Beth Lawrence Brown came to New York by train. It was the first time she had been there. In fact, it was the first time she had been anywhere outside of the commune that had been her home since she was fifteen. Now twenty, she was clear-skinned and fair-haired, with hair that hung straight and thick, reaching below her waist. She was a very pretty girl. Her face had a childlike innocence, with large blue eyes and a wide, soft mouth.
Beth wore her usual outfit, a long dress of Indian fabric, patched in places, thonged sandals on bare feet, and many necklaces of thin leather with hand-painted beads and signs hanging from them. Close to her neck, almost a choker, was a thin gold chain with a gold cross. On the cross were engraved the words LOVE—PEACE—MARGARET.
The two sisters had been very close—not in terms of distance, but in the same way that Lara and Margaret were close. There was a true feeling of unity.
Beth carried with her a large, pouchy suede purse. In it were her things—a hairbrush, a pair of jeans, a flimsy blouse, and many books. She didn’t believe in possessions, only books—her passion was reading.
‘Wanna buy me a drink, cutie?’ A drunk sidled up to her. I’ll give ya a lil’ action in exchange.’
She ignored him, her expression pensive and thoughtful. Margaret would have told him to fuck off. Lara would have said what a dreadful little man he was. How different her two sisters were.
Cass had promised there would be someone to meet her. She was supposed to wait at the information booth, but the train was early, and she didn’t want to hang around, so she decided to walk to Cass’s apartment.
She couldn’t believe what had happened. It was inconceivable that Margaret was dead. She was such a good person, clever and bright and caring. So she was tough—everyone knew that—but how else could she have survived?
She hasn’t survived, Beth thought sadly. My sister is dead.
Beth had last seen her six months previously. Margaret had arrived to stay for a weekend. Everyone at the commune liked her; in fact, they welcomed her visits. She brought all the new books, record albums, and toys for the children—clever toys, not commercial junk. There were ten children living on the farm, and the responsibility of raising them was shared among the five women and eight men who also lived there. One of the children was Beth’s, a little girl of four. Max was her father.
Margaret had greeted her niece, Chyna, with special hugs and kisses. ‘She’s going to grow up to be president one day,’ she joked. ‘She’s so smart, I love it!’
Beth smiled serenely. ‘With you to guide her, I’m sure anything is possible.’
‘Bet on it, kid, When she’s ten she’s coming to live with me in New York. We’ll take it from there.’
Margaret shared in the work over the long weekend. She didn’t mind what she did—washing floors, helping with the cooking, gardening. She said it helped her relax. She also found time to sit and talk to Beth, listen to her problems, and give advice.
They had a party the night before she left. Great sounds and great hash Max had brought in from California. Margaret had gone off with Clasher because he was short and ugly and the least likely to be her choice. Sex was a very free thing at the commune. There were no hang-ups or jealousies. None of the pressures of life in the real world.
When Margaret left the next morning she had given Beth the gold chain, kissed her, and whispered softly, ‘You’re really lucky. You’re doing what you want to do, and you’re happy. You can’t ask for anything more, kid.’
And Beth had smiled, a wide, childish smile, and made Margaret promise to come back soon.
‘After the summer,’ Margaret had said. ‘Maybe for Christmas.’
Now the summer was almost ending, and Beth was in New York. She didn’t know for how long, she only knew it was where she had to be.
* * *
Enzio took the call in his study. He smiled and nodded. Of course, things were back to normal. He had been right. His decision was the only way. Semiretired he might be, but for any major problem that had to be taken care of, he was the one they all turned to.
Frank, his oldest son, had suggested other ways of dealing with the trouble. What did Frank know? Thirty-six years old, a good businessman, but when it came to decisions his ideas were all soft. What good were threats if you didn’t plan to carry them out?
Definite action like the old days was the only way.
Margaret Lawrence Brown had been dead two weeks, and the trouble had stopped. With no one to guide them, no leader to turn to, the hookers were quiet. It was almost as if the killing of Margaret had killed their fighting spirit. Fuck ’em. Goddamn whores.
Slowly, girls who had disappeared, taken other jobs, came drifting back. They seemed oblivious to the beatings and humiliations they faced. They seemed once more defeated.
Enzio was in a buoyant mood. He called up a furrier friend and ordered a full-length chinchilla coat for Mary Ann. It arrived within hours, and they celebrated on it. Mary Ann was not quite sure what they were celebrating, but she was a willing partner in anything Enzio wished to do.
‘You are my great big Italian lover,’ she purred, knowing that he loved praise. ‘My big, big man.’
‘And you are one hot, juicy little broad,’ he replied laughingly. ‘My favorite tasty slice of lasagna!’
He liked to look at her, the curvy body, big breasts, silky skin, and pouty mouth. It would be quite a while before he grew tired of this one.
Oh, yeah, Enzio Bassalino knew a good piece of ass when it came his way.