The Harlot’s Pen (19 page)

“Well, if the companies have to pay them more, then they just won’t hire women. Plenty of men looking for work.”

“But men won’t work for pennies, not ones with any learning or skills. But women have to work for cheap, even ones with educations, because men own the companies and want their cheap but good labor.”

“Have you heard about the Women’s Trade Union League?”

Violet nodded. “But the men’s unions froze them out, and then the Industrial Associations broke the men’s unions.”

“My goodness,” Henry said to Kate. “Is there anything this girl doesn’t know?”

“I am absolutely sure there is,” Kate said firmly. The hint was not lost on Violet. She quickly poured Henry another glass of whiskey.

“It’s a tough time,” he said, nodding his thanks. “It’s too bad you never got to meet a fine, fine lady, Valeska Bary. She was a pioneer in the area. Did everything she could for the female minimum wage, until old Freddy D put the kibosh on it.” Violet bit her tongue to keep from answering. “But there’s someone else now. Jewish gal, but don’t hold that against her. Fanny Cohn, her name is. Head of the WTUL, she’s doing her part to make things happen again. Who knows, maybe the time will be right soon.”

Violet listened avidly, soaking up every word, all while struggling to keep a worshipful look on her face. She was so caught up in her own efforts that she didn’t notice Sharon’s approach. Sharon pulled up a chair next to Henry Lyon. “Really?” she said. “They’ve got a union for all kinds of stuff now. No union for pleasing a man, though, is there?” She darted her tongue between her teeth and winked at Mr. Lyon. He grinned at her.

“And thank goodness for that!” he replied. “You’ve been hiding yourself somewhere, Miss Sharon. Glad to see you emerge.”

“Couldn’t keep away when you’re here.” The clock chimed eight. “Oh, I’m in luck. It’s eight o’clock and not a date in sight.”

“We could change that,” Mr. Lyon said.

Sharon leaned over and whispered in his ear. He blushed slightly and winked at her. “We could, yes indeed. Miss Kitty, could you spare Sharon for a bit, while she accompanies me upstairs?”

Kate shot Sharon a look, and Sharon nodded slightly. “Of course. Sharon, take a flask of whiskey up with you, in case Henry wants a drink.”

Sharon grinned at Kate. “Certainly, Miss Kitty.” With a flounce of her skirt, she lifted the bottle and filled a flask. Grabbing two crystal glasses from the bar, she led the way out of the parlor.

Kate turned to Violet. “Why don’t you go deal a game of rummy? I think we have players enough.” And so she was dismissed.

* * * *

“Now, the two of you, sit down.” Kate looked at Sharon and Violet sternly. They were both still in nightclothes, as the day was young. “I’m tired of this nonsense, and I want it to stop.”

“I don’t know what I can do to stop it,” Violet said. “I’m not the one who poured coffee all over someone’s room or made false entries in the books. I’m not the one who wrote a nasty word on someone’s mirror. If Sharon hates me, she hates me for her own reasons, but I haven’t done a single thing.”

“Sharon, if you’ve got a beef with Violet, let’s hear it.”

Sharon glared. “She’s stuck up, she thinks she’s better than everyone else, and you’re giving her all kinds of privileges. You let her sit with Rose, you let her come on here with no training or experience, you let her talk with the high rollers like Mr. Hearst. In fact, he has never taken a girl upstairs before, until last night.”

“Which just goes to show she can attract a certain kind of man,” Kate said. “We can’t all attract the same types. And I give you just as many privileges. I let you take the whiskey up with you to wash the taste out of your mouth after. Time was, a girl had to suck a line of men in a night just to make enough to eat the next day, and the last thing she wanted to do was put something else in her mouth. And you take a rich man up and get fine whiskey to rinse with. So what are you complaining of? Or have you forgotten those days? Because if you have, Sharon, I can make you remember.”

The silence in the room made Kate sick. She knew what Sharon meant, but her behavior was intolerable. Sabotaging another girl was punishable by the most severe of penalties. But humiliating Sharon would only make her think of crueler ways to hurt Violet. And Violet was turning out to be quite an asset. William Randolph Hearst had taken her upstairs.

“Answer me, Sharon. Do you remember those days?”

“I do. And that’s just it. Violet here, Miss Princess, never had those days. She waltzed in and took a job she never had to suffer to get.”

“Even if she did…” Kate started.

“I didn’t,” Violet interrupted. “I didn’t have your experiences, so that’s true. But I had my own.”

“It don’t show.”

“That’s right, it doesn’t show, but it’s there.”

“Stop it. Sharon, it doesn’t matter where Violet came from. What you did is inexcusable. And you are going to be punished. First, you are going to go upstairs and clean Violet’s room.”

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary,” Violet said. “I’ve already done so.” The last thing she wanted was Sharon all over her papers and clothes.

“No, she’s going to scrub the floor and the mirror. Second, you’re turning in all of your tips tonight. And you’re working tonight, Sharon. You’re off the worst of your period. Put plenty of wax in, because tonight you’ve got a four customer minimum, and if you don’t, you aren’t getting your forty percent, so you’d better hustle. Now go on up and scrub that floor. And no funny business, or you’re going to be turning in tips tomorrow too, and it’s Bohemian Grove night, so it’ll cost you a pretty penny.”

Kate turned to Violet. “And as for you, Caleb’s off limits the rest of the week. If he wants you, you give him to Sharon.”

“No! That’s not fair!” Both women looked at her furiously.

June 13, 1920

From the journal of Violetta Stone

Has it only been two weeks since I started this, for lack of a better word, masquerade? I have become, in less than a full fortnight, an experienced prostitute. As Gold said to me, disguises are dangerous. A part of the mask becomes permanent, even when the costume is removed. He speaks so ponderously, it makes me laugh!

As I was banned from Caleb for three days, I spent more time talking with Gold. The one time Caleb came in, on Thursday night, it was plenty awkward to have to pass him off to Sharon. Not one of the three of us was pleased about that, I can be sure. Caleb came back down all surly, Sharon was hard-eyed, and I was just plain livid. He didn’t even stay and play cards, and he didn’t show up Friday or Saturday, either. Our penance is over now, to everyone’s relief. I hope that Sharon’s going to give me a break from her petulance and scheming now. I’m giving her a plenty wide berth.

But the most interesting thing, other than my sordid little adventures with Sharon and Rose, which I have faithfully put into my draft of the serial I will be proposing, was meeting the mayor of San Francisco, Sunny Jim Rolph, and Lieutenant Governor Clancy Young. I had seen Mr. Young on New Year’s Eve at the Pemberton’s party, but he, of course, did not remember that!

That evening it was the night after the Bohemian Grove campout. Who knew grown men would go in for such nonsense, but they do. And only the tippy top of the power elite are even in the Bohemian Club.

Once their campout was over, a bunch of them stopped by Spanish Kitty’s resort. “To warm up,” Sunny Jim said. That got a laugh. For someone as high up as the mayor, he’s a really easygoing, friendly man. In an instant you’re calling him Sunny Jim. He’s corpulent and fairly sloppily dressed and not very good looking, but he takes over all the air in the room. He sat and talked to Kitty until exactly eight o’clock. “I like to follow the rules!” he said, and got another laugh. We couldn’t help being enthralled by him. Then he took Lily upstairs, then sent her back down to get Sharon for him. They both stayed upstairs for over an hour with him. He came back down all warmed up, as he said, and knocked back more whiskeys than I could count.

But the man that really caught my eye was Lieutenant Governor Young. For an older gent—he must be forty-five if he’s a day—he’s devastatingly handsome. I thought Caleb was the bees’ knees, and Henry Lyon is a matinee idol himself, but Mr. Young has got just about got me floored. Tall, athletic, with fair hair and green eyes, and the square jaw of a man who knows his mind and follows it. And a more modest, thoughtful, and serious man I could never hope to meet. Surprisingly, given that he visits Spanish Kitty’s, he’s totally faithful to his wife! He comes for the booze and conversation, and, I think, to take the pulse of the people.

I said as much to him. “Mr. Young, since women have had the vote for nine years here in California, do you think our opinions will start to count?”

“They’ve always counted, Miss Violet,” he said. “You just had to have your husband vote your way!” I laughed, but he wasn’t through. “With the Constitutional suffrage amendment likely to pass this fall, women’s votes are going to be far more important than ever.”

“I’m glad to hear you say it. I hope we’ll be able to put the oppression of women, and especially women workers, into the history books as over and done with.”

Clancy Young shook his head. “I don’t know. Women are no more likely to vote as a block than men are. Though you are definitely different creatures from us. At once more delicate and more willing to sacrifice.”

I wondered how far I could take this conversation, and to my surprise, Kitty stood up and said, “Violet, why don’t you take Mr. Young out on the porch for some refreshment? I know he likes a whiskey and soda to watch the sunset.”

“That I do,” Mr. Young said, “especially in the company of a bright and pretty girl.” I could see that Kitty was giving me a chance. I hopped to it.

It was Mr. Young who brought up Mrs. Whitney. “I was at her trial,” I said, daring a truth.

His eyebrows shot up. “You are definitely not the run-of-the-mill prostitute, are you?”

“No, sir. But only because I have some education. Think of it: I can make ten times more as a whore than as a secretary.”

“So how do you feel about the sentence?” he asked, looking at me keenly.

“To be perfectly honest, I cried when I heard it. To send that poor woman to jail, and San Quentin no less, all because she organized for worker’s rights! And I can’t say she got a fair trial, what with her lawyer dying of influenza in the middle.”

“Well, you are certainly well versed in the events. And I agree. San Quentin is no place for a woman. Even a criminal woman. As a matter of fact, I’m working on a project to build a prison just for women. It will keep them safer, and given that women are more likely to repent and reform, it will give them a chance to come out better than they went in.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. A real live ally on women’s side, right there in Sacramento. I wanted to hug him. Instead, I gave him the gift I could give. “Mr. Young, if you ever run for governor, I will work on your campaign to get you all the women’s votes possible!”

“Bless you, Violet. I’m sure you could be a big help with some of my, er, constituents.” He winked. “And I’ll tell you something. If Mrs. Whitney’s appeals don’t get her off, if I ever become governor, the first thing I will do is pardon her.”

We shook hands on it, and, for the first time in my career as a whore, I bought a man his whiskey and soda with my tips.

I’m writing my story as a serial instead of a journal, though I know I’ve gotten far too personal in it, and I’ll have to edit it pretty sharply, never mind change the names, before I send it to Mr. Older. No answer yet from Maud Younger about the big suffrage ride. Keeping my fingers crossed, but it isn’t looking good.

The week progressed reasonably, and Violet was grateful that Sharon seemed to have let up on her. At one point, at breakfast, Sharon even asked Violet if she’d like more coffee, and Violet was quick to thank her. Violet noticed that all eyes were on them and could sense everyone’s relief that things seemed to be getting back to normal. On Tuesday, even Rose came out of her room at breakfast.

“Now that’s a first, seeing you before noon!” Lily quipped.

Rose smiled. She still looked tired, and the cut across her neck was still scabbed, but there was no visible sign of infection. She took her coffee into the parlor, and Violet followed her.

“Feeling better?”

“Getting there,” Rose said. “I wanted to sit on the porch, but my eyes hurt in so much light, I figured I’d best stay inside.”

Violet peered at Rose’s eyes. Sure enough, one pupil was still more dilated than the other, though not quite as much. “Did you ask Doc Simmons about that?”

“Nah. I just figured it was from being in the dark so long.” She sighed and took a long sip of coffee. “Violet, honey, the one thing that still bugs me is the headache. Do you have any of the headache powder in your room?”

Violet shook her head. “I’m lucky. I don’t get headaches. You had some. I gave you a bit when you were sick. Maybe when you’re feeling better, we can look for it in your room.”

“Thanks, honey. You’re a real doll.”

“I’ve got some,” Sharon said from the doorway. Violet had no idea how long she’d been standing there. “I use it for cramps, but I’m done for this month, so you can have some.”

Rose smiled at Sharon. “You’re an angel. Can you get me some now? Head’s killing me.”

Sharon came back with a glass of water and a spoonful of powder. She stirred it up and handed it to Rose. “Bottoms up!” The girls laughed, and Rose drank down the mixture.

“Why do they make it so bitter?” Rose asked, wrinkling her nose.

“So we don’t take too much, I’d guess,” Violet said.

“Smart girl, I never thought of that!” Rose replied, putting her arm around Violet’s shoulder and giving her a little squeeze. Violet cut eyes over to Sharon, but Sharon was looking out the window. “I’m gonna go lie down again. I was hoping to work tonight, so I’ve got to get my strength up.”