130

Chapter Thirteen

The Bouquet


August 16, 1945

Milwaukee, Wisconsin

1:05 PM

Sopping up the remainder of egg yoke with the last bite of toasted white bread, as Missy, refilling her cup — which Pansy did not want, but thought it rude if she didn’t take, at least, one cautious sip, as the large woman on the other side of the counter turned back to the sink and the few dirty dishes reaming there as, her back to Pansy: “Think Cammy finally found one that’ll make ol’ ‘Elmer’’ happy.”’

Wiping the corners of her mouth with the grease rumpled paper napkin. “By ‘one’, you mean…” tapping her chest “.. me?”

“Wiping her hands on a dirty kitchen towel. “Yeah. Of course, you!”

“This, uh, ‘ Elmer Fudd’ guy? He, uh, like from ‘Loony Tunes’?”

Her breasts not allowing her any closer. Bare elbows bent, resting on the Fermica counter. “You mean like ‘loony’, like in ‘nuts’”… circling an ear with her index finger “... or like that cartoon guy that’s always chasing that ‘waskilly Wabbit?”

Giggling. “No… I don’t know. This Elmer guy, he’ll be my first… You know.”

“ ‘Trick’.” Missy said. “Or around here, Gladdy likes to call it ‘planting’. This’ll be your first planting, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess. — What’s this thing the old lady’s got with all the flower shit?”

“We think… the girls think that she thinks it’s, you know, kind’a gross calling us whores, so better she calls us flowers and gives us all names like you’re Pansy; and the johns, ‘weeds’’. Reaching beneath the counter, taking the pack out, Missy pops two cigarettes from a pack of ‘Chesterfields’ offering one to Pansy, who shakes her head, ‘no’.

“This guy, ‘Elmer’, that you all thinks been waiting for a girl like me; anything I got to worry about? I mean whats his thing with school girls?”

“No…” lighting the cigarette with a wooden kitchen match “... from what I hear, you don’t got anything to worry about, ‘cause he don’t do noting but have you sit on his lap.”

“ ‘That’s it’? I don’t got to blow him, or have to get naked, or nothing?”

Drawing deeply, turning her head to the side exhaling. “Hear different things from different, uh, flowers, but they all say he won’t do nothing to hurt you. He’s really kind’a like a gentleman. A little ‘nuts’…” circling her ear again “… yeah, sure! But he won’t do nothing to hurt you.”

“And I...we get money for that? For just sitting on his lap doing nothing?”

Coughing. Turning her head while coughing. “Yeah.” Missy gasps between gasps of coughing.

“Shit!” Standing, backing from the counter. “All’s I gotta do is sit on a guys lap and get paid for it. Shit! I’ll do that kind’a work all day.”

“I’m sure that ain’t gomma happen, ‘cause Elmer’s a special kind’s weed.” Backing from the counter, taking Pansy’s dirty dish and silverware wit her. “Gotta get 
dinner started. Come on back before you hit the floor, if you wanna, for something to eat.” Missy said. “Wanna see what kind’a get-up Gladys got you in anyway.”

1:42 PM

“Thanks, I might do that.” Passing through the Flower Field’s private door, thinking the key Rosie had given her was also the key to her room’s door, Pansy discovered the door did not have a lock. Entering, she noted that Rosie had carried her suitcase in placing it along side the bed, and was surmised at the neatness of the room containing a double bed, a five drawer ’highboy’ dresser, a nightstand with a shaded lamp having — as she found out later: two light bulbs; one a low wattage pink and the other a white, high wattage, a telephone on a home- made wooden console such as she’d seen in the old ladies room; a leather easy chair and the doors to what she rightfully assumed — Place had to be a hotel at one time —were a clothes closet and a full bathroom.

Neatly positioned upon the rose colored bedspread was a young girls, daily prescribed, private school dress code skirt, blouse, socks and shoes…

Only difference between this… ‘costume’ of a school uniform and that of ‘Holy Trinity Catholic School for Girls’ was the ‘Holy Trinity’ skirt was heavy, black wool coming to seven or so inches above the girl’s ankles while ‘The  House of Flowers’ dark pink, satin like skirt —Margy, AKA Pansy studying it — the lower seam would come to seven or so inches above her knees and three or four inches below her crotch and tight enough to show her ‘camel-toe’. The ‘Trinity’ shirt was — ironed daily — white cotton, while The House of Flowers’ loosely fitted light pink blouse made of the same satin like material; that if asked to go bra-less, would easily show the shape and flow of her heavy breasts. The socks were flowery white anklets and the shoes, one strapped patent-leather ‘Mary-Jane’s’. This what this Elmer Fudd guy wants… Margy, AKA Pansy thought… a fifteen year old slut is what, I guess, he’s going to get.

Having no idea what to do with herself while awaiting that evenings seven-thirty ‘whore call’; neatly laying the House Of Flowers rendition of a fifteen year old girl’s school uniform onto the easy chair, hefting and flopping the suitcase onto the bed, Pansy unpacked her, totally wrinkled, hastily packed suitcase, as wondering if The House of Flowers has some kind of a recreation room — other than the huge, beautifully decorated recreation area where the flowers went while waiting to be ‘planted’ — that had a television.

2:08 PM

Whatever jammed into the suitcase this morning now either jammed into the top two drawers of the Highboy dresser or hanging on five of the seven wire hangers she’d discovered in the closet.

There being nothing else that required her attention, and having nowhere to go and nothing to do when she got there, fluffing the three pillows that had been placed by whoever had made the bed, positioning them front to back onto the fabric covered headboard— that jiggling her body forward and back did not rattle as did hers in the apartment, especially while her and Tony Buzzanka were performing their morning ‘quickie’ routine that b were becoming quicker.

Kicking her shoes off, sitting upright on the bed with her back resting comfortably upon the pillows. Looking about the room that was to, or now has become her home. Sensing weariness, Margery Binkowski, AKA Margy Binkowski, AKA Pansy momentarily reflecting on this life changing day:

Something on the radio about a really big bomb dropped somewhere in Japan; Socking Sister Mary Benedict in her belly, knocking her on her fat ass… Thinking: Jesus Christ ain’t going to forgive me for that pretty soon; And this Elmer Fudd guy, that everyone says ain’t going to hurt me. Pansy’s eyelids flickering as, her last conscious thought: Going to get paid for fucking from now-on.

Later… That afternoon, meeting in the ‘Flower Field’s’, restaurant?” — including huge busted Missy— four of the eleven ‘blossoming’ flowers had been informed by Rosie that, “A new flower; a…” emphatically stated “... ‘young’ new flower would be joining the ‘bunch’ today, and that they should be nice to her.”

‘Nice…’” ‘Zinnia’ (Zinnie)— tall and thin, the beautiful, platinum haired twenty year old woman appearing to be totally, or near totally breastless— facetiously said “...we’re ‘always’ nice! Ain’t we ladies?”

“Yeah, Rosie…” Camellia (Cammy) — the shapely, though big butted black woman, loudly proclaiming “… we're always nice! Ain’t we ladies?”

A ‘young new flower’, huh. Rosie?” Iris (Iris) asked. “She been in the, uh, business on her own?”

“You ought to know, Iris. I’m thinking it was you that gave her our card.”

Thinking a moment. “Kind’a good looking, kind of a blonde, big titted kid I met in a bar a few days ago?”

“That’s her?”

“Gladdy seen her yet?”

“Yeah.”

“She convince the old lady she’s eighteen?”

“Don’t know… Not our business.” Sipping the last of his coffee. “Guess so.”

“I get a commission out’a her trade maybe, Rosie?”

Effective manager of the ‘House of Flowers Floral Shop’, and thoroughly effective peace keeper and bouncer at ‘The house of flowers’. “Fat chance’a that.”

“Yeah, I know.” Iris said, dipping a french fry into a bit of remaining ketchup on her plate. “Just askin’.”

4:45 PM

Jarred awake by a sharp rapping on the door. “Yeah.” Jerking the pillow that she’d pulled from beneath her head, held now from between her thighs. Attempting to acclimate herself. — The sharp knocking. “Yeah! ‘Yeah’, I’m coming!” Shifting her bare feet from the bed to the floor, padding to and opening the door.

“Hi!” Holding her right hand forward. “Remember me?”

Without a trace of facial makeup, wearing jeans, a ‘V’ neck sweater and sandals, the mildly attractive woman, appearing to be in her mid-twenties said: “The ‘Blue Cocktail’ ”

Dawning. This somewhat common looking lady not equating to the beauty she’d met in the bar. Taking hold of her hand. “Oh, yeah...” Pansy said “...you’re the lady, gave me the number here.”

“That’s me.” Padding her chest. “I’m Iris.”

‘Yeah. And me, I’m, uh, Pansy.”

“Yeah, I know. Some of the girls and me, we’re having an early dinner before we get made up to hit the floor, so I came to get you.”

“Yeah, I’d like to!” Turning back. “G’me a second to put shoes on and get money.”

“Nah, no need. Rosie gave Missy your information an’ she’s got an account set up for you.”

Entering the ‘Flower Field’ through the private doorway, as Pansy followed Iris, the old man sitting at the counter turned from his pot-roast ‘Special’ to look at the two as they approached, then passing, rotated the stool seat to watch their backsides. “That young one’s got some fine ass there…” he sad to Missy, who’d come with the pot to warm the man’s coffee. “Think it’s too early for me to get… nodding his head to the left “... in there?”

“O’mally…” the man a known customer of both the restaurant and ‘house’ “… Pansy, the young one’s on a special tonight. You want Iris, call Miss Gladdy and make an appointment or watch for her on the floor.”

Approaching the table on the far side, one of four chairs vacant, two of the three women there moved closer to make room for a fifth chair that one of the three pulled from an adjoining table, making room for Pansy.

Pulling the vacant chair out, sitting. “This here’s Pansy.” Iris said.

Glancing from face to face, for an unknown reason sensing a kinship of sorts. Sitting. “Hi!” Pansy said, pulling her chair closer to the table.

Nodding her head, “Glad to meet’j’ya..” the black lady said, “...I’m Cammy.”

“Short for, uh…?”

Good naturadly : “ ‘ Camellia’, of course.”

"Of course!”

“And me.;I’m Zinniie.” Giggling, “Short for Zinnia.”

“Zinniie/Zinnia?” Pansy asked. “Don't your, uh. Weeds sometimes get confused?”

“Shit, baby girl. So long’s they be nice to me and pay, don’t give a good fuck what they call me.”

"And me…” slightly rising off the chair in greeting “...I’m ‘Vi’, short for violet; ‘cause I guess…” scrubbing her fingers through her unruly reddish  hair.

“And you know me.” Iris said.

“Yeah.” Laughing. “what’s your name stand for?”

“ ‘Iris’. Guess the old lady couldn’t figure what to call me for short, so…” patting her chest “...guess I’m just plain ol’, ‘Iris’.”

Never accepted by any of the girls she’d met in school because they all had, rightfully thought, Margery Binkowski a slut letting the boys feel her up for a dime, and as she, and the boys became older for much more than a dime, and if she let them see her breasts… ‘Wow’! They’d stand in line with their quarters tightly held in their sweaty hands.

Now, though, with these four women. These four adult women that she had just met Margy, AKA Pansy felt the warm glow of female friendship; felt as though she belonged.

Coming from behind, standing alongside.“Pansy, you be want’n something to eat?”

Twisting her body, looking upward. “No, thanks. Just a bit nervous about…” gesturing towards the private doorway leading to The House of Flowers “...you know.”

“Shit!” Zinnie said. “Ya’ gotta eat somethin’ healthy! Like fries, do ya?”

“Yeah. Who don’t like fries?”

“Missy, rustle us up an order of your fries…”

“An’ onion rings, too… Vi said “... an’ put it on my tab.”

“Yeah, and some bottles’a ‘Coke’, too.” Cammy said, looking from Missy to Pansy. “You like ‘Coke’ ?”

“Yeah, sure. Who don’t like ‘Coke?”

“I’ll pay for them five Coke’s Missy.” The black lady said.

“So…” Pansy asked, nodding her head to the right. “... how’s it work here?”

“Here’s the best ‘house’ I ever hustled at.” Zinnie said. “Rosie’s always around to bounce — and I mean, ‘break bones’ bounce any asshole out'a here that does anything to hurt us.”

“Or pushes to hard to make us do somethin’ we don’t wanna.” Iris said.

“Yeah…” Cammy said “...Rosie’s the boss’a the store — takes care’a the flowers out there, an’…” motioning about “...us in here.”

“Money, what do we…” About to ask, ‘what do we charge’ ,when…

“Here ya go!” Returning to the five women, Missy, placed a large tray holding a bowl of french fried potatoes, a bowl of fried onion rings, a small bowl overflowing with Ketchup and— straws stiffly standing from all, five bottles of ‘Coke-a-Cola’ onto the table between Pansy and Iris.

5:22 PM

Poking a fry into the ketchup, biting it in half and poking it in again. “You was going to ask ‘bout how we charge.”

Removing the straw… “Yeah.” Drinking directly from the bottle. “How do we know how much we’re supposed to ask for doing, uh, whatever the, uh, weed wants us to, and what if it’s something we, I, don’t want to do?”

“Yeah…” dipping an onion ring into the ketchup, Zinnie said “...and what happens to the moo-la? Like…” biting into it “... does the weed pay us directly or Gladdy.”

“Yeah.” The Coke bottle in one hand and an onion ring in the other. “How’s this whole thing here work, and what happens if some son-of-a-bitch wants me do some really fucking bad thing, or gets rough with me?”

"Pansy…” Cammy said “… hang around here long enough an’ what’ch’ya think's a ‘bad thing’ now, might not think so’s bad later.”

“An’ don’t worry ‘bout what to charge and if some fucker gets rough;

remember Rosie’s always near by when you’re in trouble with a weed, all’s ya gotta do’s push the red button that phone thing on your night stand an’ he’ll be through your door like…”

“...a bat out’a hell…” interrupting Iris, Vi said “...an’ if he don’t look scary enough to do it, he’s got that .38 police special tucked into his back belt.”

About to take another drink, putting the bottle onto the table, “A gun!” Pansy said. “You…” glancing about the table “...ever see him have to us it?”

“Nah.” Looking at Pansy. “You think Rosie’s scary enough just looking at him, do you?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You ever have to push that red button an’ he comes crashing through your door…” Zinnie asked “...You ever see the movie, “Frankenstein?”

Nodding her head. “Yeah.”

“That Frankenstein monster look scary to you?”

“Yeah! Scared the shit out’a me.”

“That’s just about how a weed feels that’s forcin’ you to do anything you don’t wanna.” Looking about the table, pointing to the one remaining onion ring; when the four either shake their heads or shrugs their shoulders, Zinnie takes it.

“An’ ya don’t gotta worry ‘bout what to charge.” Vi said. “Look in your nightstand drawer an’ there’s a ‘Fuck Sheet’ pad that you’ll check off all ya two done — like, ya’ know, just fuckin’ or ya give the guy a blow job, an’ how longs he been with ya, an’ if ya done somethin’ special, an’ the weed’ll have to pay Rosie afore he gets out’a the door.”

 "Then…” Iris adds “...Rosie gives the cash and the weeds receipts to Gladdy at the end’a the night, and she figures what each of us made…”

“Including any tips we got…” taking the one remaining overly fried fri, scrubbing it through the Ketchup bowl removing the remaining red

smudge, pops it into her mouth “...an’ puts it on our ledger sheet, then on Saturday mornings, we get paid a commission…”

“A ‘commission’, Vi?” Pansy asked distastefully. “Like we’re sales people working in a store like, uh, Macy's selling, like, bras and panties?”

“Yeah, kind’a.” Iris says. “Gladdy pays us twenty percent of whatever we make in the week…”

“But remember we got a nice place to live and Rosie for protection and a food discount, here…” motioning about “... at ‘The Flower Field.”

Interrupting Vi, who had interrupted Iris. “An’ if ya ain’t never done, whatchamacallit: ‘freelancing’, having a nice place to live and a tough guy like Rosie to protect ya, getting twenty percent for fucking and other stuff we do, ain’t too bad.”

5:43 PM

Stopping as two uniformed policemen entered the ‘Flower Field’. Seeing the five women, the older cop taped the brim of his cap in greeting, as both headed towards the counter for their dinner.

Finishing the rest of her soda. “How’s about…” nodding her head “...them?”

“Cops?” Zinnie asked.

“Yeah. We don’t get hassled by them?”Pansy asked.

The empty Coke bottle on the table before her, spinning it in a tight circle. “Nah...” Cammy said “...we never get bothered by those guys ‘cause Gladdy graft’s ‘em plenty to stay out of the house an’ leave us all be.”

“Cops never come in look’n’ for a free-be?”

“Nah. Ain’t in Gladdys rules. Those two…” nodding towards the counter and the two policemen “… probably turned a promotion down to keep this route, ‘cause Gladdy probably pays ‘em twice their cops salary.”

“Also..” Vi, adds “...what’s Rosie supposed to do if one’a them fuckers gets rough with one’aus; have a shoot-out with a cop?”

“Know what?” Looking at her Timex, nudging Pansy. “Think it’s time to be heading back for a shower and nap before Weeds start comin’ in.”

Vi, Cammy, Zinnie pull from the table following Iris’s lead.

Steps behind the four older women, glancing over her shoulder, Pansy gave Missy a half wave as she placed plates of food before the two policemen.

___________________________________________________
 

141

Chapter Fourteen

Stuart Carlin