Jack of Diamonds

by Bryce Courtenay

  However, there were no rude calls or suggestions, only smiles and applause. One or two of the girls touched me lightly on my sleeve and said, ‘Be happy, honey,’ and ‘Good luck, Honky-Tonk Jack.’ One near the end, the older woman Reggie Blunt had referred to earlier in the evening as Madam Rose, shook her finger and shouted out to Jucilla Fruitino, ‘Now you be real nice to that good-looking boy, you hear, girl?’

  Then – holy smoke! – there, standing under the streetlight directly in front of the Caribou Café, was the big black Brunswick Buick with the rear door held open by Peter Cornhill. ‘Welcome, Jack,’ he said. ‘You’re a lucky man.’ Then with a broad smile he exclaimed, ‘Hello, Juicy Fruit!’

  Jucilla Fruitino, now that she was free of the mob, smiled a somewhat enigmatic smile. ‘Thank you, Peter,’ she said, stepping into the back of the Buick. So far she was acting like a proper lady. Of course it was a part of Peter’s job to know all the girls on River Street – stupid of me to be surprised – but he seemed genuinely pleased that I’d scored Jucilla Fruitino, evidently known as Juicy Fruit. But as I stepped into the back of the car it left me in an immediate quandary, what the hell did I call her?

  I was settling into the back seat when she leaned over and kissed me lightly on the cheek. ‘If you promise never to call me Juicy or Fruit I’ll promise not to call you Honky-Tonk,’ she laughed.

  Alone for a moment in the car as Peter walked around the back to get into the driver’s seat I was feeling a little more composed. Maybe it would become awkward again when we reached our destination and prepared for the dreaded you-know-what, but I reminded myself firmly that I knew how to handle women when they were dressed. After all, I’d been doing it for most of my life. ‘What shall I call you? Jucilla?’ I asked.

  ‘Lordy, no!’ She giggled. ‘What everyone else calls me, just plain Juicy Fruit.’ Then she cautioned me, ‘But mind, always together like that . . . like the chewing gum.’

  I could almost hear Reggie Blunt remarking, ‘By gum! I wonder if she’ll stick around, old chap.’

  ‘I promise,’ I laughed, and at that moment Peter Cornhill slipped into the driver’s seat, slammed the door and gunned the engine, saving me from having to reply.

  ‘Right then, let’s be off. Just time to catch the late train to Regina.’

  ‘Regina!’ we both chorused.

  ‘Ha ha! Big surprise, hey? All arranged – personal suite. Night clerk knows you’ll be coming in late.’ He glanced quickly over his shoulder then back at the road. ‘No questions asked, you’re already registered as Mr and Mrs Kupple.’ He spelled it out, ‘K-U-P-P-L-E,’ then added, ‘it was Reggie Blunt’s idea.’

  I nodded. ‘Yeah, that figures.’

  ‘Hotel Saskatchewan, it’s just a short ride from the station. All very grand – vaulted ceilings, marble, all that jazz – looks over Victoria Park. There’ll be a hotel car to pick you up at the station. The driver’s name is Alf . . . Alf Fields. You’ll be catching the midday train and arriving back here shortly after 1.00 p.m. tomorrow. Alf will take you back to the station and we’ll meet you here. Everything’s been paid for, no gratuities, that’s all been done. You can order breakfast from room service or you can have it in the grand dining room, whichever you decide.’

  With Peter in the car chatting away as if everything was perfectly normal I was gaining in confidence by the minute. ‘Peter, how come? Is this all your work?’ I asked.

  He laughed. ‘Only a small part. It seems you were a very popular prize, Jack. The amount for the raffle tickets and the dollars in the hat were much more than anyone expected. Madam Rose handed the logistics over to Reggie and I did my part.’

  Juicy Fruit laughed. ‘I bought several myself.’

  ‘Well, my bit was easy. My brother Noel is the concierge at the Saskatchewan – special rates, all in the family if you know what I mean?’

  Juicy Fruit leaned forward and touched Peter on the shoulder. ‘Thanks, Pete, I owe you,’ she said. ‘What a lovely way to come back to Regina!’

  ‘Oh, you’ve been there before?’ I asked.

  She squeezed my arm. ‘Might as well know, Jack. The last time I was in Regina I spent the night in the Queen’s Hotel.’ When I looked blank she said, ‘Jail, honey. I was caught soliciting in the cocktail bar of the Hotel Saskatchewan quite late, it’s the best time for us when customers have had a bit to drink and are feeling lonely. I was only eighteen, a country girl, and very new to the game. I didn’t know my way around the city and I hadn’t negotiated a cut with the barman. Just to teach me a lesson the bastard called the cops. At the police station they locked me in a cell and soon after the fat police sergeant gave me an either or.’

  ‘You didn’t refuse?’ Peter interrupted.

  ‘Yep. I did so. I told you I was a greenhorn.’

  ‘Oh, dear. And then?’ Peter asked.

  ‘The fat bastard kept me overnight in a cell.’ She laughed. ‘It wasn’t just that, he removed the blanket and it was late fall, almost winter. “Teach you a good lesson, girlie,” he said.’

  She had a truly infectious laugh that suggested nothing in life should be taken too seriously. Nevertheless it was the first suggestion that Juicy Fruit wasn’t entirely the nice-looking, friendly, girl-next-door type she’d appeared to be at first glance. I reminded myself she was a professional who, from the story she’d just related, now knew her way around. I guess you grow up quickly out on the street. As far as I knew, the twins had never done street work, or been forced to solicit in a cocktail bar, but then what would I know about their time in Montreal? Juicy Fruit wasn’t as pretty and glamorous as they were, but she had the face, dress and demeanour of a well-turned-out young woman you might see walking with her equally well-dressed partner downtown and you’d think immediately how lucky he was to have someone like her at his side. She’d earlier confessed to being a Saskatchewan country girl but you’d never have known it from her appearance.

  Miss Frostbite would have called her handsome, with a certain charm. I could hear her in my head saying it.

  My mom would have said, ‘That’s a sassy young lady.’

  On the other hand Joe had once taught me not to trust appearances. I remember he was watching one of the twins leaving the Jazz Warehouse on the arm of a top-brass officer and had no doubt seen the lust and longing in my eyes. ‘Jazzboy, what on the outside of a wo-man, that be cam-o-flage. What on the inside, now that sheer mys-tery. That ain’t known to no hep cat. Cain’t nevah tell. No wo-man she the same to no two cats! She change colour anytime she want, like a cam-e-leon. She got a long, sticky tongue and even if yo other side the room she got you, zzzzzzip! One mo-ment you got yo Wee Willy livin’ quiet in your pants and then before you knows you got yoself Long Dong Silver who’s a pushin’ and strainin’ so you cain’t walk no ways normal.’ He shook a long bony finger in my face. ‘Now that hard earned what I jus tol’ you, Jazzboy. So don’t you do no forgettin’. A wo-man ain’t nevah what she seem. Even what she bin tonight ain’t what she gonna wake up an’ be tomorrow mornin’.’

  Joe would have made some woman a great husband, and while his advice to me may have seemed cynical, I never heard him be anything but polite and gracious in the company of a woman, and this included the kitchen staff. My mom adored him and I don’t think Miss Frostbite could have done without him constantly by her side. She could be stubborn as a mule, and beware any male who crossed her, but she’d usually come around to his way of seeing things. He was also a much, much better jazz piano player than he ever let on. Sometimes he’d see me attempting a difficult new piece and sit down and do it effortlessly, instructing me as he went. He stuck with their two-piano act and his powder blue tails because it gave the unsophisticated nightclub customers a plausible reason to come to the Jazz Warehouse and drink in a civilised way and gave Miss Frostbite a musical as well as a proprietorial presence. Fairy Floss & Hockey, as they were billed, was a lot more than a musical act. I sometimes wondered if, when they’d been younger, Joe a
nd Miss Frostbite . . . you know . . . may have been somewhat more than a musical item. One thing you could be sure of, he would never tell you and, come to think of it, I don’t suppose she would either.

  We’d reached the Moose Jaw station and Peter Cornhill jumped from the car and opened the door for Juicy Fruit before I could get to it. Then he opened the boot and produced two small suitcases and handed one to Juicy Fruit, explaining, ‘Reggie Blunt asked Madam Rose to see to all this. It’s got all you’ll need I’m told.’ He handed me the second, saying, ‘Same for you, Jack, packed it myself – clean shirt, the rest.’ He then turned towards the conductor who was walking down the platform getting ready to blow his whistle. They moved away out of our hearing and I saw them talk a moment and then Peter put his hand in his trouser pocket and they shook hands. I felt reasonably certain some paper money changed hands, because the conductor nodded and looked towards us. ‘All aboard!’ he shouted and blew a long blast on his whistle.

  Peter shook hands formally with both of us. ‘Good luck to you both,’ he said, as if there was more than one novice embarking on an unknown journey.

  We found our second-class compartment and discovered it contained a couple, both of whom had already folded down the bunks and were in bed. I looked at Juicy Fruit. No words were necessary – the trip to Regina was going to be in silence and more than a little awkward, to say the least.

  However, moments later the conductor appeared and instructed us to follow him. The train had started to gather speed and he eventually unlocked a vacant first-class compartment. ‘Be more comfortable in here,’ he said. I went to my pocket but he waved me aside. ‘You’ll be able to talk in here. We get into Regina in an hour.’

  The time has come. We are alone. What now? These were my immediate thoughts. There was no point in being scared or even nervous, the train was going too fast for me to jump out of the window, we had an hour and I guess we could talk and get to know each other a bit better. That way . . .

  ‘Well, Jack, we’d better get to know each other,’ Juicy Fruit said, stealing the words right out of my mind.

  ‘You mentioned you were from the country?’ I said casually, hoping I sounded urbane and that this was simply easy talk between two people who, despite the evening just past and the trip to the station, were still strangers.

  Juicy Fruit giggled. ‘Yes, I’m a flatlander born and bred but that’s not what I meant, honey.’ We were seated opposite each other and she now stood and pointed to the bunk where I sat. ‘On your back, young man,’ she ordered.

  ‘Oh no! Not now! Not here on a train!’ I panicked. ‘Are we, I mean now, right now . . . going to . . . make love?’

  ‘Jack, perhaps you forgot. This is my gig.’ She said it quite sternly but her eyes were filled with amusement.

  ‘You mean —?’

  ‘I make the decisions.’

  I nodded, then gained sufficient courage to say, ‘Juicy Fruit, I have to . . . I mean, I haven’t any idea what to do. The kiss, the one on the bandstand, that was the first romantic kiss I’ve ever had.’

  ‘Romantic, that’s a lovely word, Jack. I don’t get to hear it too often.’ She rested her forefinger on her chin. ‘You know, I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard it said to me and I think you should be rewarded.’

  I suddenly wondered if the same was true of my mom, that no one had ever said anything romantic to her. I grinned sheepishly. ‘I really don’t know a thing. I’m sure you’re going to find me a big disappointment.’ I tried desperately to tell the truth but at the same time not seem like the naïve young fool I was.

  ‘That makes it even nicer for me, Jack.’ She paused and grinned. ‘Now, do as you’re told and lie down, please. Perhaps, now that we’re alone, we can try a second kiss and make it a little more passionate than the first, eh?’

  I started to raise my legs and then stopped. ‘Do I take off my shoes?’

  ‘Always a good start,’ she giggled.

  I fumbled with the laces and pulled them off.

  ‘Jacket, tie and collar might be a good idea as well,’ she instructed playfully, putting me at my ease.

  Grinning like a chimpanzee I did as I was told, removed my jacket, tie and the stud from my heavily starched collar so that it sprang open, held only by the stud at the back of my neck. ‘Allow me,’ Juicy Fruit said, removing the back collar stud and placing the collar with my jacket and tie on the opposite bunk. I must say it was nice being in only my shirtsleeves – the starched detachable collar had been chafing my neck all night. ‘Now, what were your instructions, Jack?’

  ‘To lie down.’ I swung my legs up onto the bunk and stretched out, only just fitting. Almost before I’d adjusted myself Juicy Fruit had climbed aboard and placed her body on top of mine with a little wriggle of her hips. My very shy friend Wee Willy had been hiding all night, but now, seemingly in seconds, he rose to the occasion, demanding that I introduce Long Dong Silver, as Joe would say. There wasn’t much I could do about it. With Juicy Fruit directly on top of me there was no chance of escape.

  Moments later, her mouth rested on mine and I thought I felt her tongue between my lips. Then she drew back and whispered, ‘Open your mouth, Jack.’

  Now I know this is hard to believe, but as I noted before, my only experience of a passionate kiss had happened at the movies between Cary Grant and Rita Hayworth and hadn’t involved (or I hadn’t noticed) open mouths. So I opened my mouth as if I was at the doctor’s about to say ‘Ah’.

  Juicy Fruit burst out laughing, but it was kind, not cruel, and I couldn’t help laughing with her. ‘I don’t believe it! I just don’t believe it,’ she cried. ‘It’s like you’ve been thrown in the deep end and you can’t swim a single stroke!’

  ‘What?’ I asked, chuckling. ‘What have I done?’

  ‘Open your mouth just a little, Jack, so I can get my tongue into your mouth. It’s . . .’ she seemed to be searching for a word, ‘deep kissing, like passionate. I think I’m going to enjoy tonight. How lucky can a girl get, eh? A lover I can train to please me.’

  I had no idea what was expected of me but I decided humility was the best option. In fact there was no alternative, so I attempted to say in what I hoped was a more or less gallant manner, ‘Of course, whatever you want, Miss Juicy Fruit. But you’ll have to show me.’

  She lowered herself onto her elbows. ‘Oh boy, I’d never have thought this would happen in my whole life!’ She was plainly delighted. ‘So, let’s begin then, Jack. Now open your mouth only slightly when I kiss you, just enough for my tongue to enter,’ she said, bringing her slightly parted lips down softly onto my own.

  The effect was magical, it was . . . well, just wonderful, and I slid my own tongue into her mouth and it was even better, our two tongues making love. Eventually Juicy Fruit drew back.

  ‘Wow!’ I announced, lost for words.

  Juicy Fruit moved off me and came to kneel beside the bunk. It was a relief down below, but now I faced yet another embarrassment: I was unmistakably tent-poling. Juicy Fruit leaned over and kissed the tent. ‘Time I made you comfortable, Jack. Then we can sit down and chat and when we get to the hotel we’ll continue, eh?’ She grinned. ‘I’ll be teacher and you can be teacher’s pet.’ She had a nice turn of phrase and was obviously smart. She undid my top button, then glancing up at me, she went to work on the rest. ‘Oh my, and what have we got in here?’ she exclaimed, easing my penis from my Jockeys.

  My imprisoned member shot up and out like a ramrod. ‘Wow! What a lucky girl am I!’ Juicy Fruit exclaimed again, leaning over and holding the base gently between her forefinger and thumb, then, to my astonishment, kissing it. My first thought was that she was going to . . . well, you know, start to rub me using those pretty hands with the long red nails. But then, to my astounded delight, she brought her mouth over the top and a good half of my rampant juddering manhood disappeared into it.

  Perhaps if I’d known what was coming it might have been different, but it was simply th
e happiest surprise of my life as she began to stroke me with her tender beautiful lips.

  I’d like to report that this went on for ages and ages but I was much too excited and after a few minutes I started to moan and, though I tried to hang on, Juicy Fruit gripped me more firmly and also increased her speed and with a huge, wonderful surge I came. It was as if I had reached some new pinnacle of pleasure that was so unsustainable it simply had to end. Of course, the act of ejaculation wasn’t new to me, but this was infinitely more pleasurable. It was the first time I’d experienced oral sex – any sort of sex! – and there could be no possible comparison to the simple bodily function that leads to relief for every teenage boy. To have a woman willing to give freely with no thought of immediate return was, in itself, an exquisite act of unselfish lovemaking. I instinctively knew that, although it could have been performed dutifully, somehow that wasn’t what Juicy Fruit was doing for me.

  Although I was still by definition a virgin, I had now, with her tender ministrations, learned that the first joy in making love was sharing – I was dying to give back what I had received. I had fallen in love with womankind, not just the person with whom I had experienced this first act of love, but all of womankind, the gender itself. Alas, I didn’t know how I was ever to please Juicy Fruit as she had so wonderfully and selflessly pleased me.

  I know people reading this may think, ‘Oh well, she was a prostitute and probably gave oral sex routinely when men demanded it, so what’s the big deal?’ But that’s not what it was for me. Juicy Fruit had won me in a raffle, she didn’t have to prove her credentials, she had a young guy who knew nothing and it could well have amused her to make fun of me or make demands on me I couldn’t or didn’t know how to meet – the hooker’s ultimate revenge for all the men who had abused, insulted and taken her for granted. The fat cop when she’d been eighteen was just one of what I imagined had been dozens, possibly hundreds of such men. But she’d done no such thing. She’d made me unselfconscious and eager to learn as much as I possibly could. She had prepared me for what was to come.