The Harlot’s Pen (17 page)

“Higher wages? Right. From nothing to a pittance, is what we would get. At least here I don’t have to stand in a peach-packing plant all day, getting fuzz in my lungs till I choke to death, for eight dollars a week, with an overseer telling me to work faster. You don’t get it, but Miss Kitty’s is a dream job. Turning tricks in the back of a saloon or in a horse-stall night after night with pimps and drunks and men with knives who’ll cut you or take your money after they’ve used you—that’s being a whore!” Sharon banged her cup on the table and stomped out.

Violet stared at her coffee cup, her appetite gone. Everything Sharon said was true, but Violet was not to blame. She was only the convenient target, the lightning rod for Sharon’s anger and jealousy.

She sat for a long time at the kitchen table, unwilling to go back to her room.
I don’t want to hide from Sharon or let her think I’m afraid of her.
Eventually, Kate came into the kitchen, poured herself a cup of coffee, and sat down at the kitchen table. She looked weary. After a bit, she turned to Violet. “Don’t squabble with Sharon.”

“I’m trying not to. She’s jealous of me.”

“Fine, then be overly nice to her. I don’t have time or the inclination to mediate between two whores cat-fighting. She’s been here longer, she’s a better earner, and if it comes down to her or you, she stays. So make it work.”

Violet looked back at her now cold coffee and said nothing. After another long silence, Kate added, “I see you had Caleb upstairs, and Gold twice, and Bill Ferry as well.”

“Bill Ferry? No, I don’t know who he is.”

“What are you talking about? You wrote it on the pad and noted that you collected from him as well.”

“I did not!”

“Violet, if you’re trying to keep a fee, don’t. You’ll be out on your ass in a minute, and you won’t like it one bit. So turn over the fee and the tips from last night, too.” Kate’s voice was harsh.

Violet stiffened. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t. And I don’t even know Bill Ferry. And as to Caleb’s and Gold’s tips, you weren’t in the parlor, so I left them upstairs. I’ll bring them to you after breakfast. Though I don’t know why you keep my tips from Caleb. That wasn’t what you said was the deal at the start.”

“Don’t argue with me, Violet.” Kate’s voice was dangerous. “Get the tips and Ferry’s fee and make it snappy.”

Violet stood up. “I don’t even know how much you charge for me. So I wouldn’t know what to charge this mysterious Bill Ferry anyway. Though I didn’t go with anyone but Caleb and Gold. And if I were going to keep a fee, why would I even write him in on the pad? And I could have gotten away with not telling you about Gold’s going twice if I wanted to pocket a fee, right?”

Kate didn’t answer right away. Finally, she sighed again. “Fine. Go get the tips. I guess I know what happened. Look,” she added, “it was a very long night. I was with Rose most of the night, I’m tired, and I don’t like what’s been going on with you and Sharon. Don’t make it worse.”

Violet reached out and put her hand on Kate’s shoulder. Kate pulled back, startled. “It’s all right, Kitty. I’ll get the tips now, and if you want, I’ll sit with Rose a while so you can get some sleep.”

Kate stared at her. Then, color infusing her face, she put her hand on Violet’s hand. “Thank you. That would be nice. I’ll give you the key to Rose’s door.”

* * * *

Sometimes I wish I ran a millenary shop or a dry goods store instead of brothel.
Kate brushed her long dark hair in the mirror. She took a spoonful of headache powder and mixed it with water and drank it down. The medicine would take about ten minutes to work, but the little bit of cocaine in the mix would brighten her eyes right away. She rubbed her temples briefly, eyes closed, and sighed. Time was a-wasting.

With a small, bristled wand she combed the black dye into the graying roots, wincing at the smell. Then, while it dried, she took a pair of tweezers and plucked at the stray hairs that had started appearing on her chin and neck, and trimmed her eyebrows.

She rinsed the dye out, examining the roots for coverage. Satisfied, she took the cream Doc Simmons had made up for her and rubbed it into her neck and cleavage. She smiled into the mirror. There was a time when all she had to do was rouge her lips and walk into the room. Now, even though she no longer turned a trick herself, she spent more time on her appearance than ever before. She took the lip rouge pot and put a smooth coating on her lips, just like old times.

This business between Violet and Sharon was dangerous. Sharon was a fun-loving, high-spirited girl, but she had a coarseness that bore watching. And Violet was insensitive to the effects of her book-learning and writing on the other girls. Lily didn’t care. Lily was sure of herself in most contexts, but Sharon needed more coddling. For all her toughness, she was sensitive to the least perceived slight and had a vindictive streak to boot. At least Violet wasn’t on the same period schedule yet, so she’d been able to keep a lid on the situation. If she’d been edgy too, the whole powder keg would have exploded.

And all, really, because of Rose. At least Violet was sitting with Rose. It was a relief to get out of that dark, oppressive room, and Kate had been grateful for the offer. What really had thrown her, though, was Violet’s touch. It took a moment to realize that it had been years since a woman had touched Kate in friendship, kindness, or basic sisterhood. Life as a madam did not make for easy friendships.

Satisfied with her looks, Kate headed down stairs. It was a Tuesday night, and that meant that guests from Sacramento would be coming for a visit. And sometime later this week, the high rollers coming back from the Bohemian Grove would be stopping in for a night of pleasure. It should be a good week. She would insist that Rose recover by then.

* * * *

Violet sat on a stool by Rose’s bed, watching her chest rise and fall rhythmically. The cut across her neck, just above the scar, glistened with ointment, as did a gash on the side of her head. Neither was terribly deep, it seemed, but the head wound, the result of the fall after Rose had lost consciousness, had bled copiously. The room still stank of blood. The real danger had been from the opium and whatever other drugs Rose had taken before she had dragged the knife over the remnants of her long-ago slashing. Violet moistened a cloth and put it to Rose’s lips.

Rose’s eyes fluttered, and for a moment Violet thought she would open them, but the impulse passed, and Rose seemed to go deeper into sleep. “Just let her sleep it off,” Kate had said. “Keep her lips moist, and if she wakes, keep her calm. That’s the key. Don’t let her get too excited. Samantha will relieve you when the customers start arriving.”

Violet sat in fear—fear that Rose would wake up violently and fear that she would not wake at all. She had offered to watch Rose out of compassion for Kate, as tired as she looked, but Violet took no delight in the role of nurse.
It’s a good thing I never had children. I would be lousy at it.
Her own mother had not been terribly motherly, and Violet knew that she had little experience with the little niceties of care and nursing. It was enough, in her mother’s view, that she had kept Violet in good clothes and schooling. More than that was not in her power, and Violet had no natural desire to be a mother, either. It was unnatural, she knew. Most of her life so far had been unnatural. What woman volunteered to be a prostitute, to forever reject the possibility of a normal home, husband, and children?

Again Rose stirred, and Violet started. Rose’s eyes blinked open. Her pupils were dilated, and, it seemed to Violet, uneven in their size. Rose looked at Violet without recognition, but without fear either. “Water,” she croaked, and Violet quickly dipped the cloth and again put it to Rose’s lips. She shook her head. “Water!” she said, more forcefully.

Violet quickly took a tin cup and dipped it in the bowl. Holding the cup in one hand, she put her arm under Rose’s shoulder and lifted her slightly. She could not have weighed more than ninety pounds dressed, Violet thought. It was like holding a child, the frail bones pushing against the thin night chemise. Rose sipped from the cup, then took several big gulps. Kate hadn’t said anything about drinking water either way, so Kate let her drink. At last, Rose seemed to have her fill. She lay against Violet’s arm, and Violet gently lowered her shoulders back down to the pillow.

“Do you want to sit up?”

Rose grunted, and Violet got another pillow and put it behind Rose’s head. “Head hurts,” she said.

“Yes, you cut it. Of course it hurts.” Rose looked over at Violet and groaned. “Easy does it,” Violet said, at a loss.

“More water,” she said, this time clearly. Violet refilled the cup, and Rose steadied it against her mouth while Violet held it. Again she drank, noisily finishing the cup. Then she gripped the side of the bed, looking wild.

“Shhh, it’s all right,” Violet said.

“Sick,” Rose said, and sweat beaded on her forehead.

Violet looked around and seeing only a small flower vase, emptied the water bowl into the vase. She held the bowl under Rose, and again held Rose’s shoulder as she retched and heaved. Finally, the water she had just drunk came up. Rose leaned back, exhausted and white.

“I guess we stay with water-soaked cloths for a bit,” Violet said. She dried Rose’s forehead and dabbed at the cuts, which had started to bleed through the ointment because of the retching.

“It hurts.”

“I know.”

“Smoke.”

“No, Rose. I can’t give you anything. Just lie back.”
I should get Kate,
Violet thought.
I have no idea what to do.
But Rose couldn’t be left, and Samantha would come to relieve her eventually. If she could hold on till then…

“A little bit.”

“I can’t. But I can sit with you.” She wrapped her arm around Rose again, and this time held her to her bosom. Rose struggled weakly, then rested her head against Violet’s chest. Violet stroked the long, red hair, braided away from her face.

“So sad. I want to die.”

“Shhh, no, Rose, it will be all right.” Would it? Violet wondered.

“I want to die, I want to die, I want to die. I want to kill him,” Rose said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Whom do you want to kill?” Violet asked softly
.

“I want to die. He ruined me.”

“You’ll just upset yourself. Breathe deeply and relax.”

Rose shook her head, then groaned with the pain. “Give me some headache powder. My head aches.”

Violet looked around, found the packet, and measured a bit into the tin cup. She poured in water from the vase.

“Just a bit, so you don’t throw it all up again.” Rose nodded and sipped gingerly. Then she leaned back against Violet’s arm, her eyes shut. Violet let her mind drift, relaxing with the warmth of Rose against her, listening to her breathe.

Suddenly Rose sat up. “You need to kill him. Revenge.”

Violet soothed and shushed her, stroking her back, but her curiosity overcame her concern. “Who?”

“He ruined me. He left me for dead. He cut my throat.”

Her soft voice was even quieter, the urgency in the tone mitigated by her hoarseness and tempered by her southern diction.

“You’re safe now,” Violet said, stroking her hair.

Rose leaned back down against Violet.

“No. I’m never safe. I’ll find him,” Rose whispered. “I see him at night. He comes here, in my room. He comes out of the bayou like he did before.” She took a ragged breath. “I was only fifteen. He said he would give me the money to go to New Orleans.” Violet leaned in, listening to her soft voice. “Somebody had to get the money. The babies were hungry. I said I would do it, he could do it, he could do it until he dropped. I opened my mouth, I opened my snatch, anything he wanted. For the babies.”

“Yes, of course. I understand,” Violet cooed, “yes.”

“He took it, yes. And he came back the next night, and the next night, and the next night.” Rose’s voice grew louder, hoarser, and Violet felt a shiver, almost like the presence of an
other.

I should stop her,
she thought. But she knew she wouldn’t, and Rose went on.

“‘I’ll give you the money tomorrow night, honey, you’ll give me what I want now, if you want your babies to eat.’ He comes through the window,” Rose’s voice was back to a whisper, “and I cry or I don’t cry so I don’t wake the babies. They cry, they’re hungry, but he keeps at it. He doesn’t hear them. He comes through the window with his knife in his hand. The babies are crying. I have to have my money. I beg him, ‘No more, give me the money you promised.’

“My man, he’s dead. I’ve got the two babies. They’re hungry. He takes me again, and the baby cries. And he takes out his knife, and he quiets that baby. Quiet that baby! But he’s hungry and won’t hush, and he takes his knife, and he quiets that baby. And I grab the knife, and he grabs the knife, and I grab the knife, and he pulls my hair, my long, long hair, and he says, ‘I’ll quiet you, too,’ and I scream. And he quiets me too.

“And I’m bleeding and breathing and dying and breathing and he says ‘Here’s your money, bitch,’ and he pushes the bills up my snatch, and I’m praying the baby don’t cry. His brother’s dead, don’t cry baby, and he’s gone out the window.”

Violet held her close, both of them shivering. They rocked back and forth, and Violet moved a hand to wipe the tears from her own face. Rose looked up at her.

“I’m going to kill him one day… my baby, he’s dead, and my baby he’s hungry, and I’m bleeding and dying—but I don’t die. And I wrap my only dress around my neck, and I go naked into the bayou with my one baby living and my one baby dead and my money in my twat, and I don’t die.

“I leave my dead baby under a big leaf in the bayou, I leave my living baby on the step of the parish church, and I take the skirt off my neck all covered in blood, and I wash it in the bayou, and put it on, and take the money out and go to New Orleans. Only the sweet smoke takes him away. Only the sweet smoke. Give me my smoke now. I want to die.” Rose’s voice rose keening in the dark, oppressive room. “I want to kill him!”

She struggled in Violet’s arms. “No. You’re going to live,” Violet said, her voice breaking.