(1988) The Golden Room

by Irving Wallace

  ‘Now,’ said Karen, ‘let’s see something more interesting — our downtown section known to natives as the Loop. We’ll drive there, leave the car, and wander around on foot.’

  When they reached the Loop, it proved to be a beehive of humanity and moving vehicles. Above them, like a steel girdle, the tracks of the elevated trains circled the area, pouring almost three-quarters of a million shoppers into the streets daily. The Loop seethed with people dodging automobiles, horse-drawn trucks, buses, and electric streetcars. The din of people talking and walking and of machines whirring and banging was almost deafening.

  Karen inched the Ford along, searching and searching for a vacant parking place; at last she found one and eased the auto into it.

  Once safely parked, Karen urged Cathleen and Bruce to descend into the bedlam of the street. She told them to follow her. She seemed to have some kind of destination in mind. As they pushed and shoved along, Karen indicated the rumbling elevated that blocked out the sky above them.

  ‘The third elevated line to be installed in the country,’ Karen explained. ‘New York and Brooklyn had them first.

  We followed in time to create mass transportation for the World’s Columbian Exposition. A year before the fair, the elevated consisted of a small steam locomotive hauling four wooden coaches. Each olive-green coach was forty-six feet long. Eventually, the Els were converted to electrically powered trains, essentially what you see up there at a second-storey level today.’

  Bruce made a mock gesture of covering his ears. ‘As a country horseman, I don’t know if I could stand all this thunder and confusion on a daily basis.’

  ‘Well, I’m going to show you that we have other diversions,’ said Karen. She had come to a halt before a theatre. A sign identified it as the American Music Hall. ‘Have either of you ever seen vaudeville?’ Karen asked.

  ‘Many times in Louisville,’ Cathleen replied.

  ‘Good,’ said Karen, ‘but today I want you to spend fifteen minutes seeing the best. Have you heard of Joe Cook?’

  Neither Cathleen nor Bruce had.

  ‘I’ve timed our arrival so we can see his performance today.’

  ‘Who is Joe Cook?’ Bruce wanted to know.

  ‘A comedian,’ said Karen, as she bought three tickets. ‘He does what they call a nut act. He satirizes vaudeville. He’s marvellous.’

  The three of them went into the darkened theatre, which was two-thirds full for the matinee.

  As they walked down the aisle and found their seats, a magician on stage was concluding his performance to applause.

  Karen whispered to Cathleen and Bruce, ‘Now Joe Cook. He’s going to do his Four Hawaiians number.’

  They watched as Joe Cook, carrying a mandolin, ambled out of the wings. A plain wooden chair had been set in the centre of the stage, and Joe Cook sat down, mandolin in his lap. He squinted out at the audience and began to speak.

  ‘I will give an imitation of four Hawaiians. This is one.’

  Cook whistled. ‘This is another.’ He tinkled the mandolin. ‘And this is the third.’ He marked time with his foot. Then he resumed speaking. ‘I could imitate four Hawaiians just as easily but I will tell you the reason why I don’t do it. You see, I bought a horse for fifty dollars and it turned out to be a running horse. I was offered $15,000 for him and I took it. I built a house with the $15,000, and when it was finished a neighbour offered me $100,000 for it. He said my house stood right where he wanted to dig a well. So I took the $100,000 to accommodate him. I invested the $100,000 in peanuts, and that year there was a peanut famine, so I sold the peanuts for $350,000. Now why should a man with $350,000 bother to imitate four Hawaiians?’

  Calmly, Cook picked up his chair and left the stage, while the audience burst into laughter, and Cathleen, Bruce, and Karen held their sides and joined in the merriment.

  Presently, after another number, the three of them left the theatre and made their way through the jostling crowds towards the parked car.

  Bruce shook his head. ‘Joe Cook was wonderful.’

  Karen cast him a sidelong glance, pleased. ‘I wanted you to know there was a lot of fun in Chicago too.’

  ‘What next?’ Bruce wanted to know.

  ‘The afternoon is almost gone,’ Karen said. ‘I think your aunts will be expecting you.’

  They were in the Ford once more and wending their way out of the Loop.

  ‘I guess you’ve seen just about everything of importance,’ said Karen.

  ‘Not quite,’ said Bruce.

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Karen, with surprise. ‘If you mean we missed the Union Stockyards, I skipped that on purpose. I didn’t think a potential vegetarian would want to see that.’

  ‘I don’t,’ said Bruce. ‘But there’s something else I’d like to see — one more thing.’

  ‘What?’ Karen wondered.

  ‘A place called the Levee,’ said Bruce. ‘I understand it’s not far from our aunts’ home.’

  ‘The Levee?’ said Karen, brow furrowing. ‘Are you sure? It’s miserable. It’s supposed to be the wickedest section of the city.’

  ‘I know,’ Bruce agreed. ‘I’ve heard about it. But I hoped to see Chicago completely, for better or for worse.’

  ‘If you insist,’ said Karen, still troubled.

  Bruce was adamant. ‘I insist.’

  Karen sighed. ‘In that case, we’ll return to your aunts’ home, leave the car in front, and take a short walk through the Levee.’

  After they had returned to the Everleigh Club and parked Minna’s car, Karen reluctantly led her charges into the heart of the Levee.

  ‘There’s not too much to see,’ Karen told Bruce. But then the mayor’s reform statistics came to mind. ‘The Levee itself is roughly four blocks by four blocks, with over 200 brothels, some of them small as a closet, but of these, thirty-seven are major bordellos. There are about 3,000 persons who inhabit the area. Most of these are hoodlums, drunkards, gamblers, opium dealers, criminals of every stripe. In a single day, usually at night, there’s an average of five murders here, seven suicides, ten persons killed by bombings. Raping of women daring to walk through here is routine. Most of the rapes don’t get into the press, but I was told that one time a socialite, Mrs Frank C. Hollister, was found in a garbage heap. She had been raped, strangled with copper wire, and then beaten to a pulp. That made the papers and provoked some police protection, but only briefly.’

  Cathleen shuddered. ‘How can our aunts live near such a terrible neighbourhood?’

  Karen was uncertain what to say. She said what she could. ‘I imagine they were taken by the idea of dwelling in a mansion, but couldn’t afford one in a more respectable area.’

  Together, the three of them strolled past a brothel where painted young women, semi-clad, stood in the windows and beckoned to Bruce.

  Karen pointed to another brothel. ‘It’s called The California. There are dozens of prostitutes inside, wearing only flimsy chemises and colourful high-heeled shoes. The two men standing in front are cadets trying to lure customers inside.’

  ‘Cadets, you call them,’ Bruce laughed. ‘You know they’re pimps.’

  ‘I try to avoid such language,’ Karen retorted.

  As they strolled along, Karen waved her hand to take in the entire block. ‘All you’ll find here are winehouses - some play Scott Joplin ragtime on piano rolls all night long, saloons awash with whisky, pawnshops, gambling joints, and, above all, the mainstay of this district, houses of prostitution. This red-light district is filled with them.’

  ‘Red-light district,’ said Cathleen. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Women for sale,’ said Karen. ‘Red-light comes from the fact that many of the bordellos have red beacons on the outside.’ Again she pointed. ‘Over there you see the house owned by Julia and Maurice Van Bever, who were found guilty of practising white slavery, inducing innocent young women to become prostitutes.’

  ‘White slavery?’ Cathleen was appalled. ‘I
sn’t that ancient history?’

  ‘It still goes on here and there,’ said Karen. ‘Off to your left, do you see that hovel with the windows painted over? It’s known as a breaking-in house. A handsome man finds a girl who is looking for a good time, a few drinks, some song, and for some love. The man takes the girl to a breaking-in house like that and fills her with liquor. Then he takes her into a back room where a gang of men are waiting. All the men take turns raping the girl, standing in line to do it. Then they give her cocaine or morphine to make her even more passive. After that, she’s broken in and ready to become a prostitute.’

  ‘How horrible,’ Cathleen gasped.

  ‘It’s not the rule,’ Karen assured her. ‘White slavery is uncommon. Such tactics are unnecessary these days. The madams claim the majority of girls come here to become prostitutes out of choice or out of necessity. Once, the British journalist William T. Stead made a study of the Levee and wrote a book about it called If Christ Came to Chicago. I read it. He wrote the Levee had no civilizing influences. He found no concert hall, no resident clergyman, no educator. He found one German church and wrote, “It is an oasis set in the midst of all the vice and squalor and drunkenness of the district.”’

  Cathleen looked about her, shocked. ‘Those poor girls, how I pity them.’

  Bruce squeezed her hand. ‘As Karen told you, most of the girls are here by choice. It’s the madams of the brothels that trouble me. They’re hiring the girls. I wonder what their excuses are?’

  ‘There can’t be any excuses,’ Cathleen said firmly.

  Karen was feeling extremely uncomfortable. As they reached the end of a block, she announced, ‘I think we’ve had enough of this sorrowful place. Let’s turn around and get back to your aunts’ home before Minna and Aida begin to worry about what I’ve done with you.’

  They retraced their steps to the Everleigh Club. After Cathleen and Bruce had gone upstairs to their bedrooms, Karen turned around to see Minna standing outside her study, beckoning her.

  She hastened toward Minna, then followed her inside.

  ‘That was a long tour,’ said Minna. ‘How did it go?’

  Karen recounted where they had been, and what they had seen, omitting the visit to the Levee. ‘Bruce and Cathleen enjoyed it all.’

  ‘Then it went perfectly.’

  Karen hesitated, then decided to speak out. ‘Not quite, Minna. Afterwards, as we were coming here, Bruce wanted to see a place he’d heard about called the Levee.’

  ‘The Levee,’ Minna repeated with disbelief. ‘He wanted to see that?’

  ‘He saw it.’

  ‘But for heaven’s sake, why did you take him there - here - all around here?’

  ‘Because he insisted, Minna. He wanted to visit the worst of Chicago as well as the best.’

  ‘He saw the brothels?’

  ‘They both did,’ admitted Karen.

  Minna was silent for an interval as she fixed her eyes on Karen. At last Minna spoke. ‘What… what did they say? You can be honest with me, Karen.’

  ‘They were upset by everything in general,’ said Karen. ‘They seemed to understand and excuse the girls who work here.’ Karen paused. ‘They blamed the brothel madams most.’

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Minna gasped. ‘What if they ever found out what Aida and I are really doing here?’ When Karen did not comment, Minna drew herself up resolutely. ‘Well, they won’t. They’ll never find out. I won’t let that happen. From now on, Aida and I will be doubly on our guard. Thank you, Karen, for telling me the truth and putting me on warning. A hundred thanks.’

  Many of the Everleigh girls were idling at the Tremont House Hotel during their enforced vacation.

  Dr Holmes had agreed to examine each of them once a week, and he had been doing so during the past two hours.

  Now, towards the end of his day, there was only one girl waiting to be examined. This was Greta, a Swedish beauty of about twenty, who was the most playful of all the girls and the most receptive to Holmes’s advances.

  Greta and Holmes were alone in her room on the fourth floor, and Holmes, removing his jacket, watched her provocatively undressing.

  It had crossed his mind when he had arrived, and it was still on his mind as he waited for Greta, that he could have her right there in her room. He had never attempted any sexual advances in the Everleigh Club itself, because it was too populated, and there was a chance that Minna or Aida might walk in on one of his examinations.

  But here in the Tremont House Hotel, a comfortable distance from the Everleighs, he felt safe to do whatever he wanted to do.

  Greta sat down on the bed, and spread her legs. Finding his speculum, Dr Holmes approached her.

  He kneeled down, and perfunctorily examined her for any evidence of recent sexual activity.

  There was none. She was clean.

  Holmes remained on his knees. ‘No real problem,’ he said.

  ‘I shouldn’t think so,’ she called down to him. ‘I haven’t had a man since leaving the Club. I feel like a virgin.’

  Gazing at her vagina, Holmes began to feel the stiffening between his legs.

  ‘If there is any problem,’ he said, ‘it’s that you’re very tight down here. You need lubricating.’

  ‘How do I do that?’ Greta wanted to know.

  ‘By letting your doctor help you.’

  ‘If you think you can, go ahead,’ she said lazily.

  Holmes put down his speculum, and returned his attention to her vagina. ‘Lie back flat,’ he called up hoarsely. ‘Spread your legs wider. Very good.’

  With his head again between her thighs, his tongue circled her vaginal lips. Then he began to kiss her.

  Her body started, and she sat up halfway. ‘Hey, Doctor, I didn’t know you did that.’

  ‘I never do. But you’re something special. I can’t resist. Do you object?’

  ‘Not especially, except Minna told me not to have anything to do with any man while I’m outside the Club.’

  ‘Didn’t she say you could see me?’ he asked, looking up at her.

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Didn’t she say I could treat you?’

  ‘Yes, but-‘

  ‘I am treating you, Greta. Lie back and cooperate.’

  Greta exhaled. She lay back and gave up all resistance. ‘Whatever … whatever you say, Doctor.’

  ‘I say let’s enjoy ourselves.’

  He bent down once more, easing his head between her thighs, until he could kiss her labia again, and then extended his tongue and inserted it inside her vagina.

  She was moist, and her buttocks were rotating.

  After a few minutes, he thought she’d had an orgasm, but he wasn’t sure and he didn’t care.

  He pulled back slightly, clambered to his feet, and stood between her legs, unbuttoning his trousers.

  ‘Sit up, Greta,’ he commanded. ‘Come here.’

  He grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her head down to his distended penis. ‘It’s fellatio time, darling.’

  ‘It’s what?’

  ‘Time to do unto others as you would have done to you. It’s time to suck, Greta.’

  Her mouth closed over him and her tongue and lips slid expertly over his penis. He trembled with frenzy. She was good, very good, very, very good. Staring down at the top of her head, the exposed back of her neck, he realized how many men she must have done this to, and he was excited by one thing — a desire to sever her head from her body, to dismember her, so that she could do this to no one ever again.

  He felt he was coming apart, and then he did, erupting and groaning and groaning.

  Later, he patted her cheek. ‘You were magnificent, Greta, better than any woman I have ever known.’

  ‘Really? Well, you weren’t half bad yourself.’

  Holmes dropped the speculum in his bag. ‘Then maybe we belong together.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I’m saying we seem suited to each other. Why don’t you p
ack your things and move out of here? Move in with me.’

  Greta hesitated. ‘I’d love to, but what will Minna and Aida say?’

  ‘They’ll never know. Move in with me tomorrow. We can live together, and if it works out as I think it will, we can get married. No more of that Everleigh drudgery for you. Will you?’

  ‘Will I!’ Greta exclaimed, falling upon Holmes with a hug, and kissing him again and again. ‘I’ll be there.’

  Holmes was scribbling on a piece of paper. ‘Here’s my address. Any time from noon on tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll be there. I’m so happy.’

  ‘You won’t regret it, darling. I’ll have a real treat in store for you. I guarantee you one thing. You’ll find peace for the first time in your life.’

  It was not until just before noon that Minna Everleigh learned that yet another of her favourite girls had disappeared.

  The word of this had come from Edmund, who had routinely checked the scattered whereabouts of the Everleigh girls and reported to Minna on what he could learn of their security and behaviour.

  This morning he had reported that Greta was missing from the Tremont House Hotel. Edmund had learned that less than an hour before his phone inquiry, Greta had checked out of her room with her suitcases, leaving no forwarding address.

  News of this defection had thoroughly mystified Minna and shaken her.

  What disturbed Minna most was the constancy of the disappearances. First Fanny. Then Avis. Now Greta. There were two factors that troubled Minna. The first was the number of disappearances within so short a time. Minna had been ac-customed to losing one girl a year, two at the most. But three leaving without a word in two weeks - it was unheard of. The second factor that concerned Minna was the manner of each disappearance. Until these, when a girl had wanted to leave the Everleigh Club, she usually had been honest with Minna in giving her reason and her destination. A man had proposed marriage to her and she wanted to settle down. She missed her home and family in Denver and wanted to return. Or, simply, she was bored with being enclosed in the Everleigh Club and devoting her life to lying on her back and pretending to enjoy herself. In the past, the departure of each girl, though few and far between, had always been courteous and forthright.