Chapter 60

I step out of the gloom into bright sunshine. I can smell the river and hear the boat sirens. It’s probably about 5 and the sun is casting longer shadows into the street. I need to get a pad fixed up before tonight. I think of the Cat House, but as my real self no one there would know me from the next Joe. Still I can go there anyway, they may know of a good doss house nearby. As luck would have it a yellow cruises past. I give it my best two fingered whistle and the car pulls over.

‘Where to?’

‘Know the Cat House on 118^th’
’My second home. That’ll be a five spot upfront.’

‘A bit steep for a couple blocks’

‘Listen Limey, that’s the price, or no ride’

What the hell I should quibble over a few dollars, we all have to make a living. I get in the back, in which already in residence is a Rhode Island Red inside a wicker cage. It looks at me with belligerence, and tries to take a piece out of me.

‘What the Fuck!’

The driver turns his head ‘Don’t take no notice of Mr. C. He’ll either be Southern Fried tonight or have made me a few thousand bucks.’

‘I thought cock fighting was banned in this City.’

‘It sure is, which is why there is so much riding on him. The scene is under Brooklyn Bridge if you fancy some excitement. Midnight.’

‘No ta, I’m working.’

The Cat House is just as I remembered it. The familiar smell of perfume cigar smoke and semen. The Madame welcomes me in with a smile and points to the tariff board.

‘I have been recommended by Fats. He says it is a clean establishment and value for your Buck.’

‘He’s not wrong Honey, what is your preference? I judge by your Limey accent you may be partial to a bit of bondage.’

‘I like ‘em big but not fat.’ She beams. ‘Big Sal is for you, just what Dr. Doolittle ordered. Sit down and have a beer, I’ll call her down.’

I am sitting in these familiar surroundings, feeling apprehensive about meeting up with Big Sal, who in my guise as Fats Waller was my friend and confident, and sometime lover. This is going to be tricky. Maybe I should make myself scarce and avoid any awkwardness. I make my exit and promises to return soon. What am I thinking of? What am I doing here? I should had thought trough this trip and realise it could have blood written all over it. Back in the street, I see a sign saying, “The Victoria Hotel” on a brownstone next to the Deli. Might as well be there as anywhere where I hang my hat. On the door is a sign that reads.

NO IRISH NO DOGS

ROOMS BY THE DAY OR THE WEEK

PAY IN ADVANCE

I enter the lobby and ring the bell on the counter. An aristocratic lady with a tall beehive hair style comes out from the office behind the desk. She looks me over using lorgnettes with a gold frame and ivory handle.

‘I have only double rooms left, with bath of course.’ She has a thick French accent. ‘ Ten dollars a night, or fifty for the week.’

‘Just what I am looking for.’ I say in my best Limey accent.

‘You are English, No?’

‘Yes, you have a good ear Madame.’ I swear she blushes. ‘ I Play the harp Monsieur, we have a little soiree here in the evenings. Do you play?’ I confess I play the piano and the saxophone if pushed.

I take a double room for a week and get settled in on the second floor. I have to retrieve my luggage from the deposit lockers at Grand Central before I can change for the evening, so I go back to the lobby to get a cab. The Madame, asks where I am going and insists her husband goes and gets the bags for me.

‘We can play a little Mozart whilst he is gone.’ She has let her hair down from the scaffolding and it takes years off her, she is maybe thirty at the most. As she talks she winks at me. Is, ‘play a little Mozart’, a French euphemism for hanky panky? I decline the offer and say that I need to bathe and get some shut eye as I have a long evening ahead of me. She looks disappointed as I step into the elevator. The elevator is one of those that is enclosed in fancy iron work, inside which the open wire cage moves. I press the brass button for the second floor.

I am lying in the bath soapy water up to my chin with my eyes closed, I am half asleep and thinking of Red, when I feel a soft hand enclose my prick. I open my eyes and see blond hair hanging down over a pair of small breast toped with pink nipples.

‘All part of the service.’ Says the Madame. She is not fully naked, as she still has on French knickers, (what else?) and silk stockings.

‘ Do you vish me to get in?’

‘Be my guest’.