The Harlot’s Pen (18 page)

Sounds came from outside the door, and Violet turned in relief as Samantha entered carrying a bowl of soup. “Go on, now, I’ll feed her. Miss Kitty wants you in the parlor. We have special company.”

* * * *

Kate smiled at the gentlemen as they sipped their whiskeys. Henry had come back from Los Angeles quite pleased with himself and was leaning back in the easy chair, telling his tale to Will Hearst.

“Can’t trust a newspaper man,” Hearst said. “Once a reporter, always sniffing for the scoop. So tell me everything you don’t want to see in print!”

“I can’t imagine you still pounding out a story at the typewriter, fingers inky from the effort,” laughed Henry Lyon. “Which of the hundred papers would carry the story?”

“All of them,” Hearst replied, and both men laughed again. It was a fine whiskey she was pouring tonight, Kate thought, courtesy of the Hearst empire.

She glanced toward the door, hoping that Violet would have the sense to fix herself up nicely after sitting in the sick room. The smell of opium and vomit was not enticing.

Violet entered with a tray of nuts and candied fruits. She smiled at Kate as she put the tray down and nodded slightly. “Thank you, Violet. Henry, have you met our new girl, Violet? This is Henry Lyon, Violet, and of course you met Will Hearst.”

“Pleasure,” Henry said, looking her over. “Violet, eh? You name ‘em all after flowers, Kitty? You look a little familiar, Violet. You ever work up in Sacramento?”

“Oh, no,” she answered, looking coy. “I’m a San Francisco girl.”

“Indeed she is,” Will said. “I met her on her first day. A little less skittish, are you now, dear?”

“Well, it was a little disconcerting, meeting such a great man on my first day at the Resort,” Violet replied. “Sacramento, the great state capital! It must be so exciting to work there. Tell me all about it.”

That’s a girl.
Kate relaxed with relief. Violet had learned much in a short time. And this was why Violet was here in the first place, wasn’t it?

“Oh, not much to say,” Henry said. “I was just telling Kitty, here, about my trip to L.A. Turns out,” he said, back to Kate, “that our Abe Cohen saw the wisdom of my point of view. His contributions will ensure that the bills limiting pawnbrokers will die in committee. And, Will, if you print that, you’ll be the laughing stock of the Bohemian Club!”

Both men guffawed, and Violet giggled. Kate gave her a quick sharp look. Of course. Violet had been sitting with Rose, breathing in the old opium fumes. It had probably affected her, given her virgin lungs. But Violet didn’t seem addled.

“Are you going up to the Grove soon?” she asked.

It was Will Hearst’s turn to look surprised. “What do you know about the Bohemian Grove?”

“Oh, just what every girl knows. It’s where all the powerful men go to run around naked in the woods and scare each other half to death!” Violet’s laugh softened the words into a joke, and both men chuckled.

“I’d rather be here scaring you half to death, like the first day,” Will said.

Kate watched Violet seize her opportunity. “Well, come on, then. Let’s give it a whirl!”

The opium fumes have made her bold.
Kate shrugged inwardly. Will Hearst almost never took a girl upstairs. He seemed to prefer drinking and chatting with Kate. But with a new girl, a bold girl, it could happen.

“All right, girlie. It’s a little early by Spanish Kitty’s rules, but if she’ll spare you a bit, let’s go.”

For William Randolph Hearst, Kate would bend the rules.

“Hey, if he gets a roll with the new girl, so should I,” Henry said.

“Want to go both at once?” Kate said. Violet stiffened, and Kate smiled inwardly. She had a lot to learn still.

“Old Hearst will take up all the room in the bed,” Henry said. “I’ll wait my turn.”

Kate reached for her notepad. “Go on, Will. Have a good time. And Violet, make sure you treat Mr. Hearst extra special, all right? He and Henry are very, very special guests.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Violet said, her eyes shining.

Let this not be a disaster,
Kate prayed silently as Violet led the big man out of the parlor. Though she was looking at the door, she still caught Sharon and Lily exchanging glances across the room.

* * * *

Violet felt her heart in her throat as she led the great William Randolph Hearst up the stairs to her room. She must be witty, charming, intelligent, and yet satisfy his desires. It was her first big chance. And downstairs, Henry Lyon, Valeska Bary’s mentor and mastermind of the Sacramento legislature, waited his turn. If only she weren’t so tired from sitting with Rose. She hoped she smelled good.

She turned and waited for Mr. Hearst, for Will, to mount the stairs. He huffed a bit, as a corpulent man might on a steep climb. She waited patiently, then led the way to her door. She opened it, then closed it quickly again. “Give me a moment, Mr. Hearst.”

“Will.”

“Of course.” She slipped inside. Someone had turned all her papers out on the floor. Her painstaking notes had been crumpled, trampled, and someone had spilled coffee all over them. Her bed was soaking wet, coffee everywhere, and on her mirror the word “Bitch” had been scrawled in lip rouge. Tears sprang into her eyes, and she blinked them away. She had to act fast.

Grabbing papers by the handfuls she shoved them into the drawer of her armoire. She took her night chemise and rubbed off the vicious word from the mirror. Throwing all the sheets under the bed, she covered the mattress with the coverlet, mercifully unstained. She glanced around. Though the room reeked of coffee, the evidence was hidden. She took a deep breath, and opened the door.

Mr. Hearst entered and sniffed. “Smells like the editors’ room late at night. Big coffee fan, are you, Violet?”

“Oh, yes. Drink it morning, noon, and night. I prefer it to a cordial.” Violet smiled up at Mr. Hearst, hoping she sounded credible. “The editors must work hard to put out such fine papers.”

“That’s right. You read the papers.”

“Of course. Who doesn’t?”

“What features do you prefer?”

Violet paused, making an attempt to look pensive. The women’s pages, with their birth and marriage announcements, who returned from what trip, who attended the sorority luncheon, whose daughter made her debut? Or the reports from the legislative committees Miss Bary had been so keen on, or the editorials—some screaming the immorality of prostitution, others on the rights of workers? She stroked Mr. Hearst’s arm, still clothed in his jacket. “Most definitely the editorials.”

His bushy eyebrows rose. “Indeed? You are a very strange woman, Violet. Let’s hope that your interests haven’t made you incapable of doing your job.”

“Indeed not,” Violet said. “I find that knowledge makes every woman more capable, regardless of her job.” She took his jacket off.

“A mighty progressive thinker, then.” He shrugged out of his shirt and his undershirt. “Now, don’t let me get ahead of you, my dear.”

Violet removed her blouse. She thought back to the terror she had felt before the federal agents when they had torn her blouse. Now she took off her clothes in front of relative strangers ten to fifteen times a week. Her breasts bounced lightly, and Mr. Hearst eyed them appreciatively. He reached for one, and she moved closer. “That’s what I like about a whore,” Mr. Hearst said.

She didn’t have to ask his meaning. She moved to unbuckle his belt, but he put his hand over hers. “Hold off a bit, honey. Let’s get the rest of your clothes off first.” Some men liked her naked, some were in such a hurry they just lifted her skirt and unbuttoned their pants. It seemed Mr. Hearst liked a slow dance.

She took off her skirt and stood in her hose and garters and shoes. He took in a sharp breath. Violet was gratified. She could excite a man as famous and wealthy as William Hearst. “Now, Will, let me help you with those pants.”

She ran her hand across his lap. To her dismay, he had not started to rise. She carefully took off his pants, and lowered his drawers. He was flaccid.

She knew that some older gentlemen took a little longer to work up, so she started on her task. She stroked him softly. She needed a pitcher with warm water, and she knew that Samantha was out in Rose’s room. She couldn’t leave Mr. Hearst here while she fetched it, so she would have to make do without washing him. She lowered herself to her knees and breathed gently on him. He stirred slightly, and she took him in her hand. With firm strokes she caressed the length of his rod and felt a slight thickening. It was hard to do this without washing the customer, she thought, but then her mind flitted to Sharon’s comments. A pitcher of warm water and a clean man were a luxury for a whore. None of the girls, or even Spanish Kitty, had enjoyed such a luxury on the streets. She closed her eyes and took him in her mouth.

Mr. Hearst moaned and sat back on the bed. Still on her knees she shuffled closer to him and drew him into her mouth, sucking hard. As she pulled back, she pleasured him with her tongue.

He put his hands into her hair, guiding her head, and sighed, but still he didn’t get hard. She put her hands on his balls and squeezed lightly, ran a finger behind them and pressed, and though he moaned, he remained too soft to even consider entry. At last, she pulled back, defeated.

“Well, girlie, sometimes a man just isn’t ready for all the pleasure spread before him.”

“Sometimes a man has more to offer than a poke with a stick,” she replied. She pressed him gently back on her bed, and lay down next to him. “Tell me, Mr. Hearst, tell me about writing editorials. I love to read them. “

He chuckled lightly. “I don’t think this is the usual bedroom conversation, even at Miss Kitty’s. Strange thing to discuss in garters and stockings!”

“Oh, but I really want to know,” she said, stroking his chest.” Do you all sit together and vote on a topic?”

“Sometimes. But remember, I own a hundred papers. I can’t be at every meeting. Sometimes the senior editor will call a meeting, and they’ll discuss a particular topic and decide where the board stands on an issue. Then one of the lucky guys gets to write the editorial.”

“I read the editorial about Mrs. Whitney’s conviction.”

“Did you now? And what did you think?”

She worked her fingers into his chest hair. “Well, I agreed that the penalty had been far too harsh, but I also thought that she was being unfairly targeted. Picked on. And she hadn’t been allowed a fair trial.”

“That’s quite a lot of opinions, Violet.”

“Well, anyone who’s well-read would have opinions on the subject. Don’t you think that workers, especially women workers, are being given a bum deal?”

“Hmmm,” he said. “They say that with low wages, women turn to prostitution. Is that what’s happened to you, my dear? Were you a former school teacher or secretary and went to a brothel to make more money?”

Violet knew he was teasing, but she also knew he could tell she wasn’t a long-time whore. She felt her way carefully. “I think men like you have a chance to make a huge difference. If the Hearst publications came out in favor of raising the minimum wage for women, it would influence many, many people.”

“It would influence many people not to buy my papers.”

“Well, you have so many, couldn’t you just come out in favor of it in your major papers? The few who would end their subscriptions just because they disagreed with an editorial could then buy your other papers which left the topic unaddressed, so as not to offend their non-analytical sensibilities.”

William Hearst pushed himself up on his elbow and looked down on her. “Who are you really?”

She blinked. “Just Violet. Nobody. I hope I didn’t offend.”

He shook his head. “No, this is the strangest conversation I have ever had with a whore, that’s all.” He lay back down. “Or really, any other girl.”

Violet rose to kneel across his thighs. Once again, she applied her mouth to the job. She had to please him or he would report to Kate that she had wasted his time and money talking about editorials instead of pleasuring him. She used all the skills she could think of. At last, though he never got hard enough to enter her, he bucked a bit and spurted into her hand. He sighed. “Well done, my girl. Well done.”

Back in the parlor, Violet seated herself next to Henry Lyon. The Progressives had worshipped him. He was the original champion of the worker’s rights, and yet he had just described being bought by a Mr. Cohen, or extorting him, depending on one’s view. Violet filed the thought for later. Could Miss Bary have been misled by his vigor, his rather spectacular good looks? She found the thought disconcerting. She turned her attention back to him, as he was addressing her.

“Kitty tells me that you’ve got an interest in politics. How’s that?”

Violet cut a glance at Kate, who simply returned the look.
You wanted the chance,
she seemed to say.
Well, take it.

“Oh, the lovely Violet has very progressive ideas,” Mr. Hearst said. “Highly developed thoughts on many subjects.”

“Indeed,” Kate said. “I hope she didn’t bore you with them.”

“To the contrary, Kitty. She is the most entertaining harlot I have ever had the pleasure of, well, having the pleasure of!”

Henry laughed, and Violet breathed again. “Well, Mr. Hearst certainly knows everything there is to know about newspapers, and he told me most of it!” That drew another laugh, and Violet capitalized on it. “So, Mr. Lyon, you were quite well known yourself, for your work on the Labor Commission among others, weren’t you?”

“You’re right, Kitty. She’s something of an enigma. You know what an enigma is, dear?”

“The thing that starts the car engine-a?”

Henry Lyon chortled. He
was
unbearably handsome, Violet thought. But he had given up on the rights of women workers, she recalled. Perhaps she could revive his interest. “But didn’t you try so valiantly to raise the minimum wage for women?”

“Until Fred Dohrmann nixed it. Said they were all working for pin money, and he had the records to prove it.”

“Don’t you know? Nathan-Dohrmann has all the girls who apply for work there sign a statement saying they live at home and aren’t supporting themselves with their earnings. If they don’t sign, they don’t get hired. How is a woman supposed to live in dignity on ten dollars a week?”