Richard Van Dorne - Ravished wife

"I understand," she said, wanting to believe him, but sorry that he was so naive.

"No you don't," he said, almost angrily. "You don't understand Chicago, or slums, or what happens to people who never have anything. I never wanted to be working for someone like Wade. I never wanted to have anything to do with crime. It's just that, well…"

And Sammy continued to talk for almost an hour, stopping only long enough to order more drinks. He had never been able to talk to anyone before, especially a girl, but this one seemed different. She listened, and he thought that she understood as he poured out the years of bitterness, the years that he spent pretending to be a hero because he had stolen a case of beer once. He told her the whole story, his voice angry at times, sad at others. No one had known Sammy Wynn before, but he wanted her to know him.

"… And so," he continued, "I never finished school, never had a chance to go to college. But I suppose, even if I had finished high school, I wouldn't have had the money to go to college."

Paula stared at him, no words coming from her lips. She could feel the salty tears that had formed in her eyes. Here was someone who shared something with her. She knew his pain and felt his losses, losses that, though not exactly like hers, had had the same effect on his life. They were two people who had not been masters of their own lives. Circumstances beyond their control had brought them together, under Wade Jackson, to sit together in a dimly lit cocktail lounge and communicate like human beings.

"Oh, Sammy," she whispered, and put out her hand to touch his. "If only I could tell you…"

"You can," he said, knowing that they had found something together. "Try it. I just found out that telling someone you trust helps and I'm glad I told you. Go ahead and try."

Slowly at first she began to speak, afraid that he might not understand as she had. She began with her father's death, the job, and then faltered when she started to talk about Jed Dearborn. But, when she looked at Sammy, she stopped hesitating and told him the whole story, right up to the present.

"Well," she said when she had finished. "What do you think?"

"Not, what do I think," he said, "But how do you feel?"

Paula thought for a moment. How do I feel? The hate was gone. That's right, the hate is gone. When her mind pictured Jed and Wade, she could only feel pity for them, sharpened by a tinge of disgust, but at least no more hate.

"I feel like a weight has been taken off me," she told Sammy in amazement. "It's almost too good to be true."

More than two hours had passed since they had ordered drinks and began talking. Sammy's eyes had roamed over every inch of her that he could see, savoring the fine smooth skin of her breasts that lay half-exposed from her low-cut dress, displaying their firm fullness. He had heard every word she had said, but his mind could not refuse his imagined pleasures of her luscious body. He watched, listened and learned more about her, feeling more and more emotion for her until he could no longer stand it.

During a pause in their conversation he finally blurted, "If you weren't… I mean… If I had the money… I'd," he groped for the words, "I'd like to make love with you."

Paula looked up from her drink, surprised that he would say such a thing, but when she saw his blushing face, she knew what he meant. How else, she thought, could he tell me he cared for me. His talk had mentioned girls only casually. He's probably never had a steady girl friend, so how would he know how to tell me, a whore, he cares?

"Why, Sammy?" she asked, wanting to see if he could answer to satisfy her.

"I don't know," he replied. "I mean, it's not like you think. I don't want you like all…"

"Like all those other men, Sammy?"

"Yeah, I mean, no, not like them. I know I haven't known you very long," he said, not knowing that she thought his little speech was cute, "But I think I know you pretty good and, well, I like you."

Sammy stopped talking and looked like he had been deflated from the effort. He had never told any girl that he cared for her before, and the commitment had been almost too much for him. He was afraid she would react differently, either thinking that he was just looking for a piece of tail, or that she didn't like him, really, and would reject him. Silently he watched for her reaction.

"You look like you've just been busted," she said smiling at him.

Sammy sat up a little, not sure if she were teasing him or not. He was too unsure of himself to know that she did care, and was touched by the way he had blurted out his confession.

"Are you afraid I'll turn you down," she asked him. "Don't be ridiculous. I may be in for trouble for it, but I think that after talking with you for the last two hours I should be able to judge not only you, but my own feelings."

Sammy's face became all grin as she talked. He wasn't going to be rejected. They would be able to make love, maybe on her day off, which wouldn't be until the convention was over, but be could wait. He could wait a long time for a beautiful girl like her.

"And, well," she continued. "We're spending too much of your money buying drinks here. Let's drive over to my place."

Unbelievable! She wanted him too, and tonight, not in a week. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction and a hint of desire. He wanted her, and wanted her badly. Maybe this was his fresh start.

Misunderstanding his expression she said, "Don't worry about the syndicate. I make a hell of a lot more money than they think I do and it'll be no problem at all to take a few bucks extra and tell them I worked all night."

"No," he interrupted. "I didn't think that, I just…"

"Paula!" a voice from the bar yelled. "Telephone."

She started to stand and Sammy got up with her, picking up her coat. "No, wait," she said. "I'll have to answer it, they know I'm here."

Sammy knew exactly what she meant. Each girl who worked for Jackson had a specific area of responsibility, a place where she would work from and could be contacted if not at home, or wherever she took her customers. It reminded him that she was, after all, still a hooker, no matter how beautiful, or how wonderful he thought she was, she was still a prostitute. But for the moment, he didn't care, he cared for her more than he had for any girl he had ever met, and what she did for a living could be either ignored or changed. His thoughts raced as he watched her firm sensuous buttocks move in perfect rhythm as she walked to the telephone.

"Hello," she said into the receiver, "This is Paula."

"Hi, Baby, Red."

Red, she thought, big ugly Red, one of Wade's "in crowd". She remembered him from the first, always hanging around, guarding Wade's precious body, and when Wade had turned her out, Red had been one of the first of the gang to take advantage of her new business. He had been rough and surly with her, and left her in a great deal of pain. But she couldn't hate him either, not since meeting Sammy. He was just another blob among the many blobs in her life.

"How's business tonight," he asked, wanting her to remember his superiority.

"Fair," she answered, wanting to say as little as she could to him.

"Well, I'm gonna make it better for ya," he continued. "We've lined up a helluva trick for ya. He's willin' to pay two bills for just an hour, so put on some fresh makeup and be down here right away."

Not now, she thought. "But, Red, I've got another big one right here, and I don't want to turn him down."

"I don't give a rat's ass," he said. "These is orders from the boss!"

"Alright," she said, hoping to hang up immediately.

"One more thing, Baby. Has that new collector been around yet?"

"He just left," she lied. "He said he had to check on something before he could get back to turn the money in."