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Kneeland Street, Chinatown
DANTE HAD KNOWN Jill years before and had searched her out first, surprised that she was even alive let alone still on the streets. She still used but told him she took it slow, that it wasn’t as bad as it had once been, and besides, she’d seen too many friends die. Now she did it to get by, but she knew the difference between that and getting lost. Like a lot of other girls, she’d once worked for Shea Mack, but he’d cut her years before and had no use for her now—he liked his girls young and unmarked.
She told him of dancing at the old clubs in New York City back during Prohibition. How she’d sucked off Frank Sinatra in a restaurant bathroom just before he hit it big. And how all the men from Manhattan to Boston treated her like a queen—jewelry, fancy dinners, silk gowns, the works.
“That’s all gone,” she said to Dante, who stood there eyeing a pack of four girls across the street. “That’s all gone to shit. No respect these days for an old-timer like myself. Men now think of me as a joke—and if they want some, they ask me to do things I’d never think of doing. Stuff that shouldn’t be done between a man and a woman, not ever. Like I was some animal, some pot to piss in.”
Dante nodded, half listening to her, turned and looked at her, and tried to smile. “Maybe it’s time to hang it all up.”
“I still got some left, you know,” and the strength of her voice wavered and then cracked, as if she knew she was kidding herself. She wore far too much makeup, and it made her appear clownish and crazed-looking. Her age showed in the loose and lined skin of her neck, and even despite her heavy jacket, Dante could see the bulge of her breasts hanging low at her wide waistline. “I try to be a mother to the new girls, give them advice that’ll help them survive the right way, but they won’t give it much thought, just carry on for themselves as if there’s not a danger in the world. If only they seen what I seen, they’d wise the fuck up.” She had a voice like gravel being tramped on by horseshoes.
He showed her the picture, the one from his wedding that he’d torn down the middle so that only Sheila showed in her silky gown and part of Margo’s arm, but she shook her head. “Pretty,” Jill said approvingly. “That’s some dress. If I had a dress like that you wouldn’t see me out here in the cold. ’Course she’s got the body to go with it, too. Not too many girls could get away with a dress like that. I never seen her, though. Was she a hooker?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
Jill raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know much. I thought she was family?”
“She was.”
“Yeah, well, that’s okay. Family don’t always know what’s going on with each other. My mother thinks I work at Mass General as an X-ray technician.”
“Where’d she get that idea?”
“I took a couple of courses.” She shrugged. “I didn’t finish the program.”
“Maybe you’ll go back?”
“Maybe. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.”
He described Scarletti to her and she nodded. “You’ve seen him?” he said, surprised.
“Yeah, yeah. Big guy, bigger than you say, but same all the rest. Saw him down by the markets right off Mass Ave. There’s a diner there where the girls sometimes go late night. Sometimes they get lucky with the truckers who are about to hit the highway or the guys coming home from the bars and peep shows.”
“You mean Mama’s?”
“That’s the place.”
“How’d you know it was this guy?”
Jill took a long pull off her cigarette, her cheeks hollowed, and he waited.
“His mouth—he’s got that harelip—and, well, the size of him. The size of him was enough to make you look twice, y’know, he takes off his jacket and sweater because it’s hot in the place and he’s got these massive arms. He was there for an hour or so chatting up the girls—the owner don’t mind any at that time, mostly because she likes the business she gets from the truckers, so she don’t stir it up none.”
“Did any of the girls end up going with him?”
“Not that night, I don’t think, but I got myself a date,” and she winked, “so really, I don’t know.”
Under the light above the doorway, she stepped closer and looked at him. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. Why?”
“You’re sweating like it’s the Fourth of July. Could be that fever going around. I’d get on home if I were you.”
He brought his hand to his face and forehead, felt the wetness there. His hair was drenched. It was as if he’d just put his head beneath a faucet. He closed his eyes and swayed, experiencing a sense of vertigo. When he looked at her again, she seemed somehow out of focus. Behind her the street stretched and narrowed, as if it were unraveling into the distance. Passing cars were blurs of color.
Jill touched his shoulder. “Honey,” she said, “you’re not right, and you’re looking worse by the minute. Go get yourself home,” and Dante nodded and turned back up the street, and with the world unraveling feverishly about him tried to focus on the pavement as he walked until, in a little bit, the need for a fix and the fever with all its desperate hunger had subsided.