“We win,” Pep said, kissing Mutzie’s cheek. Then he pushed her off his lap and let her straighten herself. She felt herself about to burst into tears, but she held back. She would not give them the satisfaction. Besides, she was completely confused. How could Pep have let this happen?
“She’s a real good sport,” Bugsy said.
“Real good,” Kid Twist agreed.
Pep stuck out a finger and winked.
“And dat’s all ya gonna get,” Pep said, laughing.
That night when they got back to the room, she told him. “How could you?” she snapped. “I really felt like a hooer.”
“Aw, baby. It was only fun. Da boys got a kick outa it. Dey know you ain’t no hooer.”
“You wouldn’t do it with Helen Reles.”
“Who wants to see Helen’s tits? Besides, we all seen them. They hang down to her pupik. We’re all like bruddas, Mutzie.”
“You promised to respect me,” she said.
“Jeez, Mutz. I didn’t mean no harm. Hell, I’m real proud of those bazooms.”
“They are for your eyes only, Pep. And nobody but you touches.”
She felt her temper rise. For the first time with Pep, she felt abject fear and the full extent of his control over her.
“Yeah. Yeah. I was just kiddin aroun. And if you show ’em to anyone else I squeeze his nuts off.”
“No more, Pep. Promise.”
“Cross my heart, Mutz.”
By then he was already undressing her and touching her everywhere. He pushed her down on the bed and took off her panties, then he pulled her legs apart.
“They ain’t never gonna see this,” he said. “Ain’t that a sight.” He bent down and started to kiss her there. Then he stopped. “Not for forty lousy bucks.” He giggled and went back to what he was doing. She felt no sensation. Only fear.
One Sunday in late June she was accompanying Pep to his Caddy, parked in the front driveway ready for the trip back to the city. They bumped into Mickey Fine, who was just hopping out of the Gorlick bus, which had taken people to the bus station in town.
“Hey, tumler,” Pep shouted, calling him over. Pep was a hard one to please when it came to humor, but somehow Mickey managed to make him laugh whether on the stage or just offering a passing remark. Pep and Mutzie did not spend much time at the various weekend shows. Pep either played cards, schmoozed with the boys or made love to her. That was his typical weekend.
“Yes, Mr. Strauss,” Mickey said. Mutzie could tell that Mickey was afraid of Pep, but then most people were, except his closest friends like Reles and Goldstein and some of the Italian
boys that came up on weekends, like Louis Capone and Dasher Abbandando.
This particular weekend had not been a good one for Pep and Mutzie. In the first place she had her period. Pep was too fastidious to make love to her when she had her period, although she did manage to satisfy him in other ways. But it was not the same, not for him.
“Ya shoulda called and tole me ya was wearin da rag,” he rebuked her when he discovered that she was having her period.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t come up,” she said.
“I wouldna,” Pep said. “I hate when women got da rag on. It’s a mess and dey stink.”
“It’s not like it is my fault,” she told him in a muted rebuke.
“I’m not saying that wearin da rag was yaw fault, I’m saying that you shoulda tole me is all.”
“I suppose I should have,” she admitted, feeling oddly guilty. “Next time.”
He was edgy the entire weekend and spent more time with the boys and less time with her, which made her depressed. She tried to hide it, pretending to be happy and giggling a lot. It only made things worse, as Pep could see right through her ploy.
“I’m sorry, Pep, for making it such a lousy weekend,” she told him. She wasn’t sure why exactly she was apologizing, but she was sure that he was in bad mood and, she reasoned, it had to be her fault.
“No ragtime next week, right?” he asked, studying her face to make sure. She shook her head and sniffled, holding back tears.
“And stop blubbering,” he told her, but he drew her into his arms and kissed her head. “Yaw still my numba one.”
It was right after that that Pep saw Mickey Fine step out of Gorlick’s bus.
“I got sumpin special for ya to do fa me, tumler,” Pep said.
Mutzie liked Mickey Fine, although she didn’t always laugh at his jokes. He was always very polite to her, even when he got off one of his so-called funny ones. She did notice that he sometimes seemed to stare at her, although he quickly averted his eyes when she faced him. Of course, she knew she attracted attention, but there was something different in the way he looked at her. Perhaps it was her imagination.
He was a tall man, a boy really, closer to her own age. He had dark curly hair, clear blue eyes and a sparkling smile that seemed to light up his whole face. He was a little on the skinny side and he often told jokes about himself being so thin.
“I’m thin so I can crawl under the door when the husband comes in too early,” he said often.
“Yaw gonna make this lady happy, tumler,” Pep said.
“I am happy, Pep,” Mutzie protested. Aren’t I? she asked herself. She was no longer as sure as she had been. In fact, she was afflicted with lots of second thoughts.
“I mean
happy
happy,” Pep said, turning to Mickey. “Yaw job is ta see dis lady is in a good mood when I come back here. Got it? Yaw gonna make her laugh all week, tumler.” He put his hand in his pocket and peeled off a five dollar bill. He looked at Mutzie and quickly turned his glance away.
Mickey took the bill, looked at it intensely and held it up to his eyes.
“Oy Abie, you should never have gone to that show. Maybe if you stuck around you coulda got your punim on the hundred.”
“Is dat a hint?” Pep said, grinning. “Maybe ya keep her in a good mood, I give ya da hunnert.”
Mutzie exchanged glances with Micky and raised her eyes in
embarrassment. She hated the idea of his paying someone to make her happy.
“You hear about the Pollack who went to get his eyes tested for a driver’s license?” Mickey asked.
“You tell me, tumler,” Pep said.
“He puts his hand over one eye and reads. ‘CZYTROSKI.’ ‘Terrific,’ the guy who was testing says. ‘No big deal,’ the Pollack says. ‘I know the guy.’”
Pep made a Bronx cheer that sprayed on Mickey.
“Very funny,” Mutzie said, with a touch of sarcasm.
“Happy, tumler,” Pep said. “I want dis lady happy.” He pounded a fist in Mickey’s upper arm. At that moment Reles came up to them. Behind him was Workman and a kid named Red Alpert.
“Ya beatin him up again, Pep?”
“I jes hoid one of his jokes,” Pep said.
“Hear the one about the alligator at Grand Central?” Mickey began. “A redcap comes over. ‘Carry your bags, sir?’ ‘Yeah,’ the alligator says …”
“But be careful … that’s my wife,” Reles interrupted, slapping Mickey on the back.
“You heard it?” Mickey asked.
“Ya know how ya find out who gives da best blow jobs,” Reles said.
“Jeez, Abie, not in fronta Mutzie,” Pep said.
“Woid a mouth,” Reles said, jutting a thumb in Pep’s chest. “Gettin bashful, baby?” He turned toward Mutzie. “Sorry, Mutz. It was on da tip a my tongue.” Reles roared with laughter.
Pep got into the Caddy shaking his head. Reles got in beside him and the other two men got in the back. When he was seated, Pep opened the window on his side.
“Come plant one on old Pep, Mutz.”
She came over and stuck her head in the window. She gave him a long soul kiss. When they were finished, he turned toward Mickey, who had averted his eyes.
“Happy,” Pep said. “Real happy.”
“And you keep that shlong in your fist,” Reles said, laughing. The men in the backseat also laughed. Mutzie felt herself flush, but she didn’t let on that she had heard. She stood watching as the car pulled away, feeling depressed and sick with a growing sense of shame.
“Sunday must be tough,” Mickey said, after the Caddy was out of sight. “I get a little sad myself seeing some of the guests leave.”
Under the tumler’s veneer, she saw a vulnerable sincerity that she liked, although she did feel uncomfortable with Pep’s ordering him to make her happy. She could tell he was also uncomfortable. He called out suddenly to a couple of incoming guests.
“Don’t worry, folks, the hotel is fireproof during the season. It’s off-season that Gorlick makes his money. He has so much he doesn’t know what to burn next.”
“That’s not funny,” one of the women said grimly. “Who is this schmuck?” she asked her girlfriend, a dyed redhead with a painted mask for a face.
“Don’t pay any attention to him, he’s not an eligible guy. He’s only the tumler.”
“Reminds me of a girl I went out with once,” Mickey whispered to Mutzie. “You heard of nose drops? So does hers.”
“You don’t have to try so hard, Mickey,” Mutzie said.
“Oh yes, I do,” Mickey said. Although he was smiling, a sad grimace seemed to pass beneath the smile.
“Pep’s a lot of talk. He’s not like people say,” Mutzie said.
“I think he’s great,” Mickey said. She caught the note of sarcasm, but let it pass. In her presence, she had learned, no one said a bad word about Pep. Not ever.
“People say so,” Mutzie said.
Mickey followed her through the lobby toward one of the back porches, where she then sat on a rocking chair. He sat beside her. Beyond the porch rail the incredibly green lawn undulated downward to a stand of pine trees that screened the road below. It was a tranquil setting, quite beautiful, and they both stared out at it for a while.
“You know you don’t have to stick to me like glue,” Mutzie said suddenly. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“I was just enjoying the view.”
“Not afraid that people will talk? You spending time with Pep’s girl?”
“Hell, Pep hired me,” Mickey said. “I got a sawbuck to prove it.”
She felt a flash of anger rise in her chest, but she calmed herself. Looking at him, she again saw his vulnerability and realized he hadn’t really meant it to be insulting. She said nothing in response and continued to look out at the landscape. They were silent for a long time until she realized he was staring at her.
“You wanna be an actress or something?” Mickey asked suddenly.
For a moment, she was wary. Above all, she wasn’t looking for intimacy, but she was flattered. She shrugged an answer, not wishing to ignore him completely.
“You got charisma, Mutzie,” he said. “I’ve seen the way people look at you.”
She felt more than flattery now, as if he were tapping into something very deep inside of her.
“Sure it’s not the hairdo?” She fluffed her hair. “It’s the Jean Harlow look.”
“I’d never know,” he laughed.
“Some people think it looks cheap,” she said. “But I don’t care. Pep likes it and that’s all that counts for me.”
This is what she had been telling herself, had convinced herself was the truth. In her thoughts, she would never allow herself to think beyond Pep, as if she might have ambitions of her own. And yet, it tantalized her to think that maybe she might be an actress, get to live all those wonderful lives that actresses lived in the movies. All right, it was only make believe. But what was wrong with that? She knew from the fan magazines that when they weren’t living these exotic and interesting lives in the movies they were offstage somewhere in sunny California living glamorous lives in lovely houses with swimming pools and going to nightclubs and racetracks.
“Maybe someday I’ll go to California,” she mused aloud.
“Me, too, maybe,” Mickey said. “Be a movie funny guy. Like a Ritz brother, only I have no brothers.”
The truth of it was that she had expected Gorlick’s to be something like that and in her heart of hearts she was becoming more and more disappointed, although it was better than spending the summer in the hot city. Wasn’t it?
There were moments when she wanted to ask Pep if there was a future between them. But she was afraid. Afraid there might be, or afraid there might not be? She wasn’t sure. Seymour had told her mother that she was going out with Pep, who he portrayed as a very important businessman which, of course, delighted her mother and filled her with hopeful ideas. Of course, she didn’t know how intimate Mutzie and Pep had really become. Nor did she know how Mutzie was really spending her summer. She had
told her mother that she was working at Gorlick’s as a waitress.
“What about Mr. Strauss?” her mother asked when she called home once a week.
“Oh he visits on weekends,” she explained, adding, “He has an investment in Gorlick’s.” This elated her mother.
“Maybe the country air will put wedding bells in his head,” her mother suggested. Mutzie doubted that. Not a hint of such a thought had crossed Pep’s lips. Besides, it was a decision with which she did not wish to be confronted.
These were the thoughts going through her mind as she felt Mickey continue to study her. “I just thought, you know. If you wanted to be an actress, or just for kicks, you might want to be in my little skits. No kidding. It would beef things up a bit to have an attractive girl like you in some of my routines.”
She felt oddly tempted.
“You think Pep would mind?”
“Mind? He’d be real proud.” He paused and she felt his eyes boring into her. “Besides, you really don’t look none too happy during the week. Don’t think it’s not noticeable that you’re always off by yourself somewhere.” He cleared his throat, somewhat embarrassed. When she stole a quick glance at him, she noticed that he was blushing.
“Maybe some Hollywood scout will discover you.”
“Don’t be silly,” she snickered, feeling secretly excited.
“Really. It would be fun. Dress up the act.”
“Maybe I should check first,” she said. Pep had given her the number of Midnight Rose’s candy store on Saratoga and Livonia. If she ever needed him she was to call.
“Whatever you say. Anyway, the offer stands.”
At that moment she was conscious of a short redheaded young man watching them from the lawn. She had seen him
around as one of the help. He seemed to be looking at them intently.
“That’s Irish. One of the truly dumb. When I want to spend the day not thinking I read his mind.”