Mary Jenkins - Innocent in Chicago Volume One

"What in hell are you complaining about? You're making some bucks, aren't you?" He stared back at her, a disgusted look on his face.

"Yeah, but for what? Put your clothes on, take 'em off to tantalize the bug-eyes out there," she said, jerking her thumb toward the bar, "put 'em back on, go out and hustle for drinks, change costumes, take your clothes off again, and so on and so on. My God, my skin feels like it's gettin' in-grown zippers."

"Good old Gypsy. Always complaining. I'll see you later."

"Don't I know it," she yelled after him and watched them sullenly as they walked down the corridor.

"What's she so stirred up about?" Cynthia asked.

"Aw, she bugs me," Frankie said. "Always biting her tongue. I got her this job and now she's putting it down. I'm about fed up with her."

Cynthia looked at him perplexedly wondering what the story was between them. She felt a twinge of jealousy that there should be something between Frankie and Gypsy, and then was surprised at her own feeling.

He took her by the arm and steered her around a corner. A girl sauntered out of a dressing room, completely nude, smoking a cigarette, and clicked down the hall on high heels into another room. Several girls walked by, smiled warmly at Frankie and greeted him by name. One of them was Torchy, now dressed in a tight, white gown.

"Frankie, darling? How are you?" she crooned and then kissed him.

"Fine, Torchy. Where you off to? I'd like to have you meet Cynthia here," he said.

"Hello honey," she smiled at Cynthia. "How do you like this rat nest?"

"Oh, I… I… really, I think it's exciting," Cynthia said. She was somewhat awed by all the activity backstage and the glimpses of nude women through the open dressing-room doors.

"How about a talk someplace, Torchy? I promised Cynthia a real look at you!" He laughed, winked at Torchy and patted her plump haunch.

"Hell, Frankie, I've got to go out and hustle drinks. Sorry, honey," she said, looking at Cynthia. "But why don't you go in my room back there and make yourselves at home?"

"Okay," Frankie said. "See you later."

They walked back to Torchy's dressing room which, as she was one of the stars, she shared only with two other girls. It was a small cubicle, with two dressing tables at one side, their tops littered with jars and bottles of cream and perfume, lipstick tubes and mascara brushes, loose bobby pins and spilled powder, and a hundred other items, all jumbled together in a hopeless mess. Against one wall was an open closet, bulging with costumes and dresses, some dirty and frayed with torn hems hanging limply. On the chairs were scattered other costumes and a few G-strings piled in wrinkled masses, mesh brassieres and filmy panties flung over the backs, while on the floor were spike-heeled shoes, red, black, lavender, lying where they had been taken off together with a pair of soiled underpants and a litter of spilled pins, bits of thread and scraps of paper; while over all, the sweet heavy odor of talcum powder and perfume mingled with the acrid scent of female sweat. From the bare, glaring light bulb suspended from the ceiling hung Torchy's pink G-string, still swaying slightly.

"Home, sweet home," Frankie said.

"How do they ever find anything to put on in this mess?" Cynthia laughed as she peered in the door.

"No trouble there – the customers like it better if they don't find anything to put on."

They walked into the room.

"How about a drink?" he said. He brushed a pile of clothes from a chair onto the floor and picked up a bottle of cheap whiskey which was standing under it. He fished around in the litter on the table until he found two glasses, both dirty and rimmed with lipstick. He splashed some liquor in the glasses.

"Here, have a slug."

But as he raised his head, he saw Cynthia in the mirror. She was standing behind him, looking around at the costumes and G-strings at the tables covered with cosmetics, her eyes dreaming and wondering. Putting the glasses down, he turned around.

"You're a strange chick, baby," he said. "Damn if I don't think you're somewhat shocked by all this." He paused. "Are you?"

"No," she said slowly, looking at him wide eyed. "If anything, it sort of excites me." She laughed, a rosy flush creeping up her tanned cheeks.

He stared at her a moment and then reached out and took her roughly in his arms. Tilting back her head, he pressed her lips against his and felt her body, at first tense, slowly relax as he kissed her warmly and deeply. But then she began to struggle and push him away, glancing at the door.

"Really," she panted, "should we being doing this here?" She gestured toward the open door.

"You kidding?" he grinned. "If anything, they'd gather around to watch, and then hire us as a new act."

He leaned against the dressing-table and folded his arms, his long legs stretched out before him.

"But if you're worried, baby, we can always close the door, and in the meantime, relax and have a drink."

He handed her a glass.

"Oh, it's not that. It's just that… well… I just…" She stammered and then stopped. "I'd just like to look around a little. It's all so new."

She took a large gulp of the whiskey, coughed at its rawness and moved slowly around the room. She fingered Torchy's pink tasseled brassiere, held up a wisp of black panties and glanced up at the G-string dangling from the light cord. Pausing in front of the closet, she ran her hand along the bright line of costumes and evening dresses, picked up the skirt of a blue satin gown and rubbed it against her face. Finally she put out a tight, black evening gown and walked over to the mirror; she posed in front of it holding the dress against her.

"Why don't you try it on?" Frankie said.

"Oh, could I? Do you not think they would mind?"

"Sure, go ahead. Try everything on, if you want."

He reached up and pulled the G-string from the cord.

"How about this? You'd look fine in it."

"Well, shut the door then, and turn around while I change."

"Why the bashful act? Think I've never seen a nude woman before?"

"No, I just want to be in the other costume before you see me."

"Well, okay, but there's better things to look at in this joint than a dirty wall. I'll be back in five minutes."

She watched him as he walked over to the door and shut it behind him. A tingle of anticipation prickled in her belly. Seems the strippers flaunting their nude flesh had made her want to imitate them and eager to try on their costumes so she could see how she, herself, looked. And above all, she wanted to display herself to Frankie.

Quickly she stripped off her clothes and put on a black G-string, fitting the small swatch of silk over her mound and adjusting the almost invisible string over her haunches. Next she found a black mesh brassiere, really only half a brassiere, for it came up only to her nipples, supporting the soft under part of her breasts and leaving the top half free. Picking up a rouge stick, she reddened and rubbed her nipples until they stood out like two crimson eyes. Then she slipped on a short gauze jacket beneath which her golden skin glowed warmly, and a short black skirt which cinched over her belly and hung in two sections, slit at the sides, one panel covering the triangle of her pubic hair and the other, her full, ripe buttocks. Here and there the black satin was slashed in the pattern of large flowers, gauze-covered, her tawny skin showing through the mesh like pale copper flowers lying on a black field. She combed out her long, blond hair so it rippled freely down over her shoulders, applied a slash of bright red lipstick to her mouth and a heavy coat of dark mascara to her thick eyelashes. Running a finger over the exotic labels on the row of perfume bottles, she picked out a heavy, spicy scent and sprayed herself liberally.