Mary Jenkins - Innocent in Chicago Volume One

"Look, baby, I'm not putting you down because of that. Let's get this straight! The only thing that bugs me is that you didn't have the sense to take him for more."

She looked at him, shocked and unbelieving.

"My God, Cindy," he went on, "a hick like that you could have easily started off asking for a hundred. And then when he wanted a double show, Jesus Christ, baby, wake up! You could have gone up to whatever you could get out of him!"

"But Frankie! You mean you wouldn't mind my making love to that man? Don't you love me?" she wailed.

"Darling, of course I love you." He took her in his arms. "You know I do. I wouldn't have paid for this apartment and bought all your clothes and everything else if I didn't. Don't you trust me?"

"Of course I do, darling," she sobbed. "It's just that… well… I thought I was yours and you were mine."

"That's right, baby. I'll always take care of you. But the other has nothing to do with our love, don't you see? It's just an easy way to make money so that the two of us can have what we want and have a real ball." He held her in his lap, rocking her back and forth and stroking her hair. "Now quiet down, baby-doll, I'm not going to run out and leave you."

"I know you won't, darling, it's just that this sort of took me by surprise." She sniffled and blew her nose into his handkerchief.

"And that was an easy way to make almost a hundred bucks, wasn't it?" he said.

"Ye-e-es," she admitted hesitantly, "and I want you to have it all until I pay you back."

"And it's a lot better than slaving forty-four hours a week all day long for a measly thirty-five, isn't it?"

"Ye-e-es."

"I can get some other deals like that, too. 'Course they are not all such easy rolls – those don't come my way very often. But just give me time. There're plenty of others."

"Alright, darling. If that's what you want, I do love you so."

"And don't worry about a thing. I'll get the jobs and all you have to do is to hand over the money and I'll take care of you – pay your rent, buy your clothes, and we'll really have a ball, baby. Okay?" He kissed her wet eyes and the tip of her nose. "Okay?"

"Okay, darling. Anything you say."

Frankie got up to make them both a drink. His back turned, filling the glasses with ice, he said, "Of course, there's a few things you should know about this racket, Cindy. Most you can find out by experience, but there's a few good tips to remember."

He walked across the room with the drinks.

"Do you remember that red head at the '960 Club'? Gypsy?" he said.

Cynthia nodded.

"I'll get her to talk to you. She can wise you up."

"But I thought she was working at the club?" Cynthia said.

"Yeah, now. She used to work for me until she got too bitchy and high-class – still does now and then, as a matter of a fact."

"What? You mean you've got other girls…" she asked incredulously.

"Yeah. Gypsy and another chicken." He sighed. "I might as well give it to you all at once." He took a cigarette and sat down beside her.

"Now, don't get bugged, baby," he said, noticing the look on her face. "You know it's you I love. The others have nothing to do with us. Just a way to make dough for us until we've got enough to have a ball all the time."

Cynthia looked at him without saying anything.

"Look, I've been thinking," he said. "Why don't we move in together?"

She brightened up and fell into his arms. "Oh darling, that would be marvelous!"

"You can move into my pad. It's better than this hole." He unbuttoned her blouse, reached in and fondled her breast. "Then we'll really live it up, baby."

"It'll be wonderful, Frankie."

"There's only one thing," he hesitated.

"Now what?"

"I've been trying to kick her out ever since I met you, Cindy – but Gypsy's there right now."

"What? At your place?"

He nodded. "She bugs the hell out of me and I'll give her her walking papers – as soon as you've pumped her. But don't let her know she's finished or she'll murder you. Let me handle that bitch afterwards."

"Okay, darling. Anything you say. It'll be wonderful to live with you."

Early the next afternoon Cynthia went over to Frankie's apartment. He had said he wouldn't be there, but would tell Gypsy she was coming, saying only that Cynthia wanted to make a little money on the side and needed some advice.

His apartment was in a modern building. She rode up in the elevator, got off and walked down the carpeted corridor. She paused before the door, giving her nerves a chance to settle down and then rang the bell. No one answered. She put her ear to the door but couldn't hear anything. She rang again, longer and more insistently. Finally she heard a faint voice yell "Coming" and then the door opened a few inches. In the crack appeared Gypsy's face, her red hair tousled, her eyes full of sleep.

"Hello, Gypsy," Cynthia said.

"Oh, it's you," she said and opened the door. "Come on in."

Cynthia followed her down the hall and into the living-room, wrinkling her nose at Gypsy's musty smell of stale perfume and sleep. Under her blue nylon negligee, Cynthia could see she was nude. Gypsy yawned and waved a hand at the couch.

"Make yourself at home. I'll he right back."

Cynthia sat down on a wide, eight-foot couch which was set at an angle to the fireplace. Although the room was luxuriously furnished with white walls, a thick, blue rug and matching drapes and deep, comfortable chairs, it was a mess. Dust lay heavily over liquor-stained tables. Ashtrays overflowing with smelly cigarette butts were on all the tables and partially empty glasses abounded with even a few lying on their sides on the rug. She looked over the room critically and planned how she would rearrange the furniture after she had moved in.

Carrying two cups of coffee, Gypsy swished in, the blue nylon billowing behind her, her long heavy legs flicking in and out as the skirt parted. She was still nude, and underneath the pink flesh glowed warmly, the nipples on her full swaying breasts and the soft hair over her prominent pubic mound a dark red. Her hair combed, her face washed and lipstick on, she looked more attractive, although when she handed Cynthia her cup of coffee she could see faint lines of fatigue around her eyes and dark circles beneath.

She put the cup on a side-table and flopped down on a chair across from Cynthia.

"Jeez! What a life! At least you look alive," she said.

Cynthia smiled at her. At first she had been jealous, when Frankie had told her he was living with Gypsy, but now she began to feel sorry for her; she looked so tired and still didn't know that Frankie was going to throw her out.

"Frankie says you want to start making some dough and that you don't know much." She looked her up and down. "But that I can't believe with the lay-out you've got."

"He said you could probably give me a few tips," Cynthia said. "Honey, what I know I could say in about three words. Make your pitch fast, don't waste time with them if they don't grab the bait right away, ask for more than you think they'll give, make them pay in advance and get out quick afterwards. Of course, that's if you're working the bars or higher class places. If you're on the street, God help you, there's a going rate." She paused. "You got a man looking after you?"

"No-o-o," Cynthia stuttered. "Not yet, that is."

"Well, you soon will. If you're working the street, you'll have your beat and he'll keep an eye on you to see you're not cheating him. He gets the dough, of course, and in return he takes care of you and protects you. And for Christ's sakes, don't try to muscle in on someone else or you're liable to get cut up."

"I don't really intend to work the streets."

"Yeah. With your looks you won't have to. Start right out at the high-class bars and aim high. Someone probably starts promoting you and then you're all set to make a hundred or so a night if you're lucky." She looked at her coldly, "I hope you haven't got your eye on Frankie."