Storyville, New Orleans, Summer, 1917...
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Bored Janine Le Velle sniffed the limp clump of purple wisteria blossoms she was holding; she loved the fresh, sweet scent, wished she had a crystal bottle of perfume that smelled like those blooms that hung from the twisted, dead-looking branches like bunches of grapes. But, none of her Johns had given her such a gift, ~ none, ~ as yet... Charlezza was sitting on the back steps of Mahogany House. She frowned, stuffed the wisteria blossoms behind her ear and leaned down to scratch the sole of a dusty foot.
Charlezza wasn't very old, only nineteen. Sometimes, she missed having her ragdoll Sooky, and cuddling her puppy Lolly, who would be an elderly hound now, if she was still alive. Sighing, Charlezza took a sip of her tall glass of very sugary lemonade. It was still refreshing, even though the drink wasn’t a bit cold; at least it was wet! The ice man came every weekday in the summer, at seven o’clock in the evening with his big blocks of ice caught between gigantic tongs to deliver them to Madame Lulu’s fancy wooden icebox, but afterwards Madame Lulu was very stingy with the precious ice. Her girls weren’t supposed to drink yummy chilled beverages unless they were with clients, and, naturally the ice was all gone by the next morning.
Charlezza rolled her round chestnut brown eyes, batted her spiky black lashes by learned, --- uh, --- learned habit. It was okay even if there wasn’t anyone to watch her doing it. Dang it, ~ so what? Acting like an naive, unpredictable coquette got to be automatic. Still, although it was a bit tedious at times, it was easy money. And, Charlezza was pretty damn lazy, just by nature.
She sighed; the flozzy business tended to be very slow in the icky heat of a Louisiana July, making the tempers of the girls and their clients mighty twitchy. And, everything a girl touched felt clammy and clingy, ~ ugh, especially flesh against flesh, sort of stuck together and, yet amazingly, still sliding back and forth, and threatening to chafe, even with the sprinkling of Mama Lorraine’s hoodoo jasmine and sage powder, quite regularly! Charlezza was glad Madame Lulu mercifully mostly closed the place down in the summer in New Orleans in good old Storyville. That was very sensible, ~ yeah, yeah, yeah, very darn sensible of her!
Charlezza was barely clothed in a thin, very low-cut pink cotton eyelet lace nightgown with lavender satin ribbons threaded through the lacy holes, now enjoying a slight breeze on her dainty breasts, her belly, the insides of her legs and arms, and her toes. She laughed, a delightful childlike sound. Charlezza could pick up pencil and even write a bit with those toes! What a funny little talent! She ruffled her abundant reddish brown hair. Later today, it would be so hot that she'd have to pin it up on top of her head or she simply couldn't stand it! But, she was still feeling special, with her earlobes freshly pierced with the pearl teardrop earrings Henri Gaupin had given her. He was seventy if he was a day, but very sweet. Old men had their uses. They were far less demanding than young ones and they had nice manners. Sometimes, they just wanted a girl's company, a bit of spoiling, and cuddling. Of course, that was because a lot of them lacked, ~ uh, vitality.Charlezza was always glad when men lacked vitality. Stupid folks thought whores actually liked being whores because whores just loved sex. Really dumb-dumb of them, whores loved sex like milkmen loved delivering milk! It was a job, just a job!
It was getting on to mid morning now and she knew, oh, she really just stinking knew, ~ heck, heck, heck! She should be getting back to Billy Bart Yager, but he was snoring so, so loudly! Clarlezza twisted a lock of her beautiful hair around her fingers. Yeah, she thought she’d go plum crazy and knife him with the pearl handle letter opener that sat in the silver tray in Madame Lulu’s private parlor, knife him right though his stupid little pot belly if she heard just one more liquidy snort from his drooling, buck-toothed mouth!
And, besides, he was still a little nasty from vomit, even though she had cleaned him and his clothing as best she could after he threw up, spewing all over one of Madame Lulu’s new couches that she recently imported from Calais, France, the chartreuse silk brocade one with all the twisted gold cord fringes. Charlezza hoped that she wouldn’t have to pay for the cleaning it! She didn’t think she made enough money, ~ not ever, and careful cleaning of the couch’s delicate fabric would make her practically broke again this month, ~ just exactly like the last month!
Charlezza thoughts wandered; she pursed her petal-like lips, thinking about handsome, sophisticated Pierre Ozanne. He was only in his mid twenties, had been born in Montematre, Paris and spent up until his teen years there. She thought about Pierre's silky and wavy dark hair sliding through her fingers, his sweet little goatee and mustache, his broad muscular shoulders under her palms, and then, his soft curving mouth on her throat and her breasts, traveling lusciously down, down, down... Charlezza wiggled her fanny a bit on the hard steps. Ooo!... It annoyed her mightily that the very unique Pierre wasn’t coming around as much as he used to, ~ no, no, no, not nearly as much!
It could be because of the dang miserable heat. But, that was a foolish notion! Heat had never stopped Pierre from getting his regular loving before, all last summer. Nothing ever stopped dashing and debonair Pierre, if he really wanted something bad enough! And, he had those big dimples, one on each side of his expressive face, so charming when he gave her one of his toothy grins. She just loved that adorable little space between his dazzling front teeth.
Charlezza knew she was being silly; Madame Lulu had told her and told her that a whore, even one as young, lovely and classy as she was, couldn’t actually, actually believe she could have a regular boyfriend like decent girls, a boyfriend made out of one of the clients! “You’re dreaming fluffy pink clouds and then shitting out river stones, ma petite angel!,” Lulu had sternly warned her. She scowled, “No man who frequents my place is ever, ever going to marry you! You’re just distraction, a play-time pretty, a juicy little peach!”
But even so, Charlezza had the precious dreams of any romantic girl. She slammed her glass of lemonade down so hard on the brick steps that it broke and the drink splashed all over her. She shook her hand in the air, spraying droplets of blood and sucked two of her fingers hard. The sting annoyed her more than it hurt. She was a popular Storyville girl; she should be glad. Charlezza sighed again. It was fate, she supposed. She was lucky she didn't get pregnant. Maybe she was barren, as she suspected, a blessing for any fancy woman, even though Lulu White insisted that all men use "gloves," as a cleanliness measure also.
Charlezza kept her lacerated fingers in her mouth as she rose from the steps and entered through the back door of Lulu White’s scrumptious castle-like place at two thirty six North Basin Street, actually on the corner of North Basin and Bienville, that enormous and unique building that cost forty thousand dollars to put up. It was built of fine stone and even pink and gold marble with a bright fan-shaped stained glass window over the front door saying “Lulu White” and it’s distinctive tower, it’s two thousand dollars worth of furniture, it’s custom made two hundred dollar cut glass chandelier and it’s heavy plush velvet drapes. The house had fifteen bedrooms with canopy beds and five scumptious parlors, and was four stories high, counting the bottom floor that was used as a storage area.
Yes, Lulu White’s place was very, very tall, like most of the other elegant brothels in the thirty eight blocks of Storyville, which were bounded by Iberville, Basin, Saint Louis and North Robertson Streets and named after New Orleans’ pious Alderman Sidney Story, much to his very embarrassed dismay. It was the religious, careful and cautious Sidney Story who came up with the infamous guidelines for the prostitution that had been legal in the precious “Tenderloin” District since July sixth, eighteen ninety seven, a tiny bit over fifteen years ago and counting, ~ now.
--- Copyright by Antoinette Beard, 2024.
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