“Sounds fair enough. But how’s it going to solve your problem? The Syndicate still isn’t going to stand still for losing money on their cut of the madams’ operations.”
“I think I can straighten that part out with Carrera so he can show the boys upstairs how it can be to their advantage to carry the cutback as a tax loss. In the long run, they’ll come out with more money if I can work m out right.”
“If it’s all right with them, then I certainly have no complaint. But you understand I’m only speaking for the madams. The girls are another matter. You’ll have to deal with them separately. See, at first, we had an agreement for their union and our group to act together. But now that agreement’s been canceled.”
“How come?” Frank asked.
“Matter of tactics. They’ve come up with this war-cry for “Red-light Power.” I couldn’t go along with that. I come from a Quaker background, you know. Strictly non-violent. And I persuaded the other madams to commit themselves to a non-violent policy. I’m willing to get them to agree to copulate for co-existence. Hmm, that’s not a bad slogan. I think I’ll have a sign made up.” Mother Tucker made a note on a pad on her desk.
“How about ‘Fornicate for Freedom’?” Frank suggested.
“Old hat. Still valid though. Anyway, as I was saying, we’ll work something out with you along the lines you’ve outlined, but I can’t speak for the girls. You’d best talk to Xenobia about any settlement with them.”
“Xenobia?”
“She’s the shop steward here. Also, she’s on the policy committee of the union. If you can make a deal with her, she can probably get the rest of them to go along. As a matter of fact, she’s in the upstairs parlor right now with some other union executives. I’ll take you up, if you’d like, and introduce you.”
“Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”
Mother Tucker led Frank to the upstairs parlor, introduced him to Xenobia and left. The tall Greek girl showed Frank to a sofa on the far side of the room. “You waiting here ’til I’m readying for you,” she told him. “Union business coming first.” She left him and went back to the table where half a dozen or so other girls were sitting. The girls, like Xenobia, were dressed in their working clothes —negligees, lingerie, slit dresses, net stockings, bikini panties, etc.
Frank glanced around the room. Several picket signs were strewn along one wall. He craned his head to read them:
“LADIES OF THE NIGHT, UNITE!”
“DOWN WITHAMATEUR COMPETITION! DOWN WITH SCABS!”
“WE DEMAND THE WAGES OF SIN!”
“NO PLAY WITHOUT ADEQUATE PAY!”
“SENIORITY FOR SENIOR SIRENS!”
The last struck Frank as perhaps beside the point, having nothing to do with the Venus situation, but he could see how it might worry the Syndicate. If the girls extended their activities, their demands would be more directly threatening to management. As he strained his ears to hear their conversation, Frank could appreciate the threat even more.
“Why should we stop with the guinea pigs?” a blonde in black lace was demanding of the other girls.
“Not all of them is Italian,” a redhead pointed out.
“I know that,” the blonde said haughtily. “But what I mean is we shouldn’t just take on the scab broads who go to that Venus place. We should aim higher. This is a chance to really pressure the Syndicate to improve our working conditions. What we should do is make up a list of grievances for them.”
“Agreeing,” Xenobia said. “Is good think. I write. You all say what.”
“An eight-hour working night,” the blonde suggested. “That should come first. Eight hours a night is every tart’s right.”
“Free accident insurance,” another chimed in. “A girl gets knocked up, it should be management’s responsibility to foot the bill. Or take what happened to poor Gertrude She oughta get some kinda compensation for having to work as a maid ’til the sulfa drugs take.”
“A softer mattress in every bed,” the redhead piped up “The springs come right through the one I got and my back’s been killing me. The things I do sometimes, just so I can avoid having to lie down!”
“Improve the bidet facilities,” another suggested.
“Yeah. And we should have a voice in determining consumer privilege. Sometimes a girl wants to be able to draw the line somewhere even if the customer is always supposed to be right.”
“Less time for more pay! Three dollars for three minutes is slave labor in today’s economy!”
And so it went. Frank listened, fascinated, as the girls came up with more demands to better their working conditions and Xenobia wrote them down. When they were through, the blonde summed up the general feeling. “It’s about time somebody besides the vice cops organized us,” she said.
The meeting broke up. The other girls left. Xenobia came over to Frank. “You hearing?” she asked. “Now making most, you smart,” she suggested. “After we fixing scientists, not so much for so little customer getting. But still cut-rating now. So you spelling out what liking and I loving to suit.” She stroked his cheek.
“No,” Frank told her. “That’s not why I’m here.”
“No? So! Then you just come to finking, or what?”
“No-no! Not at all. I’ve come to help arbitrate your dispute with the Venus Observatory.”
“Mediocre!” Xenobia snapped her fingers. “All right, Mr. Mediocre, what offering you come with for sediment?”
“First,” Frank told her, “re-instatement of all personnel who’ve been laid off.”
“What you mean? That whole troubling. No being laid. Off. On. Any which-why.”
“You don’t understand. I mean that all those fired will be re-hired.”
“Oh. Goodly! You should saying right out. But how coming? Word from sciencers is, no more professionites. They telling pros only amateurs good now for lab-loving.”
“That’s true. But now they’re willing to compromise. You see, by pairing off an amateur male with a professional female, or vice versa, they can obtain data on the amateur that they might not be able to get if he—-or she—-were asked to perform with another amateur.”
“That for surely!” Xenobia snorted. “Two amateur typings in bed like cooking stove no gas. Everything there to cooking, but no flame. So okay. Old-timings back to work. But how about other professioners. They losers lotsa business to free scientifical loving. How making that up?”
“Suppose Venus puts on six new girls,” Frank offered cautiously.
“Dropping bucket. Maybe fifty helping, but even that not solutioning problem.”
“I’m sure they won’t be able to use fifty.” Frank was firm. “Maybe a dozen at most.”
“That all you talking, no soup. Tomorrow we picnicking worse than before. New tactic, also. No secrete. I warning you. Every picnicker got long hatpin. Scab-love girlings cross picnic line, we sticking pins in falsies. Whoosh!” Xenobia jabbed at the air viciously.
“Wait a minute,” Frank said. “Let me think.”
“Taking time. Thinking better offer. Otherwise-— Whoosh!” Xenobia stabbed at the air again.
“Got it!” Frank snapped his fingers. “Do you know Professor Woocheck, the co-chief of the Venus project?”
“Bald fogey loving? Knowing him very well. We go to jail together.”
“Yes, that’s right. I forgot. Well, do you know that Professor Woocheck is one of the foremost gynecologists in the country? And that there are several other gynecologists, as well as other doctors, working under him at the project?”