Ward Fulton - The Violated Virgin

Suzanne smiled. "Thank you. But I think Yvonne's pretty nice, too, even if she is a little rough at times."

Mrs. Sansome nodded. "Most dykes are," she said. "But then it takes all types. See you, Suzanne."

She waddled off down the hall, her body swaying beneath the weight of the bucket and mop she carried. Suzanne stared after her, frowning.

Dykes. What did she mean by that? She'd never heard that word before.

Maybe it referred to the section of town where Yvonne had been born.

Like Hamtramack, where the Poles lived.

Brushing the thought from her mind, Suzanne walked out of the building and down the steps to her MG parked at the sidewalk. She unlocked the trunk and began unloading the boxes of things she had brought over. She was busily stacking them on the sidewalk when she heard a voice.

"Hi. You moving into the neighborhood?"

She turned to see a young man standing behind her. He looked very young, possibly not more than sixteen, she imagined, with a shock of blond curly hair and an engaging smile on his face. He was dressed in blue jeans and a torn T-shirt, and had no shoes.

"Yes, I am," she replied.

"Here, let me help."

He came forward, and started lifting one of the boxes. Suzanne hesitated, then smiled.

"Thank you, that's very kind. But it's a long haul. I'm on the third floor."

"That's okay," said the young man. "I'm used to stairs. We live on the fifth floor."

"In this building?"

He laughed. "Oh, no, nothing as nice as this. We're way up on Forest, the other side of Third. Hey, what's your name? Mine's Donald."

"I'm Suzanne," she replied.

In silence they climbed up to the apartment and deposited their loads on the floor of the living room. Donald stared around, then stood back, looking at Suzanne with appreciative eyes.

"This sure is nice," he said enviously. "I wish we had a nice place like this."

"You live with your folks?" asked Suzanne.

"Uh-huh. My mother and my older brother Ted. Say, I clean apartments real cheap. You want me to help you up here?"

Suzanne laughed. "Well, let me think about it, okay? Maybe when I get settled I'll have some chores you can help with. What do you charge?"

He laughed. "Oh, not much. Maybe a dollar or so. I also run errands, like to the store. I only charge fifty cents to go to the store."

"Oh." Suzanne realized she would be needing some milk, coffee and sugar. "Donald, how about picking up some things for me now while I finish unpacking?"

"Okay. I won't charge you this time. Sort of a bonus for a new customer."

They both laughed, and Suzanne stared at him. He was really such an appealing boy, with a fresh, innocent quality to his face. And he seemed courteous and respectful, with no hint of the roughness that she imagined would characterize a boy growing up in this neighborhood.

She made out a list, gave him a five-dollar bill, and he ran down the stairs, whistling. Suzanne walked to the balcony of her apartment and stared down at his figure, running quickly up Hancock Street and disappearing from view. She turned back inside, humming to herself.

Only a half-hour in her new home, and already she'd met someone from the neighborhood, someone that she knew would provide valuable research for her social studies. Yes, she would certainly have to become better acquainted with Donald and his family. They could be her first case history.

With a sigh, she flopped into a chair and surveyed her new apartment.

She felt she was going to be very happy here. For the first time in her life, she would have a place that was entirely her own. For a split second, she wished Sam were there with her, and the sign on the door read "Mr. and Mrs." instead of merely "Suzanne Delacorte." She made a mental note to write to Sam that evening and tell him of her move.

Within the following week, Suzanne settled down to her new routine of classes at Wayne and studies in the evening, and she found a growing sense of satisfaction over her situation. Mr. and Mrs. Delacorte came over one night to visit, and stayed only about an hour. Mrs. Delacorte was horrified. "You're living in a slum," she said primly. "It's a wonder this building hasn't been condemned. Honestly, Suzanne, I don't see how you can be happy here."

Suzanne was thankful for her father's understanding. "You do your thing, little girl," he said with a twinkle in his deep blue eyes.

"Would you believe I lived in an apartment just like this before I met your mother. That was before I made it big, of course." Suzanne remembered the many times her father had told her about his struggle to succeed and his eventual emergence as one of Detroit's leading parts manufacturers. Despite his affluence, Mr. Delacorte still retained his earthy quality, and his lack of interest in the Grosse Pointe social scene was a constant thorn in his wife's side. "Your father just doesn't realize the importance of mixing with the right people," Mrs.

Delacorte would often tell Suzanne. "Birds of a feather, you know, and all that." And Suzanne would exchange a conspiratorial look with her father.

On her third day in her apartment, Suzanne asked Donald if she could come and visit his mother. He had checked in with her after classes to see if there were any chores she needed done. He was very thrilled at her interest, and together they walked up to West Forest Avenue, across the expressway and down several blocks to an apartment building which, in comparison to Suzanne's, was almost ready to fall apart. Suzanne repressed a shudder as they climbed the stairs, every step creaking from their weight and the walls grimy with years of filth. The air was stagnant and smelled of stale cigarette smoke, liquor and urine.

They entered an apartment on the fifth floor, and she sank immediately into a chair, panting heavily. Donald shouted out for his mother, and a few seconds later, a short, plump woman came ambling into the room.

"Hey, ma, this is Suzanne, the one I told you about," Donald said, proudly showing off a new social conquest.

The woman stared at Suzanne and grinned. As her thick lips pulled back, her bare gums were revealed.

"Howdy," she said. "S'cuse me. I weren't expectin' company. Wait a minute. I'll go put my teeth in."

Suzanne looked at Donald, and in her mind wondered how such a handsome young boy could have come from such a woman. There was hardly one redeeming physical feature about her. Her hair had obviously not been combed in weeks. The loose dress she wore was covered with food stains, and Suzanne could tell she was not wearing any underwear. Her pendulous breasts swayed in front of her, hanging down almost to her navel, bumping out against the dress with obscene movements. She wore no shoes, and her feet were black. Suzanne repressed a shudder, and thought for a moment of her mother, always so elegantly groomed, so beautifully dressed, so exquisitely well-mannered.

"Hey, Ted, you home?" Donald's voice rang out, and a moment later a young man entered the room. "This is my brother, Ted," Donald said. Ted looked down at Suzanne and grinned.

"Well, Donald said you wuz something else," he said, his eyes sliding slowly over her. "I'll say you are."

Suzanne blushed and laughed. "You're pretty good-looking yourself, Ted," she replied, "but then, so's Donald."

"Hey, how about that?" said Ted, moving over, and sitting on the couch next to Suzanne's chair. "Donald says you wanna find out how we live and all that shit."

Suzanne nodded. "Yes, I'm majoring in sociology. I'm planning a project based on the living conditions of people in this area."

Ted laughed coarsely. "Stick around, you'll learn plenty," he said. "We bin here 'bout two years. Me, I'd rather be back in Kentucky. Least we could go rabbit huntin' there. Here all I hunt is girls. There's plenty, too."