Jewel of Lust

"You'll be paid five dollars a week, with room and board." The Lord of the House led him down a maze of dirty corridors. They passed doors lying off their hinges, and some barely affixed. The plaster was falling from the walls in places, oil lamps left carbon stains on the low ceiling. In short, the place was a dump. But that wasn't to say it was beyond repair. The foundation was good. He'd noted that the moment he set foot inside. The floors were surprisingly solid, and it was a start. As they rounded a corner an unshaven man lay across the floor, a sprawling obstacle. His trousers were down, hugging his knees and based on the profound odor hanging over him, he had to be drunk, and must have been for some time. A young woman was trying fruitlessly to get him pulled up against the wall and out of the way. His inebriation proved daunting to the task.

"Take it to a room!" ordered the Lord of the House. She delivered a swift kick to the man's exposed rump. It was enough to wake him, and with the girl's coaxing he managed to drag himself into an adjacent room. The Lord of the House growled. She was a stout woman, albeit small, standing at a height of no more than five feet. Her hair was pinned up so tightly it pulled all her features up toward her forehead. As a result her eyebrows were perched high and menacing.

"The former proprietor lost his mind, so to speak. Consequently, when he left the establishment suffered the dilapidation you see now. I intend to resurrect it." The man took it all in. His broad shoulders bespoke of a man of means, and his large blue eyes, a man of diligence. The Lord of the House had hired him on the spot and he was thankful. The war had been hard on his hometown and many of the tradesman had taken to the roads in the years following to get work. A whorehouse wasn't orchard pickings, but it meant survival. It was all he could hope for.

"Here is your room." She reached into her sleeve. "This is the key." He glanced over his shoulder. The door was nowhere to be seen. In fact, the hinges must have themselves taken flight with it. The frame looked as if someone had taken a battering ram to the timber that had formerly stood in its embrace. The Lord of the House followed his gaze.

"Yes, well. You shall have to ratify that. There is a mill one mile from here. You are to purchase whatever you shall need, and bring me legible copies of all invoices. I shall advance you this week's pay, provided you start as early as tomorrow morning." He nodded. "Will you require one of the ladies to do your laundry?" Another nod. "That amounts to a dollar a month. Fresh linens, a dollar a month. The well is out back. And from the looks of your stove, you may desire using the one down the hall to heat your water. At least, until you've made repairs.

"For all other needs," she began, inclining her head toward his crotch, "whilst you reside under this roof, you are not to engage the ladies. You may eat in the dining parlor. The matron, a woman named Lua usually cooks, but if you eat with the ladies you may be expected to cook occasionally." She clasped her hands behind her back and inclined her head slightly. "I thank you for joining us. Will there be anything else at the moment?" The young man's blue eyes glowed briefly then faded. He shook his head.

"Very well," said the Lord of the House. She turned and began to walk out the room. "If you should require my attention, send for me through the house matron. Oh, and Mr. Thompson?" At this, she turned swiftly and peered into his face. "Do smile occasionally, yes?" Without waiting for a reply, she turned on her heels and darted down the corridor.

He stood there a while, looking on in her wake. Then he turned and set the burlap bag carrying his life's possessions, near the rusted cot. The very next thing he did was to sit down. The old cot stretched and creaked, but didn't live up to its threat of collapse. He exhaled. It was the exhale of a man who had seen more than his share of hardships at such a young age. War and starvation had borrowed his precious memories without permission, and returned them battered, broken, when at all. He ran his fingers through the two months whiskers that had accumulated on his face. Had it been that long since he'd had a shave? He stared at his hands, studying the lines, the veins, the creases. All the while, he took in the sounds, the smells. The mold and the perfume romanced lazily through the whole of the House. There were ratty groans, despairing shrieks, the occasional nervous laugh. Yet, none of it entered him. The emotions a place like this might typically draw from a person, were all externalized, dead to him. If not dead, very much asleep.

He noticed a fractured mirror hanging on the wall close to the room's only window. He stood with some difficulty and walked to it. As he gazed in upon his reflection his mind asked, Who Is This Man Where Once Stood A Boy? The question bespoke of a painful truth. Hair matted, lips split, face sunburnt, dirty. The eighteen year old was nowhere to be seen. He thought back to his mother, and what she might have said gazing on him now. Probably cry with arms outstretched, he thought. He took one last look. Let the boy die with those memories, his mind said. Only men survive.

Despite the near constant soundtrack of the whorehouse, he sleep solidly awaking refreshed. It was still dark. He stretched and forced himself up from the cot. Being a man didn't mean rising was any easier. The urge to roll over and wait for the sun was still with him, however subdued. He'd slept fully clothed so there wasn't much in preparation for the morning. He grabbed his overcoat and started toward the corridor. Something at the edge of his vision caught his attention. Upon the chair by the stove was an object that couldn't have been there the night before. He drew near to discover it to be a half loaf of bread. He thumbed his chin and shrugged, then leaned down to pick it up. He broke off a chunk of the bread and ate it, grateful to whomever he owed his breakfast.

The sky had turned from dark black to a faded gray hue as morning made its approach, and by the time he reached the mill the newest dawn was creeping over the horizon. He gathered all the supplies he could carry and waited for the foreman. When the foreman showed, he explained to the man that he was working for the Lord of the House at Downey Street and the foreman was all too eager to draw up an invoice. Business had been pretty slow, he explained, what with the depression and all. The foreman, seeing his customer didn't have a cart, offered to expedite the journey by offering one of his own.

"Free of charge," he said. He even helped load up the cart and readied it to go. There was something about the mill's foreman that didn't sit right.

"Name's Evers. Casper Evers." He stuck his hand out.

"Guy Thompson." The two men shook hands. Evers had a nervous air about him.

"S-so...you working at the whorehouse, is that right?" Guy nodded. The last thing he desired was small talk.

"Yeah. Yeah. So, you living there, too?" Guy exhaled deliberately.

"Oh, hey. No harm meant. I just, well you know, gotta girl lives in there. M-my girl, you know what I mean." Guy didn't know, didn't care to know and found himself becoming annoyed.

"Look," he said. "I didn't come around here for the scenery, if you gather my meaning. I came to find work. That's all." Evers tempo came full-circle. His shoulders relaxed and he patted the lumber resting on the cart.

"Oh, yeah, no, no, no. See, I's just saying maybe I'll be seeing you when I come around s'all. T-to look after my girl and all. Might give you a hand with the repairs, that sort of thing." Guy lifted the yoke and started to pull the cart.

"Won't be necessary," came his reply. "Got it taken care of. Besides, I'm not doing it for free." Casper Evers laughed. Too loud, Guy thought. Evers walked along a ways. When Guy didn't speak, the man went on.

"But, that's the thing, ya know. I got this girl in there, and damned if they won't let me see her." Guy lowered his eyes, his muscles burning under the strain of the load. Despite the foreman's chatter buzzing in his ears, the work felt good.

"Shame," he replied. Less said the better, came his father's voice in his mind. It was the only thing his father ever said, in fact. Unfortunately, Evers didn't need much to go on.

"Damn shame, yah right! See, how's about you talking to the Lord of the House? See about him letting me back in there. Well, ya know. I gotta see my girl, and all."

"The Lord's a woman, and I am not involving myself." Then he added, "I'm sorry." Evers wasn't listening. His mind raced a mile a minute.

"Ah-a-a woman, you say. Nah, ain't right. That ain't right. I's throwed-er let go by the Lord of the House. Name of Mewton. Yeah, that's right, Casey Mewton. Real hard ass."

"Nobody goes by that name. New Lord is a lady by the name of Charlotte Powers." The consequent silence and dumbstruck look on Casper's face was too much.

"That right?" The gears of Casper's mind few as they were, were almost audible. Guy could but hear the thoughts slam into place.

"Maybe your banishment left with him," Guy offered. CLICK! He heard the thought hit home. Evers whooped.

"Boy, I'll tell you what. You may just be right about that! Say, well I gotta get back to the mill. Goddamn sakes alive!" He spun around and began trotting back in the direction he came. At the mill's gates he called down the path to Guy. "Be seeing you fella! Be seeing you!"

Guy pulled the cart up to the front steps of the House and let down the yoke. His chest was heaving and his shirt stuck to his back. The first order of business was to rebuild all the door frames. It occurred to Guy that if he were running a whorehouse, God help him, he would want his customers to have their privacy. He strode up the steps, pushed open the double doors and set to taking them off their hinges. There was activity in the parlor but he didn't pay it any mind. He used a crowbar and a hammer from his own set of tools and within twenty minutes he had the old frame down and the new stuff cut, and put into place. The nails from the old frame were salvageable so he used them to tack the new one into place. He replaced the hinges and hung the doors. He gave them a try and they swung without complaint. A call from the parlor startled him.

"Well, that's a handy man if I ever seen one." Sun in his eyes, Guy made out the silhouettes of a cluster of women sitting at a long table. They fell to a fit of laughter seeing him squint into the dark parlor.

"What's your name?" called one of the women. His eyes focused. The woman who spoke was draped in a light tattered gown. The House was only a few degrees warmer than outside, but the cool April morning didn't seem to bother her. Her hair was piled atop her head and fixed in place with a long pin. If not for her attire, she might have appeared somewhat dignified.

"Guy," he replied, turning back to his work. The other women repeated his name, elongating the end.

"Guy, what?" It was the voice of another woman, but Guy didn't look back. He started to answer when he heard a third voice, its tone commanding.

"Leave him be. You start in and he never get any work done." Guy glanced over his shoulder. The woman was a spitting image of the Lord, Charlotte. Must be the House matron. The women immediately quieted and returned to their eating. Guy stepped out onto the font steps and looked out over the town. The sun was shining directly in and for the first time in too long it felt wondrous.

By nightfall of the first day, Guy had completely replaced every doorframe and door in the House, with the exception of one. Guy stood at one end of the U-shaped corridor. Before him stood a door that appeared to be very thick. It looked as if it had been painted not too long ago. Guy leaned in close. He could barely make out some lettering that was barely visible beyond the latest coat of paint. It read: Senior Officer. Guy shook his head curiously. Maybe not, he thought.

Lua had been the one to supply Guy with new hinges. She'd picked them up at the hardware store that afternoon. He could immediately tell they were of better quality. Lua turned out to be quite the opposite of Charlotte. She was a joker by nature.

"With your hammer and my hinges," she joked, "maybe they will have a tougher time breaking down our doors, eh!" She was prone to slapping Guy on the back when she passed. When she came around to light the lamps that evening, she found him removing a shudder that had been nailed over a window on the inside. She slapped his shoulder.

"You let anymore light in here, and people are going to go renting rooms like it's a hotel!" Guy chuckled in spite of himself.

"THAT won't be so terrible, will it?" he asked. Lua roared and grabbed her gut as if she were in danger of bursting.

"Thompson a funny, funny character! But shoooo, he stink!" Guy felt his cheeks redden.

"Lua made you a very nice bath outside." Guy looked at the tiny woman, surprised.

"You did?"

"Go see for yourself!" She led the way through the corridor, down the staircase and out the font door. She lifted her dress slightly as she descended the stone steps. Guy had trouble keeping up as she rounded the House.

"Come, come," she urged. They came to a stone building, no bigger than his own room. Lua turned and waved her arm.

"Like Turkish bath. Though I never have seen one." She laughed at her own joke. Guy approached and pulled open the heavy wooden door. Steam billowed out and struck them both.

"Nice and hot!" proclaimed Lua. "While you fix House, I fix bath. For hard worker." Guy couldn't believe it. Just inside sat a huge porcelain tub next to a smaller tub. Both were filled with water. One was steaming. Aside from the two tubs there was only enough space in the room near the entrance for a small bench. A box of soap powder lay on the stone floor.

"So," began Lua. "You get inside now. Undress. Then hand me clothes. I no peeky. I know you nervous types. Give me clothes. I bring back clean when you clean!" Guy could feel his skin come alive. All the dirt that had imbedded itself in his hair, his ears, under his fingers, everywhere, began itch. He could hardly stand still, let alone refuse. He stepped into the steaming room, and Lua pushed the heavy door closed behind him. It was pitch black inside, and Guy felt for his boots, then unfastened his pants. When he was completely naked, he cracked the door, making sure to stand at the side, embarrassed at his nakedness. He handed Lua his clothing.

"Boots, too!" Lua demanded. "Worst stink of all. My NOSE knows." He complied. She pushed the door closed quickly and yelled at him from outside.

"You know how to use soap?" Before he could reply, she cackled and raced off.

It had taken Guy a full ten minutes to fully submerge. The water was unbelievably hot. He felt as if the steam alone were boiling him to the bone. He soaped and scrubbed and lay back in the darkness, head just above the water. He had just started to doze when there came a knock at the door. It was Lua.

"OK, Thomp-SON! Time for you get into other tub." Guy leaned forward in the dark and reached the lip of the tub next to the one he occupied. His fingertips dipped into the water. It was cool. He pulled himself over the lips between the two tubs and slipped in. The water was much cooler and it woke him up. When his head broke the surface he called out.

"Uh, now what?"

"What? I don't hear through thick wall!" Guy raised his voice.

"Now what?" Lua's cheery voice came back.

"Now, you done! Open door. I no peeky. Get you clothes. I bring you slippers. Your boots not quite dry. Come, come!" Guy slipped from the water and stood on the stone floor near the bench and entrance. He gave the door a heave and then leaned back out of the light. The cool night air made him shiver almost immediately. A hand shot in, and he grabbed his clothing. The door was pushed shut again. He dressed in the dark and then pushed the door open and fell into the brisk April night. It was nearly dark.

"How you feel?" Lua looked up at him.

"Years washed away," came his reply through chattering teeth. Lua looked at Guy curiously and then grinned. Her teeth seemed to glow in the pale light.

"OK. How about a shave and then you go night-night?" Guy's eyes widened. Wonders had not ceased. He nodded without a word, and let himself be led back to the House.

Lua brought Guy into a parlor beneath the stairs. It was just off the dining parlor and a few women milled around finishing their dinner. The sight of Guy, clean and smelling fresh awakened their lazy senses.

"Hello Mister," said one.

"Look what Lua the cat dragged in," said another. Guy felt his cheeks redden. Lua hissed at them and pulled Guy into the parlor and shut the door. She beckoned him to sit in a chair. Lua rummaged through a cabinet.

"You know, you have good head for your shoulders." Guy wasn't sure how the compliment was meant. Or for that matter, to where it was directed.

"Those girls very, very good making men nervous. You must have lots of girls when little boy. Seem so calm around them." She found what she was looking for, a straight-edge razor. She then walked to where a small pale of water was heating on the stove. She used a towel to move the pale and then placed it on a stool near Guy. She handed him the towel.

"Put under you neck. Your clothes are clean now. Wanna keep that way?" She pulled a box of soap powder from a cabinet and scooped out a small handful. Lua dipped her hand into the water and the soap foamed. She then rubbed her hands together spreading the foam over her palms. She dabbed Guy's face until it was covered in a thin layer.

"So, I was a-thinking," she said as she crossed around and stood in front of Guy. "How about I leave you a nice trimmed beard. Shave neck, shave moustache, but leave beard." Guy shrugged. Lua continued.

"See, this way you don't look, mmm...eighteen." Lua grinned as Guy's eyes grew wide.

Lua put a finger to her lips.

"Sshhh. Pretty good, huh?" She grunted and lowered her finger. "You can't have three chid'ren and not know the age of another one. Not when you see him in the face." She drew close with the blade. "No matter how much hair covering he cheeks, or how deep he voice!" Guy leaned away as she reached out.

"But, wait. I thought..." Lua grinned mischievously.

"It true. Charlotte think you much older. So smart, she think she is. That why I say nothing, makes me laugh. But she realize she hire you so young, she not be so happy. Fire you, right quick!" She snapped her fingers, then sighed. "But you good boy. You need job, right?" Guy nodded slowly.

"Well, that's that. Charlotte don't know. She never have chid'ren. You keep secret. I keep secret. Don't let girls know, neither! Some young girls here, but not so young. They eat you for break'fis. Spit you out at dinner. Better be good boy!" She thought a minute then brought the blade down on his neck.

"Maybe we leave the moustache, too." She cackled and slowly drew the blade through the thick brown whiskers.

Guy woke up to the sound of steady thumping against the wall at his head. It was late, how late he couldn't say, but his heavy eyelids told him it must be sometime after midnight. He lay there listening to the thumping. The day before the Lord of the House, Charlotte, had told him how they would stay open through renovation but on an appointment-only basis. Once they were ready for regular business things would get hectic and if Guy had to make different living arrangements that was fine. For his part, Guy didn't think it would be a problem. For one, he didn't require much sleep. For another, the noises were nothing too troubling. He'd lived his youngest years next to an asylum. During the fallout with the government, enemies of state found their final residence a horror not unlike a terrible nightmare. All hours of the night, trucks came and went. And Guy heard it all. A few lusty cries and a bed frame smacking the wall was nothing by comparison.