The Predators (24 page)

I didn’t realize that they put on a different show at one o’clock in the morning than they put on at eleven at night. Paul explained that to me. “In the early show, there are more straight couples. At this later show the homosexuals want something more exciting. You will see why they love Giselle so much.”

The music began and I watched her entrance. It was wild. She wore leather everything. A leather truck-driver cap, a tiny leather brassiere with brass and diamondlike stones outlining her breasts, a short, short skirt almost up to her hips which almost revealed a diamond-studded leather bikini underneath it. Black opera stockings with seams that began from the heel of her six-inch-stiletto-heeled shoes, which were also diamond-studded.

The music reached a rhythmic crescendo just as she stopped at the brass pole and posed seductively with one knee up and slightly open to the audience. The queers went crazy. They screamed and applauded and threw money on the stage before she even began to dance. From the darkness of the floor beneath her she picked up a long snakelike whip. Each time she would crack the whip another piece of clothing would come off. By the time she laid down the whip she was completely nude except for a diamond on each nipple and a big diamond on the high point of her shaven pussy. Then the queers really went crazy, calling her back many times for an encore. But all she did was come out and smile and bow to the audience in appreciation. After a while, when she would no longer return, the audience quieted down. Then the show was over and the music started and the dancing for the audience began.

The French dancing was different than the Americans’. Queers would be dancing together. Some of the men and women would just be dancing by themselves. And then the straight couples joined in with everyone on the stage. It was another world.

Paul placed his hand on my arm. “Jerry,” he said, smiling, “isn’t she marvelous?”

I smiled at him. “Do they react to her every night like that?”

He nodded.

“She is something else,” I said.

“She’s a good girl,” he said, lowering his voice. “She’s not a whore.” He lit a cigarette. “That’s why we love her. She does not try to change us.”

I looked at him. “Why are you telling me so much about her?”

He looked serious for a moment. “Because she likes you,” he said. “I don’t want you to hurt her. After the war I want to give her back to her family as good as when she came here.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t move into the apartment with her,” I said. “But she said she didn’t want a lover.”

“Women can change their mind, no?” he said. “She likes you, and I like you; we both trust you.”

“But I look at her,” I said. “I don’t know if I can be with her and not get crazy.”

He laughed. “You Americans are crazy. You all think that if you fuck you are in trouble.” He ordered another pastis for himself and a beer for me. “She’s a healthy girl. A fuck would be good for her, as well as for you.”

“You’re really a pimp, Paul,” I said.

He laughed. “I just want my friends to be happy.” He held up his glass to me. “
À votre santé.
”

I held up my beer. “Cheers.”

“Giselle will be here in a few minutes,” he said. “She is expecting you to go home with her.”

“But I haven’t said anything to her,” I said.

“Yes, you did. She heard what you said before. You said you would move into the apartment when you could afford it,” he said. “Well, you can afford it now. One car a week will make you a rich man.”

6

When the show was over, Giselle sat down at a table on the other side of the runway. I turned to Paul. “She’s going over there with that table of guys.”

“They’re all queer,” he said. “They are big fans of Giselle and she always sits with them for a while after the show. It’s good for business. It’s not only the money they throw on stage, but when she sits down they start ordering bottle after bottle of champagne.”

I looked at my watch. It was a quarter after two. “How long does she stay with them? Don’t forget I have to be at the garage at seven in the morning.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “It depends on her. When they are buying she stays around. When the night is slow, then she leaves earlier.”

“Then her job is really hustling the wine?” I asked calmly.

He laughed. “Don’t be so American. It is a job. All of the girls do that. They know that whatever they do after hours is their own time. In this club I do not take any of the girls’ extra money.”

“But Giselle said she doesn’t go out after hours. She is always with the fags,” I said. “What does she do for extra money?”

“She doesn’t want extra money. All she wants is the war to be over so she can go home,” he said.

“If she doesn’t need money, then why does she want me to move into the apartment?” I asked.

“She is a very honest girl and the rent is high,” he said. “I told her she could have it for nothing, but she insists that she pay me.”

“Does she really want to share the apartment with me?” I asked. “Or is this your idea?”

“Let’s say it is both our idea,” he said, and smiled. “She saw you several times in the club. She liked the way you looked. And I am a businessman, but I liked you, too. I knew you were not in my game, so business is business. This way everybody is happy.”

“I need a real drink. Do you have a real whiskey?” I asked. “I still really don’t have an understanding of the French world.”

He ordered me a double scotch and soda. By the time I drank that, I didn’t care what time it was. Giselle finally came to the table and we walked from the club to the apartment. It was almost four o’clock in the morning. I was glad the apartment was only three blocks away. I followed her up the stairs. I watched her open the door with a key. I went into the apartment and walked directly to my room. I fell on the bed with my clothes on and passed out.

*   *   *

“Jerry, Jerry!” I heard her voice in my ear. It sounded like “Chéri,” the way she pronounced it. I heard her again. Slowly, I rolled over and sat up. I was still dressed.

“What is it?” I asked, still half-asleep.

“It is six o’clock,” she answered. “I heard you had to be at the garage at seven. I have café au lait and baguettes.”

I sat up straight now and looked at her. She was wearing an old-fashioned flannel nightgown. But it looked as if it were molded to her body. And the body was pure sex. Not like the average French girl, skinny and flat-chested. “You look beautiful,” I said groggily. It was the only thing I could think when I looked at her. “Did you get any sleep?”

“A little,” she said. “But once we get into a routine, you’ll be able to go to work and I will sleep till my normal time. Noon.”

I went to the bathroom and splashed some water on my face. I didn’t look very good. I needed a shave and a change of uniform before I would look normal. Then I went into the kitchen and had my coffee and bread and jam. I checked my watch. Six-fifteen.

I got out of the chair. “I’ll have to run. It will take me a half hour to get to the base.”

“When you get off duties,” she said with her French pronunciation, “you can bring your things over here.”

“I’m off at seven o’clock,” I said. “I don’t want to bother you.”

She smiled. “I’ll be here. I do not go to the club until ten o’clock.”

“Thank you,” I said. Then the doorbell rang. I looked at her. “Who is it?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Probably Paul. He told me that he wanted to see you in the morning.”

It was Paul. He entered smiling. “Ah, my children, did you get a good night’s sleep?”

“You have to be out of your fucking mind,” I said. “We didn’t get back here until after four in the morning. I passed out the minute I walked through the door.”

He looked at Giselle. “Americans,” he said, and shrugged. “I have not slept at all,” he said excitedly. “I was working all night for you.” He took out his wallet from the inside of his jacket pocket. Dramatically he took out the money. Importantly, he counted each bill out one at a time. There was twenty-five hundred dollars.

I stared at him speechless for a moment, then found my voice. “Dollars,” I said. “How did you get it?”

“A Corsican friend of mine. He loved the car and he wants two more of them,” he said. Then he picked up the money again and began to share it. “One hundred twenty-five dollars to Giselle,” he said. “Now you have paid your rent for the month.” He took his share out. “Six hundred twenty-five dollars for me. The rest is yours,” he said. “I hope this will satisfy your friends.”

“I’m sure they will be happy,” I said, picking up the money and putting it in the pocket of my shirt and buttoning it. “I’m glad you caught me. I was just on my way to the garage. I want to really thank you for everything you have done.”

“It is good for all of us.” He smiled. “I have my car downstairs. I can give you a lift.”

“Thanks again,” I said, and turned to Giselle. “I’ll be back a little after seven.”

She nodded. “I will be here.”

Walking down the steps, Paul smiled at me. “She likes you.”

“I’m glad,” I said, feeling good about everything.

“There is one thing I forgot to tell you,” he said. “The man who bought the car is Moroccan. He is shipping this car to Morocco. But he wants the other two cars to be black.”

“Okay,” I answered. “Any reason for that color?”

“He imports hashish here and he doesn’t want the cars to be conspicuous.” We came to the street in front of his old Renault. “He wants you to always be very careful that all the numbers on the car and its parts have been filed off so they cannot be traced to him in any way.”

I smiled at him. “Tell him not to worry. The numbers have not only been filed off but we have acid to really bring them down.”

We got into the car. He had his fat man drive. We both sat in the back of the Renault. The fat man was really his bodyguard and chauffeur. He said nothing to me, but he knew where the barracks and the garage were, and he dropped me off a block away.

Paul leaned out from the car. “You will be at the club tonight?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I have to move my things into the apartment.”

“That will be no problem,” he said confidently. “She’s a French girl, she’ll help you.” Then he made a gesture to the fat man and the car took off.

I looked after them and thought for a moment. It couldn’t be just the money in the cars that he was interested in. He did good with his clubs. And it also wasn’t the extra money he got from my share of Giselle’s apartment. It came to me as I walked to the garage. It was the hashish. He had to be making a share of the drug money. It was the Mafia all over, only here it was the Corsicans.

Felder was waiting for me when I went into the garage. He looked at me. “You look like hell,” he said.

I rubbed my chin for a minute. “I’ve been busy,” I answered.

“How much money did we get?” he asked.

“I got what you wanted,” I said to him. “But they were pissed off. They said that we didn’t keep our end of the deal.”

“They took the car, didn’t they?” he said arrogantly.

“They took it,” I answered.

“Then fuck ’em,” Felder said. “They know they ain’t going to get cars anywhere else. The French factories aren’t yet working. But we are.”

“You’re a real Henry Ford,” I snapped. “I’m being nice to you and you think you’re in charge of everything. Well, you can fuck yourself. I’m going in to the company clerk and have him cut orders to move you out!”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Felder said, backing up. “We’ve been working together a long time, ever since we got to France, Cooper.”

“Then you remember who brought you into this deal,” I said flatly. “I can stop it just as easy.”

“I’ve already got another car almost half ready,” he said.

“Okay,” I said. “From now on paint them black, just like Henry Ford used to. I’ll pay you the money in the barracks before we go to lunch.”

“Yes, sir,” he said.

I laughed. “Don’t be a putz. Don’t kiss my ass. Just do your job.”

7

I never realized how much junk and clothing I had collected since I had been stationed in Paris. Then I remembered that Buddy had left some of his things with me. I was carrying two loaded duffel bags when I finally dragged up the stairs to Giselle’s apartment. I was out of breath when I knocked on the door.

Her voice came through the closed door. “Jerree?”

“Yes,” I answered.

She opened the door. She looked so young without her stage makeup that she wore at the club. “I was worried,” she said. “When you were late I didn’t know what might have happened.”

“I had a lot of packing to do,” I said, pulling the duffel bags into the apartment behind me. I looked at her. “If it’s too much to keep here, I can send some of the things back to the barracks.”

“We’ll make room,” she said, and followed me into my room. “Did you have dinner?” she asked.

“Not yet,” I said as I threw the duffel bags on the bed. “I thought we could have dinner at some restaurant before we go to the club.”

“I have already made dinner for you,” she said. “We can eat and then you can unpack after I go to work.”

I didn’t argue. I was starving. We walked into the dining room and she served me a delicious dinner. French-style roast chicken that she had basted with olive oil and Burgundy wine. I had never had a chicken prepared like this, but it wasn’t bad, especially the roasted potatoes and thin string beans. We had the usual baguettes, and red wine to drink. She had also gotten a few bottles of beer, in case I preferred that over the wine.

“This is really delicious,” I said. “But I didn’t want you to go to so much trouble.”

She laughed. “I really can’t cook. Everything comes from the charcuterie. All I had to do was put the chicken into a pot and add a little wine and oil.”

I laughed. “I still think it’s lovely of you to have a dinner prepared for me.”

She brought coffee cups for each of us from the kitchen. After she had poured the coffee, she added a small shot of cognac. “This will keep you up enough to unpack some of your things.”

“You’re great.” I laughed. “What time will you be finished with your last show? I can pick you up and bring you home.”