by Tom Murphy
Sophie had given Lily the best room on the third floor of the four-story building, a big corner room that was flooded with sunlight all day, just down the long carpeted hallway from Sophie’s own suite.
Ten girls worked there besides Lily. They were as different as Sophie could make them, for the El Dorado was famous for the range and variety of its girls as well as their good looks, talents, and high price.
The parlor floor opened onto the street and was used for receiving clients, for selling them food and drink, for gaming and music, and for the selection of girls.
The girls, richly gowned, were encouraged to mingle with the clients in these parlor rooms when not otherwise engaged, but there was another, more discreet means of a man selecting his companion for the night. This was a handsome leather-bound photographic album in which every girl was pictured in a demure or seductive pose, as directed by Sophie’s estimate of her attractions. Lily was photographed in virginal white, sitting on a gilded ballroom chair, holding a silk calla lily.
The second floor was for gambling, but it also contained a special little room for the viewing of sexual exhibitions. This was no more than an elegant bedroom, its walls and ceiling lined with gilt-framed mirrors. Between these mirrors was gilt grillwork, and behind these grilles sat men and sometimes women who were sufficiently jaded to pay fifty dollars apiece to witness the delights that went on within the mirrored room, which was named “The Chamber of Venus.”
The third and fourth floors were given over to the girls’ bedrooms, and it was there that they took their clients.
Sophie was adamant about not trafficking in boys, even though many of the other houses did, but aside from that the El Dorado was entirely geared to offer the maximum variety both in the physical and ethnic types of its girls, and in their sexual specialties. If there was a nation or a type not represented here, Lily was hard put to imagine what it might be.
She met all the girls on her first day, but it was weeks before she could put the right names with the right faces.
There was Ruby, tall and dark and beautiful, who said almost nothing, and Lola, her exact opposite, small, blond and plump, with a face like an elegant little weasel’s and a sailor’s vocabulary. There was Luana, from Tahiti, café-au-lait in color and famous for the numbers of men she delighted in entertaining with no sign of tiring—Sophie said this was a custom in those islands—and others whose attractions were less obvious to Lily. Jude, fat and Polish and a bit of a slattern, who told lies long as your arm and never batted an eye for it, kept on by Sophie because some of her European customers liked their women fat. There was a jolly American girl named Polly, all smiles and gold-framed teeth, who sang and played the piano, a sloe-eyed Chinese woman, Ah Toy, and a haughty Englishwoman known only as the Duchess, who had the slender throat of a swan and gave herself airs to match, and floated night and day in an opium haze, barely aware of her surroundings. There was a girl so black she might have been carved from jet, a torrid Mexican named the Serpent, La Serpentina, and others. How Sophie kept them all straight, and kept the peace among them, was a continuous amazement to Lily. For there were jealousies, there was petty theft, and the calling of names. Lily determined early on that she would be very slow to choose friends from among these girls. Lily watched, and learned, and waited.
Every afternoon for an hour or two Sophie instructed Lily in the fine points of whoring.
For Lily, whose knowledge of the sexual world was a hodgepodge of rumors and old wives’ tales and superstitions, Sophie’s command of hygiene, physiology, and the art of salesmanship was nothing less than amazing.
Lily learned how to check each client for the telltale chancres that meant disease, how to wash them, how to use Sophie’s famous douching preparation that was surefire against pregnancy, how to handle drunks, where the hidden bell pull was that would summon Juan, the coachman, who also served as bouncer. She learned that every week, without fail, old Doc Maloney came and checked every girl for infection or pregnancy.
“I run the cleanest house in town,” said Sophie proudly. “No one can ever claim he got poxed at Sophie’s, and that alone is worth its weight in gold. They keep coming back, see, and they pay Sophie’s prices, which aren’t cheap, not at all.”
Lily worked up her courage: other than Luke’s bag of nuggets, she had no idea what she might be worth.
“How much,” asked Lily, “might I earn?”
“The sky’s the limit, Lily. I’ll start you at one-fifty. Then, we’ll see.”
“That’ll take forever.” Lily was trying to think how many men she’d have to serve at a dollar and a half each to pay for Kate’s board.
“One hundred and fifty dollars is no small sum, my dear,” said Sophie, with an edge in her voice. “Polish Jude gets but twenty-five.”
Lily laughed from sheer relief. “I truly thought you meant one and a half dollars!”
Sophie’s chuckle mingled with the sound of Lily’s laughing. “Oh, that’s a rare one! Lily, the poor Chinese crib girls get more than that from coolies.”
“How much do I keep?”
“Half. But for my half, Lily, I keep up this place, and all its staff, and feed you handsomely, and take care of you if you’re ill. It isn’t a bad bargain, my dear, and if you save, and your price goes up—as I am sure it will do—who knows?”
Lily learned about the tokens. These were shining brass disks about the size of a fifty-cent piece, and on each one was stamped “EL DORADO HOTEL…$25.00” For to prevent theft among the girls, cash changed hands during the night only between Sophie and the clients. They bought tokens according to the price of the girl in question, and gave the tokens to the girl on finishing with their pleasure. The next day, the girl exchanged them for her share of the fee. There was no fixed number of clients that a girl was expected to take in a given evening: this might be one, for a special price, and the house record was held by the Tahitian girl, who had once entertained thirty-three. Lily heard of this and shuddered.
Sophie invited her to see what went on in the Chamber of Venus.
“Now, this may seem shocking, my dear,” she said as they walked down the red-carpeted stairs, “but you must think of it as part of your education. It’s amazing what people will pay to see, rather than do.”
The Chamber of Venus was encircled by one narrow aisle that held small upholstered stools fixed to the carpeted floor so that whoever sat on the stool would have a good view through the gilt grillwork. The many mirrors did the rest.
It was like looking into a gilt box filled with rubies and diamonds, for the mirrors glittered in their frames of gold, and the floor was carpeted in deep ruby red, and the bed was covered in gleaming silk brocade of the same shade.
There was a girl in the room, a girl Lily had never seen before. She was tall and had lustrous black hair that fell in cascades, a midnight waterfall, almost to her waist. Her skin was supernaturally white, the eyes dark and wide-set and bottomless, eyes that seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. She wore a silk robe of the exact same color as the carpet and the bedcover, and she was smoking a slender brown cigar.
“La Serpentina!” Sophie whispered.
Lily and Sophie were alone in the small viewing chamber. There was a hush, an anticipation. Lily felt herself at the same time eager to see whatever might happen, and also afraid, as though she had been given a preferred seat at the very gate of hell itself.
They didn’t have to wait long.
Soundlessly, one of the big mirrors slid aside. A man stepped into the chamber. The mirror slid shut behind him. The man was tall, very tall, nearly a giant. His hair was dark. There was a Mexican look to him. His skin was olive-toned and his features were handsome but at the same time brutal. He radiated a kind of elegant cruelty. The man was dressed like a wealthy Mexican rancher, in a loose-fitting white shirt open at the neck, tight black trousers tucked into silver-studded black leather boots, and a black leather vest. He carried a black bullwhip.
; The man looked at La Serpentina with a mixture of scorn and anticipation. “Puta,” he whispered. “Querida puta.”
Lily hardly saw his arm move.
She was only aware of the whistling of the bullwhip, and the effect it had on the girl. The whip cracked and coiled itself around her. She stood still as any statue, while he undressed her with his whip. The silk robe slid to the floor, and it seemed that her slender pearl-white body was rising out of it like a growing thing. The whip coiled around her like a snake.
He drew her to him. She moved in a kind of trance, floating. The whip seemed to leave no mark. She was very close to him now. She knelt, like a servant, and slowly drew off his boots. Then she stood, all in silence, and began unbuttoning his shirt. He wore nothing under the shirt, or under the trousers. Soon his clothes lay in a careless heap. Lily gasped. The man was truly a giant. With one arm he reached for the girl and casually, disdainfully flung her to the bed. She lay there in silence, waiting, a small smile flickering at the corners of her bloodred lips.
He was on her then, and thrust inside her, and the combat of love began in earnest. He plunged, she writhed, her arms and legs wrapped around him like some jungle vine, as they moaned and grunted in their pleasure, wild and lost in the storm of their own dark needs and gratifications. They rolled to the floor. She straddled him like a horse, still fused sex to sex, threw her head back, and screamed with pleasure. Then he tossed her off, laughing, and she coiled against him and Lily could see how the girl got the name La Serpentina, the Serpent, for she moved as though there were no bones in her at all, one flowing undulation of lust incarnate. She kissed him on his lips, bit his ear, kissed his throat, and then began a voyage of discovery with her lips, her tongue, her stroking fingers, that led her down his heavily muscled torso to his navel and below, where she easily roused the beast between his legs from its temporary slumber, and the passion began all over again.
After ten minutes of such variations on the arts of love, Sophie touched her arm and signaled that they should leave. Lily found herself trembling. Please God, Sophie doesn’t expect me to perform like that. They were in the hallway then, and finally Lily got the strength to speak.
“Does she know she’s being watched?”
“Not only does she know it, my dear, she prefers it that way. So does he. It’s amazing how many people do, they get more fun when someone’s watching, you see. And then there’s the other kind, who never do anything, but just pay to look on. Sad loss, it seems to me, but that’s their business. Fifty dollars a head for sitting in the dark watching two monkeys like that going at it is money wasted, if you ask me.”
“I could never…do that. In public, I mean.”
“Of course not, most of us couldn’t, and I’d never ask it. I just wanted you to see the Serpent. That girl truly enjoys her work, and it shows. You’ve got to make them feel you’re interested, Lily, that’s the secret of success, make ’em feel they’re important to you, that you’ve never had such a good time before, even if it isn’t strictly true.”
Lily walked in silence, not knowing how to reply. Sophie took her upstairs, and they had a cup of tea.
“That picture in the album is working, my dear. I’ve already had one firm request for you, and tonight is the time for it.”
“What sort of request?”
“One of my best customers, just as I’d hoped. Oh, others have asked, but I wanted to make sure it was the right one, a gentleman of stature.”
“Who is he?”
“One whose name you know—in fact, it might give you a laugh or two, thinking on it. He is none other than Stanford Dickinson.”
“No!” Lily laughed, and was afraid at the same time.
“A fine jolly gent is Stanny D. Loves a good time and a good lay. Get him as a regular, and your fortune’s made, for he’s one of the richest men in town.”
“And when is my appointment?”
“Tonight, Lily, this very night, at nine-thirty!”
If Lily had been the bride of a prince, she could hardly have given more thought to the occasion than she did to her imminent appointment with Stanford Dickinson.
For two hours in the afternoon Sophie coached her, reassured her, described the man and his tastes and how the evening would be likely to go.
“The secret’s a simple one, dearie,” she said. “Just think of it from the man’s point of view. Here he is, rich as old Croesus, wanting nothing more than a few laughs and a little fun, and he’s married to that chinless old prune up on Rincon Hill, temper like a shrew she has, has Mamie Dickinson. So be fun, be lighthearted, nothing too sentimental, but not giddy either, if you take my meaning. One thing stands much in your stead, Lily, and that’s your looks, for if there’s one thing Stanny D. prides himself on, it’s his judgment of horseflesh and womanly beauty.”
“I’ll never live up to his expectations.”
“But you already have. He chose you from the album, and that hardly does justice to you, my dear, nice as it is.”
“Does he have any…odd tastes?”
“Not our Stanny D., quite the contrary, he’s a bit old-fashioned underneath all the blustering and laughter. You’ll like him, Lily, I swear you will. I wouldn’t fix it up if I didn’t truly think so.”
“You’re very kind, Sophie, and I appreciate it.”
“Fiddlesticks! Good business, that’s all it is: we make him happy, he makes us happy, and happiness reigns, if you take my meaning, as well it should in the temple of Venus.”
Lily knew what the routine would be: she would be called by the bell in her room, the ingenious two-way bell system that allowed her to summon a maid or be summoned downstairs should a client request her. She’d go down then, and greet her guest, and take a drink with him in the main parlor. Then they’d come back to her bedroom, where a small table would be set for supper à deux. Just like the Golden Rooster, she thought with a rueful smile, except that this time I am a little more in control, not quite the silliest goose west of the Mississippi.
The hours crawled.
Lily laid out her gown, of the simplest ivory satin, girlish it was, with a demure neckline and narrower hoops than were the height of fashion. It was absolutely plain but for a moss-green satin sash at the waist, whose wide ribbons trailed to the floor at her side. With it she would wear white gloves, and in her hair a ribbon of the same satin as the sash. And no jewelry whatsoever but for her wedding ring. For Kate’s sake Lily still kept up the fiction that she was the widow Malone.
She had tea and some biscuits in her room around five o’clock, took a bath, did her hair, and tried to read a book of European travels. Lily felt inadequate in dozens of ways, and the state of her education was one of the most important items on her mental list of drawbacks to be corrected. She was already a young woman, but her reading ability was still that of a child. She had bought a small dictionary with part of Luke’s gold, and now she found herself referring to it so often as she tried to read any new book that the dictionary was never far from her hand. When I get a bit ahead of the game, she told herself earnestly, I will hire a teacher and learn to speak proper, and to read and write like a lady. My Kate isn’t going to have more of an idiot for a mother than I can help. In the meantime, the dictionary saw a great deal of action.
When the clock on Lily’s dressing table showed seven, she began to get dressed. She was ready well before eight, and sat down and tried to concentrate on the travel book. But the attractions of Budapest kept slipping away from Lily, pursued by nameless fears about the night to come.
Smile, what’s so hard about that? That’s what Sophie had said, be lighthearted, he likes to laugh. Suppose I can’t think of anything funny? Suppose he thinks I’m ugly? Suppose he’s drunk and wants me to do disgusting things? Suppose he hates the color green? Lily wondered if La Serpentina was available for emergency duty.
I’ll be out on the street tomorrow, he’ll hate me.
She stood up, paced the room three times, examined hersel
f in the tall mirror with the merciless scrutiny of a surgeon, decided she was hopeless, sat down again, picked up the book, read the same sentence three times, put the book down, looked out the window, prayed for a quick and merciful death.
Sophie says you’re pretty: why would she lie? Lily stood up again, looked in the mirror again. It was the same old face she’d always had, too thin, pale, with the great green eyes peering out in terror. The clock said quarter to nine.
A maid appeared to set up the table. It was a smallish round table, covered with a deep cloth of ivory lace, set with two places, nestling into the corner between two windows. How pretty it looks, Lily thought, seeing the silver candlestick and the flower-trimmed plates and the cut-crystal wineglasses. He may not like me, but he’ll have to like this. But maybe he’s not the kind of man who notices things like that, for most men don’t. All he’ll be thinking of is bed, and how can I possibly please him there, man-about-town as he is?
Then she thought of that chinless, mean-spirited woman sitting alone in her overdecorated drawing room on Rincon Hill, and suddenly Lily began to feel a bit better. Young I may be, and stupid, and inexperienced in bed, but it would be very hard to be less attractive than that one.
It was a small enough consolation, but the only one she had.
The bell startled Lily. Nine-thirty on the button! Up she stood, and quickly checked her appearance in the mirror, straightened a lock of hair that was not out of place, brushed the gleaming satin of her skirt, and reached out for the great embossed brass knob of her door. Then she squared her slender shoulders and walked down the wide red carpet to what fate she knew not.
Even in the third-floor hallway Lily could hear the festive sounds from below. Music and laughter, a bustling, tinkling symphony of merriment filled the warm air that smelled, as always, intoxicating in its odd mixture of flowers, perfume, cigar smoke, and lust. Lily walked slowly, for it was the first time she had worn the new gown. Her left hand glided down the smooth rounded top of the mahogany stair rail. Her feet seemed to float in the deep red carpet that flowed down the stairs from the top of the house to the parlor like love’s own warm welcome mat.
