Young Lonigan - James T. Farrell [362]
“All right, Lonigan, you go and we’ll fo-follow.”
Nervous and anxious, he walked toward the building, kind of wishing he hadn’t gotten into it, because it might be dangerous, and still glad, because he needed it, and she was as good a piece as a guy could expect to get on quick notice. And wouldn’t this be some experience to talk about! He read the name on the second floor mailbox. George Jackson. Well, George, here goes.
When she admitted him, he saw her in pink bloomers with pink brassiere, her milky skin patched with a few pink blushes, her hips wider than he had thought, her breasts saggy, her body strong and muscular.
“I was getting ready,” she said, abashed.
“Yes,” he said, ill-at-ease, wanting to look at her, not certain how she’d take it. “The others are coming.”
One of her breasts flopped out from her brassiere as she shut the door, and clumsy, forgetting everything, he clutched at it, kissed her, tried to force and press himself stiffly against her.
“I’m not sorry I came to see you,” he said, roughly pawing at her, his voice hoarse.
“Wait, please,” she said, struggling to untangle herself.
The bell rang. She pointed to the parlor.
“Well, this is certainly a surprise,” Coombs said dully.
“Would you wait in the parlor, please?”
“I s-say, Lonigan, this is certainly a surprise, and this little woman is going to be a nice little treat,” Coombs said, entering the small parlor which seemed overcrowded with cheap, gaudy furniture.
“She looks like she’s got a high-powered engine of passion in her,” Studs said, lighting a cigarette.
“I see you covered up, girlie,” Coombs said when she entered the parlor, her body draped in a bright red kimono that kept slipping down one shoulder.
“Now, please don’t talk too loudly. My baby’s asleep in the next room,” she said, striking a seductive pose with her abdomen flaunted outward.
“Oh, the baby,” Coombs said.
She turned away to answer the bell.
“Well, sister, here we is, a-rarin’ to go,” Cohen said, rubbing his hands as he entered the parlor.
“And too much delay and anxiety now will weaken me,” Burke smirked.
“I’ll be right in,” she said.
“Don’t talk too loud. Her baby is asleep,” Coombs said.
“Certainly low, isn’t she? But still, she’s the goods, and it ain’t our look-out,” Burke said quietly, shaking his head, his face showing disgust.
“I hope one or two of you boys go first and get the lady cranked up right for me,” said Cohen.
Studs was reminded of the gang shag they had once had at Iris’ on Prairie Avenue, when he had lost his cherry. Since then he had never had it and gotten as much out of it as he hoped for, except maybe once with that little bitch from Nolan’s who had dosed him. He wished he was only as old as when they’d gang-shagged Iris, and going in to this woman.
“I never had tail under such queer circumstances,” Burke said.
“Life, my boy, is stranger than fiction.”
“It’s much better than a can-house, and only half a buck more,” Burke said.
“When I came, she answered the door in her drawers. Nice, isn’t she, Lonigan?” Coombs said.
“Getting down to business, boys, take these to keep yourselves out of the rain,” Cohen said, going around to each of them.
She entered carrying a pack of playing cards, and each drew. Studs was highest with a ten of diamonds.
“Lonigan, save us a little,” Burke said.
“Listen, if you think you can say such things, you better leave. This is my house. I’m not going to stand for your lewdness,” she said.
“I’m sorry. No harm meant,” Burke said meekly.
“Watch your tongue then!” she said, softening her challenge.
She collected two-fifty from each of them.
“My baby is taking its nap in the bedroom off here. Please be quiet. And you can come into the bedroom down the hall in a minute,” she said, looking at Studs.
Studs nodded, trying to keep himself under control. As she left the room, Burke laughed, shook his head quizzically.
“Treat us like a pal. We’ll be waiting anxiously out here,” Burke said.
Grinning foolishly, Studs walked down the hall, opened the bedroom door.
“All right?” he asked.