In fact, the whole subject gave Lisa a headache. "Mike," she said, "maybe you're right about Snyder, I don't know. Anyway, I don't feel too well. I'm going to bed."
Mike had guessed at what was bothering Lisa, knew she was thinking about sex and children. He imagined her in bed, with her blindfold on to keep the light out, her body stiff and immobile, unyielding. Then, for just a brief moment, he imagined a different Lisa, an excited Lisa, Lisa with her legs thrown in the air and her hips churning, her cunt streaming hot juices, her mouth twisted with sexual power.
The fantasy lasted for only a moment. "Yeah," said Mike, wearily, "guess I'll go to bed too."
CHAPTER FOUR
Tim took his time finishing his barbecued beef sandwich. The evenings were long, much too long, and Tim had gotten in the habit of taking much more time than he needed to do even the simplest thing. Everything had to be stretched out to fill as many of the empty spaces as possible. Tim's evenings were nothing but empty spaces, except for the rare occasion when he was called on to do some small errand for Jay.
Tonight there would be no errands. Tim knew he had to decide what to do with himself before he finished his coffee; otherwise there would be a long empty space in this diner, another chain of cigarettes, more tunes on the juke box. When "Rockin' Robin" came on for the fourth time, Tim had had enough. He jumped up, slammed his money on the counter, yelled "keep the change" and ran out the door, nearly colliding with the crazy newsboy.
Once out on the street, Tim's pace slowed. The lights of Sunset Strip glowed brightly, invitingly. Tim made an arbitrary decision, stepped into a small, average-looking bar, one of the many bars on that particular block. He wondered if it belonged to Jay – most of the bars on this street did. What the hell, he thought, what else can a poor boy do? He grinned to himself. Maybe tonight wouldn't be so bad.
The bar – Papa's, it was called – was wholly unremarkable: dark, smoky, booths covered in black and red synthetic leather, rattan bar stools. Tim waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark, took a seat at the bar, ordered a seven-and-seven. Just as the drink arrived, someone behind him said, "Got a light?" The voice was cool and low.
Tim was used to cool, low voices. He turned around, expecting to see the usual barfly, some woman in her forties, not-quite drunk, painted – like a fading actress. What he did see was a girl whose beauty made him instantly dizzy. She had long black hair, straight but thick, enormous green eyes, a pale complexion, full lips. She wore hip-hugger slacks and a half-top that left her stomach exposed, and her stomach was smooth as a freeway. Tim had never seen anything like this girl. He wanted her, and right then.
"Well?" said the girl.
"Oh," Tim said. "Sure." He fumbled in his pocket for a match, pulled out his keys, his change, an old race track ticket and a pocket-knife before he found the matches. He struck once, twice, three times before he finally got the match going. The girl watched in amusement, smiling. "I hope you're not a heavy smoker," she said.
"No," Tim said. Did heavy smoking displease her? If so, he would quit entirely. He would never do anything to displease this girl, if she would only stay with him.
"Who are you?" he said.
"Judy," she said. "And you?"
"Tim, I think."
She smiled again. This is a nice guy, she thought. How long has it been since I met a nice guy? "Let's go sit in a booth," she said.
Tim followed her to the booth, feeling the first ticklings in his loins as he watched her swing her ass just ever so slightly. "A drink?" she said, after they were seated. Tim signaled the waiter, ordered two drinks even though he had barely touched his first.
"Are you a little confused?" said Judy. This guy was funny, almost like a farm boy come to the city. Funny, but nice too, in a way. She found herself liking him. He thought for a minute. "No, not confused. Or maybe I am confused. I don't know." He laughed, and Judy laughed with him.
Then it hit him: this girl was a prostitute, a whore! How could such a beautiful girl be a whore? Maybe, he thought with a shock, maybe she even worked for Jay. What would happen? What was he doing here? If this was one of Jay's girls…
"You look like you just got hit with an iron. What's wrong?"
"What's your last name?" Tim asked, still gaping at the girl. He had heard the names of some of the girls who worked for Jay; maybe he could find out without asking her directly.
"Are you some kind of cop?"
Tim laughed. "Not hardly," he said. "I'm just trying to find out… Well, look, let me ask you a personal question. What sort of work do you do?"
This guy is dumb, Judy thought. What does he think I am, a social worker? "I'm a social worker," she said.
"Really?"
"No, not really. Really I'm an organ grinder, and I'm looking for a partner. Would you be interested?"
I'll bet you're an organ grinder, Tim thought, resenting the girl for her mockery of him. "Come on. Please. It's important to me to know."
"Why is it so important?"
"Because," he said, "I think I'm in love with you." Tim was embarrassed. He had never said those words before, not once in his life.
Judy's expression became serious. "No," she said. "You're not in love with me. You don't want to be in love with me. I work nights." She didn't want any man in love with her, certainly not now, while she was working for Jay, and probably not ever.
"That's what I thought. Do you work for Jay Snyder?"
Instantly Judy was suspicious. "You're a cop," she said, and started to get up from the booth.
Tim grabbed her wrist. "No, sit down, please. I'm not a cop. I work for Jay too."
She eyed him suspiciously, still standing. "The collector's already been to see me this week," she said. "I don't have anything for him right now, not for a couple of days."
"I'm not a collector either. I just drive for him, do his errands, shine his shoes."
"Jay Snyder's shoeshine boy. Well, how do you do?"
"Will you sit back down?"
"OK." Judy sat down, stared into her drink, rattled the ice cubes against the glass. Just my luck, she thought. I finally meet someone nice and he turns out to be Jay Snyder's errand boy. She looked up at him. He was smiling, a warm, friendly smile that made her relax a bit. He seemed very different from the other men who worked for Jay, the big, tough hoods who took their pleasures from her whenever they pleased. Yes, this one was different. She wondered how old he was, he seemed to be about her own age.
"How did you get trapped into working for Jay?" Tim asked. He knew how Jay got his girls, knew he played on their innocence and their fears to keep them under control until they were so deeply into his messy system that they couldn't ever get out, couldn't do anything except become hardened prostitutes. Very few women ever went to work for Jay willingly.
"It just happened," said Judy. "I'm not even sure how. You wouldn't be interested anyway."
"But I am interested. I want to know everything about you." He gazed at her breasts, at the soft points of her nipples showing through the blouse. "Everything," he added.
Judy looked at him, trying to gauge his sincerity. Was this boy for real, or was he just trying to soft-talk her into a free roll in the sack? Was he like every other man she'd ever known, or was he truly different? She met his eyes, saw that he was actually paying attention, not just making conversation. He was paying attention to her. "It's a long story," she said. "You sure you want to hear it all?"