Ladies In The Parlor

by Tully, Jim

  Alice Tracy was a lithe brunette, slightly taller than Leora. More beautiful than her mother, she had Red Moll’s passion for wearing red. In contrast to her vivid taste and coloring she wore her hair severely combed back and tied with a wide ribbon. This accentuated her girlish appearance. She seldom wore jewelry. Her movements were as quick and graceful as her mother’s.

  Alice had many adventures after leaving home. Like all pretty women she had fought different battles in the war of sex. They had ended in victory, defeat, and surrender, according to the opposing side.

  She had left the boat at Louisville to join a carnival company that played across Indiana.

  Unlike Leora, she was oversexed. From being “man-crazy” at fifteen, she now blended cunning with desire, and was, as a result, much less a feather in emotional storms.

  She had early been the plaything of men who came to her mother’s house. Seduced soon after puberty without romance, she accepted without concern.

  From then on, she was only miserable when not sharing her body with several men.

  She found her way to Mother Rosenbloom as naturally as her native Ohio River flowed to the sea.

  After four months at Mother Rosenbloom’s house, she was placed in an apartment by a manufacturer of tires. Over seventy, apoplectic, and a widower, he had been a caller at Mother Rosenbloom’s establishment for many years.

  Mother Rosenbloom, under the name of Mrs. Maurice Thorndyke, had direct connection with his home and private office.

  She had studied Alice for a month before suggesting her to adorn an apartment for J. Whitlau Everlan.

  Mother Rosenbloom assured Alice of the high honor bestowed, and how, with tact, she could line her nest with gold.

  “It will be easy to live with Mr. Everlan,” she explained. “You will have none of the cares of a wife and none of the physical violence of living with a younger man. If you do not like the touch of so old a man, you must consider that at least it is less heavy and will leave you with fewer bruises. Though I’m a woman, I feel that most women are silly as geese and less important. And the poor things would mate with eagles. All of this comes from reading romantic novels. It’s been my observation, Alice dear, in a life that’s already too long, that the more a woman is like a man, the greater she is. And you must realize that even though you are young and beautiful now, it will not last forever. If Mr. Everlan makes a good tire he’s entitled to his profit. If he treats you well and gives you an allowance of a thousand dollars a month, he is entitled to obedience and respect. If he should find pleasure in the arms of another girl, you must allow the poor man that—for very soon he’ll be dead, and then what? If you are clever you will make yourself so agreeable that you can bind him with an invisible chain that’s stronger than steel. If he brings you a toy from the ten-cent store you must be thrilled beyond words. I read a great deal when I was younger, and there was a woman in France who was a whore at heart—she slept with everything—but she held Napoleon—and I remember how the poor man went into her room after she was in her grave, and when he came out he’d been crying.

  “She flattered him and petted him; she could read him to sleep—I don’t know the answer, neither did Napoleon, but the bitch had no fear. Until she was thirty she was the perfect whore. If anyone asks me what it got her, I can ask them right back what sleeping alone got St. Cecilia.”

  Alice was never to forget the words that followed. “And remember, dear, you cannot be a perfect whore unless a man likes your body. That must come first. And never contradict him either—if you’re wise as Solomon, and contradict him, he’ll leave you and sleep with a Salvation Army leader. Whenever a man wants intelligence from a woman, he has none himself—

  “If you agree with him, you’re intelligent—and if you are brighter than he is and let him know it, you’re stupid.

  “I’ve been watching men for more years than you’ve been in the world and the half dozen big ones I’ve known have been lonely fellows who didn’t care any more about anything than I do.

  “Nearly everything is poppycock—it’s a sin to sleep with different men in this country—in some other country—maybe Ireland, I hope—” she smiled grimly, “it’s an honor. And remember, dear, again, that a woman’s like a parrot—she’s never any bigger than the biggest man she’s known.”

  That Christmas, at Alice’s suggestion, Mr. Everlan bought her many volumes concerning Josephine and other lovely ladies now no more.

  Being a leading member of different philanthropic and civic organizations, Mr. Everlan made many journeys about the nation.

  A long-distance telephone call generally found her at home. If she were out, the maid could immediately tell the operator where she could be found.

  Always circumspect, she made every effort to please Mr. Everlan. Though she had lovers when he was out of the city, she nevertheless brought pleasure to him, and satisfaction to Mother Rosenbloom, who had so warmly recommended her to Mr. Everlan.

  When Leora became bored after two weeks of looking about the city, Alice took her to Mother Rosenbloom’s establishment.

  It was in the center of the one-time “restricted district,” and had once known a wealthier day. It was still ornate, with stained glass windows, and the mechanical fixtures of fifty years ago. The gilded gas jets were now wired for electricity. It had many large rooms and gables, and a bow window in front.

  Mother Rosenbloom owned four houses on the street. These were well painted, as was the house which she occupied with her girls. The paint was peeled from all the other houses on the street. It was otherwise neglected, as though the citizens were concerned with greater problems than the beauty of a neighborhood.

  Negro families had moved within a few blocks of Mother Rosenbloom. She did not complain. All creeds and colors were alike to her.

  She gave generously to the Catholic creed in which she had been born. Retaining its larger precepts she would go to church once each month with the comment that she wanted to be on the safe side.

  If her vices were great, her understanding was greater. So far as she was concerned all people were weak and erring, and it was best to be tolerant of the major sins so long as they paid well.

  It used to be said of a girl when she became immoral, “She’s on her way to Ryan Street.” It was where Mother Rosenbloom still held sway. She had the only establishment left, and she catered to the elite of the city, or rather—men with money.

  Alice and Leora approached the house over which Mother Rosenbloom ruled. “Pay no attention to her,” said Alice, “she’s as sharp as a razor, but you can make more money here than in any other house.”

  The door opened. They were taken before Mother Rosenbloom.

  Chapter 10

  She moved swiftly toward them, more in the manner of one skating than walking.

  An Irish woman who had married a Jew, Mother Rosenbloom’s name was known wherever sex was bartered.

  She was between fifty and sixty, and weighed nearly three hundred pounds. Her breasts were as large as pillows. Her ear-rings, studded with green and red stones, dangled two inches. The diamond rings on the short third and fourth fingers of each hand were encased deep in flesh. It had calloused around them, giving evidence that the rings had not been removed for years.

  Her red-painted cheeks were puffed and dimpled. She wore a gold watch at the end of a long chain. It went up and down like a censor as her heavy body moved forward.

  Her immense legs were covered with thin silk stockings, through which stray hairs protruded.

  An unusually large woman, about six feet tall, there were no curves to her figure. Except for the immense breasts, it might have been a square block. Her head was large and powerful, her hair a faded russet. Below one ear a grayish brindle tuft protruded. Her mouth was wide, and her false teeth, full of gold in front, were even. Her clothing was expensive. Her moods were as changeable as November weather. She could be precise, dynamic, volatile, full of laughter and anger at nearly the same time. Ge
nerally her emotions were facile. Then, at times, she was somber, and full of feeling for a moment. Her eyes were walled, and were curved outward like the bottoms of saucers, giving her great round face even more animation than it possessed.

  It was said that in her youth she had been a fine singer. This may or may not have been true, as Mother Rosenbloom hardly ever discussed anything that touched her vitally. At times she was capable of a sweeping gusto, and sang with all her young whores around her, while customers, lulled by a voice rare among women, bought liquor with abandon.

  She reduced nearly everything to mockery.

  Though Leora and Alice were unaware of it, they were approaching a powerful woman who would have dominated any position in which she happened to be born.

  While she did not ask her girls in what creed they had been brought up, she was always pleased to meet a prostitute of her own faith. For nearly twenty years she had had one thousand dollars on deposit, drawing interest— ”High Masses for the peace of my eternal soul.” It was to be turned over to the Church on the day she died.

  She wrapped the chain of the watch around her fleshy hands. Then dropping it, while the watch dangled, she pulled at gold-rimmed spectacles attached to a chain above her melon-shaped left breast. Adjusting the glasses on a nose that had once been aquiline, she looked at the girls.

  “Hello, Alice dear,” she said, with a sharp tone; then, glancing at Leora, she adjusted the glasses again and asked, “Is this the young filly you telephoned about?”

  “Yes, Mother,” replied Alice.

  The heavy woman stepped around Leora as a shrewd buyer would a horse.

  She then stepped closer, and her pudgy hand went down the girl’s breasts; then moved upward and rubbed her cheeks. She stepped back again and gazed at Leora.

  “She’ll do, Alice, indeed, indeed.” She shook her head as if an old memory stabbed her. “Dear, dear, dear,” she sighed, “what pretty hair, a shade of red.” She looked at Leora, “Have you evening gowns—you’ll need a dozen.”

  Alice answered, “Yes,” for Leora.

  “And how are you, Alice? Is he good to you?”

  “Yes, Mother, Mr. Everlan is a fine man.”

  Her tone changed, “You tell me if he isn’t. I don’t want my girls abused.”

  “I will, Mother.”

  The large woman dropped her glasses.

  “Her name, Alice.”

  “Leora Blair.”

  Mother Rosenbloom studied for a moment, “Pretty —the first name—the last—a trifle harsh—however, that can come later.”

  She made a move as if to seat herself in a davenport. Alice started to help her.

  Mother Rosenbloom shook her head. “No, no, not that—I can never get out of the God-damn thing.” She gave the chuckle of a giantess. Leora smiled. Mother Rosenbloom looked from one girl to the other, “Ah, my dears,” she said again, “there was a day—but all that’s over and done,” she chuckled again, “and now I feel as old and dismal as reading the will at midnight—I can lie awake and hear the leaves rattle in the graveyard.”

  She sat down, then shook her head swiftly, saying, “Heavens—what a thought—and I never think of it until I see youth.” She chuckled again. “A drunken rascal was in here last night singing sad songs, and I made him stop—then I made Mary Ellen—you know Mary Ellen—” she said to Alice—”well, I made Mary Ellen sing something gay—and she sang

  'Oh for the life of an osteopath,

  To play rummy dum diddle

  On somebody’s middle—’

  The watch shook as Mother Rosenbloom chuckled.

  Dr. Farway did not like osteopaths. The girls looked at each other.

  “Alice, dear, will you press the bell?”

  The housekeeper answered. Mother Rosenbloom did not notice her for a moment. Severely dressed in black, with white apron, cuffs and collarette, and grim as the last hour, she stood, her fleshless six-foot body rigid. Had Mother Rosenbloom searched the world, she could not have found a woman who seemed more out of place.

  “Matilda,” she asked, “will you bring us some coffee and toast?”

  The housekeeper bowed, smiled grimly at Alice, glanced casually at Leora, and left the room.

  Within a short time they were seated at an improvised table.

  “Now, dear,” began Mother Rosenbloom, as she looked at Leora, “Alice has no doubt told you considerable about our house. I try to run a respectable place, and only cater to the best people.

  “Upon your deportment here, often your future may depend. It is not my policy to keep a girl over two years. If she hasn’t feathered her nest with some good man in that time she may as well become a street-walker or join a church. Wealthy men come here from everywhere, and you must treat them with the respect which their position implies. You’ll find, of course, that men are all alike—once in the bedroom they will ask you personal questions—where you are from—who took your virginity, and if you don’t think that they are the greatest lovers you have known. You must remember, though they come here, they still like innocence—they will keep you awake bragging about the virtue of their daughters. They will try to rescue you from the life of shame which you lead, forgetting indeed that without them you could not lead it—and, as I explained to Alice when she first came here—you must not go to a room with a man unless you are able to make him believe that you’ve been waiting for him since you were a child. If you cannot respond to his caresses, you must pretend. You must never tell the truth to any man—always color it up with a little romance. If a bricklayer has seduced you, he immediately becomes a millionaire. A successful girl in a house like this always knows how to imply a great deal. You must listen always. . . . no matter how silly the story—or how many times you have heard it. Give me two beautiful girls and I will always take the good listener—a woman who can’t listen is worse off than a rooster who can’t crow—as many men come here to be listened to as for anything else. You must laugh at the proper time, and always call me Mother—even if no one is around—then you will not make a slip when men are about.”

  Mother Rosenbloom sipped her coffee and sputtered, “This damn stuff tastes like rusty water—I’ll fire that Nigger.” She became calm again.

  “And this is for your good as much as mine—” she paused. . . . “I don’t allow men lovers in the house—or pimps, if you’d rather—that is—you can have a lover here every night in the week, so long as you pay me my half of fifty dollars—the charge for the night, and he buys liquor as often as any other man. This, I have found, protects the girl as well as the house. A man likes what he has to pay for. The minute you start shelling out free, he goes elsewhere and pays for it.

  “And you must remember that even a hangman or a lawyer feels superior to a girl in a sporting-house; so always be dignified, for they must not feel that you’re anybody’s dog who’ll go hunting. Every man who comes into the place will talk to you as though he would give you the earth—just let them rave, but don’t lose your head, for if you cut their throats they would bleed ice water.

  “Make the weakest man you know feel that he is a giant. If he touches you a little, just say something like `Please don’t hurt me, dear, you are so strong,’ then watch him perk right up.”

  The shrewd student of sex looked admiringly at Alice and then toward Leora.

  “And learn to wear clothes well; though I must say you look very nice today. Men like a clothes mare—even if she’s big as a stallion. And never mention anything about your body. Deep in every man’s little head is the idea that a woman is still an angel, and would naturally have no natural functions. There are no toilets in Heaven.

  “You must never be self-conscious or ashamed of yourself in the presence of men. You have as much right to sell your body as the priest has to sell a Mass.” She smiled, her wide gold false teeth showing.

  “If men talk to you about only poor girls being in houses like this, say nothing. There’s many a rich whore, and if the poor girls get the k
ings it’s because they’re better bedfellows, that’s all.”

  She looked from Leora to Alice.

  “What can Mr. Everlan buy nicer than Alice—I’d like to know.” As neither girl informed her, the immense woman looked at Leora, and resumed, “I wouldn’t talk to you so long if I were not so fond of Alice and if you were not so beautiful.

  “But keep your head and heart to yourself—for if you don’t kick a man, he’ll kick you harder. Don’t trust any man. They’re all after something. Not even a preacher prays on his wedding night. Mr. Everlan would not stay with Alice tomorrow if she got smallpox or a hump on her back. And don’t wait for any of the men who come here to lie to you—lie to them first—and always remember to get your money in advance, for not even the President would want to pay when the horse is limber. And of course you must talk some—but not too much—just start the man talking. If he’s a lawyer, just say, ‘Dear, I’ll bet you make a fine presence in court.’ That’s all—then ask any silly question so long as it lets him talk about himself. If you find he’s a doctor, tell him how soothing he must be—

  “Talk always as though you have some money, or your people have. Men like the feeling that you are superior—they wouldn’t be interested in Cleopatra if she was in a crib on Placer Street and had one leg.”

  She swung her watch a few times. “And remember, girls, your chief concern is to make men love you, but not have them jealous of you. And no smart girl can afford to be emotional. I’ve seen women in my house fall in love with men so ugly they’d stop a clock in a morgue. That would have been all right, but the men had no money. And a man should have something to offer a girl.

  “Press the bell, Alice, will you, dear?”

  The housekeeper removed the table.

  “You’ll stay here tonight—will you, Alice—he’ll be with his family—and who knows who may come—” Mother Rosenbloom rose slowly. “I think I’ll telephone Mr. Skinner,” she said, “and tell him we have a virgin in the house.”