49

Chapter Fifteen

The First ‘Trick’

August 16, 1945

Milwaukee, Wisconsin

8:45PM

“Told you before, Jack…” grabbing the thug by his shirt front, ripping three buttons off “...you treat our flowers like ladies!” Twisted and forced onto the floor, onto his ass and — bounce-walking the bleeding man to the door and, opening it with one hand as— jerking him forward, ripping two more buttons, Rosie sent Sven Hanson sprawling onto the street.

Returning flowers speaking to weeds that were in the process of ‘picking’ them, stopping their negotiations to watch as Rosie dragged Sven Hanson across the floor, throughout the room and out the door… then, within seconds hearing the gunshot.

Her stomach jumping, “Rosie…” Pansy Fearfully asked an approaching flower “...he shoot him?”

Spotting him and rushing to a known ‘hi-tip’, weed. “Nah!” Slowing a bit. “Scared the shit out’a him, though.” The flower known as ‘Lie’ (Lilac) called over her shoulder…

As Pansy, still looking towards the doorway, watched while Rosie reentered alongside a respectable appearing, mature man— if not for a jagged, diagonal scar going from within his gray/white hairline into his left eyebrow— somewhat handsome man, that now, following the direction of Rosie’s pointed finger; nodding a ‘thanks’ ;navigating about weeds, flowers and furniture. approaching...

Standing as the man came closer: Elmer Fudd? Thinking, With that scar more like an old Errol Flynn.

Straightening her back, clamping her… Damned stupid skirt... fully exposed knees, forcing a smile.

“Hello, there.” Holding his hand forward. “I’m, eh…” Thinking, ‘When in Rome’ “...Elmer.” Surprised at the girl’s tight grip. “And Rosie…” nodding his head backward “...said you are, uh, Pansy?”

Looking ‘anything’ other than what Pansy had imagined. The man is tall and slim and well dressed, giving the appearance of sophistication. His grayish-white hair telling Pansy he was…? Maybe into his late fifties or early sixties.

Studying her; immediately aware this girl was ‘exactly’ what he wanted. What he ‘needed’.

“ ‘Elmer’? ‘You’re’ Elmer Fudd!”

Distastefully answering, “Yeah. Guess that’s that’s the name they gave me."

Thinking, Good looking old guy. As...

Releasing her hand. “Pretty little thing, aren’t you!” Certainly not asked as a question, but unaware...

The feel of his hand had been dry and cool. For some unknown reason feeling good held within the man’s hand , such as the hand of a father. Not ‘her’ father, but ‘a father’.

What do whores do? Having no idea how to proceed; to stand here, in the reception area getting to know each other before going off to do…? Or to immediately invite him into her room.

‘Pretty little thing, aren’t you’? “Uh…” attempting to answer his question, if it was a question “… oh, this.” Putting pressure against the sides of her chest, while moving both upper forearms along the sides of the pink satin blouse, accentuating the size and shape of both breasts; however the size and shape of this girl’s breasts — absolutely unknown to her, were the last thing on this man’s mind— and further down her hips and the sides of the tightly stretched pink skirt, stopping at Pansy’s, not quite, fifteen year old rather knobby knees, which … Absently tracing the scar upon his forehead with one finger, was exactly what this sophisticated, somewhat gray
haired, nicer looking older man wanted.

In no way fearful. Liking the looks of this, in her opinion, old man, Pansy was more than willing, and ready to go to her room and to do whatever the man wanted her to do, or to do to her. Matter of fact, she was looking forward to doing it, whatever ‘it’ was.

However, motioning to one of the settees, “Let’s sit awhile.” The man Pansy knew as Elmer Fudd suggested.

“Sure want to get off my feet anyway.”

Taking her elbow... “Shoes hurting you, huh?”  ...steering her towards one of the few available small sofas.

“Yeah!” Bending, removing one than the other, and walking—non whore like— flat footed. “Couldn’t wait till I got them, now hate ‘em.”

Second time in a half hour I’d been asked to ‘sit for awhile’. Not knowing the way of a whore. “If you wan to, we can sit for a while, unless you’d rather go to my room?”

“No. Unless you are, I’m in no hurry tonight.” Noting her hesitation, knowing why. “Not to worry, uh, Pansy.” Reaching into his jacket pocket, the man known as Elmer Fudd, unrolled a ten  dollar bill from a tightly wound roll of bills. Holding his arm up, catching Rosie’s eye.

“Evening. Elmer!”

Handing the ten to Rose. “Like to spend a little more time with this, uh, young lady.”

“Sure.” Taking the ten, Rose rolled it into his own large roll. Looking at the girl known as Pansy. “You have a good time! ‘Hear’?” The word, ‘hear’ meaning: even if you’re not, ‘pretend’!

Nodding her head, the stiletto heel shoes held in one hand, her other held in Elmer’s hand, walking flat footed, Pansy was led to a vacant settee.

Sitting, angled to the right to better face Elmer, the girl’s knees together, her legs spread from side truly giving the appearance of a not yet fifteen year old girl.

“You’re really a beautiful girl, you know.” Studying Margery Binkowski’s face...A long few seconds passing. “Really! Strictly between you and me, how old are you?”

Liking this man, wanting to say the truth, but, ”Eighteen!” Pansy said.

Inching closer. Taking hold of the tails of the thin, black kerchief about her neck, pulling her head closer to his, his mouth but inches from hers…”

“I was told, unless I want to, I never have to kiss any of my, uh…”

“ ‘Tricks’.”

“Yeah.”

“Would you like me to kiss you, then?”

A man! Not a boy or a pretend man like Tony Buzzanka, but a real, good looking older man… further thinking, with money. Margery’s heart jumping, “Yes.” thinking, I would!.

Lips touching… lightly. Not the impassioned kiss Margery Binkowski expected, more the kiss of a father to his child.

Sixty year old man and, near, fifteen year old girl’s lips holding without lip parted, tongue touching passion! Or possibly just a means of ‘meeting’ each other.

Coming from somewhere deep within, what Margery sensed was daughter to father love, that oddly sent a serge of passion induced moisture to her previously dry vagina.

Parting, once again the mid-sixty year old man intently studying the girl’s face. “You know…” he said “...before, when I said you’re beautiful it wasn’t a ‘line’.”

“I guess in a whore house a guy don’t need a ‘line’, just money.”

Chuckling: “Yeah, that’s true , but I meant it. Whores get a look about them; a hardness. And you…?”

“Haven’t had a chance to get hard…” giggling “...that’s your job.”

Tonight’s your first night here, huh?”

“Don’t know if I’m supposed to tell you, but yes. And you’re my first, uh…?

“ ‘Trick’.” Elmer Fudd prompted.

“Well, earlier, there was this filthy guy…” shuddering “...that Rosie threw out, maybe even shot him.”

“So, I’ll be your first…”

Not wanting Elmer to think that for his money he’ll be getting someone with no experience… for his money, that is. “So you know, mister ‘smarty-pants…” — not exactly what an experienced whore might say— “...I ain’t all that innocent…”

“Kids in school?”

Tone of voice making it sound as an insult. “Yeah, the bigger ones. Then when I got older, had this eighteen year old boyfriend, uh, Tony and we…”

Caressing the side of her face with the back of his fingers; causing the nerves in girl’s back to tingle. “How much older?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you had this ‘Tony’, this eighteen year old boyfriend you told me you were fucking, just now you said, ‘when you were older’. So I asked, ‘how old were you when you were fucking Tony?”

Careful here, the near fifteen year old girl thought, don’t get screwed up. “Seventeen…” shrugging her shoulders “...eighteen.”

“Never professionally, though?”

“You mean get paid for it?”

The man’s eyes going to her bare knees. "Yes.”

“Well, once there was this twelve year old kid, gave me his pack of ‘Twinkies’ for a blow-job in the coat room. But his dick was so small, I had to pinch it between my finger tips to get it to my mouth.”

“Really, ‘that’ tiny, huh?”

“Yeah, Elmer, but I liked his ‘Twinkies’.”

“Tell you what…” conspiratorially looking about “...if you promise not to tell anyone, my names ‘Stuart’.”

“Okay, if you promise, I’ll promise. My name’s really Margery, ‘Margy’ if you want.”

“Thank you, ‘Margey’, and, ‘really’, you’re ‘not’ eighteen, are you?”

When no answer coming, the man’s eyes leaving ‘Margery’s’ face, once alighting on, and staring at her closely pressed bare knees as...

Seconds passing. The man’s eyes taking a half lidded glaze. The tempo of his breath quickening.

“Know what, Margey?”

“What?”

                                                 Next

                                       London, England

                                                 1940

                                             The Blitz