Mary Jenkins - Innocent in Chicago Volume One

The club was small, consisting of a large rectangular bar with a scarlet curtained stage at one end, its floor on a level with the bar, and few small tables scattered along the sides. The floor was carpeted with a thick, scarlet rug and three of the walls were entirely covered with mirrors while the fourth was draped with the same scarlet material which curtained the stage. The ceiling was black, studded with stars which twinkled softly and afforded the only illumination in the room. In the dim light she could see in the mirror Frankie and herself reflected back a dozen times, his rugged darkness strikingly paired with her own blondness. On a small platform in front of the stage a four-piece combo was beating out a popular song. Frankie explained that when the show started the platform sank down to the floor, permitting a clear view of the stage, and that the girls not only used the stage for their acts but also walked along the top of the bar.

Torchy's appearance was heralded by a roll of drums, the darkening of the overhead lights and a white spotlight shining on the curtains which slowly parted. And there was Torchy, dressed in a tight, black evening gown, she looked like a black, sinuous mermaid for the dress was covered with shiny sequins which glittered and sparked in the spotlight like the scales of an iridescent fish and hugged each curve like a rubber glove. Except for her arms, which were encased in long, mesh gloves, the dress covered her completely and was fastened at the neck by a narrow collar of sequins. On her head was a glistening, winged cap which came down over her ears and held back the long black hair which rippled almost to her waist. One hand on her thrust-out hip, the other holding a long cigarette-holder, she was completely motionless, a shimmering statue against the red drapes, the blackness of her costume relieved only by her white, red-nailed hands, her face, chalky in the light, and her black eyes and full red lips.

As the music softly throbbed, she slowly moved her arm, took a drag on her cigarette and blew out the smoke through her nostrils. She began to sing a torch song, her voice deep and husky, caressing each word and note, intimate and seductive. At first she barely moved her body, but as the song became more passionate she started to weave her shoulders and hips. Two long slashes of startling white flesh suddenly appeared; her dress was slit both from the collar to the waist and from the floor up to her thigh. With her eyes closed, her head and shoulders thrown hack, swaying in time to the music, the slit widened to show the rising curves of her breasts, framed by the jet-blackness of her gown. The music swelled up in strong, rhythmic beats and she glided languidly about the stage, her body undulating like a glittering, black serpent, her eyes staring brazenly at the audience through half-closed lids. Against the black inverted V of her skirt, her legs flickered in and out, their whiteness and nudity accentuated.

Then, as the spotlight changed to a soft rose, she unfastened some hooks at her neck and waist and the dress suddenly fell away. Like a statue of pink alabaster, her skin glowed with the soft luster of a seashell's interior. Her breasts and sex were covered with narrow satin strips, its color so nearly the same rosy hue as her skin that she seemed to be really nude, and it was only the long, pink fringe, hanging over the material, which betrayed the illusion. Swinging like moving fingers over the strong jut of her mound and over the plump orbs of her haunches, their ends caressed her lush thighs, the inner sides of which softly rubbed together as she rolled her hips in large circles and slowly revolved around the stage. Living the throbbing, sensual beat of the music, her body undulated suggestively, lewdly, her arms raised above her head, entwining and parting in the flowing movements of an Oriental dancer; her torso weaving in circles, her entire body seemed taut with sexual tension, but at the same time relaxed and languorous; the curtains of fringe swayed like the tentacles of a pink jelly-fish, drawing attention to the proud, pointed breasts, arched high, and to the hidden center of her sex.

As the spotlight followed her, bathing her in a pink sea of light, she sauntered slowly onto the bar and walked along its top. Leisurely she moved, gracefully and deliberately, her shoulders, breasts and hips pulsating in time to the music. Her heels clicked on the hard wood and as she passed, a pungent scent of musky perfume came from her body. Looking upward, following the long sweep of her legs which widened and met at the apex of her sex, one could see a faint film of sweat which coated her body like a pink dew.

When she had circled the bar and returned to the stage, she put her hands behind her. When she brought them forward again she was holding the two satin strips which she tossed to the side. Her breasts and the lower part of her belly were now covered only by the pink fringe. Her movements became more intense and erotic, and the thin curtains swayed to and fro as she threw her torso into violent contortions, permitting glimpses of the firm twin arcs of her breasts, tipped with hard rosy buds and the large pad of her sex, covered only by a G-string. The spotlight dimmed, shadowing more deeply the tapering under-slope of her breasts, molding more richly the turning curves of her body and legs, accentuating the glistening, pink highlights on her thrusting breasts and belly and swirling buttocks. Her legs spread wide, she bent backwards, her long, black hair sweeping the floor while she swayed her torso so the fringe fell back and one could see only the long inverted V of her legs, climaxing at the wide open mat of her wide spread crotch, as wide as a hand and above it her breasts, completely nude and pointing upward like two cones. When she stood up again, she moved onto the bar and once more circled it, rolling her hips, thrusting out her pelvis, contorting her torso into erotic positions until her entire body seemed to be vibrating with sexual passion. With her heavy-lidded eyes frank and inviting, her hair floating behind her, her tongue sliding over her wet, red lips, her hands moved heavily down on her breasts, caressed the swell of her hips and slipped up her thighs to her mound, which she slowly and suggestively rubbed.

Once back on the stage, she quickly tore off the fringes and stood posed for a few moments in the rosy spotlight, entirely nude except for the almost imperceptible G-string. Then she ran off the stage. The curtains closed and the house lights came on again.

Cynthia was still staring wide-eyed at the closed curtains, her mouth partly open, when she felt Frankie's arm around her waist.

"Well, that's Torchy. How do you like her, baby?" Frankie said.

"She's terrific! I've never seen anyone like her before."

"Yeah. The greatest. How'd you like to meet her?"

"Oh, I'd love to. But what about the other acts?"

"Most of them are real drags. Come on, let's cool it backstage. I've already cleared it with Joe."

"Who's Joe?"

"He runs the joint. Come on."

As the curtains parted for another act, they went through a door near the bar and found themselves in a different world. In the bar everything had been clean and luxurious; here was dirt, confusion and the smell of powder perfume and sweat. Next to the stage sat a heavily made-up girl with red hair, sprawled on a broken down chair and smoking a cigarette. When she saw Frankie, she quickly sat up and straightened her dress.

"Hi, Frankie. What brings you here, darling?" she said, looking at him through heavily mascaraed lids. She stared rudely at Cynthia as if to add, "And what the hell are you doing here?"

"Hello Gypsy. Havin' a ball?" Frankie said.

"You kiddin'? There's about as much chance havin' a ball in this joint as havin' one at a meeting of the D.A.R.. Jeez!"