CONNIE APPASTELLO, SEVENTEEN YEARS old, waited impatiently in the first-floor hallway of the Jackson Arms for Yolande Montgomery to finish. Occasionally pressing her head to the door of apartment 1F she could hear Yolande’s caressing voice and the tricks steady grunts. It sounded like he was nearly done, so it probably wouldn’t take that long. Still, Connie cursed Solly Rags, her pimp, for setting up two whores in a studio apartment. Unless one or the other turned a car trick, the situation was impossible. It could take a half hour to get these old shitheads hot enough to part with fifty bucks. How could you tell ’em they had to wait in a hallway ’cause the bed was full? And even if she was smart enough (which she definitely was) to maneuver the trick and make enough money to satisfy the rapacious Solly Rags (by freezing her ass off, mostly) she still had to stand around and be stared at, like some mutilated freak, by these asshole tenants (who probably never laid eyes on a working girl before) while Yolande did her thing in the apartment.
Finally (it seemed like forever), the door opened and a short, heavy man, buttoning his coat, hurried past her down the hallway. Connie pushed inside without waiting for the door to close. Yolande was lying in the bed, nude, her ample black body at ease. “What’s happenin’, baby?” she asked. “You still hurtin’?”
Connie ignored the question. She went right to the bureau against the far wall, to the glistening mirror with its heap of white powder. Quickly, expertly, she pushed a small pile to the center, chopped it with a razor blade then snorted it up, one line into each nostril. As the drug came on, she silently wished for a vial of crack, for that quick, overwhelming rush of ecstasy, but crack was forbidden, at least for the time being. They were opening up new territory, Solly explained, and they needed to keep their heads reasonably straight.
“Fuck that prick,” Connie said. She admired her cheerleader reflection in the mirror for a few minutes, trying to gauge the coke’s quality by the quality of her blue eyes, her full mouth. Then she found a pimple on her cheekbone, a tiny, red area that looked like it might develop into something really nasty. She consoled herself by cutting another line, chopping briefly, and snorting it up.
“You better take it easy with that blow, baby,” Yolande called. “Ain’t no more comin’. Solly say he won’t be back.”
Instead of answering, Connie stripped off her clothing: pink feathery jacket, electric blue micro-mini, five-inch spike heels, bright red push-up bra and matching panties, black, acrylic leg warmers. Nude, she climbed into the bed and cuddled up against Yolande, casually throwing a slender leg across the older woman’s body. Tricks find such moments incredibly erotic, but Connie (for the moment) just wanted to cuddle.
“What a night,” Connie said. “You wouldn’t believe the fucking night I had.” She laid her arm against Yolande’s, noting the contrast between Yolande’s dark, oily skin and her own baby-powder complexion. Six months into the life, Connie admired Yolande tremendously. Yolande had been on the street for years. Had actually been in jail, on Rikers Island, six different times and done a two-year bit in Bedford Hills for nearly killing a pimp. Yolande made sure Solly Rags didn’t beat Connie more than absolutely necessary and that he put a gram on that mirror every night. It was one thing when the two girls worked the Lower East Side. There was every kind of dope on the street and they could always hold a few dollars back from their tips. Now Solly had them somewhere out in Queens and they had to rely on him to keep them high.
“Ya know, Yolande,” Connie said, “that Solly can be a real prick.”
“Did he beat you bad, baby?” Yolande, who’d begged two Seconals from a trick, was floating somewhere between the bed and the ceiling.
“Uh-uh. He just slapped me around a little. It didn’t hurt much, but I wish he wouldn’t do it right in the fuckin’ car with Tony watchin’. It was really embarrassin’. Then he put me out on the street.” She paused, giving Yolande an opportunity to join her in her indignation. “Ya believe that? I begged him, ‘Solly, at least lemme work the bar,’ but he goes, ‘Yolande got the apartment, so you gotta find a car trick worth fifty bucks.’ He said he don’t care if I stay on the street all night. I gotta come back with another fifty bucks or I know what’s gonna happen to me.”
Connie pushed herself even closer to Yolande. The cocaine was more potent than she’d originally thought. Thank God. Maybe they’d do each other, she and Yolande, after all. She pressed her nipples against Yolande’s back, running the tips of her fingers across the tightly curled hair at the top of Yolande’s thighs, then took a deep breath and continued her narration of the night’s events.
“So I’m walkin’ up and down by the movie, but it’s so cold no one’s even goin’ to the skin flicks. The streets are goddamn empty. Finally this little Jap car pulls up. Guy about forty, looks like a trick’s sposed ta look—a little fat, a little bald, a wedding ring, a cheap suit and tie. He asks me how much and I say, ‘Fifty,’ cause that’s what I gotta get fa Solly and I don’t care what the trick wants me to do.
Well, he don’t hassle about the money, so I get in the car and it’s so warm I don’t never wanna get back out, but the trick says he don’t wanna do it in the car. A Toyota ain’t big enough.
“I swear I tried everything. I stripped down outta my jacket. I put my legs on the dashboard and let my skirt ride up. He saw everything I got but he stuck to his guns. No car trick. We gotta do it on a bed or he’s goin’ down ta Queens Plaza and pick up one of them faggots work by the bridge. I mean why did Solly pick this asshole neighborhood without even a fuckin’ motel that lets whores in?”
Suddenly, without any transition, Connie stopped talking and both women got out of bed and walked over to the mirror, cutting up four thin lines and sorting them out. Connie went first, pressing her buttocks back against Yolande’s thighs (the way she knew Yolande liked) as she leaned forward to do her lines. Yolande, who preferred women to men (for companionship or for sex), responded with a casual swipe at Connie’s butt.
A few seconds later, huddled together in the warm bed, Connie, without prompting, continued her story. “Well, fuck it, I couldn’t let the trick get away. I mean it’s like a Tuesday night and there’s no traffic out there whatsoever, so I told him, ‘Okay,’ and we drove back here, but just like I figured, you got the pink cover on the doorknob and there ain’t no way I can get to the bed. Meanwhile, the trick is hard and ready, hands up under my skirt, kissin’ me all up by my neck and down my chest.
“ ‘Let’s do it here, baby,’ I said.
“I could see that fifty flyin’ off ta Queens Plaza like it had goddamn wings, but the idea of doin’ it in a hallway turned the freak on. He said, ‘You really wanna do it right here? You don’t care if people see us?’
“ ‘No, honey, I ain’t worried about it.’ I squeezed him through his pants and his dick jumped so fast I thought he was gonna come on the spot. He went in his pockets and turned over the cash and I got on my knees. I figured I could maybe work him fast enough so’s he’d get off without no one seein’ us, but just when he’s about ta come, I feel him stiffen up and I see this old lady outta the corner of my eye. She standin’ there watchin’ us and she looks like she’s about to croak or somethin’.
“Shit, I thought the trick’d lose his hard-on and I’d have ta fight ta hold on to that fifty, but he starts laughin’ and callin’ out ta the old broad.
“ ‘Hey, bitch, you wanna bite on this, too? I got enough for both of ya. C’mon down here.’
“Then he started pumpin’ like crazy, alla time callin’ out to the old lady did she wanna do this and wanna do that. The old lady was shakin like she was in an earthquake, but she didn’t say nothin’. As soon as the trick came, she ran by us (except old ladies can’t run no more, they kinda stumble). You shoulda seen the look she gave me—like I came outta one of those horror movies. Like I was a demon. I guess I can’t blame her, though. I mean it’s her goddamn house and everything. I’m just lucky the old bitch didn’t have a gun ’cause she woulda shot me fa sure.”
Yolande took her time answering. “This ol’ lady didn’t say nothin’?” she finally asked.
“Not one word. She was too fuckin’ scared, or maybe she was in shock. Alls I can remember is she was standin’ there shakin’ like she had some kinda disease.”
Connie giggled and slid in closer. She was definitely in the mood, now that she was sure Yolande wasn’t mad at her. She let the backs of her long, polished nails slide down the smooth skin of Yolande’s belly.
“Cops probly gonna be here,” Yolande said flatly, pushing Connie away. “What’re we gonna do then?”
Connie, who was very stoned, sat up in bed and pouted. “Well, what was I supposed ta do, Yolande? You think I wanted to do that trick in the hallway? I was freezin’. It’s twenty degrees and the wind was blowin’ up my skirt so hard I thought I was gonna die.”
“Okay, okay.” Yolande, still cradled in the warm indifference of the Seconals, reached out a hand and drew Connie back in close to her. “I ain’t gonna say nothin’ ta Solly Rags ’bout this. You keep your mouth shut, too. Hear me, girl?” She leaned across and kissed Connie’s lips. “We just gettin’ started. Solly say we’ll be runnin’ the whole buildin’ a few months from now. Be jus’ like the Lower East Side. Dope everywheres. We gonna have about three apartments workin’ tricks. Long as we don’t fuck it up. I got plans for both of us.”
Connie laid her head on Yolande’s shoulder. Yolande was so butch. Maybe she really could take them out of Solly’s control. If that happened, she promised herself, she’d never hold out on Yolande. Gently, she kissed Yolande’s throat. Right underneath the Adam’s apple where she knew Yolande liked it.
“I’m gonna have a little conversation with Solly Rags,” Yolande announced. “Hell, you beautiful. No reason we can’t get us some telephone work ’till it warms up. Maybe do shows. Let you play the little girl. Solly told me he want us out where the people can see us, but it ain’t gonna help if we freeze ta death. I’ll talk to him tomorrow. Lay down the law.”
Again, without transition, both women got up and walked across the room, to the bureau, the mirror, the cocaine.