“No, I beg your pardon,” I said, “we’re one hundred dollars an hour.” I was bragging, of course, but we felt like society ladies against those human dregs.
She didn’t want to appear jealous, so she said, “Hey, buddy,” nudge again, “hope you got your old man waiting outside to get you out.” “What’s an old man?” I asked, because I wasn’t familiar with street-hooker terminology in those days. “A pimp, don’t you have a pimp?” shove, push.
She was really knocked out when I didn’t know what a pimp was, much less have one waiting outside. I wished she would shut up, because this talk was bugging me, and I kept wondering what had become of my life. A year ago I was expecting to be married and settled down, and today I was in a dirty cell with twenty sleazy streetwalkers.
“Leave her alone,” Georgette said; “she’s new to this.” And about that time they called us into the courtroom.
There in the audience was Carter, my banker date – sober now – who had been considerate enough to come down and learn what was happening.
Then the lawyer Georgette had engaged for us, who was a relative of the judge, stood up and said his piece. I didn’t understand the proceedings too well, but he must have been very competent, because I heard the judge say, “Case dismissed.”
We all went downstairs for a milkshake and a sandwich and met the lawyer and Carter. I thanked them both, and I engaged Carter as my banker, which he is to this day.
Then I went uptown to collect my torn addresses from Georgette’s laundry, and on to my house, where I drew the curtains and slept for fifteen hours to forget what had been one of the worst nights of my life.
8. PUERTO RICO
It was February, and New York was bitter cold and buried in slush. I was in no mood to work. The arrest was still on my mind and had left me feeling low.
I was fed up with the whole business of johns, madams, and cops, and the professional environment in general.
I was also lonely, to tell you the truth, because I had split with my last boyfriend, Paul, and everybody else I knew was off to Puerto Rico for Washington’s Birthday. I needed to hang loose, breathe free, get lost, take a trip. To hell with it, I’d go to Puerto Rico, too.
I’d never been there before, so I called Pan Am, and they could squeeze me on a flight that was leaving JFK in two hours if I could make it. I didn’t even bother to pack properly. I put on a summer dress under my winter coat, and a few essentials in my hand luggage – toothbrush, face creams, diaphragm, and vibrator. I could easily buy what else I needed there.
There was enough cash in the house for a round-trip ticket, with $300 left for three days, which was all I expected to stay, at the time.
I paid for my ticket at the airport, and the minute the plane took off I felt better. I looked forward to having some groovy experiences, because I mix easily and have no trouble communicating with people. I believe that’s one of the reasons I don’t need to drink or smoke cigarettes or grass – I get naturally stoned on good company.
I was looking forward to a weekend of fun. Work, thank God, was the farthest thing from my mind.
It was hot when we landed in San Juan, people walking around suntanned and everything looking sensational. I took a taxi from the airport to the Racquet Club, where some friends were staying, and tried to get a room.
“Forget it, miss,” the clerk said. “We can’t even rent you a phone booth.” This was one of their biggest weekends, and every New York Jew and his uncle Max was in town. So I located my friends, and they invited me to sleep over on their sofa, which was cramped, and slightly uncomfortable, but what the hell, it was for a few days only.
Next day I bought a dress, some sandals, and a bikini at the boutique and arranged myself near the pool. The place was overrun with pretty people, mostly couples, but plenty of Jewish American Princesses in their wigs and false eyelashes stalking the few single men around.
Still I had a lot of fun meeting people, swimming, sunbathing,. and joining the crowd in the afternoons at Fiddler’s Green bar for piñas coladas, gossip, and dinner arrangements.
For the entire three days the pattern was pleasant, but so far I had not met anyone who turned me on, and the hot sun was making me hornier than usual. I realized we were near the Virgin Islands, but this celibacy was ridiculous.
On the last afternoon I met a man named Henry Carter, a nice blond Christian gent from New Hampshire, who had just gotten off the plane and planned to spend a whole week in Puerto Rico. Being half-Jewish myself, I usually prefer Jewish men as straights, but with so many of them around, Henry made a nice change.
He was tall, attractive, intelligent, sensitive, and charming; and after we talked and walked for a while, he invited me to have dinner with him.
That night he took me to romantic Old San Juan, where we ate a delicious Spanish meal, walked through the narrow cobblestoned streets, and stopped in a quaint little bar to listen to flamenco guitar music. Then Henry took me home to his room in Carmen’s guest house, and we made marvelous love, after which he suggested I move into his room and spend the next week with him.
That night I brought my things from the Racquet Club to Carmen’s cozy guest house and fell madly in love with Henry, forgetting all about returning.to New York.
The next week was beautiful. We rented a little Volkswagen and drove all over the island together. We made love whenever and wherever we could. On isolated beaches, in the woods, under trees, everywhere.
Henry’s cock was tremendous and constantly pulsing with desire. We would make love three and four times in a row, and I would want to do for him things I won’t do for every man. I would eat him and swallow his sperm all the way, and I even wanted to have him Greek style, except he was simply too large for that.
After lovemaking we would always talk and laugh and really feel we were in love. It’s the most beautiful thing there is, and it’s a pity it never lasts forever. When you’re fantastically happy, time passes too quickly. Suddenly it was Monday again, and Henry had to leave.
It was time for me to go back also, because it had now been ten days since I impulsively set out for a long weekend, but I wasn’t ready to leave. I liked it in San Juan, I felt good, and I looked good. I was as brown as a little walnut, my hair was streaked gold from the sun, and I was enjoying my life for the first time in months.
Why should I exchange the sea and the sun in San Juan for the cold and the hassle of New York? I could work just as easily here. I was lucky that I was in a profession which allows me employment no matter where I am.
Although I had been straight since I’d been in Puerto Rico, I had noticed all the potential business hanging around the casinos, the beaches, and the bars.
There was only one obstacle. I had never approached a man on my own before, having always worked through a madam, but I figured there couldn’t be anything too difficult about putting together a good sales pitch.
That’s one thing I can do well, actually. No matter what business I’ve been in when I was straight, I’ve always been a good saleswoman, and actress.
So I sadly said good-bye to Henry, and before he went he paid another week’s rent for me at the guest house. We made plans to meet again in New York. He called me twice but somehow we never did get together.
That morning I got into my bikini and went over to the beach in front of the Americana Hotel to relax and think about my plans. I would have liked to leave a respectable amount of time between farewelling my lover and getting down to business, but I had to be practical because I was down to my last few dollars.
I was tossing up whether I should try to make some money that night when luck came my way out of the clear blue sky.
It was Mr. Schwartz, sitting not twenty yards away from me, sunning himself with Mrs. Schwartz. I could tell it was Mrs. Schwartz because they looked identical, the way two people do when they have lived together one hundred years.