The Lonely Lady (41 page)

Tall, tan and with his hair bleached almost white from the sun, he didn’t look at all like a real estate agent. In jeans and bare feet he looked out of place seated behind the desk.

“What do you do?” he asked, beginning to fill in the information form.

“I’m a writer,” she answered.

“A writer?”

“Anything wrong with it?”

“With your body and your legs, I figured you for an actress or a dancer.”

“I do that too.”

“I got a three-month sublease I think would be perfect for you.

“I only need it for two months.”

“I think I could talk the owner into it,” he said.

He closed the office and took her out to his car. It was a customized VW with giant balloon tires. The top was completely cut away, with a roll bar running from side to side over the middle of the car. “This is a great place,” he said as he moved the car out of the parking lot. “Quiet. Two minutes from the beach. Great bathroom. Even has a bidet.”

“A bidet,” she repeated. “Sounds expensive.”

“You’ll love it,” he said confidently. “Only three hundred a month. A French lady fixed it up.

“Sound too good to be true. Why did she leave it?”

“Her romance broke up. She went back to France.”

The bedroom was small, as was the living room, and the kitchen was little more than a closet. But he was right about the bathroom. By far the biggest room in the apartment, it had a shower stall, sunken tub, two sinks and a bidet.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“It’s small,” she said.

“Great for a writer. You alone?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t need anything bigger then.”

“But I only want it for two months.”

“No problem. Give me a check for two months plus seventy-five dollars cleaning charges and you can move in this afternoon.”

“Okay,” she said, taking her checkbook from her purse. “Who do I make the check out to?”

“Me,” he said. “It’s my place.” He put his hand in his pocket and took out a small linen tobacco pouch tied with string. With his other hand he pulled out a pack of Zig Zag cigarette papers. “Do you smoke?” he asked.

She nodded silently, watching him roll the joint expertly with one hand. From his back pocket he took out a wooden match and struck it along the side of his jeans. He lit the joint carefully and held it out to her.

“Two tokes of this and you’re away,” he said. “Got it straight from Mexico.”

She took a deep hit. He was right.

“Sit down,” he said. “It’ll only take me ten minutes to get my shit together and put it in the car. Then we’ll go and pick up your stuff.”

“What about the office? Don’t you have to go back?”

“I only work there Sundays because the owner likes to go fishing. Besides I did all the business I have to do today.”

“Where do you work the rest of the week?”

“I don’t. Gave it up when I got out of the army. Ruins your sex life and gives you ulcers.”

“What do you live on then?” she asked.

“This apartment. It’s enough to keep me.”

“Where do you stay when you’re not here?”

“I have friends,” he said. “Never have trouble crashing someplace. It’s amazing how many people are just looking for company and someone to talk to.”

She took the cigarette from him while he went into the bedroom to get his things. She took another drag. He was probably right. Dropping out was a way to go. And he didn’t look as if he was suffering from it.

He was back in a few minutes with an olive-green duffel bag only half full. “Ready?” he asked.

“Good grass always makes me thirsty,” she said.

“I’d offer you a glass of wine, but there isn’t any.”

She didn’t speak.

“There’s a liquor store down the block,” he added. “I can run down there and get a bottle.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“But I haven’t any cash,” he said without embarrassment.

She opened her purse and took out two dollars. “That enough?”

He grinned. “This is California. I’ll get two bottles.”

They smoked, drank and balled through the afternoon, and when night came they went to her motel and got her things so that she could move in. But he didn’t move out.

She awakened early the next morning with the sunlight streaming into the room. The bed beside her was empty. She hadn’t heard him leave.

In the small kitchen she found a small kettle which she filled with water and put on the stove to heat. She opened the closet door but couldn’t find anything but two lonely tea bags. She took one down and placed it in a cup. It would have to do.

She went back into the bedroom and began to unpack. She was setting up the portable typewriter on a table near the window when he returned.

He came into the room, a bag of groceries in his arms. “You’re up,” he said, surprise in his voice.

“Yes.”

“I thought you could use some groceries,” he said, crossing the room to the small kitchen and placing the large bag on the table.

“Did you get some coffee?” she asked. “I couldn’t find any.”

He began to empty the bag. Eggs, butter, bacon, bread, orange juice, milk. Finally he held up a jar. “Instant okay?”

“That’s fine.”

“I don’t drink it myself. Caffeine is bad for you.”

“I can’t get moving in the morning without it,” she said.

“Why don’t you finish whatever you’re doing?” he suggested. “I’ll make breakfast.”

She stood there hesitantly.

“I’m a good cook,” he said quickly.

She smiled. “Okay.”

“Hungry?”

“Starved.”

The water in the kettle began to boil. Quickly he made a cup of coffee and handed it to her. “That should help,” he said. “I’ll have breakfast in a jiffy.”

By the time she had finished setting up her work table with all her papers he called her.

She looked down at the table approvingly. He had set it very attractively with green placemats and white plates.

He gestured to the seat near the window. “You sit over there.” He placed three eggs and six slices of bacon on each of their plates. Then he opened the oven door and took out the warm toast. “Okay?” he asked, sitting down.

“Beautiful,” she said, picking up her orange juice.

“Coffee now?”

She nodded.

“By the way, how’d you pay for this?” she asked. “I thought you didn’t have any money.”

“I didn’t but the market always gives me credit when I have a boarder.”

She was silent for a moment. “Do you do this often?”

“It all depends on who rents the place,” he said. “I don’t rent to gays.”

“Only girls?”

He grinned. “Preferably. Once or twice I let it to couples. But they usually don’t stay too long. It’s really too small for them.”

She finished her food and drained her cup. Quickly he was on his feet, bringing her more coffee. She looked up at him and smiled. “You do give good service.”

He returned her smile. “I try. And when I find a good tenant I try even harder.”

“What other services do you provide?”

“Everything—laundry, housekeeping, chauffeuring. You don’t have to rent a car with me around. I’m always available.”

“What do you do when your tenant’s friends come over?”

“I’m very discreet,” he said. “I disappear.”

“I work at home during the days.”

“That’s fine with me.”

“I work outside nights.”

“Are you trying to tell me you’re a hooker?”

“No.” She laughed.

“I don’t understand you then.”

“I begin work over at the Rosebud on Airport Boulevard tonight. I have eight weeks of booking around L.A.”

There was an expression of shock in his voice. “But that’s a topless joint!”

She laughed again. “I told you I was a dancer.”

“But, the typewriter.” He sounded confused.

“I told you I was a writer too,” she said.

“What else do you do?”

“I used to act,” she said. “As a matter of fact, I thought I might check into what’s going on while I’m out here.

“Business stinks,” he said. “I have friends who are in it. The only work around is in pornos.”

“You never can tell,” she said. “And since I’m out here, it won’t cost anything.”

“I have a friend who’s an agent,” he said. “Maybe he can help you. Would you like to meet him?”

“I can talk to him,” she said.

“I’ll fix it up.”

She sipped her coffee. “I’ll have to rent a car. Do you know a place where I can get one for a decent price?”

“I told you chauffeuring was part of the service,” he said. “All you pay for is the gas.”

She looked up at him without speaking.

He smiled suddenly. “Okay. I got the message.”

“It’s nothing personal,” she said. “I’m just used to being alone.”

“I dig that,” he said. “But look at it this way. Why go through the hassle of having to do everything yourself? From what I hear, you’re going to be a very busy lady. Working day and night besides all the other shit you want to get into. Why don’t you give the service a try for a week? If it don’t work out, you can drop it. There’ll be no hard feelings.”

She thought for a moment. In a peculiar way it made sense. “Okay,” she said finally. “How much extra does it cost?”

A hurt tone came into his voice. “I told you there was no charge. The only thing you pick up is the expenses and the most expensive thing about me is orange juice. I drink three quarts a day.”

She laughed. “I guess I can afford that.” She got to her feet. “I’ll finish straightening up my things and then I’m going back to sleep. I like to be in good shape the first night on a new job.”

“What would you like for lunch?”

“No lunch.”

“Dinner then?”

“It’ll have to be early,” she said. “Six o’clock. I have to be on the job at eight.”

“Okay. What do you want to eat?”

“Make it steak—thick, tender and rare.”

She went into the bedroom and closed the door behind her. She drew the drapes, darkening the room, then popped a Valium ten and stretched out on the bed.

She felt the tranquilizer taking hold. Maybe it would work. She was always so wound up running around that she almost never had time to really rest. Walter had once said there was nothing like having a houseboy to take care of one. He could very well be right.

She felt herself sinking into sleep. Then another thought ran through her mind. Licia. She had promised to call her as soon as she found a place. She tried to rouse herself but the pill had taken too strong a hold. She gave herself up to the quiet. There would be time to call Licia between turns at the club.

Chapter 14

The fog was beginning to obscure the lights of the Santa Monica Pier. In another few minutes they would be completely gone. The door opened behind her.

“Five minutes, Jane,” the manager said.

She threw her cigarette over the railing and went into the club. “Mike show up yet?” she asked the manager, who followed her into the dressing room.

“I haven’t seen him.”

He watched while she checked her makeup. Quickly she brushed a little rouge around her nipples and plucked them to make them more prominent. “A little coke’ll really get them up there,” he said.

She grinned at him in the mirror. “It’s too expensive to waste like that. You don’t pay me enough.”

He laughed. “I got a little stash. I’d be willing to put it on for you for free.”

She laughed with him. “I’ll bet.” She turned toward him. “How do I look?”

He nodded without speaking.

“Anything wrong?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“What is it then?”

“I just got word from the owners. We’re going bottomless next week.”

“Total?” she asked.

“NO. The girls will still wear pubic panties.”

“Shit,” she said in a disgusted voice. “When do we start giving them fuck shows?”

“Don’t be like that, Jane,” he said. “You know our business has gone to hell. Almost all the clubs around have gone bottomless. We held out as long as we could.”

“Good luck,” she said. “I’m moving on to Zingara’s in the Valley next week.”

“Same management, same policy,” he said.

“I got a firm booking.”

He was silent for a moment. “Not if you don’t show your ass.”

“They can talk to the booking agent about that.”

“They already did,” he said. “He agreed to an extra forty bucks a week.”

She was silent.

“Don’t be a fool, Jane,” he said. “Forty bucks is forty bucks. What’s a little skin more or less between friends? Don’t ruin a good thing.”

Suddenly she could feel the weariness seeping through her. “I need a pop,” she said. She took her handbag from the locked drawer of the dressing table, rummaged through it and came out with a yellow net-covered ampule. Holding it under her nose, she crushed it between her thumb and forefinger.

She sniffed deeply, and felt the rush of heat from the amyl nitrite flood her brain. She took another deep sniff, then dropped the broken ampule into the wastebasket. The first wave of heat had gone, leaving her up and somehow stronger. “I do a hell of an act with an executive-size vibrator,” she said.

He smiled. “We can’t go that far but I’ll be glad to give you a private audition.”

She laughed. “I’ll bet.” Then she turned serious. “I don’t suppose I have any choice, do I?”

“Not if you want to work for us.”

She thought for a moment. The management that controlled this club also controlled the other clubs she had been booked into. For her that represented eight weeks’ work. By the time she found replacement bookings the two months would be gone, along with the money she had managed to put together during the last six months. In addition she wouldn’t have the chance to follow up on the contacts she was trying to make while she was on the Coast. The gent Mike had introduced her to thought he might get something for her. Finally she nodded. “Okay.”

He smiled. “Smart girl. I’ll let the boys know. I wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t hold you over on the whole circuit.”

She watched him leave the dressing room then turned back to the mirror. She still looked good. No way could they take her for twenty-eight, but then there was no way they could take her for twenty-three either. The body was still firm, but the lines were beginning to show in her face. Still, the one place she really felt age was inside her head.