“She ain’t the fat one, is she?”
“No, that’s Esther. You want her, you’ll have to wait in line. Those boys standing at the bar are next. Matilda’s a little on the lean side, but she’s a wildcat in the sack.”
“How much?”
“Matilda’s a high-quality four-dollar piece.”
“She’ll do,” Chimney said, pulling out some money. “Maybe I’ll try the big one later.”
“Last tent down,” the pimp said. “Go ahead. She’ll be waiting on ye.” Then he turned to Cane and looked at his suit. “Now you look like a man who likes something a little more refined. I got a real lady who speaks French. She’s with another customer right now, but they should be about finished.”
“How much does she cost?” Cane asked, trying to hide the nervousness in his voice. He watched his brother disappear inside the brown canvas tent.
“Peaches is the same as Matilda.”
Cane had just handed the man his money when a wheezing old-timer with brown, leathery skin came out of the second tent dragging one leg behind him. He stopped and bent over, hacked a throat-full of yellowish phlegm onto the ground, then continued on until he disappeared into the line of trees beyond the horse pen. “There ye go,” Blackie said, “right on time.”
As he walked past the soldiers, Cane heard them talking among themselves about Esther. “She’ll do anything you want and you don’t have to pay extra for it, either. Me and ol’ Dugan double-teamed her the other night, worked her over from the front and the back till we damn near met in the middle.” With a little trepidation, he pulled back the flap on the tent and stooped down a little as he entered. A woman with long blond tresses and a pretty face was squatted down over a bucket in the corner, but when she saw him, she sprung up and pulled her white slip down. She reached over and picked up a cigarette from a little wooden box on the table, then said with a frown, “Just give me a couple minutes, okay? I need a smoke.”
“Take your time,” Cane said. “I’m not in any hurry.” He was a little surprised at how comfortable the tent looked, almost like a regular room. A padded chair sat in the corner, and on a polished nightstand beside the small bed was a lit candle and some slightly wilted wildflowers in a blue vase.
“I’m supposed to get five minutes between customers.”
“I’m sorry, but he told me to come on back. The boss, I mean.”
“Yeah, Blackie’s a slave driver. That’s what Matilda calls him.”
“Want me to step back outside until you’re ready?”
“No, Jesus, don’t do that. He’ll wonder what’s going on. Just take your pants off and lay down on the bed.”
Cane glanced over at the bucket, then sat down in the chair instead. He tried not to think about the old, dirty bastard who had just left the tent a couple of minutes ago, looking like a mummy emerging from his tomb. Christ, if he’d actually been able to get an erection, she probably still had some of his dusty wad up inside her. Though he wanted a woman, he didn’t want one this bad. He was trying to figure a way out of it without hurting her feelings when he remembered what the pimp had said. “So, you speak French?” he asked her.
“I do,” Peaches said, exhaling a plume of smoke, “but only for money.”
“Well, how about you just talk to me for a while? To tell ye the truth, I think I’m too worn out to do anything else.”
“You mean in French?”
“Yeah,” Cane said. “We built a fence one time for a man whose wife spoke it whenever she was pissed at him. I always did like the sound of it.”
“It’ll cost you a dollar extra.”
“That’s all right,” Cane said. He took a dollar out of his pocket and laid it beside the flower vase.
Peaches stabbed the cigarette out in an ashtray, then stood up and shook out her hands, as if she were getting ready to perform some great feat. “Parlez-vous Fran?ais?” she asked with a wink. “Oui,” she replied, nodding her head. It turned out that her entire act was composed of perhaps a dozen or so such words and phrases. Then, as far as Cane could tell, she repeated everything two more times before finally stopping and looking down at his crotch. “Did ye get off yet?”
“What?” he asked, a little confused. “No, I was just…You mean men actually…”
“Well, yeah, that’s the point, ain’t it?” She reached for another cigarette. “Hold on a minute and I’ll start over. Try to pay attention this time.”
“No, that’s all right,” Cane said, relieved that it was over with. “Like I said, I’m wore out.” He stood and turned to exit.