Frank Harris - My Life and Loves, Book 1

One evening a girl spoke to me: she was fairly well dressed and as we came under a gas lamp, I saw she was good looking with a tinge of nervous anxiety in her face. «I don't buy love,» I warned her,

«but how much do you generally get?» «From one dollar to five,» she replied; «but tonight I want as much as I can get.» «I'll give you five,» I replied; «but you must tell me all I want to know.»

«All right,» she said eagerly, «I'll tell all I know; it's not much,» she added bitterly. «I'm not twenty yet, but you'd have taken me for more, now wouldn't you?» «No,» I replied, «you look about eighteen.» In a few minutes we were climbing the stairs of a tenement house. The girl's room was poorly furnished and narrow, a hall bedroom just the width of the corridor, perhaps six feet by eight. As soon as she had taken off her thick coat and hat, she hastened out of the room, saying she'd be back in a minute. In the silence I thought I heard her running up the stairs; a baby somewhere near cried; and then silence again, till she opened the door, drew my head to her and kissed me. «I like you,» she said, «though you're funny.» «Why funny?» I asked. «It's a scream,» she said, «to give five dollars to a girl and never touch her, but I'm glad, for I was tired tonight and anxious.» «Why anxious?» I queried, «and why did you go out if you were tired?» «Got to,» she replied through tightly closed lips. «You don't mind if I leave you again for a moment?» she added, and before I could answer she was out of the room again. When she returned in five minutes I had grown impatient and put on my overcoat and hat. «Goin'?» she asked in surprise. «Yes,» I replied;

«I don't like this empty cage while you go off to someone else.»

«Someone else,» she repeated, and then as if desperate, «It's my baby if you must know: a friend takes care of her when I'm out or working.» «Oh, you poor thing,» I cried. «Fancy you with a baby at this life!» «I wanted a baby,» she cried defiantly. «I wouldn't be without her for anything! I always wanted a baby: there's lots of girls like that.» «Really?» I cried astounded. «Do you know her father?» I went on. «Of course I do,» she retorted.

«He's working in the stockyards; he's tough and won't keep sober.»

«I suppose you'd marry him if he would go straight?» I asked.

«Any girl would marry a decent feller!» she replied. «You're pretty,» I said. «D'ye think so?» she asked eagerly, pushing her hair back from the sides of her head. «I used to be but now-this life-» and she shrugged her shoulders expressively. «You don't like it?» I asked. «No,» she cried, «though when you get a nice feller, it's not so bad; but they're scarce,» she went on bitterly,

«and generally when they're nice, they've no bucks. The nice fellers are all poor or old,» she added reflectively. I had had the best part of her wisdom, so I stripped off a five-dollar bill and gave it to her. «Thanks,» she said, «you're a dear and if you want to come an' see me at any time, just come an' I'll try to give you a good time.»

– Away I went. I had had my first talk with a prostitute and in her room! The idea that a girl could want a baby was altogether new to me; her temptations very different from a boy's, very! For the greater part of my first year in Chicago I had no taste of love: I was often tempted by this chambermaid or that, but I knew that I should lose prestige if I yielded and I simply put it all out of my head resolvedly, as I had abjured drink. But towards the beginning of the summer temptation came to me in a new guise. A Spanish family, named Vidal, stopped at the Fremont House. Senor Vidal was like a French officer, middle height, trim figure, very dark, with grey moustache waving up at the ends. His wife, motherly but stout, with large dark eyes and small features; a cousin, a man of about thirty, rather tall with a small black moustache, like a tooth brush, I thought, and sharp imperious ways. At first I did not notice the girl who was talking to her Indian maid. I understood at once that the Vidals were rich and gave them the best rooms. «All communicating-except yours,» I added, turning to the young man; «It is on the other side of the corridor, but large and quiet.» A shrug and contemptuous nod was all I got for my pains from Senor Arriga. As I handed the keys to the bellboy, the girl threw back her black mantilla. «Any letters for us?» she asked quietly. For a minute I stood dumbfounded, enthralled, then, «I'll see,» I muttered and went to the rack, but only to give myself a countenance. I knew there were none. «None, I'm sorry to say,» I smiled, watching the girl as she moved away. «What's the matter with me?» I said to myself angrily. «She's nothing wonderful, this Miss Vidal; pretty, yes, and dark, with fine dark eyes, but nothing extraordinary.» It would not do; I was shaken in a new way and would not admit it even to myself.

In fact, the shock was so great that my head took sides against heart and temperament at once, as if alarmed. «All Spaniards are dark,» I said to myself, trying to depreciate the girl and so regain self-control, «besides, her nose is beaked a little.» But there was no conviction in my criticism. As soon as I recalled the proud grace of carriage and the magic of her glance, the fever-fit shook me again; for the first time my heart had been touched. Next day I found out that the Vidals had come from Spain and were on their way to their hacienda near Chihuahua in northern Mexico. They meant to rest in Chicago for three or four days because Senora Vidal had heart trouble and couldn't stand much fatigue. I discovered besides that Senor Arriga was either courting his cousin or betrothed to her, and at once I sought to make myself agreeable to the man. Senor Arriga was a fine billiards player and I took the nearest way to his heart by reserving for him the best table, getting him a fair opponent and complimenting him upon his skill. The next day Arriga opened his heart to me: «What is there to do in this dull hole?» Did I know of any amusement? Any pretty women? I could do nothing but pretend to sympathize and draw him out, and this I easily accomplished, for Senor Arriga loved to boast of his name and position in Mexico and his conquests. «Ah, you should have seen her as I led her in the baile (dance)-an angel!» and he kissed his fingers gallantly. «As pretty as your cousin?»

I ventured. Senor Arriga flashed a sharp suspicious glance at me, but apparently reassured by my frankness, went on: «In Mexico we never talk of members of our family,» he warned. «The Senorita is pretty, of course, but very young; she has not the charm of experience, the caress of-I know so little American, I find it difficult to explain.» But I was satisfied. «He doesn't love her,» I said to myself; «loves no one except himself.» In a thousand little ways I took occasion to commend myself to the Vidals.

Every afternoon they drove out and I took care they should have the best buggy and the best driver and was at pains to find out new and pretty drives, though goodness knows the choice was limited. The beauty of the girl grew on me in an extraordinary way; yet it was the pride and reserve in her face that fascinated me more even than her great dark eyes or fine features or splendid coloring. Her figure and walk were wonderful, I thought. I never dared to seek epithets for her eyes, or mouth, or neck. Her first appearance in evening dress was a revelation to me; she was my idol, enskied and sacred. It is to be presumed that the girl saw how it was with me and was gratified.

She made no sign, betrayed herself in no way, but her mother noticed that she was always eager to go downstairs to the lounge and missed no opportunity of making some inquiry at the desk. «I want to practice my English,» the girl said once, and the mother smiled: «Los ojos, you mean your eyes, my dear,» and added to herself: «But why not? Youth…» and sighed for her own youth now foregone, and the petals already fallen. One little talk I got with my goddess; she came to the office to ask about reserving a Pullman drawing room for El Paso. I undertook at once to see to everything, and when the dainty little lady added in her funny accent: «We have so many baggage, twenty-six bits,» I said as earnestly as if my life depended on it,