Part 5 (1/2)

”Big deal. Slopping drinks to a bunch of f.u.c.king lushes. At least I got someone looking out for me. Who looks out for you when you tend bar?”

I shook my head. ”Robert's looking out for you?”

She laughed again. ”He's looking out for him.”

”So how much is he looking out for you?”

”He needs me. He takes care of business.”

”If you tended bar,” I said, ”I suppose you'd have to look out for yourself. You and the union.”

”That s.h.i.+t's okay if you're a man,” Ginger said.

I nodded. A middle-aged man came into the bar wearing brand-new cowboy boots, and Sergio Valente jeans, with his hair blow-dried and his s.h.i.+rt collar carefully smoothed out over the lapels of his suede sport coat. His wife's jeans were tucked into her boots. The jeans were too tight and plainly revealed the spandex undergarment that compressed her b.u.t.t. The ma.s.s of black hair piled on her head seemed to dwarf her face. Visitors in the big city. Up from Orlando, maybe. Or in from Wilkes-Barre, or Worcester.

”What did you do before you started hooking?” I said.

”Nothing.” Ginger made a kind of s.h.i.+very motion. ”How come you want to know all this s.h.i.+t?”

”I don't know much about wh.o.r.es and this kid I'm interested in is one. I thought I'd better inform myself.”

”Why don't you ask her?”

”She doesn't know what you know,” I said.

”She will.”

”Maybe not,” I said.

”You gonna save her?”

”Maybe,” I said.

Ginger laughed her joyless laugh. ”Why?” she said.

”Why not?”

”You gonna save me?”

”Maybe,” I said.

Ginger was still for a moment. Then she said, ”s.h.i.+t,” and drank her Tequila Sunrise.

8.

From the window of my room at the St. Regis I could see Fifth Avenue. It was early evening and the crowd on the street was on its way to early dinner, or late shopping. The sky beyond the skysc.r.a.pers to the west was still light, but down in the city it was dark and the streetlights were on.

I turned from the window and looked at Ginger. She was sitting on the edge of the bed eating a cheeseburger and drinking beer. The room service table was in front of her with a pink tablecloth and a rose in a gla.s.s vase. ”What about Robert?” I said.

”f.u.c.k him,” Ginger said. ”He don't own me. I give him his cut, what difference does it make to him?”

”Doesn't he like to know where you are?”

She chewed a bite of her sandwich and swallowed and pulled at the beer bottle. ”Who gives a s.h.i.+t what he likes. He'll get his share.”

”Is he going to be nasty about this?” I said.

She tossed her head a little. ”I can handle him.”

I nodded and picked up a half a turkey and Swiss cheese sandwich on pumpernickel. I took a bite, leaning my hips against the windowsill. Ginger ate a french fry with her fingers. She drank some more beer.

”How'd you get into this line of work?” I said.

”Jesus, you don't quit,” Ginger said, ”do you.”

I shook my head.

”You really worried about this new hooker, huh?”

I nodded.

She ate another french fry. ”There more beer?” she said.

”Sure,” I said, and got one from the ice bucket and opened it and handed it to her. She drank it from the bottle.

”What the h.e.l.l is she to you?” Ginger said. ”She been hauling your ashes for you? You jealous of Robert?”

I shook my head.

”You married?” Ginger said.

”No.”

”Girlfriend?”

”Yes.”

”But she's kinda cold, right? Don't like the kinky stuff. So you have to hustle a little on the side, buy a little strange p.u.s.s.y now and then and tell yourself you're saving her.”

”How'd you get into the business?” I said.

Ginger drank from the bottle. She picked a piece of congealed melted cheese from the plate and ate it and drank some more beer.

”f.u.c.k you,” she said. ”You want to save some floozie, go ahead, save her yourself. I don't have to tell you s.h.i.+t.”