The Harlot’s Pen (20 page)

“I’ll see you back to your room,” Violet said, eager to get away from Sharon. Rose clung to her arm as they made their way out to Rose’s little room in the back.

“Sharon got a beef with you, honey?” Rose asked as soon as they were out of earshot. Violet nodded. “Well, watch your back, then. She’s a jealous one, and she don’t like anyone moving in on her.”

“Moving in on her? How’s that?”

“She likes to think she’s Kitty’s favorite. Miss Kitty don’t have favorites, but Sharon doesn’t realize that, and any new girl who gets anything special makes her mad. She gets over it. Meanwhile, though, keep an eye out.”

Violet nodded. “I hoped we were past all of that, but if you picked up the bad air, it must still be there.”

Violet could still smell the sticky, sweet odor from Rose’s room as she opened the door, but the room wasn’t smoky. “Off to bed with you. Hope I’ll see you tonight in the parlor.”

“I hope so too, honey. A girl’s gotta eat.”

* * * *

Caleb came back on Wednesday. It had been almost a week since he’d been by, and Violet lit up when she saw him. A smile spread across his freckled features. Nice, white, even teeth, Violet thought. He’s healthy and strong, and makes a good living.
What the hell am I thinking? A whore doesn’t have marriage prospects.
She turned away.

“What’s the matter, Violet? For a moment there you looked mighty happy to see me. Are you still off limits or something?”

“Oh, no, thank heavens! I was just trying to be coy, not show how glad I am you’re back! Guess I’m not too good at those feminine wiles!”

“You’re the best I’ve ever met at some of those wiles! It’s been a long, lonely week. What I want to know is what on earth you did to deserve such punishment as being kept away from me!”

Violet laughed. “Fate worse than death!”

Jake and Jonathan came in next, and as usual, Gold wasn’t far behind. “My mountain dolly,” he said, bending over her hand to kiss it.

“Mountain dolly?” Caleb put his arm around Violet. “Violet’s a San Francisco girl, a city lady, not an ignorant mountain girl.”

“Oh, I just call her my mountain dolly because she’s as big as a mountain to me, seeing as I am not so big as she is. Or, maybe because her lovely
tetas
are like mountains. I do not know, but she’s my mountain dolly, and that’s how it will be.”

“Rummy, anyone?”

* * * *

Kate watched Rose carefully. Her eyes were a little too bright for Kate’s liking, though she was glad that Rose made the effort to come to the parlor. “Bank’s closed,” she said when Jonathan approached her about Rose. He nodded, and took Lily upstairs instead. Rose looked at her, disappointed, but Kate shook her head. Not yet. She didn’t want to risk a relapse.

Violet’s rummy table seemed jovial, though that Caleb Houston was goading Gold a little. Funny, she thought, big, handsome Caleb feeling threatened by that little Jew. But Violet seemed to enjoy the attention, promising Caleb, Gold, and even Jake, that she was in the mood for all of them. “One at a time, of course,” she said, winking.
Amazing. I’ve made a whore out of a schoolmarm, when she’d make schoolmarms out of whores.

Sharon was doing land-office business at the poker table. She’d sold more whiskey and beer in one evening than El Verano sometimes sold in a week, and the gents had lined up for her like a debutante with a dance card. That was good. A happy Sharon was a non-vindictive Sharon, and she always topped the dollars for the whole resort when she was happy. With the exception of Caleb Houston, just about every man was more than happy to get a chance with her. Her fees were even higher than Rose’s.

Kate mused, maybe it was time to even raise the fee on Violet. She’d started it low to encourage men to choose her, and it seemed to have worked, but perhaps she could command a slight price increase. She’d think about it at the end of the week. After all, Violet had only been there sixteen days.

Kate watched as Caleb stood up from the rummy table and approached her. “Can you spare Miss Violet for a bit?” Kate nodded, marking her pad. This time she’d let Violet keep Caleb’s tips. As long as she kept her score above the minimum, she could treat Caleb like any other customer.

June 20, 1920

From the journal of Violetta Stone

A letter from Jacqueline arrived yesterday, but I’m only finally getting to it today. Jacqueline has no idea what I am up to here, but she has this address. When I wrote to her all I said was that I’d taken a room near Sonoma, and I was deep in research on the conditions of women’s labor up here. Boy, I wasn’t kidding!

She was full of news on Mrs. Whitney’s case. Word has come that the appeal for Mrs. Whitney was turned down. But there’s some technicality, so it will be
two years at least
before it gets heard by the state Supreme Court. The only other hope is for the real Supreme Court in Washington to take the case. Francis explained that the Supreme Court only takes so many cases, but that they can decide if the Criminal Syndication law is constitutional or not. If it isn’t constitutional, Mrs. Whitney’s conviction is thrown out. This is going to take years. I can’t imagine having such a terrible fate hanging over my head. Luckily Mrs. Whitney is still free on bail, which is vastly better than rotting in San Quentin. I suspect that Francis posted for her. What a gem he is.

I certainly hope that we don’t have to wait until Mr. Young runs for governor to get Mrs. Whitney exonerated, but if we do, I’m going to hold him to his promise.

I also saw in the paper that Mr. Palmer, the head of the Department of Justice, who ordered all the raids on the CLP and started all this trouble, has been hauled before Congress to explain himself. Looks like the tables are turning, but I don’t dare feel safe going back to San Francisco just yet.

It’s funny. My life at Spanish Kitty’s is more real to me now than my writing. All this business of the trial, the poem, even the night at the old police station seems like a century ago. My old life with Sam has receded to such dimness that I can’t believe it was real. Nevertheless, today I forced myself to write up a draft from my notes for the serial before I did this journal entry. It took hours to reorder, and in some places decipher, the notes that Sharon had crumpled, scrambled, and soaked. Finally, I threw out all of the coffee-stained notes, and I’ll hide the draft deep into my dresser drawer once I’m through with this writing. Ten more days in my month commitment to Spanish Kitty. I wonder how I’ll go back to the real world.

A thin, keening wail rose from the back of the house. Kate felt the blood drain from her face. She called to Moses and wordlessly they ran to Rose’s room. Samantha was at the door breathing hard. Troy, his gray muzzle wide, howled at the bright blue sky. The stench of opium smoke and blood and something far worse came from Rose’s room.

On the floor, in a repetition from the week before, lay Rose, again naked, again with blood on her neck, but this time there was no doubt that Rose had done the job right. She stared at the ceiling with vacant, dead eyes. Feces smeared the floor, and vomit caked the side of her open mouth. But there was no question, Rose was dead.

“Cover her,” she said to Moses. His mouth pressed in a grim line, he stepped around her and pulled a sheet off the bed. He laid it over the once-beautiful body. He looked down at her, and then walked quickly from the room. Outside, Kate could hear him gag.

“What happened?” she said to Samantha. “Take a deep breath—no, outside—and tell me.” Samantha leaned against the door post, and Moses, wiping his face with his kerchief, squatted next to her.

“I went to the door, like you said. She hadn’t come out for supper, and I could smell trouble. She didn’t answer when I called out. I know I should of come and got you first, especially since I could smell the drug, but I opened the door anyway, and there she was.”

Kate reached down to stroke Troy’s head. He pushed his warm face against her hand.

“Did you see her at all before that?”

“We all saw her last night. She was fine, I thought. She took a piece of pound cake to bed with her, which is good, I thought, since when Rose is eating she’s less likely to have a spell. And though she didn’t come to breakfast, that’s normal. So no, I didn’t see anything else.”

“Any of the other girls come around?” Kate hated to ask the question, but she had to. Moses rose slowly and walked away. “Where’re you going?” Kate asked. “You all right?” He nodded without answering and walked as far as the kitchen door. Kate looked after him and thought she saw tears. But Samantha was speaking.

“Sharon brought her a glass of lemonade, nice and sweet, earlier today. You should ask her.”

Kate closed her eyes. “Moses,” she said, opening them again. “You need to get Doc Simmons. Now.”

“He’ll need to get the sheriff,” he answered with a glance at Samantha.

Kate nodded. “Samantha, go inside and drink a glass of cordial to steady your nerves. Then get Sharon for me. Don’t let on anything’s wrong to our guests. Tell me who’s upstairs, who’s in the parlor, too.”

Moses nodded back and walked over to the small stable at the back. For once, Kate wished that they had an automobile, but after that fleeting thought she turned her attention to Rose’s room. She needed to find the opium and get rid of it before the sheriff got there. Running a whorehouse was one thing—everyone turned a blind eye, and most of the men patronized one of the many houses in Sonoma at some point, but running a drug den would get her shut down faster than she could say her name to the judge.

Gingerly she made her way past the body. Poor, beautiful, troubled Rose. Poor girl, what a story. Kate wondered what had brought on this particular spell. She was in a better place now, Kate thought, and surreptitiously crossed herself.

She quickly found the pipe and the little tin of sticky opium, now empty, and she saw that Rose had wiped it out with a bit of cloth and seemed to have tried to smoke the cloth. The lemonade glass stood on her little dresser, sugar grains pooled in the bottom. Kate put the pipe and tin in a blouse and wrapped them up. She picked up the glass and headed to the door. Then she stopped. She raised the glass to her nose and sniffed. Then she stuck a finger into the sugar and tasted a tiny bit. It was sweet, as sugar was, and bitter and granular too. Rose had put some headache powder into her lemonade. She looked around. There was no little apothecary bag of powder. Maybe Sharon had brought her some headache powder, too. Kate felt a cold pit in her stomach.

* * * *

Samantha came back out the kitchen door. “Sharon must be upstairs. There are no girls at all downstairs.”

“What? No girls at all?” Kate handed the bundle and the glass to Samantha. “Put those somewhere. Don’t wash the glass. Just hide all of it. I can’t have customers in the parlor with no one there. Oh, sweet Mary mother of God.”

Kate took a deep breath. She must not show that there was anything wrong. “And then go and guard Rose’s door ‘til Moses gets back with Doc Simmons.” She headed back to the parlor, smoothing her skirt with her damp hands. Before pushing open the door she licked her index finger and ran it over her black eyebrows. She could taste the bitterness even now.

Jake and Jonathan were playing a desultory game of poker, the Victrola was silent, and the dice were idle. “Gentlemen, you’ve been left all alone!” she said brightly. “How about a drink on the house!”

Jake stood up. “Now there’s a first! In my whole life!” He walked to the bar, passing in front of Kate. He stopped and looked at her more closely. “In fact, Miss Kitty, let me pour you a drink, and buy it as well. You look a little peaked,” he said, his Scottish brogue slipping out.

“Thank you, Jake. You’re a real gentleman,” she said, taking the whiskey from him. Its burn warmed her, steadied her hands. She looked over at her pad. When she’d left the room, all three girls had been there. The first to mark the pad had been Violet. She’d noted that she had gone up with Gold. Then Lily had gone up with Mike McCarthy. But where had Sharon gone? Nothing showed on the pad.

She had to ask her question in the right tone. Even though Jake had been coming to her Resort since she’d opened more than ten years, she still had to preserve the illusion. Even with a dead girl in the back. “So, where did Sharon run off to? Who’s the lucky gent?”

Jake cocked his head. “I can’t say I’ve ever been left alone here before, but Sharon went off with your doorman, Moses. Said she was sorry, but she had to make a quick run into town, but that you were just, er, refreshing yourself, and would be back in a moment. Took off like a wild hare, she did.”

“Ah, well, girls get flighty sometimes,” Kate said. “I’m sure Lily and Violet will be down soon, give you a good game of rummy if nothing else.”

“Oh, I’m sure Violet and Lily will be ready for more than rummy!” Jake answered. “Such high-spirited girls sometimes!”

“Indeed,” Kate said. She never thought of Violet and Lily as particularly high-spirited, but to Jake, with his measured, kindly speech, they probably seemed like wild fillies. Grateful as she was for his stab at normal brothel conversation, her thoughts stayed on Rose. What had put her over the razor’s edge that she lived on, day after day?

Sounds from outside distracted Kate from her consideration of Rose’s griefs. They were over with, in any case. Doc Simmons drove a car, so that must be his, she thought, and rose to peer out the window. Moses should be right behind on the horse, presumably with Sharon. But coming up the drive in front of her house were three cars, including the sheriff’s.
Madre de Diós.

“Excuse me,” she said. She walked briskly out of the parlor and down the steps of the porch.

The dust clouds caught the early evening sunlight of this longest day as the three dark automobiles parked in the circular clearing before her. Kate tried to temper her dismay as Sheriff Cabrera headed towards her, flanked by his deputy, a pimply young man with a serious overbite. Of course the sheriff had come—Rose was dead.