Chapter 4

"Paula Moore," Sammy said aloud as he sat in his car in front of one of the larger hotels. He was to meet her in the cocktail lounge and wait if she wasn't there.

She's probably like the rest, he thought as he walked through the revolving door and headed toward the bar. Sammy had seen twenty-four girls during the week, and none of them were beautiful, though some were attractive. He wondered how they got the prices they asked for. Even the better looking ones wouldn't be accepted in any beauty contest, that was for goddamn sure, he thought.

In a moment he entered the lounge and waited for his eyes to adjust to the blue darkness. There were two men sitting at one end of the long bar, glancing at a single girl who sat near the center. Their conversation was half whispered, but anyone could tell they were talking about the dark-haired girl. Eager to get this last confrontation over with he walked toward her swiftly, hoping that she was the one.

"Paula Moore?" he asked, expecting to see another thirty-year- old woman who had been through too much.

Sammy barely heard her say, "Yes?"

Even in the half-light of the cocktail lounge he could see that she was the most beautiful girl he had ever met. She wore no more make-up than a normal woman, and had accented every feature of her near-perfect face. He could see the straight line of her finely chiseled nose and the outline of her soft, almost glowing cheeks.

"Yes," she said again, "I'm Paula Moore. What do you want?"

Sammy could hardly speak as he watched her lips stop speaking and close in puzzled silence. His eyes followed her chin and the sleek line of her neck before he caught hold of himself.

"I'm S-Sammy Wynn," he finally said.

"Are you sure," she said sarcastically, pleased with herself.

"I'm from Wade," Sammy said immediately, wanting to slap her back for being so quick with him.

He was almost pleased with himself until he saw her face drop its smiling mask and almost tremble.

He didn't want to hurt her, not a girl as beautiful as this.

"Don't be afraid," he told her. "Come on, let's sit in a booth."

Paula obeyed as if she were a well-trained puppy, and quickly followed him to a nearby booth. She nearly gasped aloud when he stopped and offered her a seat before sitting himself. None of Wade's hoods had ever been polite to her. Most of them treated her like a common streetwalker, and in fact, had all taken her services at one time or another. It was in their unspoken contract, and she could do nothing about it.

Paula watched him curiously as he called to the cocktail waitress and ordered two scotch and waters before she could protest. As soon as the cocktail waitress left she told him that she couldn't drink anything but tea while she was on duty.

"Don't worry about it," Sammy replied. "I'm not going to tell anyone about it, if you won't."

This is too much, she thought, but then, he is awfully young, almost as young as I am. Her mind wondered about Sammy as they waited for their drinks, which were delivered shortly. Neither of them spoke, each waiting for the other to make a move. Sammy, his eyes glued to the sensuous woman across from him, had nothing to say. He only wanted to look, while Paula, at the same time, was curious about Wade's new hireling, but was unsure of herself. Tonight was pickup night for her money, yet the young man had said nothing. He seemed polite, she thought, and much too young to be working for Wade, besides, she seemed to see a glimmer of intelligence behind his eyes. Finally she spoke:

"Did Wade send you to tell me something?"

"You're beautiful," he answered in his South Chicago accent.

"Wade said that?" she burst out laughing.

Sammy flushed and a broad grin spread across his handsome young face. He was embarrassed by his awkwardness, but pleased that she laughed, and he joined her laughter.

"N-No," he finally managed through his laughter. "I mean, I think you're beautiful."

Pamela stopped laughing and looked at the young man, one hand resting on her half-exposed full breast. He's really serious, she thought. I'm a prostitute sitting in a bar waiting for a customer, and he's serious.

"Why, thank you," she said in astonishment.

If he were any of the others, she thought, he would just be on the make, wanting her body, and willing to pay for it. But he's different, and she knew she was right.

She raised her glass and toasted, "To you."

Sammy couldn't stop smiling, pleased that she seemed to like him, and that she didn't think he was like the rest of Wade's henchmen. Wade crossed his mind, and he remembered why he had come. If she's going to like me, he thought, I'll have to be honest.

Paula put her drink on the table and was surprised when Sammy said, "I'd better tell you right now that I'm here for the collection."

"Oh," she said, pretending that she was sure of it all the time. So maybe he was like the rest of them after all.

Quickly, before she could open her purse to give him her week's take, he spoke again. "I-I don't want you to think I'm like the rest of Wade's men," he said, almost pleading for acceptance. "I just need the money right now, and as soon as I make enough, I'll quit."

"I understand," she said, wanting to believe him, but sorry that he was so naive.

"No you don't," he said, almost angrily. "You don't understand Chicago, or slums, or what happens to people who never have anything. I never wanted to be working for someone like Wade. I never wanted to have anything to do with crime. It's just that, well..."

And Sammy continued to talk for almost an hour, stopping only long enough to order more drinks. He had never been able to talk to anyone before, especially a girl, but this one seemed different. She listened, and he thought that she understood as he poured out the years of bitterness, the years that he spent pretending to be a hero because he had stolen a case of beer once. He told her the whole story, his voice angry at times, sad at others. No one had known Sammy Wynn before, but he wanted her to know him.

"... And so," he continued, "I never finished school, never had a chance to go to college. But I suppose, even if I had finished high school, I wouldn't have had the money to go to college."

Paula stared at him, no words coming from her lips. She could feel the salty tears that had formed in her eyes. Here was someone who shared something with her. She knew his pain and felt his losses, losses that, though not exactly like hers, had had the same effect on his life. They were two people who had not been masters of their own lives. Circumstances beyond their control had brought them together, under Wade Jackson, to sit together in a dimly lit cocktail lounge and communicate like human beings.

"Oh, Sammy," she whispered, and put out her hand to touch his. "If only I could tell you..."

"You can," he said, knowing that they had found something together. "Try it. I just found out that telling someone you trust helps and I'm glad I told you. Go ahead and try."

Slowly at first she began to speak, afraid that he might not understand as she had. She began with her father's death, the job, and then faltered when she started to talk about Jed Dearborn. But, when she looked at Sammy, she stopped hesitating and told him the whole story, right up to the present.

"Well," she said when she had finished. "What do you think?"

"Not, what do I think," he said, "But how do you feel?"

Paula thought for a moment. How do I feel? The hate was gone. That's right, the hate is gone. When her mind pictured Jed and Wade, she could only feel pity for them, sharpened by a tinge of disgust, but at least no more hate.

"I feel like a weight has been taken off me," she told Sammy in amazement. "It's almost too good to be true."

More than two hours had passed since they had ordered drinks and began talking. Sammy's eyes had roamed over every inch of her that he could see, savoring the fine smooth skin of her breasts that lay half-exposed from her low-cut dress, displaying their firm fullness. He had heard every word she had said, but his mind could not refuse his imagined pleasures of her luscious body. He watched, listened and learned more about her, feeling more and more emotion for her until he could no longer stand it.

During a pause in their conversation he finally blurted, "If you weren't... I mean... If I had the money... I'd," he groped for the words, "I'd like to make love with you."

Paula looked up from her drink, surprised that he would say such a thing, but when she saw his blushing face, she knew what he meant. How else, she thought, could he tell me he cared for me. His talk had mentioned girls only casually. He's probably never had a steady girl friend, so how would he know how to tell me, a whore, he cares?

"Why, Sammy?" she asked, wanting to see if he could answer to satisfy her.

"I don't know," he replied. "I mean, it's not like you think. I don't want you like all..."

"Like all those other men, Sammy?"

"Yeah, I mean, no, not like them. I know I haven't known you very long," he said, not knowing that she thought his little speech was cute, "But I think I know you pretty good and, well, I like you."

Sammy stopped talking and looked like he had been deflated from the effort. He had never told any girl that he cared for her before, and the commitment had been almost too much for him. He was afraid she would react differently, either thinking that he was just looking for a piece of tail, or that she didn't like him, really, and would reject him. Silently he watched for her reaction.

"You look like you've just been busted," she said smiling at him.

Sammy sat up a little, not sure if she were teasing him or not. He was too unsure of himself to know that she did care, and was touched by the way he had blurted out his confession.

"Are you afraid I'll turn you down," she asked him. "Don't be ridiculous. I may be in for trouble for it, but I think that after talking with you for the last two hours I should be able to judge not only you, but my own feelings."

Sammy's face became all grin as she talked. He wasn't going to be rejected. They would be able to make love, maybe on her day off, which wouldn't be until the convention was over, but be could wait. He could wait a long time for a beautiful girl like her.

"And, well," she continued. "We're spending too much of your money buying drinks here. Let's drive over to my place."

Unbelievable! She wanted him too, and tonight, not in a week. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction and a hint of desire. He wanted her, and wanted her badly. Maybe this was his fresh start.

Misunderstanding his expression she said, "Don't worry about the syndicate. I make a hell of a lot more money than they think I do and it'll be no problem at all to take a few bucks extra and tell them I worked all night."

"No," he interrupted. "I didn't think that, I just..."

"Paula!" a voice from the bar yelled. "Telephone."

She started to stand and Sammy got up with her, picking up her coat. "No, wait," she said. "I'll have to answer it, they know I'm here."

Sammy knew exactly what she meant. Each girl who worked for Jackson had a specific area of responsibility, a place where she would work from and could be contacted if not at home, or wherever she took her customers. It reminded him that she was, after all, still a hooker, no matter how beautiful, or how wonderful he thought she was, she was still a prostitute. But for the moment, he didn't care, he cared for her more than he had for any girl he had ever met, and what she did for a living could be either ignored or changed. His thoughts raced as he watched her firm sensuous buttocks move in perfect rhythm as she walked to the telephone.

"Hello," she said into the receiver, "This is Paula."

"Hi, Baby, Red."

Red, she thought, big ugly Red, one of Wade's "in crowd." She remembered him from the first, always hanging around, guarding Wade's precious body, and when Wade had turned her out, Red had been one of the first of the gang to take advantage of her new business. He had been rough and surly with her, and left her in a great deal of pain. But she couldn't hate him either, not since meeting Sammy. He was just another blob among the many blobs in her life.

"How's business tonight," he asked, wanting her to remember his superiority.

"Fair," she answered, wanting to say as little as she could to him.

"Well, I'm gonna make it better for ya," he continued. "We've lined up a helluva trick for ya. He's willin' to pay two bills for just an hour, so put on some fresh makeup and be down here right away."

Not now, she thought. "But, Red, I've got another big one right here, and I don't want to turn him down."

"I don't give a rat's ass," he said. "These is orders from the boss!"

"Alright," she said, hoping to hang up immediately.

"One more thing, Baby. Has that new collector been around yet?"

"He just left," she lied. "He said he had to check on something before he could get back to turn the money in."

"Good," he said, sure that he had a good worker in the young Sammy. "See ya in fifteen minutes," and he hung up.

Paula stood for a moment with the phone still at her ear. When Red told her to be somewhere she had to be there, or suffer a beating like she had when she refused one time before. She remembered they had caught her at the airport and taken her back to Wade's where after four of them had used her, they beat her so badly she couldn't work for three weeks. If they found out that she would refuse to be with Sammy, especially for nothing, it could be worse, maybe for both of them.

"Who was that," Sammy's voice said from behind her.

"Oh, Sammy," she cried, turning to bury her head against his strong shoulder. "That was Red," she said starting to cry. "He said there's a customer for me, one that I have to see..." Her voice broke off, choked with emotion.

There's no way out, she thought, trying to find a way to explain to the first man who had moved her in a long time that she must go, or face the consequences. She knew that she had done the right thing to tell Sammy, though she didn't want him to be hurt, and didn't want him to remember that she was still nothing but a prostitute.

If he could only understand what they would do to me, she thought. If he could only see what I had looked like when they had finished with me before. I can't lie to him, her mind rationalized through the veil of tears. We've got to start off right.

"Are-are you going?" he asked, his own throat tight, trying to hold back a choking sob. He knew the answer before he had asked, but one last ray of hope held him, pleading with an unknown force to change what was happening.

"Oh, Sammy," she cried again, not seeing that the bartender stood nearby, listening to every word.

"Come on," he said roughly. "I'll drive you over."

"You're so sweet," she said. "But it would be better if I took a cab. I'd better just go alone."

Sammy knew that she didn't want to go, but knew also, that she must. He was too new in town, and she meant too much to him to be hurt for disobeying orders. His heart went out for her and her plight, more than for his own temporary loss, but he held himself back.

"I'll walk you out then," he said, controlling his voice.

Without answering she allowed him to help her with her coat, all the time thinking of what she must go through. She remembered the fat ugly man from the night before, the one who had sodomized her for the first time, forcing her to do things that went against her very nature, degrading her in her own eyes. A tool, that's what I am, she thought bitterly, nothing more than a fucking machine for terrible old men who can't get a girl any other way. I might as well have never been born for all the good I've done myself. How stupid! Why couldn't I have met Sammy a year and a half ago? Why did it have to be now, as a whore peddling her wares in a bar?

Sammy knew what she was thinking as they walked outside and he hailed a cab, but couldn't find words to console her. If there were only a way to be free, a way to control my own life as well as hers, he thought. Then it would be different, and we wouldn't have to bow to anyone.

Paula got into the taxi he had called with a shrill whistle and gave the driver an address. She didn't want to look at Sammy, or say goodbye, but she couldn't possibly leave without something, she thought.

"Will you wait for me," she asked. "I know it's too much to ask, but..."

His voice cut her off, "Of course, I'll wait," he said, controlling his feelings, trying to make her feel that it would be alright.

He recognized his anger, but contained it, not giving her the slightest idea how he felt. If she really wants to come back, he thought, then she will. But he couldn't get the picture of her being with another man out of his mind, no matter how well he tried to rationalize the situation.

Sammy stepped back from the curb as the yellow cab pulled away. He could see her tears as she turned and waved back at him, blowing a small but meaningful kiss at him as the taxi turned the corner.

Well, fuck it! he thought and turned back toward the bar. She's gone and I couldn't change it, so what the hell, I'll just get drunk, he declared silently to himself.

"Double scotch and a water back," he called to the bartender as he re-entered the cocktail lounge.

The two men sitting at the bar watched him with interest as he stumbled past them, already half drunk from the previous two hours drinking. If I'm gonna get drunk, he thought glancing at the two men, I'm gonna do it right.

The drink went down fast and hard and he chased it with a large gulp of ice water, trying not to think of the girl he had just seen drive away.

But in the taxi just a few blocks away, Paula fought with herself in mute anger and frustration. She kept thinking of what Wade's henchmen might do to her, knowing that it would be much worse than the beating she had received months before. But her mind could not free itself from Sammy's grip. He's so wonderful and kind, she thought. I know he's afraid for me, and he doesn't want to see me hurt. Oh, God, I just can't!

"Driver," she said, urgency straining in her voice. "Driver, take me back to the hotel!"

There, she thought, I've done it and God help me, she added in silent prayer. She knew she wouldn't back out now, not after feeling the relief that was flooding through her firm round breasts. She had made the decision and would stick with it, and stick with Sammy. I'll do anything for him, she thought as the taxi pulled up in front of the hotel.

She nearly jumped out, throwing a five dollar bill on the front seat and not waiting for the change as she ran through the revolving door and headed for the open door of the cocktail lounge.

"Sammy!" she cried as she burst through the door into the darkness.

Sitting at the bar hunched over his third double scotch in almost as many minutes, Sammy was startled to hear her unexpected voice. For a split second he thought he was hearing things, but he had to turn around to be sure.

It was true!

Paula stood silhouetted in the doorway, tears streaming down her face. Sammy looked only long enough to be sure that he wasn't seeing an alcohol fogged mirage then jumped off the stool and ran to her.

"Oh, Sammy, Sammy!" she cried, throwing her arms around his neck.

She felt complete, and sure that she had made the right decision as she felt his closeness. It was so good to feel a man who cared, a man who could love her for herself and not just her body, she thought ecstatically.

Wanting him as she had no other man, Paula held him tighter and pressed her lips to his, tasting the heavy sting of scotch in his mouth as she plunged her eager tongue into his mouth and brushed the wet insides of his lips, trying to tell him that she was his. Paula and Sammy, she thought. No, Sammy and Paula; that was better.

After a long extended kiss, Sammy pulled back and held her soft face gently in his cupped hands.

"I can't believe it," he said. "It's too..."

"Don't say anything now," she interrupted. "I want you so badly. Please, take me home."

Their arms around each other, they walked slowly out of the bar, knowing that they needn't hurry now, that they would have all night. They didn't, however, know that every word they had said had been carefully overheard by George, the bartender; every word that he would later remember when asked.

The key clicked in the metal lock and the door swung open. Sammy stood back and let Paula enter He followed her in, carefully looking at the decor, surprised that her apartment was decorated in Early American, neat and expensive.

"I'll be just a minute," she said without turning around. "I want to change first, so fix yourself a drink and one for me too."