Frank Georgalis – Writer

An Eye for a Tooth: (Book; Part IV)

The Girl who wanted to be a Lady…a Lady of the night?

 

 

“The house of ill repute started as a mobile unit in the old american west”

” In the Old England, it was going a profitable business already”

By:

Frank Elias Georgalis

Visible disturbing thoughts painted on a tall man’s face as he fled from the back door of the police station, seeming as if he had felt that he was confined in an uncomfortable chair facing the policemen lingering around their desks bragging of their violent confrontations with the criminals. Roaming around the town aimlessly for a while, eventually he found a bench outside the neglected Wabash Rail Road station, sat down onto the edge as firmly as he could and began to indulged in evil thoughts about the man who was the main cause of the terrible world he was made to enter. Suddenly the wet snow began to fall in big flakes. He gazed around him, as if to assure himself that where he was sitting it wasn’t the only placed that snowed. He unbuttoned his overcoat—he didn’t mind the snow. He forgot everything for he had finally made up his mind to go back where everything had started and confront the person who was responsible for the problem he was faced with. He couldn’t help feeling with horror what was going to happen for certain and nothing in the world could stop it, because he knew that person from long time ago. He knew well how horrible that man was from his early days and how many men he caused to suffer and how many women to lose their way in life. The angry man remained on the bench under a wooden canopy, in that attitude for some time, until it became dark. Solitary street-lamps flickered gloomily in the snow haze, like candles at a Greek funeral. Some snowflakes drifted under his coat, which was still unbuttoned and under his collar where it melted against his skin. He suddenly came to his feet rushed across the street climbed quickly into a white car and came out as quickly, holding a small brown bag.  He discreetly surveyed the area around him intently, took out one piece of its contents, shoved it into his coat pocket and threw away the brown bag carelessly. He then headed away from the direction the car was pointing, turned and stopped at the door of a small store, which was recognized to be Don’s place where murder was committed. He gazed around in a surveying manner before he knocked on the door.  Waiting for an answer and looking straight at the door, he suddenly began banging at the door with his fists and feet, like a first class madman.

The door was opened more quickly that he expected as though they knew he was coming. He entered the dark place, which was the very room where Don had spoken to the doctor. He briefly glanced at the lady who opened the door, looking as if she had anticipated his coming. One could guess from the look on her face, that she was also warned that he might be dangerous, and it would be advisable and necessary to give notice beforehand and to take precautions. The lady who walked very gracefully ahead of him, heading to the back part of the long room, she would once in a while, glanced at him with a fixed smile, pushing her lustrous dark hair back as if to air her diamond shape face. She was over forty well preserved, looked and acted as if she were out of place. He followed her through the ill-lit dark parlor, which appeared to be something, between a shop and an office, there was only one table lamp lit, a black leather couch and a matching chair. He stopped dead, looking utterly bewildered; there was no one there. The lady continued on until she reached a long bar with several moveable high leather stools planted in front of it. In the back of the bar was a large black board sign announcing in white letters something to enlightened the visitors that there was over fifty beautiful young women to escort any lonely man to any affair, left the beholder’s mind in a state of not unpleasing doubt and uncertainty as to the precise purpose, in which this confusing cavern might be supposed to extend its usefulness.

“This, if I remember correctly, was a saloon called ‘The Living Room,’” said the man, standing by the bar leaning one hand on a stool and surveying with intent glance.

“Yes, you remember correctly,” responded the lady, with an ironic smirk on her face, “The city ordered it closed for some minor violations, but they’ll reopen again.”

“The whole place was furnished in good taste, resembling a living room, with many horseshoe shaped couches and low glass tables and a lit candle on each table,” remarked the man.

“You’re probably correct again.”

“And now, if I’m still correct or standing to be corrected, this is an escorting service, which is polite name for another word,” he said.

She made no effort to say that he was correct again and said not a word. The man leaning forward, in a very scrutinizing manner, saw a revolver and a shotgun resting next to each other, on the lower part of the liquor shelves. This was done without any altering on his face because his glance was not long enough, being careful not to plant any suspicion in the woman’s head. He looked up at her face with soft features and fixed grin.

Her response was of the same nature as his, but her grin ended with traces of sneer.

It was clear to him that the attractive lady was the proprietress herself who, he thought, she knew him by reputation and that was why she was not friendly with him.

This time, the man feigned to move away from her and the bar when he could extract no more words from her.

“Excuse me,” asked the man with the utmost politeness, “What is your name, pretty lady?”

“Mattie,” replied the lady, with a slide hesitation

A moment later the front door opened and another female came in, walked to where the lady was standing and spoke in a very low voice.

Without taking a moment to pay any attention to either one of them, the man began to walk up and down the room to pass the time, believing the person that he had gone there to see, would come to meet him any moment, thus he kept his hand in his pocket. After some paces of walk, he looked composed, as though he had been saved from an ordeal, for realizing that the person he was looking to confront was not there. His anger had faded and everything had changed, but he was still unable to think clearly. He stopped and looked up mechanically at the newcomer who had already sat on the couch silently, after she was told that who ever she went to see wouldn’t return in no less than a an hour.

“Where is you boss?” he asked Mattie, who was carefully monitoring his pacing.

“I am not employed here, sir,” she replied, visibly overtaken with scorn.

“I know, I know, I know you are here in the hopes of making the boss to repent to save his tormented soul,” responded the tall man, with the same tone as she had done. “I want the commander in chief of this god forsaken dump.”

“Are you so arrogant by nature or you’re just trying hard to come across like that,” asked the lady, “What do you want him for, sir?”

“I want to say goodbye to him.”

“Why, are you going somewhere?” she asked sardonically.

“No! But he is. Do you know where I can find him? Do you know where he has gone?”

“Yes. Before he hastened out of here on his black horse, he told me that he and some of his closest friends were going away in search for a husband for me,” said the woman in an almost believable manner.

“I see. It shouldn’t take that long. I don’t think you’re that particular,” replied the man, without the slightest emphasis in his statement.

Hearing those words wrapped in sarcasm, she stared at him with a hard look, “I want you to know that I have heard things about you,” said the lady.

He studied her face for a moment or two and turned away. Seeing him turning away, she hastily walked towards the back room door.

“The things you heard about me, were they all good or all bad? Not that I care” he said, just as she was about to enter the other room.

The pretty lady turned slowly and stared at him with an ironic grin, “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Well, good or bad?”

“That’s why I am so friendly with you, can’t you tell?” returned the lady, leaving rather hastily.

“Here is another birthday party I’ll be invited to,” mumbled the man, turning his eyes to the other young lady who heard the dialogue and his comment without revealing much interest. The young lady, somewhat pale face, with long eyebrows and a small amount of any kind of artificial adornment, was not far from being called beautiful, with her nice shape and long legs and long straight hair he noticed that she resembled the attractive woman, but the thought from their brief conversation did not know each other, on the other hand, he thought that those two ladies, being in the same profession, looked alike. The young woman looked at him with a serious face. He thought that he would have hated her if she had smiled at him. Seeing him walking towards her, she opened her eyes wide and observed him intently and curiously as he sat on the leather chair. He looked at her in the eyes and found them cold, indifferent and sullen, as though they were utterly detached from any passion; that made him feel somewhat uncomfortable. A sudden peevish thought stirred in his mind. It seemed a bit unnatural that those eyes should have been scrutinizing him only now. The two went on looking at each other in that unexplained manner for a long time, without changing their expression, altering their glances or exchanging words which made him for some reason to feel creepy. She suddenly saw clearly that he had established his own thoughts of her. His thoughts must have been evident, as if they were written in his forehead with a genuine calligraphy. He thought of how absurd and hideous like spider was the idea of vice which without love, grossly and shamelessly begins where true love finds its consummation. All this time he never said a word to this creature and had not even thought it necessary to do so. Suddenly, it became appealing to him to dig into those eyes that stared at him so intently.

“What is you name?” asked the man abruptly, to put an end to that uncomfortable state of communication.

“Why?” she replied, almost in a whisper.

His face looked in shock in this unexpected and cold reply.

“Why?” he asked abruptly, with an authoritarian tone.

“Yeah, why? Are you in the process of finishing your book and you can’t go on with the end without putting my name in it?”

“You sound fresh and street smart, are you?”

“I’m holding my own. You haven’t answered my question whether you’re writing a book.”

“Do I look like a writer to you?” asked the man, sharply.

“I haven’t given it much thought.”

“No? That’s sad. Anyway, I am starting a book and cannot do it without your name.”

“Well, you heard the old saying. ‘Start without me’.”

He made no comment. The whole thing was getting hideous.

“Where do you come from?” asked the man, after a minute’s silence, almost irritably with her.

“Look,” she said, now looking a little agitated, “you came here with the intent of causing harm to someone but you’re killing me, instead.”

“I am sorry. Is your life so horrible that it’s killing you to think about it?”

“You are not asking me to think about it, you want me to talk about it to a complete stranger.”

“I know, you’re not used to strangers,” muttered the man, sarcastically.

If any dispassionate spectator could have beheld the face of the stunning woman, he would have been induced to wonder that the indignant fire that flashed from her eyes did not melt her long eyelashes—so majestically was her wrath.

“I am sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You seem to take many things for granted,” the girl replied.

“But you, my dear girl, are doing the same thing about me, thinking that I came here to kill someone,” replied the man softly, as if to reduce the building up of tension that was threatening of sending her over the edge.

“Have you heard of the other saying? The walls have eyes and ears too?” she said loudly. “I saw you taking the bag out of the white car. It was a pistol which you shoved it in your pocket and I can still see it, bulging in your pocket.”

“Please, my dear lady, you do look out of place as if you don’t know where you are right now that’s why you don’t understand there is always something hidden behind everything you see or hear in places like these.” said the man, in a slow, impressive way.

“Hem.”

“I can’t tell what may come to pass; as if I should be obliged, against my will, to have recourse to violence, I must be ready and able, if not willing, to kill, knowing him as well as I do, he will show no mercy,” continued the man.

“ I understand you,” she replied, “You speak so clearly. I see you have a great knowledge of this world. You must have helped a lot of people, — out of it, that is.”

The man laughed whole heartily. He laughed loud and clear, that raised her blood pressure a little higher and she mumbled,

“I’m glad you think it’s funny.”

“Why are you angry?” asked the man soberly.

“I may sound angry to you because I guessed what you are”

“Who and what am I?” asked the man again.

“There must be a disagreement among your most intimate friends,” she resumed, “Some prefer to call you a hero, some wish to call you a genuine gentleman, others wish to think of you as a thorough-bred man and some want to call you a gallant man. But they all agree in one respect and that is a pity there are not more men like you.”

“If I, my dear lady, had friends that had thought that much of me, I would be walking on water,” said the man calmly.

“What a pity that is, not realizing your value, sir.”

“You’re too smart to be a whore,” said the man abruptly, with an authoritarian style.

A deluge of anger rose from within her. She only paused for a long moment; she just glanced darkly at him. Her look was all dark, repressed and revengeful as she heard the remark. She seemed as if she were preparing to burst into verbal insulting fit, but instead her face suddenly blossomed into a smile, “Do you really believe that all whores aren’t smart?” she asked softly, as if she were looking to dig into his mind.

With that question everything that arose before his mind, drifted him faster and faster, more and more steadily towards silence. His latent uneasiness trying to grasp the thought and put it into words that he was better then they, he failed because it wasn’t there.

“Just think,” said the lady, seeing him struggling with his thoughts, “prostitutes oppressed no man, they have imprisoned no man, they haven’t harm no man, they sooth the pain of a lot of men and give comfort to the needy of little love, for little money. If they would have done it without visible monetary pay they would be called ladies. Ladies like your mother and my mother and all my aunts and cousins and all your aunts cousins, if you have any.”

“There is a significant deference,” replied the man. “My mother, my cousins and ants catered and were loyal to one man.”

“Why make one man miserable instead of making many men happy?” she said ia mumbling manner.

“Haven’t you heard? Every self respecting whore has a favorable mind of rationalizing. I see you have that type of mind, but to get to the point, whether they are smart or stupid they’re all doomed to destruction,” said the man, without taking any time to think the matter.

“They are all doomed for destruction from the beginning of their lives.”

“Where are you from?” asked the man again, pretending to disregard her statement, clearly changing the subject.

“From here,” she responded half-heartedly.

“From here? Danville, Illinois? I don’t believe it,” said the man, reducing the volume of the sound of his last sentence, as if he were talking to himself.

“Why not? What’s so fabulous about Danville, Illinois? Is it because Dick Van Dike and Jerry Van Dike and Gene Heckman and some others who lived and breathed the air of Danville, you think, it gave them the boost they needed to go on from here and to become rich and famous, makes it a special town?”

“Why do I find you in East Main St. instead of North Vermilion St?”

“I don’t understand,” replied the girl puzzled.

“Then, you’re not from Danville. If you were, you would have understood. They used to say back in the old days, when a woman frequents East Main, would eventually end up on Green St. Green Street which is the end of the line” recited the man.

“I don’t understand anything you’re saying. No offence to your accent. What kind of accent is it anyway?”

“Is it that my accent that bothers you or confuses you?”

“No, but if I knew where you come from, then I would be able to understand what you’re trying to say.”

“Oh. I am Greek. Greek American, that is,”

“But your accent is not that of an American Greek. Since you and I have one thing in common, we might as well talk, to pass the time,” the girl said.

“Oh? What’s that?”

“We are both waiting to see the same man; so go on with your explanation of your accent, I am sure it will be interesting.”

“Ha, ha. It’s a mixture of my social environment,” the man replied humorously.

“That doesn’t tell me very much.”

“Simple,” returned the man, “You see, my lady, my main source of knowledge comes from the women. All of the women, that I had known and was somewhat connected to, have come from different countries and culture and spoke with different accents. I’ve been involved with one from Greece, one from Switzerland, England, Spain, Italy, and Russia… ”

“Married or just involved?”

“Why? Are you hoping of developing an affair with me?”  he asked.

“I am neither hoping nor expecting anything near that. I only meant for the time we are waiting here to see the man.”

“What a pity,” he mumbled.

“Why pity?”

“You are saying that falling in love with me at first sight is out of the question.”