Mary Jenkins - Innocent in Chicago Volume Two

Gypsy had been around to the apartment several times since her last visit, but she was always so drunk that it didn't bother her anymore. Besides, she was usually so high on heroin that nothing mattered to her anymore except her attachment for Frankie. In her sober moments she swore that she was going to lay off the stuff and straighten up, because if she kept on this way she was going to lose him and then lose everything, but then she'd get another craving and go right back on the needle. She had created a vicious circle for herself and she knew that she had little chance for recovery from the depths of degradation to which she had slipped. She seemed determined to destroy herself and those around her, but it didn't matter anymore! She was actually enjoying her playing for pay and found that she could get her kicks in many ways, not caring whether her partner was male, female, a group, or a gang bang. A masochistic trend was developing that she never knew existed in her and she looked forward to the times when she had to take physical punishment. Her skin and hair was beginning to lose its luster and Frankie had been hounding her about her appearance.

"Do you want to end up looking like Gypsy," he told her, "Why don't you take better care of yourself. You're becoming a slob… a stinking slob!"

When he would lecture her like that she would burst into a torrent of tears and throw her arms around him and beg him to forgive her and promise that she would try harder.

"I just can't understand it," he'd say. "You used to be so careful about your appearance and now you don't seem to care about anything. Sometimes I wonder if you still care for me!"

"I do love you," she implored. "Please believe me… I do love you and only you!"

Time had no meaning for her anymore, the days were all alike, just one big high. A destructive high. She wandered around in a daze half the time, but Frankie's business was hitting an all time high, so he wasn't around as much as he used to be, so getting out to turn her tricks to get the money for her habit was becoming easier and easier.

Carla had been generous in her supply of heroin to her but as her cravings increased she had the feeling that Carla was cutting back on her portions of the dope. She couldn't believe that her body was demanding more and more of the destructive white powder.

Carla usually called each day to see if she needed another fix and check on how her supply was holding out, but she hadn't heard from her in a couple of days.

She opened her dresser and checked the plastic bag where she stashed her supply. There was barely enough to get her through the day and even that would be cutting it close. A panicky feeling shuddered her body and she quickly checked around the apartment for any heroin Frankie may have there for one of his contacts. She had never stolen any of Frankie's supply because he would know right away and then she'd be trapped but she couldn't run out, she couldn't stand that! She began opening and closing drawers, boxes, closets at a frenzied pace, as though she wouldn't be able to survive another moment without more heroin. Evidently Frankie had just completed a transaction, because she couldn't find even a trace of dope anywhere.

Hurriedly she put on her coat and ran to the elevator, tapping impatiently on the button until the lift arrived. She ran through the lobby and hailed a cab in front of the building, and gave him the directions to Carla's hotel. She couldn't imagine what had happened that Carla hadn't called her for several days, and she shook with fear that something had happened to her and then her supply would be cut off. She tried to put the thought from her mind, but it kept coming back no matter how hard she tried.

The ride seemed to take forever and she wondered if there was always that much traffic at that time of the day. When the taxi pulled up in front of Carla's hotel she jumped out of the cab, paid him and ran up the stairs to her room and knocked on the door. She could hear her moving inside, but she wasn't answering the door.

"Carla," she yelled, "It's me… Cynthia!"

Finally she heard a scuffling of feet moving towards the door and she opened it, staring blankly at Cynthia.

"God, Carla," she gasped, "You look awful. What's the matter?"

"Got on a bum trip a few days ago. Thought I'd really done it this time, but I feel better now."

"I wondered why you hadn't called me. I'm running short of stuff and I need some more to get me through tomorrow," Cynthia pleaded.

"How much money you got?" Carla asked.

"Enough for one day's supply," she answered shakily, "But you know that I can probably get some from Johnson."

"I'm afraid that even that won't do much good this week, kid," she said half-sympathetically. "The market is tight and I could barely make a buy big enough for myself, much less for anyone else. That's why I didn't call, I didn't have any."

Cynthia looked at her with horror and disbelief. "But I've got to get some. I'll go out of my mind if I can't have a fix!" She was screaming and flailing her arms in the air like a maniac.

"I'm sorry… honest," Carla said, "but there ain't a damn thing I can do. I don't even know where my next fix is coming from if these prices continue to go up."

Cynthia's mind was racing, confused and tormented, trying to think of some way to get the money for the "H".

"Guess I'll have to go to Johnson to get it. If I get the money and come back with it, can you fix me up then?" she implored.

"Yeah, I guess so. These pushers are getting so damned independent that it's hard to guarantee anything when the market is like this. The heat has been on for about a week and a few of the sources got busted, which makes it bad all around."

Cynthia just stood there for a minute, then buttoned her coat and left the hotel in a panicked rush.

I can't go without a fix… I'll go out of my mind, she thought to herself, as she searched for another taxi to take her to Johnson's. It seemed to be ages before one stopped to pick her up and she tapped her hands nervously on the seat as he sped through the downtown traffic to Johnson's apartment.

The doorman recognized her when she got out of the cab and told her that he would have to call up to Mr. Johnson first before he could let her go up.

"Why?" she asked impatiently. "You've seen me here a hundred times before. He'll see me."

"I know I have, Miss," he replied, "but Mr. Johnson has company up there and may not want to be disturbed. I've got to check."

She sat down on the chair in the lobby and waited while he rang Johnson's apartment.

He turned around and handed her the house phone saying, "he wants to talk to you… here."

"Hello," she said, her voice quivering. "I've got to see you… NOW!"

"Just take it easy, sweetheart," he said, his tone cool and aloof. "What's the big hurry?"

She knew that he probably realized that she needed money and he was just trying to upset her by taking his sweet time and making her wait.

"Please," she begged, "I've got to see you now, right away."

"Okay… okay," he finally relented, "but I've got someone else here right now, hope you don't mind. In fact, it could be very interesting. Let me talk to the doorman again." She handed the phone to the doorman and waited for him to get the okay for her to go up.

She could hear giggling and muffled conversation as she stood outside Johnson's door. Johnson was dressed only in a silk robe when he answered the door to let her in. A young woman was seated on the couch and was dressed only in her brassiere, stockings, and tiny bikini panties.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," she said, "but I just had to see you. I need some money."

"Well, well," he said, "you need some money. Just what do you expect to do to earn this advance?" he chided.