by Jeri Estes
Stilettos and Steel
Copyright © 2010 by Jeri Estes
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Literary Agent: Paul S. Levine
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Edited by: John Paine
Cover photo: Suzanne Gagnier
Cover Model: Michaela
Design: Dotti Albertine
TO THE A-LIST STARS OF MY LIFE,
IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE:
KID BROTHER … MAX ESTES
LOVING DAUGHTER … ELENA MERCHAND
LEADING LADY … GISELLE NAGY
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 – WELCOME TO THE TENDERLOIN
Chapter 2 – RUNAWAY BLUES
Chapter 3 – OPEN DOOR
Chapter 4 – SOO HAPPY
Chapter 5 – TITS ’N PEARL GIRL
Chapter 6 – PIMP 101
Chapter 7 – VENTURA HIGHWAY
Chapter 8 – CITY BY THE BAY
Chapter 9 – MARIE
Chapter 10 – RAT-A-TAT-TAT, JESSE’S BACK
Chapter 11 – THE HENCHMAN
Chapter 12 – LITTLE ROSIE
Chapter 13 – MONEY TALKS
Chapter 14 – RESPECT
Chapter 15 – NATURAL WOMAN
Chapter 16 – SUGAR AND VICE
Chapter 17 – CHINATOWN
Chapter 18 – POST & POWELL
Chapter 19 – A JOHN NAMED JOHN
Chapter 20 – RED DEVILS
Chapter 21 – FROM HERE TO NEXT SUNDAY
Chapter 22 – SWEET TALKIN’ MAC DADDY
Chapter 23 – MISSING IN ACTION
Chapter 24 – SUTTER STREET
Chapter 25 – THE CONTRACT
Chapter 26 – G-STRING CHEETAH
Chapter 27 – CAMELOT HOTEL
Chapter 28 – THE BOOKKEEPER
Chapter 29 – THE BLACK MARIAH
Chapter 30 – CARMEN POR VIDA
Chapter 31 – DORIS AND THE DYKETTES
Chapter 32 – PINK ROSES
Chapter 33 – COMPTON’S
Chapter 34 – THE RUSE
Chapter 35 – BABY DOLL
Chapter 36 – DELICATE WILDFLOWERS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I wrote Stilettos and Steel as a thank you note to God for getting out of the Tenderloin alive and to honor my fallen comrades. To capture the culture and time in which they lived, I use the language of the day. Much of what I'm going to tell you is true.
— Jeri Estes
Chapter 1
Welcome to the Tenderloin
I turned the corner on Ellis and Powell Streets with a red rose in my hand. The chilly night air stole through my silk shirt as I made my way to the Why Not lounge. Sporting a new leather jacket and polished wing tips, I rehearsed my best clean-up lines. Carmen knew me too well for just anything to work.
At this hour, the heart of San Francisco came alive with romance and glamour. Antique fog lamps softly illuminated the sidewalks. Other suitors walked arm in arm with their girls through Union Square. Shiny black limos dropped off well-heeled travelers draped in minks, diamonds and tailored overcoats. Glowing candles on white linen peeked through the windows of the five-star restaurants. Grand facades of elegant shops and historic hotels lent the streets a Parisian grandeur.
As I neared the Tenderloin, the neighborhood lost its civility. Flower-crowned hippies, restless soldiers and glossy ladies of the night emerged from the mist. Strip joints, beer bars and panhandlers announced the opening of San Francisco’s red light district. It welcomed runaways from all over, people like me who didn’t fit in at home.
Only a few years ago, I was living just north of L.A. in a quiet bedroom community with my family. Predictable and secure, our middle-class suburb was like food without seasoning.
I arrived in San Francisco intoxicated by the freedom and dangers that lay before me. Enchanted by the city’s opulent beauty, I’d unfortunately settled into the low-rent Tenderloin district.
I walked until I reached a large martini glass with a neon olive hanging above the sidewalk. Traveling the stem of the glass was a large sign: WHY NOT? Good and bad guys mingled after work at this favorite cop watering hole. Inside, my girlfriend was slinging drinks to San Francisco’s finest, from beat heat to City Hall brass.
Dark, smoky windows filled with Budweiser and happy hour signs framed the steel front door. Stopping before the entrance of the club, I checked myself out in the hazy glass. A handsome young face and lean physique reassured me. That was good because my girl was pissed off at me again. Running my fingers through my short, wavy blond hair, I shot myself a cocky grin. I sniffed the rose in my hand and said a silent prayer.
Inside the chrome door, I stepped into the world of pigs. Smoke, booze and the sound of clicking billiard balls embraced me. I made my way to the bar, which stretched across the back of the room. The mirrored glass behind the counter was covered with racks of booze and bowling trophies.
Framed photos of fallen police officers lined a side wall. The small round tables were packed with uniformed and non-uniformed alike, drinking and swapping urban war stories. Out of the dingy smoke appeared Carmen, as radiant as a wildflower.
My girlfriend was serving drinks to two buff, pool-playing admirers. Long auburn hair fell around her beautiful face as she handed the guys their beers. She exposed enticing cleavage in a tight green blouse that matched her emerald eyes. Looking up, Carmen allowed me a reluctant smile.
I sat next to a soldier and ordered a Jack from Annie the bartender. The New York Bronx broad was a retired prison matron who could handle the rough crowd. Instantly, a Jack with a water back hit the counter.
Carmen placed her hand on my shoulder and whispered in my ear, “Give me five minutes.”
The scent of her Chanel reminded me of why I was so eager tonight. I placed the red rose down on the bar. Annie stepped up and said in the voice of a whiskey sour, “How’s it going, Jesse?”
Her big bosom and arms leaned in on me. Annie was hard of hearing from years of working in prison cell blocks.
“I’m good, Annie. Can you get my soldier buddy here a drink?”
The spit and shine dude ordered a German beer.
“Thanks,” said the young man.
“No…thank you,” I replied. “My older brother’s in ‘Nam right now.”
He nodded in appreciation. “You San Franciscans are really friendly. Giants are kicking ass,” he added, indicating the TV hung in the corner.
“I know, it’s a drag,” I responded. “I’m a Dodger fan. Born and raised in the San Fernando Valley.”
He shot me an apologetic grin. “Can’t win them all.”
I went back to my drink. The young man’s proud bearing reminded me of my father.
Dad was an imposing six-foot-one, handsome blond with a disciplined physique. Though he had a gentle spirit and soft blue eyes, he delivered corporeal punishment in a way that was measured, fair, and militarily precise. His commendable service in World War II as a sergeant made him someone I didn’
t want to mess with.
An image came to me, of him sitting at the head of the dinner table. My respectable-looking father guided us by example. He was a pleasant conversationalist with impeccable manners. Dinner was served on white linen with elegant china. He presided over the dinner table with the wit, charisma and wisdom that made him a top-notch sales manager. I admired the way he handled his gang of door-to-door salesmen. Our whole family got involved in the company social activities, making his branch office a stellar one for Electrolux Vacuums. Watching him operate, I became fascinated with the art of selling and running a business, and my dad appreciated the feisty competitive spirit which we shared.
As I took a sip of my Jack, a wave of loneliness ran through me. Running away from home, I had escaped the Valley at sixteen. I’d been living on my own ever since. Often I yearned to go home, but I knew things could never be the same.
I came out of memory lane in a big hurry. I was nearly knocked right off the barstool as Captain Clancy’s huge blubbery body squeezed down next to me. By design, he blocked my view of Carmen, and all I could smell were clouds of Brut cologne. The detective’s trench coat fell open, exposing the butt of his gun. On his lapel were the typical sprinkled crumbs. His big paw caressed my knee and gave it a sweet squeeze.
I glared up at Clancy’s beady blue eyes and putty face. He spoke down to me in a deep voice, “Jessica, why are you dressed as a boy?”
“Because this is how I like to dress!”
A filled drink tray slammed down onto the counter next to Clancy’s arm. The rattling glasses and butt-packed ashtrays arrested the detective’s attention, and in that moment Carmen took me by the arm and said, “Come on, let’s leave this dump. My feet are killing me.”
Clancy commanded, “Take a load off your feet, cutie,” as he smacked the cushioned stool next to him.
Carmen’s brilliant green eyes glossed over with irritation.
“Relax, Carmen, let’s all have a drink together. Jesse kinda looks cute as a faggot.”
My girlfriend shot Clancy the finger with a saccharine smile. “Not tonight.”
“Be a good sport. Let’s share,” Clancy suggested.
“You get enough of my girl’s time. She’s off duty, and you’ve got a wife at home,” Carmen reminded him.
Small beads of sweat dripped from underneath Clancy’s toupee as he gave up his valiant effort for the evening. The Bronx broad served a boiler maker for the captain. “Here, drink up.”
“I’ll catch you later, Clancy,” I said as I got up to leave. I started to drop a bill on the bar, but Clancy’s big hand tenderly touched mine. He winked and said, “I got it, Jesse.”
That suited me just fine. He was certainly a fool with money. Putting my dollar bill away, I took Carmen by the hand. As we started to leave, a well-dressed gentleman flagged Carmen over to his table. I glanced at the distinguished man as Carmen guided me over to him.
He rose to his feet and gave us a warm smile. A chiseled face and finely tailored rags shouted power and class. His demeanor said Ivy League and Harvard Law.
“Hi, Carmen. You look lovely tonight,” exclaimed the tall, prematurely gray-haired young man. He spoke with perfect diction and a refined tone.
Carmen shyly replied with a slight flush to her cheeks, “Thanks, Phillip. I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Jesse.”
I firmly shook his hand and said, “How do you do? Pleased to meet you.”
“Would you ladies like to join me for a drink?”
“That’s very sweet of you, but we have plans,” Carmen replied.
He nodded. “I understand. Why don’t you let me drive you girls wherever you have to go?”
I wanted to head off any charming, rich men interested in my girl. “It was a pleasure meeting you.” I put my arm around Carmen’s waist and added, “Have a nice night.”
We escaped the club into the dark street. I took a deep breath of cold, misty air. We strolled down the sidewalk in silence that was not altogether comfortable.
Under any other circumstances, I would have been arrested for impersonating the opposite sex. Luckily, the best perk of having the captain of homicide as my john was a lot less busts. To make money, I would pop on a long blond wig, throw on a dress and hit the sidewalk hookin’. After work, I would shower and dress in my best men’s clothes. Looking like a pretty boy, I’d hook up with my girl.
I fought off a twinge of jealousy as I asked Carmen, “Who was that rich asshole?”
“He’s only the district attorney, Phillip Princeton III.”
“Great, a trust fund baby playing civil servant, how cute,” I replied.
Feeling possessive, I reached over to kiss my girl. She turned away slightly, resisting me. I flashed my prettiest smile and offered her the rose. Carmen ignored my gesture and continued walking. I wasn’t being forgiven so easily. I asked, “Is something wrong, baby doll?”
Carmen shot me a skeptical glance. Last night I had stood her up for dinner. Carmen and her mother labored for hours over a simmering pot of meat sauce. They prepared an old family secret recipe for spaghetti and sausage. I was unable to come because Clancy had demanded an unexpected date.
“I can’t say no to Clancy. I didn’t know I would have to stay late.”
“You could have at least called. I’m getting sick of this, Jesse.”
I couldn’t believe this was a problem for her. “What are you getting sick of? Are you trying to say you don’t like my line of work?”
“Jesse, I don’t care if you hook. Every lesbian in the Tenderloin hooks. I just don’t like to disappoint my mother.”
I held out my hands in innocence. “Honey, I like buying you nice things, and I enjoy taking your mother out.”
Carmen abruptly stopped walking. That fire in her eyes would be attractive if she wasn’t about to lay into me. “You just don’t get it, do you, Jesse? I feel like you care more about things than me. Money is not why I’m with you.”
I stood quietly and studied her for the right opening. Lowering my head, I attempted to give her the rose again with a sweet smile. As if in a confessional, I whispered, “Forgive me, I have sinned.” I added a sincere mea culpa. “I fucked up. I promise I won’t put work first again. You know I can’t stand Clancy.”
Carmen’s red lips started to smile as her eyes softened. She took the rose from my hand, cuddled close and kissed me on the cheek. We lingered under the fog lamp as I gave her a long kiss. I felt her warm body press against mine.
“Jessica! Oh, Jessica!” Clancy’s bellowing voice destroyed my moment of romantic intoxication.
“Come here, baby! I gotta talk to you!” Clancy hollered as Carmen released me.
“Dammit!” I said. “I’ll be right back, just give me a minute.”
“Ignore him! Just tell him to go fuck himself!”
“I better deal with him now before I go to L.A. tomorrow,” I said, exasperated. “I want to enjoy my kid brother’s birthday.”
Carmen appeared even more irritated. “Suit yourself.”
Carmen was not happy with my travel plans. She knew I had made arrangements to stay with my old buddy Speedy, and she knew what that meant. His name had been derived from his affection for methedrine and excessive partying.
I couldn’t solve that problem right now. Instead, I walked back to head off Clancy. He was lumbering down the sidewalk with outstretched arms, like a sloppy drunk.
“Why won’t you be my mistress? Tricking is no good for you,” he slurred.
“Clancy, I don’t have time to go over this again. You know you’re my favorite john. Let’s just leave it at that.” Hurriedly I reassured him, “I’ll visit you soon in a hot, sexy dress, but I gotta go now.”
A shiny black Cadillac pulled up. The handsome district attorney lowered his electric window. He leaned forward and politely inquired, “Jesse, is everything okay?”
Clancy roared at him, “We’re having a private conversation here!”
Flinching at the
cop’s manners, the D.A. nodded at me and drove off.
Clancy continued, teary-eyed and maudlin, “I’m just trying to get you off the streets.”
“I know, Clancy, that’s very considerate of you. Can we talk about this later?”
I turned around and saw the black Cadillac stop next to Carmen. Panicking, I sprinted toward the Caddy as she hopped into the front seat.
“Carmen!” I yelled. “Wait a minute!”
Carmen slammed the door.
“Damn it! Carmen!”
I watched as the taillights faded into the fog.
Chapter 2
RUNAWAY BLUES
L.A. sunlight burst through the open Venetian blinds. Fighting off the morning, I turned my face to the wall. I wanted to drift back to sleep.
The sound of a barking dog tugged apart my slumber. I tried to gather my senses as I lay on the couch. Slowly, I opened my eyes. Staring down at me were the big black eyes and large shaggy head of Speedy’s sheep dog, Grady. His hot panting breath blasted my face.
“Go away.”
The dog was standing by my forearm, which I noticed was the color of a banana and swollen to the size of a baseball bat. My head was killing me, and I could taste last night’s party souvenirs: stale peyote-laced hash and Red Mountain wine.
Grady flumped down beside me on the floor, and in a few moments he was sound asleep.
I lowered my head back onto the soft, worn cushions and reflected on how my life had gone from bad to worse lately. Before I ran away from home, I had been a typical middle-class teenager. That seemed like a lifetime ago. In a way, it was. The sordid way I was now living had aged me more than the three years I’d been gone.
For the past few months I’d been crashing at my friend Speedy’s pad in East L.A. Speedy was a scrawny, wired white dude who dressed like Jimi Hendrix and shot speed like Janis Joplin downed Jack. A nickel-and-dime street rat, he dealt grass at the Whiskey-A-Go-Go. He worked Sunset Boulevard’s dance clubs, where he catered to the soldiers on leave from Vietnam.
