(1988) The Golden Room (2 page)

Minna shook her head. ‘No, we began to make changes. The first thing we changed was our name. We were Minna and Aida Lester. But our grandmother in Kentucky always ended her letters to us by signing them, “Everly Yours”. Well, that sounded better. We became the Everly - spelled Everleigh - sisters. Then we got rid of all the sloppy, uncouth, hardened prostitutes. We ransacked the entire country for the most attractive, sexually skilled, ladylike girls we could find, starting with young actresses we knew from our earlier career. We dressed all of them in evening gowns and good manners. We fired the uppity white servants, and replaced them with decent, more respectful, efficient coloured valets and maids. Then there was the matter of fees.’

Minna took another sip of her champagne and went on. ‘The average madam in the Levee charged customers fifty cents to a dollar for a toss in bed. Since we were offering more, we charged more. It cost our customers fifty dollars for a session with a girl. We installed a restaurant, with a minimum charge of fifty dollars for dinner and twelve dollars for a bottle of wine. We shared our profits with our staff.’

‘And no one objected to your higher prices?’ asked Foley.

Minna shook her head vigorously. ‘No one objected. They welcomed paying for what we gave them. Our customers have included Ring Lardner, Edgar Lee Masters, Marshall Field, Jr, Stanley Ketchel, Percy Hammond, George Ade, James J. Corbett, John Barrymore, John “Bet a Million” Gates, and Jack Johnson, whom I mentioned before, as well as certain United States senators who often spend their vacations here.’

Minna stood up, and set down her empty glass.

‘Now, Chet, I’m going to give you a personally conducted

grand tour of the Everleigh Club. You’ll see what we learned in our travels, and you’ll see some innovations of our own … Aida, you keep Tom Ostrow occupied right there. He’s had the tour. I’m going to take this boy around. Come along, Chet.’

In the hall, Minna took Foley’s arm and led him to the Everleigh Club’s library, which had books on every wall, most of them leather-bound. Foley ran a finger along the sets of books, one the complete works of Honore de Balzac, another the complete poems of Percy Bysshe Shelley. Minna chuckled. ‘You know what “Bet a Million” Gates said when he saw this library? “Minna, that’s educating the wrong end of a whore.’”

Next door was the art gallery, where oils and lustrous marble sculptures were shown, among them a copy of Bernini’s Apollo and Daphne.

Entering the dining-room, Foley saw a handsome restaurant, tables laid with gleaming silverware on damask linen. Centred on each table was a burst of fresh flowers.

‘One millionaire brought his business associates for dinner,’ said Minna with pleasure, ‘and his bill came to $1,500. We threw in the orchestra free.’ She moved through the restaurant. ‘Now come closer, Chet. What do you see at the far end?’

‘A railroad Pullman dining-car,’ said Foley with amazement.

‘Correct. It’s a replica, really, with the interior done in mahogany. Here we are. Look inside. There’s the buffet. The guest may choose the food he wants and take it to one of the small tables in the Pullman, or go into the dining-room itself. Now I’ll show you my very favourite chamber, used for conversations - and sometimes for orgies.’

Foley followed Minna into a parlour that glittered like El Dorado. He stood breathless, gaping at what he saw.

‘The Gold Room,’ announced Minna happily. ‘You can see the furniture is all gilt, the hangings gold, the fishbowls edged in gold. Those eighteen-carat cuspidors cost me $650 apiece. The fountain in the middle of the room is spraying perfume. My favourite object is over there - the gold piano, real gold, cost me $15,000. It’s two-thirds normal size, and except for the keyboard, every inch of it is pure gold, including the foot pedals. This is a wonderful room to chat with other male guests, or have some fun relaxing with one of our young beauties.’

As they left the Gold Room, Foley had a question. ‘Minna, how do you decide which girls you want to work for you?’

‘It’s easy,’ said Minna. ‘You see a pretty and shapely girl, no more than twenty-one, working behind a counter in Mandel Brothers or Carson, Pirie, Scott. She works endless hours every day for six dollars a week. You learn if she’s had sexual experience — the chances are she has — and you ask her if she’d like to make $300 a week with little real work and if she’d like to live in the lap of luxury. The odds are she’ll grab at the offer. She must be over eighteen and use no drugs or alcohol or foul language. We never take on inexperienced girls or widows, because they are more apt to want to leave the moment someone asks them to marry. Every girl must be healthy, be polite, have the gift of being amusing. She must be ready to learn how to use make-up, how to dress well, how to have good Southern manners, and how to stay well informed. I encourage my girls to read the books in my library. Above all, I tell each new girl to give sex, but give it interestingly and with mystery. Now let’s move on. I have more to show you on this floor before I take you upstairs.’

They entered what Minna described as the Japanese Room. The floor was covered with finely woven straw matting and there was a bamboo umbrella stand inside the door. Dominating the room was a carved Oriental chair on a dais over which was hung a canopy of silk. The chandelier suspended from

the deep-blue ceiling had small Osaka parasols instead of lamp shades. The walls were painted with Japanese flowers in their natural colours. Above was a frieze of flying storks, with bronze panels depicting sacred dragons of mythology. Decorative artifacts strewn about ranged from iron tea kettles from Kyoto to hangings of Japanese fans.

Next door was the Chinese Room. The chandelier was a fringed temple lantern with painted scenes of Peking life. Carved ebony furniture was everywhere, and on one wall in a teak frame was an embroidered peacock. In the room’s dim corner, Foley made out cabinets filled with exotic artifacts — snuff bottles, porcelains, and small bronze figures.

Dizzied, Foley trailed Minna into a vast ballroom with bandstand, divans, cushions, and statuary arranged on the parquet wood floor. Adjoining the ballroom was the Copper Room, with walls of hammered brass, and beyond that, the Silver Room, ornamented with filigreed lace and silver, and the silver statue of a mounted horseman next to a plush brocade chair.

Then came the Moorish Room, with foxskins on the floor, and incense burners in every corner. The furnishings consisted of a circular sofa with round tufted back, a potted palm beside it, numerous small octagonal tables, and chairs upholstered with rich gold-threaded brocade that touched the floor. On the fireplace mantel was set a hookah crusty with hashish sediment.

‘There are no pictures on the walls,’ Minna noted, ‘because representational images are forbidden by Muslim law.’

With Foley by her side, Minna moved on to the Egyptian Room. On a frieze around the room and on the ceiling were drawings of ancient Egyptian scenes. A large stone fireplace bore sphinx heads which had been carved into the mantel.

Next, like a breath of fresh air, was the Blue Room. Its atmosphere was youthful, very American, with deep-blue divans and leather pillows printed with pictures of Gibson girls. Fittingly, each wall was decorated with lively college pennants.

Minna was particularly proud of her Music Room. A grand piano stood in one corner, not gold, not fancy, but very grand. Mirrors framed in Moorish arches lined the walls, and tufted Turkish furniture was scattered about.

Foley grew more and more dazed as they pushed on through the Green Room, the Rose Room, and the Red Room.

‘Finally, the Mirror Room,’ stated Minna, drawing Foley inside. ‘What strikes you most?’

‘The floor,’ Foley gasped. ‘The entire floor is mirrored.’

‘Every inch of it,’ said Minna proudly. ‘It’s often where we bring our guests when they can’t decide which of our girls to choose. It’s far more effective than the House of All Nations in Budapest. There, men surveyed a panel of photographs of nude women to select their favourites. A visitor would pick the photograph of the girl he liked most, and then touch the bell-push under her photograph. Immediately, the photo was covered, so the next visitor would know the lady was engaged and he would have to pick someone else. This Mirror Room is much better for making choices. Many of the things you’ve seen were created by Aida and myself. But the idea for this Mirror Room came from Babe Connors, the fat Negress in St Louis whose teeth were inlaid with diamonds. Babe had a Mirror Room, and I installed the same thing in this room immediately.’

‘But why a mirror for a floor?’ Foley asked.

Minna looked at him impatiently. ‘This is where we have some of our best floor shows,’ she said. ‘Our girls come in here to dance for the guests. They’re wearing evening gowns, but absolutely nothing beneath them. Those dresses are long, but not so long or narrow that you can’t see anything. That mirror floor reflects what the girls are offering - which is to say, they’re entirely naked underneath and that’s what you see in the mirror floor. Titillating, don’t you think?’

Foley reddened and stared at the floor.

‘Yes, Ma’am,’ he said.

Still bemused, he followed Minna out of the Mirror Room until they arrived at the staircase leading to the boudoirs upstairs. There were potted palms and Grecian statuary on either side of the stairs, and two thickly carpeted flights rose ahead of them.

‘Usually,’ said Minna, ‘we allow the local press to have the run of the downstairs facilities. The upstairs suites are off limits. However, since yours is an introductory visit, I will show you a typical boudoir and introduce you to its occupant.’

Minna went nimbly up the staircase, with Foley immediately behind her. At the landing, she walked a few feet, paused before a door which looked like the others, and firmly rapped on it. Then she quickly opened the door and stepped inside, signalling Foley to join her.

The first thing Foley saw was a magnificent young blonde stretched languidly on a marble-inlaid brass bed. She put aside the book she was reading, and lifted her head as Minna brought Foley into the bedroom. ‘Chet, this is Virginia. And Virginia, this is Chester Foley of the Chicago Tribune. I told you he would be here.’ With a wide, sweeping gesture Minna went on. ‘That’s a white cashmere blanket Virginia is lying on. Note the mirrored ceiling, and the divan with the silver-white spotlight directed towards it. The other door beyond leads to Virginia’s bathroom, which has a gold bathtub. The roses next to the bed are freshly cut. There’s a push-button concealed in the headboard that can call up another bottle of champagne. The oil paintings on the walls are all originals and imported from Italy. But the most brilliant work of art here is Virginia.’

With this mention of her name, Virginia swung off the bed and stood before Foley. He was held speechless by her splendour. She was as tall as he and wore only a gauzy white peignoir. Her breasts were firm and their nipples pointed straight at him. He could see plainly the outline of her curved waist and narrow hips.

‘My boy,’ Minna said to Foley, ‘she’s all yours, an introductory gift from the Everleighs.’

‘Minna,’ Foley gasped, ‘I couldn’t possibly afford anything like -‘

‘Didn’t you hear me, my boy?’ said Minna, starting for the door. ‘I told you, this one’s on the house.’

As she opened the door, Minna saw Virginia slip out of her peignoir. She was exquisitely naked as she moved towards Foley.

Minna smiled, quietly shut the door, and descended the stairs to the ground floor. She strolled over to the library, took down a volume of Balzac, fished a package of Sweet Caporals out of her pocket, lit one of the cigarettes, and sank into a sofa.

She read peacefully, and when twenty minutes had passed, she looked up to see young Foley coming down the last flight of stairs, appearing flushed and somehow older.

Minna stood up.

‘Well, how was it, my boy?’

Foley seemed breathless. ‘Incredible … it was incredible. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.’ He caught his breath. ‘But I think I can. I know I can. Soon’s I get back to the paper, I’m going to write a wonderful story about the Everleigh Club. There hasn’t been one for months, and now I’m going to write the big story.’

‘No, you’re not,’ said Minna.

‘What do you mean?’

‘There’s going to be no story,’ said Minna emphatically, ‘at least not now. Usually we welcome publicity. It helps us. Right now any story would gravely hurt us. You know Mayor Harrison is running for reelection on a reform platform. Publicity about us would assure his election. If he is elected, he has promised that his first act will be to close down the Everleigh Club. I don’t intend to cooperate in our demise.’

‘But you’re so important in Chicago - can’t you prevent his being elected?’

‘I intend to. Minna Everleigh always has something up her sleeve.’ She winked at Foley and took his elbow. ‘Leave it to me. As for yourself, you look a bit tuckered out. I think another glass of champagne is in order.’

Harold T. Armbruster was one of the three reasons why Chicago was called the Porkopolis of the world. The other two reasons were packing-house kings Philip Armour and Gus-tavas Swift. Among them, they owned almost all the city’s stockyards and slaughterhouses. And among them, Armbruster was the third-richest, having cleared two million dollars in the last half-dozen years. But it was not his desire to become the richest that had brought him out to hear a speech this night - at an hour when normally he was preparing for bed.

Armbruster had come to Turner Hall to listen to the election campaign speech that Mayor Carter Harrison was scheduled to deliver before members of the Municipal Voters’ League. Armbruster had squeezed into a vacant tenth-row seat with difficulty. He was grossly overweight, with his belly and sides bulging over his belt. He scratched his potato nose and his walrus moustache impatiently as he waited for the speaker to appear.

Ordinarily, Armbruster had no particular interest in politics. He was perfectly aware that Mayor Carter H. Harrison, a Democrat, was running for reelection against a popular Republican named Graeme Stewart. Only one facet of the campaign interested Armbruster, and that was Harrison’s promise to enlarge the stockyards and spend more money on freight trains to carry more pigs, sheep, and steers into Chicago. His rival, Stewart, was against such civic expenditures.