. She writhed around a pole, working her way to the floor much like a hypnotic serpent. She was all over the stage with impossible leaps and unexpected hesitations.
She was playing directly to Jake Cameron, and she was easily as seductive as Salome. All that remained was to determine whose head she wanted. Cameron wasn’t quite ready to offer her half his kingdom, but he was inclined to be most generous. Seldom if ever had such an accomplished talent auditioned as a go-go dancer.
Judy’s impressive finale elicited uniquely universal applause. Smiling, she stood stock-still, absorbing the adulation. No “Thanks. We’ll call you.” Instead, Cameron, followed by the other men, left his chair and moved to the stage, still applauding. Judy blushed.
The blush was definitely unexpected. Cameron recalled her résumé. She was eighteen. Just a kid. That explained her embarrassment. Would the customers find that sort of reaction a turn-on? Cameron didn’t know; he’d never seen an act like hers on a stage like this.
One thing was clear: She had a lot to learn. And he knew who her teacher would be.
Finally, Cameron motioned; the other men retreated, leaving him with Judy. “That was something! Where’d you got a routine like that?”
“It’s mine. I created it. But I’ve had some training.”
“You’re gonna knock ’em dead with that act.”
“Oh,” she said cheerfully, “there’s lots more where that came from. Does this mean I get the job?”
Cameron laughed heartily. “Yeah, I think it does. We were planning on picking up five new girls. And you’re one through five. For now, go on back to the dressing room. I’ll send somebody in to work out a contract—all the legal stuff, our club’s rules and routines. Then a technician will work with you on lighting. The spot will have to follow you around the stage. With your moves, that ain’t gonna be easy. All this’ll take a while. So how about I take you out for dinner? Whad’ya say?”
It did consume most of the day. It took the lighting man almost twice the usual time to set up for Judy. She had so many moves that eventually he had to make cue cards for himself.
At nearly eight that evening, she was waiting outside Cameron’s office. He smiled as he took her arm. He smiled a lot that evening.
They went to the Whitney, a renovated mansion near Detroit’s cultural center. The Whitney ranked with the finest restaurants in the metropolitan area. Cameron had escorted many extremely attractive women there. He could not remember ever being especially proud of his companion as he was tonight. He wanted to show off Judy to everyone.
The other diners were dazzled. He could tell.
They made small talk through the meal. He contributed most. She asked questions.
Afterward, he drove her home. An apartment house in northwest Detroit. No place special, but Cameron knew that with what she would make, she would surely move up in the world. No limit.
A latter-day Henry Higgins, he would remake this little lady. He smiled at her naïveté; of course he was coming in.
The place was comfortably, if sparsely, furnished. There was a bedroom, so there would be no delay wrestling open a sofa bed.
She went into the kitchen and actually began making coffee. He smiled again.
He entered the kitchen quietly and stood behind her, thinking how the perfume he would recommend would improve even this beauty.
It was there in the kitchen he made his first move.
With both arms wrapped around her from behind, he cupped her breasts with his hands. He was careful not to bruise them in the slightest. From the costume that had barely covered her earlier, he knew her breasts were perfect firm mounds. The Wonder Bra would be redundant.
She froze.
“What’s goin’ on here?” he said with a touch of impatience. “You’ve been coming on to me all day long. And you pick now to climb in the freezer!”
“Sorry, Jake. But let’s take it slow … okay?”
“Well, pardon me—I thought we were. Okay, make your coffee.” He returned to the living room and sat on the couch. He was not nearly as happy as he had been.
She brought in the coffee. Plainly, she was skittish and apprehensive.
She asked about Susan Batson and her chances. Susan was hired, he said sullenly. She asked more questions. He was tired of her questions, tired of answering them. The situation was deteriorating.
Suddenly, she seemed to reach a decision. She rose and crossed the room to him. She took his hand and wordlessly led him into the bedroom. In a few moves, she removed her clothing and began helping him with his.
“For a broad who wanted to go slow, you sure are in a hurry.” He wasn’t complaining.
“Let’s not talk,” she whispered.
They fell into bed. He attempted foreplay, but she pushed his hand aside and guided him into her. She did have a few erotic moves. His orgasm came quickly and in seconds was complete.
No sooner was he finished than she left the bed and hurried into the bathroom, whence came the unmistakable sounds of vomiting.
Requiem for Moses Page 4
