Thirteen
Older men required special handling. Gone were the
days when they could hope to attract a younger woman with a cute butt, a
flashy smile of real teeth, or their athletic prowess. Money and power
were all they had to offer, which was fine with Bertha Ruse. Older men
tended to have more money and power than young men, and what else was the
business of sex for hire all about?
Francis had a hiring policy, qualifications
prospective employees of her agency had to meet. One had to enjoy the
profession. Therefore, elegant Evelyn Haxx liked her rich johns and their
expensive dinner parties. Soft and vulnerable Valerie Dean enjoyed being
the helpless victim of the rough and tumble type, although simple bondage
with soft nylon weave rope was the kinkiest Francis allowed. Emily
could get a bit rougher with her customers, although Francis drew the line
at drawing blood. Beautiful green-eyed, red-haired Sally ran the straight
and narrow, as had Cathy and Wanda, albeit with a bit less sophistication.
Bertha had never tried to hide her preference for
older men. She took too much pleasure in their appreciation of her,
although she had always kept her deeper reasons secret, even from her own
too-careful scrutiny.
Gabby was a particularly interesting specimen, a
blue-collar primitive who, except for his broad physique and shaven beard,
could have made a seasonal living as Santa Claus. He struck her as an odd
blend of boyish immaturity and a real, live teddy bear.
She went after him mercilessly in his dreary
basement. Pretending idle curiosity, she found him cleaning tools in a
back corner. Gabby came on to her like gangbusters, although he faltered
when it became apparent that he would have to put up or shut up. Older
men were like that. They’d come on by habit established in their younger
years, then remember their dentures, or their impotency, and wonder if
they’d meet the expectations of a girl young enough to be a daughter, or
even if they’d be able to fulfill their wildest fantasies, given the
opportunity.
Older men tended to fondle. They like to touch. For
the most part, their self-esteem in the area of their sexuality was
depleted, or gone entirely. In Bertha’s eyes, it was a very sad state of
the human condition. Women, in Bertha’s view, could live without physical
sex, but what was to be done with the male ego?
Gabby touched her on the arm when given the
opportunity. When he saw the accepting look in her eye, he touched her
hair. And then he panicked. He mumbled an excuse, went inside his
basement apartment, and locked the door.
Bertha tapped persistently at the door.
“Can I come in?”
Reluctantly, after a time, he unlocked the door.
Bertha closed the door behind her and sat on the couch with her legs
tucked beneath her. She was wearing ordinary slacks and a blouse, nothing
to tip her hand too quickly. Gabby pretended to pick up the apartment.
“Where do you come from originally,” Bertha said.
Gabby answered her question, providing fuel for more
questions, but when he failed to warm to the subject, Bertha switched
instead to the house. It was closer to the information she wanted
anyhow. “You did all the work on this place yourself,” she said.
“Oh, I had to hire some local kids when we were
putting up the sheet rock. Pretty much by myself though.”
“The plumbing and electrical work, too?”
He glanced around with a twinkle in his eye. “That,
too.”
“From what I hear, you were going to have your hands
full of foxy young ladies.”
The comment jarred him. The mystery and the
conspiracy Jennifer had picked up on dwelled with Gabby’s and Leroy’s
expectations of a building full of young women. That spelled an ominous
kind of trouble, more than just a few simple peepholes here and there.
Gabby was oozing guilt from every pore of his gnarled body.
“Are you a Catholic, Gabby?”
“I’m nothing much,” he muttered.
“Me neither. Everybody seems to believe pretty much
what they want to anyhow. Hardly any sense in trying to hang tags on it.
What would you call someone who believes in Tinker Bell?”
Gabby looked at her again with renewed interest.
Bertha decided to go for the jugular. “What’s your
boss like? Leroy. Jennifer says he looks kind of sneaky and crooked.
Does he take advantage of you, minimum wage and all that? You oughta be
getting big bucks for what you’ve done here.”
“Ah, I get what I want out of it. What the hell
would I need with a Caddy and all the aggravation.”
“And a fat, jealous wife?”
Gabby laughed. “That, too.”
“Do you suppose he really sleeps with her? Isn’t
that an awful thought?”
Gabby laughter lightened. He shook his head and said
nothing.
“Wouldn’t she make a great Playboy centerfold with
all that jewelry? Can you picture it?”
Gabby shook his head emphatically. “No, Miss, I’d
rather not try to picture that in my head. We all gotta draw the line
somewhere.”
“A girl’s gotta watch a guy that like. He’s not
happy with what he’s got. He always wants more. Would the church have
let any of the girls live here without some kind of supervision?”
Gabby shrugged off her comment, but was again
avoiding eye contact. “We heard they were planning to let a few stay in
town. We would have gotten those, cause we’re closer. They would’ve had
lots of supervision, Miss. I got my place down here in the basement. I
would’ve stayed out from under foot.”
Thunder rumbled outside. The warmth of the summer
evening cooled as rain began to fall. She could hear it patter against
the air-conditioner in the basement window.
Bertha laid her head back on the couch. She sighed
and closed her eyes. After a time, she let her lips part slightly, as if
she had fallen asleep, and she shamelessly watched him through half-closed
eyes.
He wiped his hands on his coveralls and licked his
lips. And he watched her. Unlike a younger man driven by his gonads and
willing to act first and think about it later, he studied her without
daring to make a move. After a time, he brushed a tear from his eye.
When he could no longer resist the temptation, he sat on the edge of the
couch and put his hand on her shoulder.
“Miss, you probably shouldn’t fall asleep here.”
She clasped the back of his hand. Without opening
her eyes, she smiled and put the palm of his hand to her cheek. “It’s
quiet here. Why don’t I move down here with you, Gabby. You can keep me
warm at night.”
“What would you want with an old man like me?” he
said from the depths of his self-pity.
Bertha opened one eye and looked up at him smiling.
“Would it be so bad?”
His lips puckered and the tears came in earnest.
Just as she had thought. Guilt and innocence mixed about as readily as
oil and water, and Gabby was filled with both.
“I think you ought to go now, Miss. I’ll get fired
if your boss lady complains to mine about you being down here.”
Bertha leaped to her feet, faked a healthy yawn and
ruffled Gabby’s hair. “Invite me down for a cold beer some time. You can
tell me what the world was like before I was born.”
“A better place, I’ll tell you,” he murmured as she
went out the door.
Bertha went back upstairs. Jennifer was seated in a
window, watching the rain fall over the river. “I think you’re right
about Gabby. Do you think we should tell Francis? He’s liable to
overhear things he shouldn’t.”
Jennifer stared up into the gray sky, thinking. “He already has.
It's more about what he might do about what he hears. I don't think
he'll do anything as long as he has you and me about. I don't think
by now he'll do anything to risk losing us.”
"Poor old bastard. Give me a day or two to snoop."
Bertha giggled. "We
know all the tricks, don’t we? Remember that peephole we found in that
motel room last fall?”
Jennifer laughed lightly. They had put on enough of a show
to hold their audience captive, then sprayed mace through the hole and the
cramped room beyond. By the time the cops and the ambulances had
arrived, they had been parked a mile away, watching the commotion and
laughing hysterically."
“We’ll give it a day,” Jennifer said. “That’s how
Francis would work it anyhow.”
A tap sounded at the door. Francis stuck her overly
painted face through, like a Halloween lantern thrust through a dark
crack. “Valerie called, Jennifer. Fetch, girl, and be quick about it.
You know how Valerie gets when she’s left alone too long.”
Bertha watched Jennifer bounce out the door,
snatching the car keys from the table on her way past. She watched from
the window as the white Ford backed from the parking space. Headlights
and windshield wipers came on.
Bertha wondered if Jennifer had the least suspicion
of what Francis was doing by heaping so much responsibility upon her
shoulders. Bertha was glad for her, regardless what the other girls
thought about having someone so young take Francis’ place in the
organization. Jennifer had the body to be a working girl, but, as Francis
would say, “The most important sex organ is the one tucked away between
your ears.”
Jennifer was so smart that it was sometimes spooky to
watch her in action. It gave Bertha the willies to think that Jennifer’s
life was in danger. To think that she had escaped the clutches of a
homicidal maniac by a hair’s breadth.
“Go get ‘em, Jennifer,” she whispered as the car
pulled out of sight. “I’m with you all the way.”
