Richard Van Dorne - Ravished wife

"If you have any idea of how much tourist money flows through this city each week, you wouldn't believe it. But that's not all, damnit. Jackson is raking off millions each year from his girls and gives a pittance to the right people and a few charities, justifying his position as a man of good standing.

"Miami could live more than well enough off of legitimate tourist money and taxes, but people like Jackson are ruining it. And I'll be Goddamned if I'm going to raise my kids in a town that will turn to filth if it isn't stopped!"

At Jeff's "children" Pamela awoke from her dreams of the winter ball. She and Jeff both wanted children, but the problem for her was the sexual intercourse. Pamela thought she enjoyed it with Jeff, but surely not as much as he did. Her mother had told her all about the ugly things that men had done to women, and Pamela had subconsciously hidden the words, but not the feelings. She felt that more than once a week was excessive, even though Jeff demanded more. She knew that once they had a baby they could cut down on their sexual activity and he wouldn't object.

"I just wish you would come out of the clouds and try to understand," he almost pleaded with her. "Too many people have ignored the problem for too long, and if they continue there's just no telling what might happen."

"Jeff, I do try to understand, but are you sure you're on the right track?"

Jeff sighed and shrugged his shoulders. It's no use, he thought as he got up from the table and went to the closet for his jacket. It's not her fault she doesn't understand, but for Christ's sake…

"Have a good day," she said as she kissed him softly on the cheek, her right arm holding his waist.

"You, too," he replied and walked out the door toward his car.

Why can't they all understand, he thought as he pulled out of the driveway. The city's businesses and a few money hungry men are either too afraid or too greedy to do something about Jackson, and the rest of them are like Pam. If she and her friends at the country club could see some of the things I have seen at night, they might change their minds.

Jeff kept driving toward the office where he would put in an appearance before continuing to follow more leads that he had gotten the night before. He thought about his wife and her archaic idea that no one with money could be bad. If only he could convince her without shocking her too much. The conventions could be the answer, and the most important of all conventions, the National Republican Party Convention, was in town. If he were to take Pamela with him that evening she could see what happens afterwards in hotel rooms, or at least in the bars. But then, it might be too much too soon. There must be something to make her see, but what?

"Paula Moore," Sammy said aloud as he sat in his car in front of one of the larger hotels. He was to meet her in the cocktail lounge and wait if she wasn't there.

She's probably like the rest, he thought as he walked through the revolving door and headed toward the bar. Sammy had seen twenty-four girls during the week, and none of them were beautiful, though some were attractive. He wondered how they got the prices they asked for. Even the better looking ones wouldn't be accepted in any beauty contest, that was for Goddamn sure, he thought.

In a moment he entered the lounge and waited for his eyes to adjust to the blue darkness. There were two men sitting at one end of the long bar, glancing at a single girl who sat near the center. Their conversation was half whispered, but anyone could tell they were talking about the dark-haired girl. Eager to get this last confrontation over with he walked toward her swiftly, hoping that she was the one.

"Paula Moore?" he asked, expecting to see another thirty-year-old woman who had been through too much.

Sammy barely heard her say, "Yes?"

Even in the half-light of the cocktail lounge he could see that she was the most beautiful girl he had ever met. She wore no more make-up than a normal woman, and had accented every feature of her near-perfect face. He could see the straight line of her finely chiseled nose and the outline of her soft, almost glowing cheeks.

"Yes," she said again, "I'm Paula Moore. What do you want?"

Sammy could hardly speak as he watched her lips stop speaking and close in puzzled silence. His eyes followed her chin and the sleek line of her neck before he caught hold of himself.

"I'm S-Sammy Wynn," he finally said.

"Are you sure," she said sarcastically, pleased with herself.

"I'm from Wade," Sammy said immediately, wanting to slap her back for being so quick with him.

He was almost pleased with himself until he saw her face drop its smiling mask and almost tremble.

He didn't want to hurt her, not a girl as beautiful as this.

"Don't be afraid," he told her. "Come on, let's sit in a booth."

Paula obeyed as if she were a well-trained puppy, and quickly followed him to a nearby booth. She nearly gasped aloud when he stopped and offered her a seat before sitting himself. None of Wade's hoods had ever been polite to her. Most of them treated her like a common streetwalker, and in fact, had all taken her services at one time or another. It was in their unspoken contract, and she could do nothing about it.

Paula watched him curiously as he called to the cocktail waitress and ordered two scotch and waters before she could protest. As soon as the cocktail waitress left she told him that she couldn't drink anything but tea while she was on duty.

"Don't worry about it," Sammy replied. "I'm not going to tell anyone about it, if you won't."

This is too much, she thought, but then, he is awfully young, almost as young as I am. Her mind wondered about Sammy as they waited for their drinks, which were delivered shortly. Neither of them spoke, each waiting for the other to make a move. Sammy, his eyes glued to the sensuous woman across from him, had nothing to say. He only wanted to look, while Paula, at the same time, was curious about Wade's new hireling, but was unsure of herself. Tonight was pickup night for her money, yet the young man had said nothing. He seemed polite, she thought, and much too young to be working for Wade, besides, she seemed to see a glimmer of intelligence behind his eyes. Finally she spoke: "Did Wade send you to tell me something?"

"You're beautiful," he answered in his South Chicago accent.

"Wade said that?" she burst out laughing.

Sammy flushed and a broad grin spread across his handsome young face. He was embarrassed by his awkwardness, but pleased that she laughed, and he joined her laughter.

"N-No," he finally managed through his laughter. "I mean, I think you're beautiful."

Pamela stopped laughing and looked at the young man, one hand resting on her half-exposed full breast. He's really serious, she thought. I'm a prostitute sitting in a bar waiting for a customer, and he's serious.

"Why, thank you," she said in astonishment.

If he were any of the others, she thought, he would just be on the make, wanting her body, and willing to pay for it. But he's different, and she knew she was right.

She raised her glass and toasted, "To you."

Sammy couldn't stop smiling, pleased that she seemed to like him, and that she didn't think he was like the rest of Wade's henchmen. Wade crossed his mind, and he remembered why he had come. If she's going to like me, he thought, I'll have to be honest.

Paula put her drink on the table and was surprised when Sammy said, "I'd better tell you right now that I'm here for the collection."

"Oh," she said, pretending that she was sure of it all the time. So maybe he was like the rest of them after all.

Quickly, before she could open her purse to give him her week's take, he spoke again. "I-I don't want you to think I'm like the rest of Wade's men," he said, almost pleading for acceptance. "I just need the money right now, and as soon as I make enough, I'll quit."