“Gosh,” Llona said. “You’ve thought of everything. It’s sure nice of you to trust me this way.”
“To trust you? Ah, yes, I see what you mean. Well, my dear, there’s really no risk involved. Much as I hate to bring up the sordid side of our profession, I think I should tell you that my investment in you is completely insured by-ah--the powers that be.”
“The powers that be?”
“The Syndicate.” Mrs. Cartwright spoke in hushed tones. “They see to it that our young ladies remain scrupulous in matters of money and that they follow all the rules. It pains me to discuss it, but they can be distressingly brutal when a girl strays from our proscribed practices. I recall one sweet young thing—a little, Southern blonde girl with the most ladylike airs—-who attempted to lie about some of the fees she received. They say she’ll be able to see again in time, but she’ll never get rid of those horrible acid scars on her face. It just doesn’t pay to break our little rules. The consequences can be so distasteful.”
Llona shuddered. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Cartwright, I’ll follow all the rules!” she said fervently.
“Of course you will. I can see that you’re an honest, obedient girl just by looking at you. Don’t you fret about it. Put it out of your mind. Such things rarely have anything to do with our calling. It’s just that it’s wise to be aware of what the consequences of greed can be. Now, about our business arrangements.
“First, whichever room you take will have a telephone. I will be notified of the number. You may give the number to friends of yours if you wish, but under no circumstances are you to give it to anybody you meet through business. None of your customers will ever contact you directly. All your assignments will come from me, and I will give you your instructions as to where to go and who to see and what to charge.
“Secondly, about payment. As a rule your fee will be twenty-five dollars for a call, one hundred dollars for the whole night. For special assignments, it may run higher; and if this is the case, I will inform you in advance. Sometimes you may answer a call and the customer may ask you to spend the entire night although the original understanding was just for a visit. It’s all right to stay the entire evening in that case, but you must report the change in assignment to me and—naturally—you must collect the nightly rate.
“Thirdly, the manner in which your fees are split. Once a week you will report here with a little book in which you will keep a record of your assignments. I will have a corresponding record. At that time, you will deliver to me sixty percent of your earnings. You keep forty percent——as well as any tips which the customers may see fit to give you. However, you are not to solicit such tips. It gives the business a bad name. If they are the expressions of gratitude, we don’t mind. But we don’t want our clientele wheedled the way a cab driver wheedles an out-of-town customer. Except for your tips, naturally, all your earnings must be reported. This includes any future appointments you may make with a client.
“Now, is everything clear?”
Llona assured her that it was.
“Then I’ll bid you good evening, my dear. Remember to keep the appointments I’ve made for you. I’ll call you sometime tomorrow.”
“Good night, Mrs. Cartwright, and thank you.” Llona closed the door to the brownstone quietly behind her. The first of the addresses Mrs. Cartwright had given her was only a few blocks away. Llona walked there and was given a neat, clean, private room with a bath and a telephone. No questions were asked. She tumbled eagerly between the crisp, white sheets and fell asleep immediately. She slept soundly and dreamlessly.
It was a little before eight o’clock when she awoke. She dressed hurriedly and went down to the bus depot to retrieve her grip. She brought it back to the room and immediately left again to keep her appointment with the hairdresser. She emerged with her hair a few shades lighter and teased into a chic Italian fashion. She just had time for a quick lunch and then went on to the dress shop. It was a little after three in the afternoon when she emerged, still dazed with the experience of having been fashionably outfitted from the skin out.
She went back to her room and lay down, feeling both tired and exhilarated. A while later she had to get up to admit the delivery boy with the packages of things she’d bought. She was just debating whether to go out to eat, or to just take another nap, when the telephone rang.
It was Mrs. Cartwright. “Llona, my dear, I have your first assignment. You are to go to Room 507 of the Marlow Hotel at eight tonight. It will just be a visit-twenty-five dollars, you remember, my dear. The gentleman’s name is Mr. Lansing. Mr. Herbert Lansing. Don’t stop at the hotel desk. Go directly to the elevator, take it to the fifth floor, and go to Room 507. Tell Mr. Lansing that Mrs. Cartwright sent you. Is everything clear?”
“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Cartwright. Everything’s clear.” Llona hung up the phone.
Well,’ this was it. Her first assignment. After tonight‘ she wouldn’t be a virgin any more. Llona felt more thrilled than apprehensive. She wondered what Herbert Lansing would be like. She hoped he wasn’t old, or fat, or anything unappetizing like that. After all, it was her first night on the job. And it was her first time.
Yes, it really was thrilling. Llona was embarking on her career. What would this first night have in store for her? If she’d known, she might not have gone!
Chapter Three
SOME DAY the headshrinkers will come up with a theory to explain the Herbert Lansings of this world. When they do, it probably won’t do the Lansings a bit of good. Identifying the cause of their condition won’t make it any more likely to be cured. It doesn’t take any great amount of research to know it’s incurable. Like those other things they’ve pinned labels on-—accident proneness, masochism and claustrophobia, to name but a few — there’s nothing much anybody can do about the Lansing condition. It’s something a few unfortunate shnooks are born with, and sooner or later they just have to learn to live with it.
Herbert Lansing hadn’t yet learned. He was aware of his condition, but he hadn’t resigned himself to it yet. As a matter of fact, he was still actively fighting it—and that was one of the reasons he was sitting on the edge of the bed in Room 507 of the Marlowe Hotel and waiting for the call girl to come.
He’d first recognized this-—well, call it a personality malfunction—when he was in his early adolescence. When he was fourteen years old—some twelve years before this night at the Marlowe-—he’d taken part in his first game of spin-the-bottle and spun smack up against it. His very first kiss was to be placed on the mouth of a little freckle-faced, red-haired girl with pigtails who Herbie thought the most beautiful creature in the world at that time. The fact that she wore braces in no way detracted from his admiration; on the contrary, it only added to her allure since it gave them something in common; Herbie wore braces himself.
And that was their downfall. When Herbie -- young, inexperienced and eager-smacked up against his true love’s orthodonture, his fervor resulted in a tangling of their respective braces which was downright traumatic for both of them. While the other kids roared with laughter and shouted fantastic suggestions for deosculating them, Herbie and his wailing light-o’-love vainly twisted this way and that in an effort to unsnarl their dental work. Finally, parents had to be called to handle the toothy situation. But maturity was no help, and in the end a local dentist had to be summoned to extricate the pair. Herbert Lansing still woke up in a cold sweat from nightmares in which this dentist’s uncontrollable chortles echoed once again.