end
up with 120 dollars in my back pocket. Not bad for a nights work. The
other cats have gone off to practice being young junkies, and left me
with Midnight. I ask if it’s ok if I call her Midnight.
‘I’ve
been called worse Honey. I kinda like it.’ I quiz her about the set
up here. She tells me that “The Man” is trying to get a foothold
in Harlem, and the best way is to sell booze and drugs. That way he
has a hold over anyone with a habit, and that she too, has to bend
over for him occasionally. I raise a quizzical eyebrow. ‘He likes a
bit of black ass, and why not, it’s the best.’ She shakes her
butt to make the point. I’m impressed. She asks me where I’m
lodging. ‘A little French House on 116th.
The owner has taken a shine to me.’
‘Can’t
blame her Honey you’re kinda cute.’ I yawn with exaggeration. “
I have to hit the sack I’m fucked’
‘Pity.’
**********************
Back
at the Victoria Hotel alias The French House, I manage to get to my
room without bumping into the owner and lock the door behind me. My
bags are empty, but all my things have been put neatly away into the
closet and the bathroom. This too must be part of the service, I may
like here, it makes a change from Brian harping on. I have a plan,
which is to seek out the real Veronica Lake and track down Fats
Waller but first a bath and uninterrupted sleep. This may be a silly
plan, it may be the worst plan in the world, but these two seem to be
the kin pins of how my life has panned out lately. Fats will be easy,
but Miss Lake may not even be in NY. I’ll sleep on it. As King
Pleasure sings. “Tomorrow is another day, and fortune may come your
way.”
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