"Take us to one of those special shows, driver."
"Si, senor."
"Wait!" Ruth shouted, jerking up straight in the seat.
"What's wrong, honey?"
"I can't go, Elliott. I just can't do it."
"I thought we'd already decided."
"But what if I'm the only American woman there? Oh, I'd be embarrassed to death!"
"I hadn't thought of that." Elliott leaned forward. "Driver, do many people like us go to these shows?"
"Many, senor," the driver assured.
"How big a crowd is there, usually?"
"No crowd. You and your lady will be the only watchers. Very private shows. Any kind you want see."
"What do you think, Ruth?"
"Just the two of us?"
"Yes, ma'am," the driver said, turning to look at her.
"Where?"
"In a room. Just you and your gentleman… and the performers of your choice, of course."
"Oh that sounds altogether too intimate," she protested weakly.
The driver shrugged. "You'll be at one end of the room, on a couch; the performers will be on the bed at the other end of the room."
"It sounds safe enough," Elliott said.
"Si. Thousands of couples like you have seen such shows. They are very popular with American couples."
"It's entirely up to you, honey," Elliott said.
"It still sounds awfully intimate that way."
"It sounds like the best possible way to see a show like that, as far as I'm concerned. Nothing could be more private."
"Very private," the driver said.
Ruth sat back. "All right. Let's go."
The taxi left the well-lighted main street and for about five minutes Ruth and Elliott sat holding hands in silence, watching the darkened buildings slip past them. They left the paved streets and onto dirt ones, the buildings growing smaller and shabbier and the milling tourists disappearing entirely. The area they were moving into was well off the beaten path, and Ruth and Elliott grew somewhat nervous. "Where are you taking us?" Elliott demanded. "To a private club, senor. We are almost there."
"Why is it so far away from the main part of town?"
"These shows are not exactly legal."
"Oh my God!" Ruth gasped. "The police… is there any danger of a raid?"
The driver laughed. "No danger. The police know. They bother nothing so long as the owner pays and leaves his club where it is."
Ruth put her face close to Elliott, whispering, "Remember that for your book."
He nodded, patting her arm as the cab bounced to a stop in front of a building which appeared to be empty. "It looks like an old store building."
Many taxis were parked along both sides of the narrow dirt street. The driver shut off his lights and engine. Darkness enveloped them instantly, but they could hear music coming from the building. Ruth and Elliott sat stiffly as the driver got out and came around the cab to open the door for them.
"Come on. I take you in. I wait for you… take you back to town when you're ready."
"I'm not as brave as I thought," Ruth whispered.
"You want to back out?" Elliott asked, half hoping that she would.
"No. We're here. Let's go in." She laughed nervously. "I'm more curious than yellow, I guess."
"Nothing to worry about," the driver said.
"He keeps saying that," Ruth mumbled, letting Elliott help her from the cab, her dress hiking up her legs nearly to her hips, giving the driver a good view of her creamy thighs.
"He ought to know, honey."
"I suppose," she said, standing on the dirt street, smoothing her dress. "My mind believes him… wish my stomach would too."
The driver shut the taxi door and hurried past them to knock on the heavy door to the building. Like something out of the American Twenties, a small door within the door opened and a serious male face peered out. The face recognized the taxi driver. The door swung open to admit them, the music loud as it rushed out with a gust of smoky, perfume-laden air.
The driver smiled and motioned for them to enter. Elliott cleared his throat. Ruth clutched his hand, holding it tightly, walking close to him on unsure legs as they went inside.
It was a bar, very dimly lit and fairly large, with tables at one end of the room and chairs along a wall. The chairs faced the long bar. Girls sat in the chairs, smoking and talking, eyeing the men, mostly American soldiers, who sat at the bar. The girls all had one thing in common – they were pretty and young and eager.
"This way, please," the driver said, motioning them to follow him to the table area.
Still clutching his hand securely, Ruth moved alongside Elliott toward the tables. She felt a thousand eyes boring holes all over her body. They had to walk between the girls in the chairs and the men at the bar. The men eyed her up good, but none of them made a pass or said anything out of the way. Strangely, it was the girls who bothered Ruth. Some of them glared at her fabulous shape with envy; some of them appeared amused at her presence; but one girl in particular upset Ruth.
"Hello, baby," the Mexican girl said in a throaty voice, her young eyes dancing with more than casual interest as Ruth swept past. "You want make some hot love with me?"
Ruth glanced at her, feeling suddenly dizzy as she looked into the soft, smiling face. The girl couldn't have been more than eighteen, and she was as beautiful as any Hollywood starlet. The girl pursed her full lips and rubbed teasingly at her loins.
Her mouth hanging open in shock, her knees threatening to buckle at any second, Ruth ripped her gaze from the hungry-eyed girl and hurried Elliott on toward the tables.
The taxi driver pulled out a chair for Ruth, holding it and easing it to the table as she sat down. Somehow his mannerly act made her a bit less apprehensive, but she noticed her voice quavering as she mumbled, "Thank you."
The driver stood patiently, smiling as Elliott seated himself. "I get the manager for you. You want a drink, maybe?"
"I think we've had enough to drink already," Elliott said.
"One more, please," Ruth said, taking Elliott's hand under the table. "I need it for my nerves."
Ruth's hand was damp and trembling. Elliott gave it a reassuring squeeze and nodded to the driver.
As the driver walked away, Ruth asked, "Elliott, what kind of place is this?"
Watching a girl lead a grinning soldier in from the hallway at the back, he said, "Don't look now, sweetheart, but I think we're in a Mexican whorehouse."
Ruth's eyes grew wide and her breath sucked in harshly. A shudder passed through her. "In a whorehouse?"
"I think so. I guess it's the logical place really, considering the type of show we came to see."
"I'm scared, Elliott. We shouldn't be here."
"No, we shouldn't. But since we're here, we might as well stay and see the show, don't you think?"
"I don't know what to think. I'm not thinking very well tonight – period. All I seem able to do is feel, and right now I feel threatened."
"How so?"
"For God's sake, Elliott… sitting here in a whorehouse… with all those men? I am a woman, you know."
Elliott chuckled. "And the best-looking one in the place."
"What if one of those men tries to…?"
"Relax, darling. They wouldn't dare. You're a customer."
"I don't like it. It makes me nervous!"
"You'll be all right when we get in the private room."
"I suppose… but I feel so strange."
"Yeah, me too," Elliott admitted.
Then the bartender was standing beside their table, asking, "What would you folks like to drink?"
"I'll have another margarita," Ruth whispered to Elliott.
"Two margaritas, please."
"One for your driver?" the bartender asked, pointing to the bar where the driver sat waiting for them.
"Of course," Elliott said. "Give him whatever he wants."
"Your driver has spoken to the manager. He said to tell you he'd he with you shortly."