The Harlot’s Pen (12 page)

She shut her eyes against the images. But opened them again, quickly, as what little memory she had of that night in the cell with the federal agents flashed in her mind. Though she couldn’t remember anything after she had hit her head on the floor, what came before was vivid enough, and her imagination had supplied the rest. She was crazy to take this job on.

Perhaps she should write to Mr. Older, tell him that this task was beyond her. A quick message to Miss Kitty, letting her know that another engagement had come up, she was so sorry. She could tell her that she planned to join the cross-country suffragists’ ride and could not devote herself… A knock on her door interrupted her chaotic thoughts, and the smart-mouthed boy from the day before stood there with another note. This time, she gave him a penny, and though he looked at it with disdain, he didn’t insult her before leaving, which she considered an improvement. Another note from Miss Lombard.

“I have thought it over and talked with my other girls. I have decided to take you on for a month’s time. I am taking this risk only because of your lofty goal to help the plight of women. Please come to the house before three this afternoon, and bring all of your personal effects. You will begin work at four, so be prompt.—KL”

Violetta read the note four times. She was to begin work as a prostitute at four. Her lofty goal. To write to Miss Kitty now and back out would be consummate cowardice. To back out of her commitment to Fremont Older, when he had rescued her and given her this chance to prove herself as a writer and make a change in the ills of society, would be the height of ingratitude. She had put her plan into play and play it out she must.

She turned back to the clothes hanging in the armoire of the room. Gathering all of them at once, before she could stop and think, she dumped them all into her trunk and slammed it shut. Then she went downstairs to pay her room bill and order a cart to move her trunk and bag to Spanish Kitty’s El Verano Salon and Resort. Violet Strone, prostitute, women’s rights advocate, and writer, was going to work.

* * * *

“We dress by four, especially on Fridays, which are our biggest commerce day. Put on a skirt, hose with garters, heeled shoes, and a blouse that is cut low enough to show your bosom but not so low they can see your nipples. No drawers. Spray some flower water between your legs before you go into the parlor. Now, you know how not to get fat, don’t you?” Lily asked as she fingered the fine clothing Violet Strone had hung up in Posie’s old room.

“Fat?’

“You know. Pregnant.”

Violet smiled, remembering an old joke with Jacqueline. “A half lemon hollowed out and put up inside me?”

Lily stared at her. “A half lemon… oh! That’s too much!” She started to laugh, and Violet laughed with her. Lily gave a deep breath of relief. Maybe this Violet wouldn’t be a complete disaster after all. “Wait ‘till I tell Sharon. No, silly. Douche yourself with vinegar before, and then take a handful of melted candle wax, make a cup, and put it up your pussy. It’ll melt out, and you douche again with vinegar after. A half a lemon! Well, now that you mention it, that could work. Except when your gent says, ‘What am I hitting up against in there!’ But then, he’d think he’s so big, he’s hit the end of you. So, maybe you’ve got something there.”

Kate came in at that moment, and Lily told her about the lemon. Kate nodded. “An old method. Not a bad one, either. If we could get the gents to use a French letter, we’d be safer, but we can’t, so we do what we must.”

“In New York you can buy a womb veil at Bloomingdales, and douches through the Sears catalog. I still do have my womb veil,” Violetta said.

“Well, this ain’t New York, but use it,” Kate said. “Now, if we were in San Francisco you would need a doctor’s check. Up here, the doc claims to check the girls once a month, right after their monthly periods, but if that’s a doctor’s check-up, we’re a medical school. You aren’t bleeding right now, are you?” Violet shook her head, her eyes wide. Clearly, even with her friends she had never had such frank talk. She had better get used to it, Kate thought.

“In a clothing store, a girl learns about dresses, shoes, whatever they sell. In a grocery, she learns about dry goods. Here, you had better learn to talk about what you’re selling. You’re selling entertainment, diversion, and sex. And don’t forget it. So, the word for your privates is
pussy, twat, cunt,
or
doll. Black hole, tight rose,
or
bum hole
is your anus. You know what tits are.” Kate got a malicious sense of satisfaction from the look on Violet’s face. “No sex before eight o’clock or after eleven. Except Rose, who sets her own hours. I handle prices, and you get forty percent of your customer’s fee, plus tips. Tips you can keep yourself after three customers, though you’d be wise to share some with Samantha and Moses.”

“Moses?”

“Moses keeps the peace” Lily interjected.” If you want him to watch out for you, and believe me, you do, you’ll share with him.”

“Does he need to help out often?” Violet asked.

Kate suppressed the urge to tease. “No. But it’s best to be safe. Now get yourself dressed, and come downstairs to eat. You need to have supper before the callers arrive.” She turned to walk away, then stopped. “Lily, be sure to give Violet some pointers on encouraging the clients. We don’t want Violet to be without any customers.” She winked at Lily and closed the door softly behind her. Lily would be a good teacher. She knew what men wanted and how to please them, but her true love was women. Girls like that made the best whores.

* * * *

Violetta, or Violet as she now would call herself, could barely eat. Samantha put a plate of rice and pinto beans in front of her, along with some cornbread. A chili sauce and a dish of stewed pork sat in the middle of the kitchen table, and the girls spooned some of both on their plates. She knew she must eat, remembering how ravenous she was the night before, but the reality of the evening ahead made her queasy.

“Come on, Violet,” Sharon said. “You don’t want to have your stomach gurgling when you’re entertaining a guest. He’ll think Miss Kitty doesn’t feed us, and that won’t be good for the house.” She reached across and broke another chunk of cornbread from the pan on the table, and mopped up the pork with it.

Rose had appeared finally. Violet hadn’t seen her last night and was surprised that Kitty let her come and go as she pleased, but when she entered the kitchen the answer was clear. Rose was an ethereal beauty, the likes of which would have stopped traffic in San Francisco. She was tiny, not quite up to Violet’s chin in height, perfectly proportioned, with a mane of red-gold hair that flowed in waves to her hips. Her skin was perfectly white, and her large, grey eyes glowed as if light came from inside them. Her mouth curled slightly up at the corners, giving her an air of pleasant amusement.

At her neck, a grotesque scar ran crosswise, lumpy and jagged, from one side to the other, as if someone had carelessly and viciously tried to decapitate her. The other girls moved to make room for her. She took her seat and smiled at Violet. “The new girl?”

Violet nodded. “Violetta Strone, but I am called Violet here.”

“Rose. It’s a pleasure. I understand it’s your first night in the business.” Again Violet nodded, mesmerized by her soft voice with the honey of the South in it. “You’ll get used to it. No one likes it the first time, but as soon as you turn your mind off it’s fine. Just think of it as revenge.”

Violet narrowed her eyes. Did Rose know anything about her past? Then she realized it had little to do with her, and everything to do with the way Rose had to think about it. “Thank you. I will remember to do so.” She tried not to look at the scar. She couldn’t imagine someone doing something so cruel.

“Kitty takes chances with all of us,” Rose said, still with that soft voice. “She’s got her reasons, she does. Whatever your story is, she’ll understand.” Rose bent her head to her meal.

“Come on now, Violet. Time to go sit on the porch,” Lily said. “Remember, conversation and cards until eight, then if a gent wants to go to your room with you, you smile and say, ‘Oh of course, let’s just make sure Miss Kitty will excuse me now,’ and he’ll know just what to do. If he wants to go upstairs before eight, it means he don’t know the rules, and he’s new here. You just tell him you promised Miss Kitty you wouldn’t run off with a fellow no matter how attractive he was until then, and if he gives you any trouble, just give me the eye, and I’ll step in.”

“I’ll remember,” Violet said. If she was lucky, no one would ask her tonight.

“Don’t you worry,” Sharon said, “you’ll be fine. New girls always get lots of customers at first. Gentlemen love something new. I bet you make more tonight than anyone else!”

Violet shivered. Rose put her hand on hers. “Just remember,
revenge.
”

* * * *

Kate looked over her stable of girls arrayed on the porch. They were all lovely, the prettiest whores in all of California, she wagered. Even Violet, sitting tensely in her rocker, was pretty. Most whores weren’t pretty, but most didn’t get to work at Spanish Kitty’s. If Violet wanted to find out about the harsh life of a working girl, she would do better to interview the poor girls walking the streets down by the docks in San Francisco, turning tricks all night with stinking sailors and drunks, or working above a saloon on Market Street, taking man after man as the landlord sent them up.

No one thought she could run a house at a profit with only four kittens, but she did just that. In San Francisco, the houses had ranged from twenty at an exclusive Tenderloin joint to a hundred harlots in one of those filthy cribs on the Barbary Coast. No, here at Spanish Kitty’s, the best gentlemen paid to drink, to chat with the beautiful women Kitty offered, and then, if the spirit moved them, they spent a fine coin on a romp in the room. And she did everything to make that spirit move.

Violet would not be the first to write about the prostitutes and their miserable lives, but it was a novel idea to live their life before judging. But what truly struck Kate as unusual was Violet’s plan to influence the lawmakers to help women by understanding them in this intimate way.

Kate could tell Violet that no woman chose this path, it chose her. What woman wouldn’t want a husband, a home, a position in society? She looked over her girls. Each one had been forced into the life at some point. Kate had been only twelve. She had cried after, and her mama gave her a glass of whiskey. After a few sips, the pain and shame were bearable. “Go on, finish it up. We’ve got another man waiting,” she’d said, and Kate, her head reeling from drink, had gone back into the room and spread her legs. After the third man, her mama had called it a night, and she had slept for fifteen hours. The next night, it was five men, and from then on, her future was certain. Even when the men beat her or forced themselves into her mouth, she would sip her whiskey or gin and go on. When she had saved twenty dollars, she packed her little bag with some ribbons and a second dress and ran away to San Francisco.

If there were a better way for women to support themselves, she would do everything she could to make it possible. As it was, she made life sweet and bearable for her girls. Three or four women at a time, Spanish Kitty could change the world.

* * * *

Violet tugged lightly at the neckline of her blouse. Lily had adjusted it lower, and had brushed her bosom with a little rouge to “take the sallow off.” Violet could see the men’s eyes straying to her cleavage, and it made her thrill with nervous energy. Where yesterday she had spent an hour conversing with Mr. Hearst and a few pleasant hours playing rummy with some of the regulars, tonight no luminaries were in sight, and her job was well defined: entice a few of the gents drinking and throwing dice in the back room into going upstairs with her.

She had sipped a cordial, the same one all evening, after noticing last night that her insistence on lemonade made the men uncomfortable. She didn’t much like the taste of alcohol, but as she sipped it relaxed her, as Lily said it would, and she was able to chat and joke with the card players in the earlier part of the evening. But now the sun was setting, and Kitty had sent her to the back, where the men were shooting craps and betting. Uneasy, she had opened the swinging door to the back room and surveyed the company. To her relief, though some of the men looked up from their game to appraise the merchandise on offer, they went back to their game as quickly as they stopped.

She looked over the men, almost as though she were the customer, and chose the one who looked the most refined. A blond man, whose straight hair combed to the side instead of fashionably back gave him a boyish look, was rolling for higher stakes than the other tables. His grey pants were sharply pleated despite the heat, and his white shirt was rolled to the elbows, displaying tanned, muscular arms. He looked up at her and smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. He pulled a stool up next to his chair and gestured for her to sit down. She did, her heart pounding.

“Roll ‘em, Jake,” the man said, and Jake shook the dice. The young man gathered in the coins.

“You’re hot tonight, Houston,” Jake said, watching the young fellow stack his loot.

“And you’re my lucky rabbit’s foot,” Houston said to Violet, winking. She smiled, her breath coming short.

Houston went back to his dice. Kitty was right: when men gambled, the game was more attractive than any woman. Finally, Houston raked in one last pile and turned to Violet. “What’s your name, honey? I haven’t seen you here before.”

“Violet. And you’re Houston?”

He chuckled. “You can call me Caleb. Only the fellows call me by my last name.” Violet felt herself blush. “Where you from?”

“San Francisco,” she answered.

He looked at her closely. “Hunh. You look like I know you.”

Violet looked away quickly. Someone of his caliber could well be an acquaintance from her circle. Her former circle. “I doubt it. What do you do for work, Caleb?”

He burst out laughing. “I’ve got to say, I’ve never been asked that by a tart! Unless of course you want to make sure I can afford you! Well, don’t worry your pretty head about that, honey bunch. After these winnings, I can afford to have you all night!” The other fellow guffawed.