Stilettos and Steel

by Jeri Estes

  Junior’s eyes widened. “You get johns from Turk Street to North Beach!”

  “That’s right, Junior. We have a hooker to suit every man’s wallet.”

  Junior approved mightily. “Fuckin-A.”

  “As women, we have to outthink, outfight and outrun every male motherfucker. We gotta keep a tougher game face than the chump-change pimp wannabe players in this fuckin’ ghetto. See all these men? Sex is entertainment and it sells like popcorn. By the way,” I asked nodding toward the stage, “what do you think of Little Rosie?”

  “I can see why she makes you a lot of money,” Junior said with genuine admiration.

  “Rosie’s a sweetheart, as long as she’s the star of the moment,” I said with a good-natured grin.

  The spotlight followed Little Rosie’s glistening brown flesh. Her firm, full tits spun the black sequin pasties around and around, hypnotizing her johns’ dicks like a master snake charmer. Pinning the crowd with her lust-filled stares, Rosie’s mouth formed a perfectly seductive O as her wet tongue circled her glossy lips just before she blew them a kiss. Little Rosie’s bright eyes mischievously sparkled like her brilliant costume jewelry. She bent low, snatching up money from the dollar-wielding patrons. As the vamp left the stage, she rhythmically ground her hips to the fading beat of the music, blew them a final kiss and danced off stage.

  Within a few moments, the sound of clicking stiletto heels approached us. “This bitch is tired! Aren’t you going to get your baby girl a drink?”

  A snap of Rosie’s fingers rang in my ears as she kissed me on the cheek and said, “Hi Jesse, baby.”

  Her Windsong perfume pleasantly seduced my nostrils.

  Rosie placed a book of matches nonchalantly next to my drink on the bar. This was standard protocol for how I collected the revenue. It usually hid several tightly folded Bennies. I picked up the matchbook and smoothly tucked it into my jacket’s inner breast pocket near my gun.

  Junior’s eyes widened, picking up on the subtle maneuver.

  Rosie started up, “Hey, who’s your butch buddy?” She gave Junior a disinterested glance as she grabbed my arm and pulled herself up onto the stool next to mine.

  “Rosie, this is Junior. She’s interested in joining our crew.”

  Little Rosie tossed her head and raised a thin black eyebrow as she grabbed one of my smokes. She placed the unfiltered Pall Mall between her shimmering lips.

  Addressing Junior, she said, “So you wanna be a fucking henchman?”

  Junior met the pretty lady’s suspicious eyes and politely replied, “You read that right. You’re pretty smart.”

  “Of course I’m smart. That’s why I act dumb. In this game, acting smart is stupid.”

  Junior smiled at her hooker wisdom. “You’re a very good dancer as well.”

  Rosie leaned seductively forward for me to light her cig and put her hand firmly by my crotch. “Thanks. I took lessons at Arthur Murray’s dance studio in San Juan.”

  Junior nodded and said, “Cool,” as Tuttle set a rum and Coke in front of Rosie. In almost the same motion he picked up an ashtray and dumped it in the trash can behind the bar. Elvis Presley’s voice serenaded us as we all chatted for a few minutes.

  “We have sales contests for the girls,” I informed Junior. “The whore that makes the most money wins a prize. That’s how Rosie won those earrings.”

  Rosie laughed, sipping her rum and Coke. “We Latinos know how to work it.” Rosie proudly leaned forward toward Junior, pressing her hand deep into my thigh. She enjoyed showing off her large fourteen carat gold hoops and firm tits. As Rosie bent across me, I caught a glimpse of the Derringer concealed under her opened leopard print blouse. The mother-of-pearl handle on her mini-piece rested between her breasts in a tight black bustier that acted as her holster.

  She placed her hand on my shoulder, smiled at Junior and said, “That’s what makes Jesse sexy: brains, money and power, baby.”

  Little Rosie shot down her rum and Coke. “Not only that, but Bunny’s step-dad dropped dead and left Bunny a bundle. He was a rich pervert, baby.” Rosie cackled in delight. “We’re going shopping tomorrow with the dead bastard’s cash.”

  Junior gave me an inquisitive glance.

  “That’s right, Junior,” I said. “Bunny’s step-dad was a freak. He was a bit too affectionate with Bunny. To keep the peace and keep his wife in the dark, he bought his way out of it. Now Rosie gets to go shopping, Bunny doesn’t have to deal with the pervert, and you got a job. Looks like we all have something to celebrate. Tonight, I hire my first henchman!”

  I patted Junior on the back and asked, “Well, Vato, how about joining my crew?”

  Her face lit up like a light in a window on a dark night. “I would be honored to be your soldier. Thank you very much. I pledge my loyalty, boss.”

  “Junior, I’d like you to start right now,” I stated seriously.

  “You got it, boss!”

  “Good. You’ll spend the night at the house. Rosie will take you over there. Tomorrow evening we’ll meet at Pasquel’s Men’s Shop.”

  “Yes, boss,” she answered.

  “His stuff is top of the line. Just so you know, Pasquel is one of our clients as well as a good bird dog. He sends us a lot of business. Be there at seven.”

  “I’ll be there,” Junior replied quickly.

  “If Pasquel is busy, his new apprentice will take care of you. He just hired some Brit named Austin who’s right off the boat. I haven’t met him yet, but I’m sure he’s an excellent tailor also. The shop’s on Market Street, a few doors past Powell.”

  Junior was very happy with this news. “Thanks. You’ve got some badass rags, boss.”

  I put a twenty on the bar and watched Tuttle move with the speed of a much younger man. His blue eyes sparkled through the hazy light of the bar as he folded the bill into his pocket and said, “Thanks, Jesse.”

  “Tuttle, line em up! We’re celebrating.” Proudly, I informed our paternal confidant, “Meet my new right hand.”

  “Congratulations,” Tuttle responded with a smile. He set out three shot glasses and poured.

  Rosie wrapped her arm around mine as she seductively asked, “Jesse baby, are you going to spend the night with me over at Marie’s?”

  “Not tonight,” I said brusquely, “I got business to take care of.”

  Junior gave me an admiring glance.

  “I got quality problems, man. One too many ladies and not enough time. It goes with the territory.”

  Proposing a toast, I said, “Viva la numero uno henchman!”

  We clinked glasses and downed our shots.

  Chapter 13

  MONEY TALKS

  Rosie, Junior and I stepped through the black velvet curtains of the topless club out into the dark foggy night. The streets glowed with neon signs. The Tenderloin pulsed with the music escaping from the doorways of countless cocktail lounges. Street hustlers, drag queens and winos meandered through the neighborhood, soliciting passersby and scanning for cops.

  I said to Rosie and Junior, “I’ll catch you guys tomorrow.” They flagged down a passing cab.

  Carmen and I used to rendezvous nightly at Compton’s. I still showed up every night, hoping she would pick up our old routine. As I headed back to Compton’s on foot, a cloud of steam floated up from a manhole. I put my hand in my trouser pocket, shielding it from the chilly air. Holding my Stetson on my head, I fought the wind.

  After a short walk, I passed an older lesbian couple. The butch, dressed like a dapper old man, held her lady friend’s hand as they walked down the sidewalk of our ghetto. I felt empowered by the freedom to be myself here. The Tenderloin was the only place where I felt truly alive. At night, with booze, drugs and wishful thinking, the Tenderloin transformed into my own Wonderland.

  I turned the corner of Turk and Taylor with a bounce in my step. A row of parked Harleys, manned by shit-talkin’ boisterous bikers fortified the side of Compton’s restaurant. I entered through the
glass doors. Glossy tile and bright lights illuminated the way to my table by the window.

  Karen shot me a smile hello, exposing the famous gap between her teeth.

  I sat looking out the window, disappointed that Carmen probably would not show up again. As I stared blankly, memories of her flashed by like frames in a film. By stages, I settled into a pleasant memory of the night I first met Carmen at Lettermen’s.

  I could still picture how the white stripes of the psychedelic strobe lights danced on the couples grinding on the dark, crowded dance floor. A small black femme held her arms around her full-figured black girlfriend’s neck, hanging on for dear life. The chubby dyke’s oversized hands cradled the tiny femme’s little leopard-skinned ass. I watched the short girl wobble in her shoes to the beat of the Four Tops. Her small feet moved in slightly too-large black stiletto heels with each thrust of her lover’s pelvis. The sexy black fox pressed against her linebacker girlfriend’s chest.

  Surveying the dance floor like a radar scanner, I searched for a live bleep on the screen. My outfit—a new dark blue silk shirt and black trousers—was completed with classic Bostonian wingtips. My hunting companions and I stood together in a small circle. Bobby, Chip and I cruised Lettermen’s with drinks in hand and talking shit. The three of us were posing, knowing we were handsome butches.

  With a cocky smile, I pointed to the cute chick in leopard skin. “Which one of you is willing to take my bet? For a hundred bucks, I can pick that bitch up tonight.”

  “Oh, yeah?” replied plump-faced Bobby. Behind her Buddy Holly black-framed glasses, her blue eyes danced with astonishment. “Sure, Jesse, just walk up to the sweet little black mama hanging on King Kong and ask her out.”

  Chip piped up with the enthusiasm of a cheerleader. “Go for it, Jesse! You can do it! If it goes to blows, we’ll lasso King Kong. I’ll hogtie her for you.”

  “No, seriously, I can pick that bitch up,” I challenged my friends again, asking, “Who will take me up on it?”

  Bobby jumped in, “I’ll bet you a beer.”

  “You got it!” I replied.

  I turned to ask Chip if she was in on the bet when suddenly my words were slapped out of me. My cheek stung with heat. My mind raced to comprehend what the hell had hit me.

  Directly in front of me stood my assailant, a young girl with fire in her eyes.

  Frozen in surprise, I looked directly into two beautiful emerald green eyes. They had specks of gold in them, as if sparks of anger flew out toward me. The eyes belonged to an exquisite auburn-haired young woman in stilettos and a short red dress, one hand on her hip.

  I was in a trance. Her luscious red lips seemed to move in slow motion. “Who the hell do you think you are? That’s my friend over there that you’re talking about. She’s a lady, not a piece of meat!”

  The three of us stood stunned.

  But her striking beauty acted like smelling salts.

  She looked me in the eye. “I have seen you walking through the Tenderloin like some king rooster. You think you’re a real player—every lady’s dream, come here from L.A. to give us San Francisco girls a treat. But the number one player in the TL is my buddy, Carrie Mickens. She has enough class and good looks that she doesn’t have to brag about the girls she gets. She loves us femmes. You think we’re just sport.”

  I noticed Bobby and Chip’s faces went from astonishment to agreement as the lady read me the riot act. My cheeks started to turn red with the Carrie Mickens remarks. She was my secret idol in the TL. She was tall, dark and handsome, with large blue eyes and an adorable soft spirit. I put my hand in my pocket and felt her Playboy Zippo lighter in the palm of my hand. It was a gift that Carrie’s lover had given me the night I picked her up at Maud’s bar, took her home and made love to her. I felt the cool, rounded edges of the lighter. Confidence flooded over me as I thought about how I had seduced Carrie’s girlfriend and acquired her lighter.

  “I know Carrie Mickens,” I replied. “She’s a wonderful girl and you’re right about her and me.”

  Her glare faded and confusion clouded her eyes. They were protected by the thickest, most luscious long lashes I had ever seen. In seconds, she blinked away the look of bewilderment and replaced it with a sarcastic expression.

  I raised my right hand and put it over my heart like I was about to say the pledge of allegiance. I had managed to save my drink through the assault and held it in my other hand. Speaking over the background music of “Do Right Woman” by Aretha Franklin—it was as if the DJ heard my cue—I said, “I am wrong and very sorry if I upset you or showed any disrespect to your friend. My name is Jessica Rawlson. My friends call me Jesse. I am the new kid on the block, and I am probably trying too hard to prove myself. I hope you’ll forgive my adolescent behavior.”

  I watched her eyes calculate whether I was being sincere. After a moment, she replied with a hint of disgust, “Words are cheap.”

  I thought, “Oh shit…strike two.”

  Again I pleaded my case, with less servitude and contriteness. “You’re right, words are cheap, but you’re not, nor are your friends. Please let me buy you a drink and we can discuss this further. You are helping me by calling me on my poor behavior. I can learn from your insight.” I then quoted my mother, hoping that the young girl would realize I respected women. “My mother Ophelia always told me that I should give people the benefit of the doubt. Please extend me that courtesy. Please, let me buy you a drink.”

  “Oh yeah, right, I am helping you.”

  Realizing I had met my match, I pressed harder. “How about having just one drink with me and talking this over? Fair enough?”

  Finally, she relented. “Okay, I’ll have a drink on you.”

  Chip chimed in, “That sounds great. I’m Chip from Montana and this is Bobby from New York. It appears you’ve already met my friend Jesse, the Valley girl from Woodland Hills.”

  The reference Chip made about my being from the Valley seemed to amuse the pretty girl. A hint of pity sparked in her eyes as she laughed with my friends.

  I good-naturedly said, “I know I’m a Valley girl, so way down deep I’m shallow.”

  “I’m Carmen from Oakland,” she said with a wink. “Jesse, I’ll have a Tom Collins.”

  With the first softness in her voice, I fell in love.

  Out of the gloaming, I saw Carmen’s sister, Phyllis enter the haze under the street lamps. Her determined stride was distinctly like that of Carmen’s. Her long black hair blew in the cold, damp wind. She moved her long legs like a lioness on a hunt.

  The older sister walked through the glass doors of the restaurant, bringing the wind in with her as she came up to my table. I rose to my feet like a gentleman and tipped my Stetson before I removed it in the presence of the pretty lady.

  Phyllis was very striking and somewhat harder in appearance than her sister Carmen. The Sicilian really came out in Phyllis, whereas Carmen had lighter Irish traits.

  The older sister glanced at my new hat. “Hi Jesse, nice hat. Did the Bunny bitch with the platinum ovaries buy it for you?”

  I found it hard to keep a straight face, since I admired the way she drew first blood. Phyllis deserved my respect because of her fierce loyalty to her younger sister. I calmly replied, “Nice to see you, Phyllis.”

  I watched her pull out the chair hurriedly, not allowing me to pull it out for her. She dropped her large black leather purse on an empty chair at the table. Phyllis shrugged out of her long leather coat and matching gloves that she casually lay over the back of the chair.

  Karen appeared at the table with a cup of coffee for Phyllis. I asked, “Would you like something to eat?”

  “I’m not hungry. I’m here on business,” she said crisply. “Carmen wants to know what’s up with the pimp act. If you want to see her, you gotta drop the midget with the cash. With or without money, Carmen loves you. So, bottom line, what’s up?”

  “Please tell Carmen that I love her too and the Bunny thing is just business,
” I assured her. “And, speaking of business, I have a proposition for you.”

  “Oh?” she said. “I am always up for talkin’ business. Let’s hear it big shot.”

  “My business partner and I run a brothel in Chinatown. It’s perfectly located and has high-class clientele. We also have a great madam who manages the girls.” I leaned forward. “Phyllis, I can offer serious protection. You can make a lot more money than you’re making now. Plus, you’ll be a hell of a lot safer working as one of my high-priced escorts.”

  Phyllis kept her regal cool. “Sounds good, Jesse. Are the profits going to go up your arm?”

  “No, I kicked that shit!” I cried. “I am all about taking care of business now.”

  “I always prefer working referrals,” Phyllis conceded. “They are safer. And you do look like you got your shit together.” She was liking the idea the more she thought about it. “It might be cool working with you. Let me run it past Carmen first.”

  “That’s cool. Let me know.”

  Phyllis picked up my pack of Pall Malls from the table and helped herself to one. I immediately lit it for her with my Zippo. I watched Phyllis smoke, sip her coffee and study me cautiously. My mind scrambled to get a game plan together. I didn’t want to blow my shot at impressing Carmen.

  My profits from last week’s take! “Phyllis, by the way, I have some cash for you. Split the cash in this envelope with your sister. Consider your half a sign-up bonus and previews of coming attractions.”

  I pushed the fat envelope toward Phyllis and said, “Please deliver my gift to Carmen.”

  Phyllis felt the thickness of the envelope. A subtle grin replaced the hard glare as she stuffed the heavy envelope inside her black bag.

  “Jesse, Carmen quit her job at the Why Not. She had enough of groping, cheap-tipping guys,” Phyllis said. “Now Carmen wants to make real money. She asked me to help her out, so I turned her on to a few of my johns.” Phyllis took a long drag off the Pall Mall. Her large brown eyes showed no emotion. She flicked the ashes from her cigarette nonchalantly into the ashtray as she glanced out the window.