Elmira Wilkinson became a hooker when she was sixteen. Men had offered her money before; she'd started taking it was all. She claimed it was like crossing the state line: if you didn't see the sign that said WELCOME TO OUR STATE, you'd never know a boundary had been crossed. Of course, money hadn't been that important then. Sometimes she had spent the entire night with a man and never charged extra.
Now that she was older--fifty-six next month--things were different. Most of the men who picked her up were coarse and smelled of alcohol and cigarette smoke. She missed the sweet fragrance and smooth skin of her past customers. That's why the money had become important.
Elmira leaned closer to the mirror and stretched her mouth to paint on a set of lush red lips that extended beyond the line of her own thin ones. The radio blared on the dressing table beside her. She hummed along as Tammy Wynette sang, "Stand by Your Man." One more year, she thought, and I'll have saved enough to move to Australia.
Elmira knew all about Australia from the dog-eared copy of National Geographic that she kept on her bedside table. Australia was filled with young cowboys and handsome shepherds. The article said that men out-numbered women ten to one. They were bound to be lonesome with so few women around. She had heard somewhere that men in such predicaments did things with sheep. Well, she was better than a sheep any day! They'd want her even if she didn't still have her looks, which she did if you didn't look too close and the lights weren't too bright. She had long legs, too. Men liked women with long legs.
Elmira adjusted the light over the mirror. When she'd had those teeth pulled to save the expense of root canal, the dentist hadn't told her that her face would cave in when the gums shrank. She added more light-colored pancake to the little hollow under each cheekbone to compensate for the shadow, then leaned back to survey her face. Satisfied, she wiped the make-up off her fingers, adjusted her wig, and inhaled deeply. The new red lace brassiere she had on worked just as the saleslady said it would, holding her breasts high so they squeezed out of the low cut dress and lay against her chest like two quarter moons. Still humming, she switched off the radio, grabbed her purse, and headed for the streets. I'll make a mint, she thought.
That was the night she met Dennis: the night she first wore the red lace brassiere. It was an unusual evening, the first one of the year with no chill on the air. After a long winter, people were glad to be out again. A festive, almost carnival, atmosphere permeated the neighborhood. Laughter and loud music from inside the bars drifted through open doors onto the crowded sidewalk. Liquor flowed freely. Even the neon beer signs in tavern windows seemed to shine with a gaudier intensity, snapping and buzzing with an electricity no unlike that which filled the streets.
Elmira knew immediately that she'd made a mistake coming out so early. Expectations were running too high. Men who would have normally gone with her--their eyes darting about even as she stood before them--held out in anticipation of the night's vague promises. Elmira had been through other evenings like this. She knew that the only thing to do was bide her time. Walking over to the brick-paved mall that surrounded the old Lincoln courthouse, she sat on a stone bench to wait for what she called the Cinderella hour: the that came about as the evening wore on, and the booze took effect, and people tired. Dreams turned to pumpkins then, and men were willing to take what they could get and call it a night. Around twelve-thirty, Elmira began to score.
Her last encounter was with two men who had circled the block several times before pulling over to the curb; and when they did, Elmira could hardly believe her luck. One was a good-looking Italian in his late twenties; the other a shy, blond boy of about eighteen. The older man made the arrangements. When they got to the hotel room, he insisted that the boy go first while he stood behind and watched. When he reached that point of excitement to where he was oblivious of all but the sensations, the man pressed himself against the boy's back and began caressing him. Elmira had thought it most peculiar.
As she headed home--down the silent, pre-dawn street--she wished she had a girlfriend that she could sit with over a cup of coffee in Jack Robinson's all night restaurant. She would tell her about the Italian man and the boy; and the friend, elbows on table, would listen eagerly. A nagging loneliness--the vague longing for one person instead of many--threatened to spoil the happy mood Elmira had been in. She tried to rid herself of the feeling by concentrating on the young boy she had just left .
She was almost home when she heard the moan from the alley that ran behind the delicatessen. She bent over awkwardly on her spike heels and peered into the semi-darkness. As her vision adjusted, she inched her way in, tripped over Dennis, and almost fell. He was sitting on the ground, dressed in women's clothes. He'd been beaten up, she found out later, by someone who thought he was a girl and had found out differently. If the wig hadn't been knocked off his head, Elmira wouldn't have known he was a man. He looked like a high fashion manikin all set for a show window display except for the hair being added. When he refused to let Elmira call the police, she helped him to her apartment and tended his wounds herself.
"My mother will kill me," he moaned. "These are her furs...And now just look at them. Blood all over. It'll never come out."
Elmira, dodging his wild gestures, dabbed at the bruises and cuts with a damp cloth. "Honey, them furs are the least of your worries. You can fool some of the people some of the time, but there's some things you can't fool nobody about none of the time."
A half sly, half pleased look crossed Dennis' face. "I have before. Look." He pulled open his blouse to reveal two huge breasts. He smiled at Elmira's surprise. "They're real. Go ahead, feel them."
Astounded, Elmira reached over and gingerly squeezed a boob. "Well, if that don't beat all. They're bigger than mine."
"Thank you." Dennis buttoned his blouse. "It's the hormone shots, you know."
Elmira was totally confused. "What about the rest of you?"
The smile faded. "That part has to be done yet. I have to have an operation. That's why I got beat up tonight," he said angrily. "He was no gentleman, or he would never have found out. Usually I can keep them from going that far, or the ones I can't don't care by the time they get there."
Still shaking her head, Elmira went down the hall to put clean
sheets on the bed in the spare room.
* * *
Two weeks passed and, during that time, nothing was said about Dennis leaving. When Elmira came home one day and found him unpacking boxes of his belongings, brought from his parents' house, she knew he was there to stay. He rearranged the furniture, painted the walls a baby blue, and hung brightly colored gold framed pictures. He washed windows, scrubbed floors, and sprayed for cockroaches. For dinner, he fixed tasty dishes with fancy French sauces; and at night, after they had both come home, they sat in the living room and sipped wines with names that Elmira couldn't pronounce.
Elmira had never lived in such luxury. The only problem was that all this cost her more than she meant to spend, even with Dennis helping on the expenses. It especially irritated her that he bought good liquor to serve to the men he brought to his room. Sometimes they drank so much that Elmira was sure what he made from the man wasn't enough to cover the cost of the alcohol. Dennis wouldn't admit that he was just as much a hooker as Elmira was. The men were "gentlemen callers," he said, and the money "a gift from my beaux."
"Honey, I don't mean to yell. It's just that I'm trying to save as much as I can for Australia," Elmira tried to explain. She showed him the article in the National Geographic. "Look at that. The plains are full of sagebrush and young men. You can drive for miles and miles and never see a woman. We'll be the only ones." Her eyes took on a faraway look and her voice grew low and dreamy. A smile played about the corners of her mouth. "Why, they have things there like you can't find nowhere else in the world: live teddy bears you can make pets of, and kangaroos with pockets in their bellies to carry their babies in, and whole tribes of little midget colored people--I forget what they call them--so cute you just want to run up and hug them."
"Those are aborigines," Dennis said, thumbing through the magazine, "and they're not midgets. You're thinking of the Pygmies in Africa. There's an article on them in here, too."
But that made no difference to Elmira. What bothered her was that Dennis refused to share the dream with her.
"Not until I get my operation," he said.
"But, honey, you'll never get it, spending money like you do."
"A lady of quality must maintain standards," Dennis said primly. "After all, we do have gentlemen callers coming here."
Elmira groaned. "Aw, honey, those're just tricks. Don'cha see, going with a guy is no different than having dinner. It can be real quick, just to hush the hunger pains, like grabbing a MacDonald's hamburger when you're too busy to do anything else. Or nice and slow, leisurely-like, simply because the food's good. And sometimes maybe even special, with someone you really like, in a nice romantic atmosphere. But you gotta learn which is which. You just don't bring out the wine and turn on the music and light the candles every time you have a Big Mac."
But it didn't do any good. Elmira had to admit, though, Dennis did have class. Why, just let a roach run across the floor! He acted like it was the end of the world. One day she had noticed him scratching and made him lie down on a sheet so she could search his skin with a pair of tweezers.
"Yep!" she cried triumphantly, holding one aloft. "It's crabs!"
Dennis began to tremble. Elmira had to slap his face to keep him from getting hysterical. She hurried into the bathroom and made him rub on the oily liquid she poured into his hand from a bottle of A-200 pesticide. After he had showered and dressed in clean clothes, Elmira reached over and squeezed his hand. "It's an occupational hazard, honey. Why sometimes I've had them for weeks before I found out."
The next morning, while Dennis did the laundry to keep from getting reinfested, Elmira went to a drugstore to replenish her supply of pesticide. She waited patiently until several customers moved away from the counter, then asked the woman clerk for a bottle of A-200.
"Do we have any A-200?" the woman yelled to the druggist at the other end of the store.
The druggist, a little bald man, came running, his face red. "I'll take care of this," he told the woman quietly.
"And then he waited on me," Elmira told Dennis later, "just as if I were a respectable person."
It pleased Elmira to take care of things like this for Dennis. It made her feel needed. She'd never been needed by anyone before. She smiled to herself and tears filled her eyes. She know she could never go to Australia and leave Dennis behind. They had been together too long now, and she loved him too much. There was really only one thing to do: withdraw the money out of her savings account and give it to him for his operation.
"We'll just watch our budget," she said. "In a year or two, with both of us working--that is, with me working and tips from your gentlemen callers--we'll have enough saved again so we can both go to Australia."
Dennis was ecstatic. "Just imagine," he bawled,
"I'll be a twenty-two year old virgin."
* * *
Elmira accompanied Dennis to Chicago, where the operation was performed, and stayed with him until he was well enough to come home. She insisted he stay in bed while she served his meals to him on a tray until, finally, he convinced her that the healing process required a certain amount of exercise. Even then, she followed him about, ready to clutch his arm should he start to fall. It was only after he had managed to sneak his first gentleman caller into the apartment and lose his new virginity that Elmira would believe he was well.
That's when the trouble began. Before the operation, when Dennis was Dennis and not Denise, Elmira had had the advantage. She was a real woman. But now Dennis--Denise--had the advantage, being a real woman and several years younger too. When they went out together, Denise seemed to be embarrassed by her. She constantly criticized Elmira for using too much make-up and wearing flashy clothes. Once, when they went to Jack Robinson's for a late night snack of onion rings, Elmira made a quick dash into an alley to relieve herself. Denise was offended.
"It's not very lady-like squatting there with your knees stuck up in the air like some--some cypress tree," she complained.
Nor did Denise save money as she'd promised. Elmira began to doubt that they'd ever get to Australia. And then something happened that made her forget all about Australia: she found a boyfriend.
One night a transient hotel down the block caught on fire and eleven people died. The police found the ledger, but the names in it were all aliases and families could not be notified. None of the bodies were claimed. After the fire, the city sent inspectors around to check the other buildings in the neighborhood, mostly old two-storied brick structures with laundries, porno bookstores, bars and pawn shops on the first floors and apartments on the top floors.
Elmira was alone when her inspector arrived: a young blond boy just out of college, smelling of soap and new clothes. He eyed Elmira appreciatively, and when she took him into her apartment to inspect it, it was a long time before he came out again.
His name was Rick, and he came back the next night and the night after that.
"I like older women," he told her.
Elmira was happier than she had ever been in her life. She stopped working the streets and got a job tending bar during the afternoon at one of the neighborhood taverns. Denise said very little when Elmira talked to her about Rick. Elmira thought it was because Denise didn't have a special beau of her own or because she was worried that Elmira might want to live with Rick. She assured Denise that there was no reason the three of them couldn't get along together. She started making a special effort to include her when Rick was around.
She and Rick had been going together for three months when Denise surprised them by fixing an anniversary dinner complete with cake and candles. After eating, the three of them moved to the living room. Wine flowed freely. Elmira grew sleepy. Rick and Denise were discussing politics. All Elmira knew about politics was that she had to be more careful about plainclothesmen before elections. She leaned back and smiled as she listened to the two of them. She dozed off, thinking how very happy she was.
When she awoke, the lights had been dimmed and she heard whispering behind her, near Denise's bedroom door. She closed her eyes and listened.
"Do you think we ought to right now?" Rick said. "What if she wakes up?"
"Oh, she won't. She's had a long day. She's older than you think. When she falls asleep, nothing can wake her. Sometimes she snores so loudly, I swear, the room trembles from the very vibrations."
Elmira swallowed several times to hold back the expensive wine that seeped sourly into her throat. Acrid tears burned her eyes as she leapt to her feet and turned to face them. She weaved unsteadily, trying to keep her balance. "I don't sleep so sound that I don't feel a knife when it's stuck in my back by my best friend," she bellowed between sobs.
Denise clasped her blouse where it had been unbuttoned to reveal her full breasts. Her face was white with fear.
Rick grinned foolishly. "Aw, hey, maybe I better go. Why don't we talk about this tomorrow when we're all cooled off a bit?"
Elmira ignored him. "If you want him so bad, take him," she screamed at Denise. "Take him and get out of my apartment."
"It's not what you think," Denise whispered, unable to look her in the eye. "It's not."
"Have you told him about your little secret?" Elmira asked quietly, her voice deadly.
Denise looked up, her eyes wide. "You said you'd never mention that. You promised you'd never tell."
"Then get out."
Their eyes held for a long moment. Finally, taking Rick's arm,
Denise led him out of the apartment. "What secret?"
Elmira heard him ask as she slammed the door after them and sank
to the floor sobbing.
* * *
For the next few weeks, Elmira stayed inside. She had to force herself to eat and bathe. She didn't bother doing the dishes or putting on make-up. When she closed her eyes and tried to see Rick's face, nothing appeared. It was Denise she mourned. Rick didn't matter.
For a while, she listened to the footfalls in the hall, hoping that Denise would come back. Then she gave up listening. Her pain, like the deep ache of a festered tooth, blocked out all other thoughts. She moved listlessly about the apartment, pausing only to caress some object that had belonged to Denise: a ceramic bird found in the Goodwill Thrift Store, a sweater draped over the back of a kitchen chair, the hairbrush on the vanity. At night, she lay on Denise's bed and smelled the scent of her perfume in the pillows.
A month had gone by before the knock on the door came. Denise stood there, her head bowed. Elmira felt a brief surge of hope, followed by despair. Denise had probably come for her things, was all. She figured it was safe now.
"I'll make some coffee," Elmira said.
Denise stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She sat on the sofa and waited until Elmira carried the two mugs into the living room and placed them on the coffee table.
"The apartment is kinda messy," Elmira said. "The roaches came back after you left."
Denise sipped the coffee. Her hand trembled as she put the cup on the table. "He kicked me out the night after we left here," she said. "I was afraid to come back." She looked at Elmira pleadingly. "I guess you never know how much someone means to you until you betray them."
Elmira held her arms out and Denise went to her. They cried for a long time.
"I promise I'll never steal another beau from you ever again," Denise said when they finally separated and began drying their eyes.
Elmira got up and went into the bathroom for a wad of toilet paper. She blew her nose loudly. "We won't have to worry about stealing each other's beaux," she said happily, "We'll have so many we won't know what to do with them. You haven't forgotten about Australia, have you, honey?"
Gary Smith spends all his time away from an eight-hour-a-day office job almost exclusively at his typewriter.
For more stories by Gary Smith, click here.
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