Chapter 4

Tim took his time finishing his barbecued beef sandwich. The evenings were long, much too long, and Tim had gotten in the habit of taking much more time than he needed to do even the simplest thing. Everything had to be stretched out to fill as many of the empty spaces as possible. Tim's evenings were nothing but empty spaces, except for the rare occasion when he was called on to do some small errand for Jay.

Tonight there would be no errands. Tim knew he had to decide what to do with himself before he finished his coffee; otherwise there would be a long empty space in this diner, another chain of cigarettes, more tunes on the juke box. When "Rockin' Robin" came on for the fourth time, Tim had had enough. He jumped up, slammed his money on the counter, yelled "keep the change" and ran out the door, nearly colliding with the crazy newsboy.

Once out on the street, Tim's pace slowed. The lights of Sunset strip glowed brightly, invitingly. Tim made an arbitrary decision, stepped into a small, average-looking bar, one of the many bars on that particular block. He wondered if it belonged to Jay--most of the bars on this street did. What the hell, he thought, what else can a poor boy do? He grinned to himself. Maybe tonight wouldn't be so bad.

The bar--Papa's, it was called, was wholly unremarkable: dark, smoky, booths covered in black and red synthetic leather, rattan bar stools. Tim waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark, took a seat at the bar, ordered a seven-and-seven. Just as the drink arrived, someone behind him said, "Got a light?" The voice was cool and low.

Tim was used to cool, low voices. He turned around, expecting to see the usual barfly, some woman in her forties, not- quite drunk, painted--like a fading actress. What he did see was a girl whose beauty made him instantly dizzy. She had long black hair, straight but thick, enormous green eyes, a pale complexion, full lips. She wore hip-hugger slacks and a half-top that left her stomach exposed, and her stomach was smooth as a freeway. Tim had never seen anything like this girl. He wanted her, and right then.

"Well?" said the girl.

"Oh," Tim said. "Sure." He fumbled in his pocket for a match, pulled out his keys, his change, an old race track ticket and a pocket-knife before he found the matches. He struck once, twice, three times before he finally got the match going. The girl watched in amusement, smiling. "I hope you're not a heavy smoker," she said.

"No," Tim said. Did heavy smoking displease her? If so, he would quit entirely. He would never do anything to displease this girl, if she would only stay with him.

"Who are you?" he said.

"Judy," she said. "And you?"

"Tim, I think."

She smiled again. This is a nice guy, she thought. How long has it been since I met a nice guy? "Let's go sit in a booth," she said.

Tim followed her to the booth, feeling the first ticklings in his loins as he watched her swing her ass just ever so slightly. "A drink?" she said, after they were seated. Tim signaled the waiter, ordered two drinks even though he had barely touched his first.

"Are you a little confused?" said Judy. This guy was funny, almost like a farm boy come to the city. Funny, but nice too, in a way. She found herself liking him. He thought for a minute. "No, not confused. Or maybe I am confused. I don't know." He laughed, and Judy laughed with him.

Then it hit him: this girl was a prostitute, a whore! How could such a beautiful girl be a whore? Maybe, he thought with a shock, maybe she even worked for Jay. What would happen? What was he doing here? If this was one of Jay's girls...

"You look like you just got hit with an iron. What's wrong?"

"What's your last name?" Tim asked, still gaping at the girl. He had heard the names of some of the girls who worked for Jay; maybe he could find out without asking her directly.

"Are you some kind of cop?"

Tim laughed. "Not hardly," he said. "I'm just trying to find out... Well, look, let me ask you a personal question. What sort of work do you do?"

This guy is dumb, Judy thought. What does he think I am, a social worker? "I'm a social worker," she said.

"Really?"

"No, not really. Really I'm an organ grinder, and I'm looking for a partner. Would you be interested?"

I'll bet you're an organ grinder, Tim thought, resenting the girl for her mockery of him. "Come on. Please. It's important to me to know."

"Why is it so important?"

"Because," he said, "I think I'm in love with you." Tim was embarrassed. He had never said those words before, not once in his life.

Judy's expression became serious. "No," she said. "You're not in love with me. You don't want to be in love with me. I work nights." She didn't want any man in love with her, certainly not now, while she was working for Jay, and probably not ever.

"That's what I thought. Do you work for Jay Snyder?"

Instantly Judy was suspicious. "You're a cop," she said, and started to get up from the booth.

Tim grabbed her wrist. "No, sit down, please. I'm not a cop. I work for Jay too."

She eyed him suspiciously, still standing. "The collector's already been to see me this week," she said. "I don't have anything for him right now, not for a couple of days."

"I'm not a collector either. I just drive for him, do his errands, shine his shoes."

"Jay Snyder's shoeshine boy. Well, how do you do?"

"Will you sit back down?"

"OK." Judy sat down, stared into her drink, rattled the ice cubes against the glass. Just my luck, she thought. I finally meet someone nice and he turns out to be Jay Snyder's errand boy. She looked up at him. He was smiling, a warm, friendly smile that made her relax a bit. He seemed very different from the other men who worked for Jay, the big, tough hoods who took their pleasures from her whenever they pleased. Yes, this one was different. She wondered how old he was, he seemed to be about her own age.

"How did you get trapped into working for Jay?" Tim asked. He knew how Jay got his girls, knew he played on their innocence and their fears to keep them under control until they were so deeply into his messy system that they couldn't ever get out, couldn't do anything except become hardened prostitutes. Very few women ever went to work for Jay willingly.

"It just happened," said Judy. "I'm not even sure how. You wouldn't be interested anyway."

"But I am interested. I want to know everything about you." He gazed at her breasts, at the soft points of her nipples showing through the blouse. "Everything," he added.

Judy looked at him, trying to gauge his sincerity. Was this boy for real, or was he just trying to soft-talk her into a free roll in the sack? Was he like every other man she'd ever known, or was he truly different? She met his eyes, saw that he was actually paying attention, not just making conversation. He was paying attention to her. "It's a long story," she said. "You sure you want to hear it all?"

"I'm sure."

Judy began her story, recalling with pain the shabby little theater in Bisbee, her parents and her home, her plans for college and a life of adventure. God, she thought as she talked, it seems like such a long time ago, like another world that I can never go back to, no matter what happens from here on in. How had it come to be this way? How could she have thrown that life away, what could she have been thinking of when she ran off with Tom?

The thought of Tom brought tears to her eyes. She couldn't bring herself to go on with the story. Tim saw her hesitate, saw the tears start to form, so he reached over and covered her hand with his own. "It's OK," he said. "Tell me. Maybe it won't hurt so much if you talk about it."

Won't hurt so much? How could it not hurt, she thought. It'll never change, it'll just go on hurting forever. The only thing I can do is try to forget about it. She looked around her, saw the dingy bar, the few customers doing their best to forget everything too, knew that as long as she worked for Jay, as long as she had to spend her nights in places like this, she could never forget. Maybe he's right, she thought. Maybe I should go ahead and talk about it. She continued talking, telling him about Tom and how he had deserted her, about the abortion, about her first meeting with Jay Snyder. The warmth of Tim's hand urged her to continue, to tell everything. Never in her life had she shared her troubles, her deepest feelings, with another human being.

Tim listened with all his heart, never taking his eyes from Judy. Here, he thought, was someone just like him, with the same problems. Her background may have been different from his, her goals different, but basically they were two people caught in the same miserable situation. They were both trapped, trapped by Jay Snyder and by their own innocence, and they both wanted out more than they wanted anything else in the world. Maybe if the two of them stuck together they could find a way out. If not, then at least they could share their misery with one another. As far as Tim was concerned, it was definitely worth a try.

Judy had stopped talking. "That's it," she said, "and here I am." She felt tired, but she also felt relieved, lighter. It was as if she had been allowed to rest, to pass the burden of her life to someone else, even if just for a moment.

"Here you are," said Tim. "Here we both are."

"Both of us," she agreed. She looked at him, suddenly curious. "How did you get here?" she asked. "What's a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?"

Should I tell her? Tim thought. Maybe she'll think I'm just a cheap crook and she won't want to have anything to do with me. He decided to chance it--the least he could do was repay her honesty with his own. He told her about his boyhood in Brooklyn, how everyone and everything seemed to work against him. But be made no excuses for himself, "I made the decisions," he said, "no one else. I could have been stronger."

"Nobody's that strong. Nobody. You did what you had to do, just like I did, so don't blame yourself. It wasn't really your fault."

"I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "I really don't know."

"Of course it wasn't your fault. Did anyone ever offer to help you? Did you ever get any encouragement?"

"No, I guess not. Maybe you're right. Anyway..."

"Yeah," she said. "Anyway..."

"Here we are."

Judy smiled. It felt good to have a friend, someone she could talk to, someone who could understand. And, she thought, he's not bad looking either.

Tim was thinking exactly the same thing, although in slightly more superlative terms. Judy seemed even more beautiful to him now than she had when he first saw her--her face had relaxed, had taken on the youth and innocence that she must have left behind in Bisbee. And her body... Tim felt a little bubbling sensation in his balls, the brewing of juices. "Judy?" he said.

"Hmmmm?"

"Can we go someplace?"

She wanted very much to go someplace with this man. But tonight was one of her working nights, she was "on duty" and, if one of Jay's men came looking for her only to find her missing, it would mean another beating and rape scene later on. Still, she felt that it would be worth any beating or torture that Jay's men could give her, just to be alone with Tim, to feel the weight of his body, the touch of his fingers. "Let's do," she said. "Let's go to my place."

These words brought Tim up short. "Let's go to my place," she had said, as if he were a customer, a john. She must have said those words hundreds of times before. And now they would go to her place, the place that Jay Snyder paid for, and make love on a bed that had been used by every anonymous john on Sunset Strip. It was like saying "I love you" to someone and then having them say "step into my office, won't you?"

Judy guessed what he was thinking. "It's OK," she said gently, "we'll go to my home, not my place of business."

Tim looked at her. If that was true, he thought, if we're really going to her house, then I must be something special to her. His heart started racing. Was this possible? Did she really like him? It was almost too much to believe. Tim felt his desire for this girl, which had already reached feverish proportions, rise still more. Already his cock was straining against his pants. "Let's go."

They were too involved with one another to notice the ringing of the pay telephone at the bar. The bartender picked up the phone, spoke in a low voice for a moment, then walked over to their booth. "Judy Burton?" he said.

The bartender's voice brought Judy back to reality. She was a whore, she thought, nothing but a whore, always on call. "Yes," she said, "I'm Judy Burton."

"Phone for you."

She walked over to the bar and picked up the phone, dreading to hear the voice on the other end of the receiver, knowing that it would bring an end to her evening with Tim. "Hello," she said, caution in her voice.

"Hiya, Judy, this is Nelson."

Slackjaws Nelson was Jay Snyder's enforcer, a big, mean, ugly man with a body like steel and a mind like a peanut. He did all Snyder's dirty work, the 'convincing, ' as Jay called it.

"What do you want?"

"Now, baby," Slackjaws said, "is that any way to talk to your best friend, after all I done for you?" Slackjaws snickered. "I got a trick for you."

"Oh, Mr. Nelson," she said (the muscleman hated his nickname), "I've had four already tonight, I'm pretty tired." She hoped her lie would impress the enforcer, make him leave her alone at least long enough to spend some more time with Tim.

But it didn't work. "No sob stories, baby. Just douche yourself out, take an aspirin or something. This is a big one, a personal friend of Jay's. He'll meet you there in half an hour." Slackjaws hung up without giving her a chance to reply.

Judy walked Back to the booth, feeling like a zombie. "Tim," she said, "I can't go. Something's come up, a change of plans."

"You mean a customer." He had known the phone call would bring had news, bring an end to the only good evening of his life. Oh, well, he thought, maybe I can see her another time. But he was disappointed, bitterly disappointed. "It's OK," he said, without conviction. "I understand."

"No, you don't understand at all. You think I'd rather be with a customer than with you? Christ, I'd give up all my customers just to be with you another five minutes, but this isn't just any customer. It's a friend of Jay's. That was Slackjaws on the phone."

Tim knew she was telling the truth, and he understood immediately. He'd heard stories about what Jay did to his girls when they crossed him, about Slackjaws and his vicious perversions. As much as he wanted Judy, he didn't want her to get hurt, didn't want her to have to submit to Slackjaws or any of the others. "OK," he said. "Maybe another time. Come on, I'll get you a cab."

"No, I'm supposed to meet him here."

Tim nodded, reached for his coat. "Can we meet another time?"

There was fear in Judy's eyes. "I don't know, Tim," she said. "It might be dangerous. For you, I mean, not for me."

"I don't care about that, Tim said fiercely. "I have to see you again. I have to..."

Judy saw the passion in his eyes, heard it in his trembling voice. It made her afraid, but it excited her too. She began to think about Tim's hands, to feel them stroking her breasts, reaching into the warm wet darkness of her pussy. "We'll see," she said, smiling. "We'll see. You know where to find me."

Tim nodded slowly. He was on fire with love for her, wanted her body more than he had ever wanted anything. Nothing was going to come between them; not Jay, not Slackjaws, nothing.

He put on his coat, stared deep into Judy's eyes for a moment, then turned and walked out the door. He stood there, very still, breathing deeply, trying to think. Something new had come into his life, something new and tremendously exciting, this beautiful girl with her full ripe body, this girl named Judy. Maybe this is it, he thought, maybe my luck's finally changing. He felt that with Judy beside him he could do anything, quit Jay, go out on his own, maybe even find a way to get into college and become a doctor. Anything was possible now.

He began walking down the street, lost in his fantasies, in dreams of a solid and glorious future with Judy, his wife. He was so wrapped up in plans that at first he didn't hear her voice calling him, or if he did hear, he assumed it was part of the dream. "Tim," she called. "Tim, wait."

Then he heard footsteps behind him. He turned around and there she was, panting, her hair wild on her shoulders, her eyes burning with passion. "Wait," she said, breathlessly. "I changed my mind."

"You what?"

"I changed my mind," she said. "To hell with Jay, to hell with all of them. I want to be with you."

Tim could scarcely believe what he heard. She was going to forsake Jay, to put herself in danger just to be with him? "You want to what?"

"I want to be with you."

Tim's mind stopped. He embraced Judy, holding her as tightly as he could, his arms trembling. He could feel the firmness of her breasts as they pressed against him, and the smooth bones of her pelvis moving along his loins. Her arms circled his neck, her hands ran wildly through his hair. "Hold it," he laughed, "or we're going to be doing it right here on the street."

"I wouldn't mind," Judy said, her voice shaking with desire. She let go of him and they started walking, not quite knowing where they were, arm in arm, no sounds but their footsteps, no thought except to get to Judy's place, to get to bed.

Judy made a scotch and water for each of them. Once inside the apartment, Tim had become nervous; Judy hoped the drink would calm him down a bit. She didn't quite understand his nervousness- -maybe it had been a long time since he'd been with a woman, maybe he was afraid that he wouldn't be able to make love. Or maybe he had some disease and was ashamed to tell her about it. Men were strange, she thought; they got upset about such trivial things.

But Tim was thinking about something else: he was thinking about Judy's job, about all the men she'd been with in the past. Maybe, he thought, maybe she's even been with someone else earlier today, or this evening. The thought of Judy lying naked in bed with some anonymous john made Tim burn with anger and jealousy. He wanted to ask her about it, wanted to know exactly how many men she'd had, what their names were, their occupations, what they'd said to her. He especially wanted to know if she'd ever enjoyed fucking any of them, and if she'd ever brought anyone else up to this place, her own apartment. He wanted to ask her all these things, but at the same time he felt a little childish, so he kept quiet.

Judy brought the drink over, smiled at him, knelt down on the floor in front of him She began to rub the inside of his thigh, leaving trails of electric sensation as she ran her fingernails up his crotch. Tim felt his balls swell, his penis begin to come to life. He reached out quickly and grabbed her hand, pulled it away from his legs. "Wait!"

"Tim, what's wrong? Why don't you tell me?"

"Nothing's wrong," he said.

"Sure there is. Please tell me about it maybe I can help."

Tim glared angrily at her. "Maybe you can help? Sure you can help. Just like you help all your customers. It's all part of the job, isn't it, all in a day's work--make them relax, make them feel special, make them forget that you're a whore."

"So that's it," Judy said quietly.

"You're damned right that's it." Tim was almost shouting. "How many men have you had this week? How many today? You say you wouldn't take me to your place of business, but how do I know if you're telling me the truth? How do I know? What if I'm just another john, and all this is a set-up; what then?"

"Have I asked you for money?"

"No, not yet at least. But what's going to happen when we're through? How do I know you won't say 'Tim, darling, I need to buy some stockings; could you give me a hundred dollars?'"

"You don't know."

"You're damned right I don't know. Back there in the bar you made me believe that I was something different, something new in your life, something special. But now we get up here, and what do you do? You make me a drink, just like I was one of your tricks, some scared little guy who was too afraid to make love to you without being full of booze first. Then you come over and start rubbing my leg, just like you'd do for any of your customers. Oh, it felt good, very good. You must have had a lot of practice. Well, practice on someone else. I can buy a whore anytime. With you I was hoping for something a little different."

Judy was hurt by this speech, but she understood Tim's feelings, knew that the problem would have to be dealt with sometime, and that now, before they actually got involved, would be as good a time as any. "Tim," she said softly, "this is something different. You are special. I knew that as soon as we started talking. You're the first man I ever met who gave a damn about me, who cared about anything except my body. Of course you're special. There's no way I can prove that to you, not now, certainly not with words. You'll just have to trust me. You'll have to believe that I'm not lying to you." She took his hand. "Here," she said. "Look at me."

Tim raised his eyes to meet hers. Immediately he knew that she was telling the truth--her eyes were clear and strong, without the slightest trace of deceit. This was his woman, her eyes made him understand that, made him forget all his doubts.

"OK," he said. "I believe you. I'm sorry,"

"Don't be sorry." Judy smiled at him. "Just talk to me."

Tim got up, began striding happily around the living room. The apartment was not luxurious, but Judy had made it a comfortable place to live: soft pillows lay on the floor, and the obviously second-hand furniture had been covered with bright fabrics. There were paintings on the wall, and posters from other countries. One poster in particular caught Tim's attention--it was from Italy, showed a small village set high in the Dolomite Alps. All the houses were made of native stone, the sky very blue, the light on the village crisp and clear.