When the barber had gone Madame Lafronde ordered me to undress again, and after taking certain measurements left the room to return later with several garments and a box which on being opened revealed a safety razor, soap and brush.
"We could have let the barber do this, too," she commented dryly, indicating the razor, "but maybe you'd rather do it yourself."
"Do what?" I asked, looking at the razor in perplexity.
"Shave the pretty little curls off your peek-a-boo," she answered, with a gesture toward the dark shadow which was visible through the texture of my single garment.
"What!" I expostulated. "Why… even girls fifteen years old have…!"
"Shave it off," she interrupted. "If you don't know how, I'll do it for you."
"I can, I can!" I responded hastily. "I've shaved the hair under my arms lots of times… only…" and I glanced around in confusion for, in addition to Madame Lafronde and Hester, several girls had appeared and were standing in the door watching me curiously.
"Go over by the window with your back to us and stand up, or sit down, whichever you wish, if you're afraid someone will see your love trap.
You'll get over that before you've been here long."
Without further protest I took the shaving equipment, turned my back on the smiling assembly and sitting on the edge of a chair with my legs apart I lathered and soaped the hair and shaved it off the best I could. I had to go over the ground several times before the last prickly stubs were finally removed, and when I stood up, much embarrassed, to let Madame Lafronde view the results she expressed her approval and suggested that I dust the denuded flesh with talcum powder.
The absence of the hair from its accustomed place caused me to feel peculiarly naked, and I turned my gaze downward. The two sides of my cunny stood out prominently like fat little hills, the crease between them tightly closed as I stood with my legs pressed together.
I was now to don black hose of sheerest silk and a pair of tiny slippers with exaggerated high Spanish heels. Around my legs, just above the knees, fitted narrow scarlet garters, each adorned with a little silk rosette. Next came an exquisite brocade coat or jacket of black velvet into which was worked fantastic designs in gold thread.
"What about my bubbles?" I asked, as Madame Lafronde handed me the garment. "Will I have to cut them off, too?"
A gust of laughter followed and I slipped on the loose-fitting coat. It terminated at a point about halfway down my thighs, leaving a few inches of naked flesh between its lower edge and the tops of my hose.
Fastening just below the breasts with three braided loops, it covered my stomach all right, but from there down the folds hung loose and a naked, hairless cunny would be exposed with any careless movement.
The last item of this bizarre costume was a tall, military style cap of astrakhan, fitted with a small brim of shiny black leather and a strap which passed under my chin. Madame Lafronde adjusted the cap on my head at a rakish angle and stood back to view the effect.
I glanced at my reflection in the wardrobe mirror. Without undue conceit I realized that I presented a chic picture, one which undoubtedly fulfilled Madame Lafronde's expectations, as was attested to by the satisfied gleam in her shrewd old eyes, by Hester's enthusiastic felicitations, and by the half-admiring, half-envious looks of the other girls who were watching silently.
From beneath the edge of the black astrakhan cap my hair hung loose in short, crisp curls. The low bodice of the brocade jacket teasingly revealed the upper halves of my breasts, while its wide and ample sleeves displayed my arms to good advantage with every movement.
The jacket itself, fitting snugly around my waist, flared out sufficiently to show my hips to good advantage. Further down, the sheen of glossy silk with the brief variation in color provided by the scarlet garters gave just the right touch to my legs, and the high-heeled slippers completed the exotic ensemble.
The rest of the afternoon and evening Madame Lafronde devoted to coaching and instructing me. The doors were open to visitors at nine o'clock, but it was never until after eleven or twelve that gentlemen returning from their clubs or other nocturnal entertainment began to drop in in any considerable number, and from then on patrons came and went, singly or in small groups, some to linger briefly, others to pass an hour or two, or to remain all night.
I made my debut at eleven o'clock. With inward nervousness at first, but with growing confidence as I observed the electrical effect my entry made upon the half-dozen gentlemen who were lounging about the salon in various attitudes of interest or indifference to the wiles of the feminine sirens about them. As I crossed the room with my tray of cigars and cigarettes and matches supported by a strap over my shoulders the hum of conversation ceased as if by magic and every eye was on me.
I approached a tall, well-dressed gentleman who was sitting on a sofa with a girl on either side of him, and proffered my wares in a timid voice. His startled gaze took in the picture before him and lingered a moment on my legs. Shaking himself free from the arms of his companions, he sat up.
"My dear, I never smoked a cigar in my life, but I'll take all you have, if you go with them!"
This was Madame Lafronde's cue. Entering the room from a side door where she had been waiting, she said:
"Dear gentlemen, I want to present a new member of our family to you.
This is Jessie. Jessie is here under peculiar circumstances. She is an orphan and, strictly speaking, not old enough to be here in a professional capacity. Though as you see, she is nicely developed, she is in fact only fifteen years old and I am sheltering her here only because of her orphaned condition. She is to make her living selling you cigars and cigarettes, gentlemen, and serving you in all other possible ways… except one."
Madame Lafronde paused.
"In other words," interrupted a tall, thin young man with a tiny moustache who was indifferently stroking the silk-clad legs of a damsel on his lap, "she can be only a sister to us. I knew she was too good to be true the moment she came into this room."
A burst of laughter followed and Madame Lafronde, smiling, answered:
"A sister… well… maybe just a bit more than a sister, gentlemen, but not too much more!"
From across the room Hester beckoned to me.
"This is my friend Mr. Hayden, Jessie. He wants to know you," she said, indicating her companion.
I acknowledged the introduction.
"Bring us two Scotch and sodas, will you, honey?" added Hester.
Mr. Hayden spoke to me pleasantly and took a packet of cigarettes from my tray, courteously declining the change I tendered him. As I turned to execute Hester's order, the man I had first addressed detained me.
"Wait a moment, Sister. I've decided to take up smoking."
I might add that the nickname "Sister" was unanimously adopted and clung to me during the time I was in Madame Lafronde's house.
The gentleman took a handful of cigars and reached toward his pocket. As he did so, his eyes drifted down below the edge of the tray.
"Hold on! I'm making a tactical error!" he exclaimed, replacing all the cigars but one. "I see right now that cigars should be purchased one by one. You may bring me another when you come back!"
Nothing else was needed to start the ball of my popularity rolling and soon the salon was echoing with hilarity and laughter as all called for cigars and cigarettes at once, each trying, to keep me standing in front of him as long as possible.
If this kept up there would be substantial returns on the tobacco concession, for half the profits were to be mine, according to Madame Lafronde's promise, and this in addition to whatever was given to me in the nature of tips or gratuities. Flushed and happy, I ran from one to another, replying to jokes and quips in a half-innocent, half-cynical manner, calculated to fit the role of a fifteen-year-old ingenue.