The Case of the Nude Portraitist

A hairless gorilla strode through the door.

"Frank, show this young thing what disobedience buys her."

The gorilla placed a bullet in the chamber of a revolver and gave it a spin. He held it to his head and pretended to pull the trigger. He said, "Bang!" and let his head sag and his tongue protrude from his lips.

"Any questions, sweetie?"

I swallowed hard and nodded.

"Terrific! Frank, you can leave now."

The gorilla exited.

"What's your name?"

I decided to stay in character. "Helen, Helen North."

"I'll think of something sexier. I've got it! Salome! You take a shower over in the bathroom Salome. I'll be here when you are finished with the outfit, I think will look ideal on you. You slept through breakfast, but you'll be just in time for the mid-day rush. I'll give you the lay of the land so you can start working immediately. You'll meet the other girls during our late lunch at two."

"This can't be happening!" I thought to myself as I padded over to the shower. There were plenty of towels and first-class soap and shampoo. The water was hot, and the steam hid me from view. The idyl under the showerhead was the only real peace I had in two days. During my soak, I thought of ways to fake out clients and preserve my virtue. I recalled all the many ways I had escaped the clutches of Detective Storm, who was as single-minded in that area as a man can be. It would be difficult but not impossible.

Wearing a towel, I returned to the room where the unholy Sister Margaret waited.

"What are your vitals, honey?"

"38"- 22" - 36" -- height: 5' 5" -- Weight: 120 lbs."

"Yeah, I pretty much guessed correctly. Try this on for size."

I soon found myself in a black front-closing corset that greatly amplified what I already had on top, matching long opera gloves, a floor-length gold lame skirt with a slit up to the hip on the right side, a pair of lacy black panties and calf-high black boots with punishing heels. The boots were tight but everything else fit well. I could just hear my father's voice in my head. All those lectures about being a "good" girl and waiting until I found the proper man. My mom died when I was born, but if she was looking down on me now, she was, no doubt, spinning in her grave.

"Oh, you will do boffo box office, Helen honey!"

How was I supposed to take that?

"Let's go over pricing. If he wants to see you naked, that's five bucks. If he only wants a handy that's ten bucks, if he wants French Style, that's fifteen bucks, if he wants the whole ball of wax that's twenty-five. Each of those is separate charges, so he can ring up quite the bill in a relatively short time."

My stomach reeled at all of this. Somehow, I managed not to throw up.

"This is your workstation, Salome," said Sister Margaret as she pointed out a small room containing a bed, a chair, and a dresser. There was a sign on the door that read "Salome" in pretty calligraphy. "You will note that there are closed-circuit television cameras in every working room. I monitor those at a control station on the first floor. This makes sure that our gentlemen pay for everything they receive and that our girls don't try to shirk their duty."

She turned to face me, menace on her bland features.

"Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Salome, shirking will NOT be tolerated! If any of my girls don't give our gentlemen everything they ask for in a playful and sweet manner, I turn Frank loose on them and they disappear forever. You get exactly ONE warning if your performance is not up to snuff. Our gentlemen aren't stupid. They know what they want, and they expect to get it. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Ma'am!" I replied. I would have been better off in the basement letting Clyde pummel me!

"It's showtime! Off to the parlor with you. Follow me!"

She grabbed my hand and led me down the stairs to an ornately furnished living room. Couches and pillows predominated. Other girls, most wearing less than myself were arrayed on couches, and some were smoking. I got a thorough going over by every eye in the room.

"Girls, this is Salome. She will be formally introduced at lunch. In the meantime, make her feel welcome."

Most of the girls shot me daggers. I bummed a cigarette from a short redhead. It helped calm my nerves. What I really needed however was an A-bomb-sized sedative!

"Time to let our gentlemen in!" piped in Sister Margaret with a merry trill.

The room filled up with various types, of professionals, office workers, and the military. To my surprise, none of them looked like perverts. I thought only desperate, needy, and uncouth men used "working girls." A sailor in blue made a beeline toward me. He was tall, handsome, and muscular. Damn! Why couldn't he be short, hunchbacked, and near-sighted? His name was Richard (or at least he said it was). He began chatting me up. I tried to delay the inevitable. I could only vamp so far and so long. Frank entered the parlor and shot me a withering look. My heart and stomach were somewhere below the basement, I took Richard's hand and led him upstairs. The door closed behind us, and I was in his demanding grasp, his lips on mine. He almost squeezed the air out of me! At last, he broke off our clinch.

He tossed his hat on the chair and tugged off his uniform top. His torso was covered with muscles and tattoos. I could not help but stare.

"You're the prettiest girl here. Are you new?"

"Brand new."

"Well, let me see how beautiful you really are. Take it off!"

"He stepped out of his shoes and pants. He was gorgeous everywhere. I froze.

"Come on, Doll!" he pleaded.

I looked up at the camera. Its little red light was on. I took the gloves off first, then the skirt, and then the boots. I closed my eyes and said a little prayer as I opened the corset.

"Holy shit!" exclaimed Richard. The panties came off.

"A Mexican hairless!"

Richard swept me up in his arms and carried me to the bed. I knew better than to try and fend him off. My judo skills would only get me killed here. He kissed me deeply again, as he set me down on the crisp clean sheets. He was over me, his wonderful body all muscle and poise, I felt Richard enter me. Not that I was a virgin or anything, but this was a milestone I never wanted. Richard turned out to be really talented and long-lasting. Despite being as far from in the mood as possible at the beginning of our encounter, by the midpoint I was resigned to it, by the end, I was tingling all over and sighing deeply. What had come over me?

Richard was an outlier and one of the few repeat customers I never tired of seeing again. Over the next two and a half weeks I came to despise virtually every variation of the male gender. I was exposed to wayward husbands wearing their wedding bands, mechanics with grit under their nails, priests in their clerical collars, soldiers, marines, sailors, of all ranks, all-girls school principals, actors, writers, encyclopedia salesmen, television repairmen, fat guys, skinny guys, men with questionable bathing habits. I encountered pigs who bent me over their knee and spanked me because I was "naughty." Men came in reeking of tobacco and whiskey. Men who were muscular and men who arrived in wheelchairs, and I had to service each and every one. Sometimes, a very few times, it was as Sister Margret claimed, "simply wonderful,' mostly it was messy, messy and boring. If these weren't "louts" I shudder to think how bad it could have been!

I plotted escape after escape scenarios in my head. None came to fruition. We were locked in every night; bars on the windows, Frank and a half-dozen other brutes patrolling the halls all night and all day. Sister Margaret never let me leave the premises. Other girls got to come and go as they pleased, but I was "special." The pay was bad, and the living conditions were simultaneously swanky yet dreadful. At least the food was good, and they provided plenty of cigarettes. All the other girls there hated me because I was so popular with the customers. I hated just as much the fact that I was so popular. What I wouldn't have given for a magician's invisibility spell, or a skinny, drab figure and mousy brown hair!

Then a face turned up that I never expected to see. My good friend and reporter for the Long Beach Times Steve Merchant! Steve lost a leg in Germany during the war. In the process, he earned the Congressional Medal of Honor. When he strode into Sister Margaret's I did a double take as did he. Fortunately, no one else in the room noticed. Steve looked at me imploringly and I led him upstairs. As soon as the door was closed, he said

"Honey? What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Steve."

"Well, I'm not proud to admit it but I visit this place every other month or so. That doesn't explain your presence."

"I was hijacked, Steve. Can you think of some way to get me out of here?"

"Yeah, I can drop a dime on this place once I get home. Speaking of which..."

"No, Steve, I have to give you something," I subtly gestured to the closed-circuit TV camera.

"Oh. I see. What's the least unpleasant for you, Honey?"

"Take your pants off, Steve."

"Really?"

"I never thought I'd ever see this part of Steve's anatomy. Steve had seen me naked on numerous occasions when we teamed up on various cases. He was always a gentleman about that. I appreciated the fact that now when he could have had me naked for a fiver, he didn't press his advantage. In all our adventures, Steve had always kept his trousers on. I smiled sweetly for the camera's benefit. Steve was up for the challenge. He turned out to be just like every other guy who crossed my threshold, only this time I didn't begrudge a man his maleness. I started out using my hands but then switched to French style and used my mouth to finish him off. He tasted the best of any guy I serviced in all my time at Sister Margaret's. Steve grunted with delight. Hiked up his pants and paid me double my usual fee. I knew things would be different between us forever. If Steve was a dozen years younger and could stop his personal pity party regarding his missing leg, he'd have had my interest over these past few years and not Mark Storm. I knew, of all the men in my life, Steve was the one who would never let me down. As he left, for the first time in over a fortnight, I had a feeling of hope.

Never was a working girl so grateful for a vice raid. I was practically giddy in the Paddy wagon while the other girls either turned surly or wailed and wailed.

"Honey! We've been searching for you for nearly a month, and you turn up in a house of ill repute!" Lieutenant Storm was NOT amused.

"I wasn't there by choice, Mark."

"How long were you there?"

"None of your business, lieutenant!"

"Honey! I ought to bend you over my knee..."

"Drop dead, Mark! As far as I am concerned whatever was between us is OVER!"

"Now, Honey..."

"Are we done here, Mark?"

"Yes, I can arrange to have the charges dropped against you, but you are going to have to make a statement to the grand jury and probably be a prosecution witness."

"I'll do my duty. Now, Mark, will you try and be a gentleman and fetch someone to drop me off at my apartment?"

"Since we are apparently through, Honey. You can drive yourself home. Your car is out back in the impound lot. Your purse, which we found in the glovebox is in the evidence room."

"Fine!" I shouted at Mark. What had I ever seen in this man?

I returned to my apartment to find a pile of letters under the mail slot and most of my house plants dead. I wrote out checks, some with late fees for the water, electricity, and sewer. I placed them outside for the mailman. Then I took the longest, hottest shower of my life, climbed raw into bed, and slept the clock around. I woke up once screaming from a bad dream, but the nightmares didn't trouble me after that.

**

Audrey Reeves sat opposite me in my office.

"Miss East, when I didn't hear from you for so long, I feared something had happened to you."

"Well, something did sidetrack me for a while but now I am back with a vengeance. I have wonderful news for you. Augusto is only interested in you, at least as far as lifetime commitments go. The woman whom he has been spending so much time with, Rita Evans is a fling, nothing more. She seems to be a secretary with benefits if you catch my drift."

Audrey beamed. "Oh, how can I ever thank you?"

"No need to thank me. This is what I do for a living."

"Do I owe you any more money?"

"No, in more ways than you can imagine, I earned my money solving this particular case."

She left my office practically levitating. As soon as she was out the door, I began preparing for round two with Rita Evans. I had solved Audrey's concerns in this case, but I had yet to solve the ultimate questions. Why were Augusto's paintings selling so much above retail? Where did Rita fit in? The woman clearly had mob connections, Rocco, and Clyde, were straight out of organized crime central casting. I'd be freelancing now, but I'd see this through to the bitter end. At some point, Miss Statuesque and I were going toe to toe. I would be much better prepared this time around!

I remembered the Brooklyn warehouse's address. A little sleuthing turned out that it was a front for a Brooklyn Crime family. Yet, I found listings for Augusto's prints in legitimate galleries and art dealers, ones that originated here in Los Angeles recently. Why would the Poquino Family be interested in being a clearing house for fine art? The answer was in those packages, and I had to examine one of them to solve the mystery.

Dealing with the United States Post Office is not easy. Especially for a lowly female private eye. No point in trying to sweet-talk an avuncular, slightly lecherous judge, with the evidence I had, especially as the photos I took of Rita's ledger were inadmissible in court. Of course, if I was right, Augusto, or more probably, Rita was guilty of mail fraud and the feds would be happy to step in. But to get to that point, I needed some hard evidence. If I tried to divert one of Augusto's packages myself, Uncle Sam would arrest me for tampering with the mail, a federal offense with a nice long jail sentence! I was in a real pickle.

Since I was still on the outs with Mark Storm to the point that, once this case concluded, I planned to seriously date until I found, if not Mr. Right, at least Mr. Miles Better Than Mark; I decided to run everything by Steve.

"So that is how you ended up at Sister Margaret's."

"Yep."

"You are the prettiest girl she ever hired."

"That's not the kind of compliment I ever wanted to hear, Steve. Can we focus on the case?"

"I have a few postmen on retainer, Honey. They are really good for tips and as G.K. Chesterton pointed out, they are invisible."

"Invisible?"

"In one of his detective stories, the murderer was the postman, whom everyone saw leaving the crime scene but whom no one noticed because how often do you really notice the mailman, or the gasman, or the old man on the park bench feeding the

pigeons?"

"Oh, Clever!"

"I'll put out some feelers. Maybe we can get access to the truck before it departs Los Angeles, or one of them can manufacture a reason to open a package or something."

"Steve, you are such a dear!" I leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

Our meeting broke up shortly after. I slept very well that night. The next night, I put on a slinky dress and went to a club. My dance card was full, but I kept accepting the offer of a tall, handsome man with an interesting scar on his left cheek that disappeared into his hairline. His name was Glen Perkins, he was six-foot-two, with dark hair, and green eyes, and he earned the scar in Korea! He walked me back to my car and received a luscious kiss in exchange as well as my phone number. I already clicked with him better than I ever clicked with Mark. I arrived home late, stripped off, and stumbled into bed. No sooner had my head hit the pillow than the phone rang. It was Steve.

"Honey, put on your spy clothes and meet me at the rear of the central post office at three A.M."

"It's two-thirty now!"

"Well, then, you'd better hurry."

I just made it, my convertible screeching to a halt just outside the chain link fence and gate that surrounded the post office.

Steve was waiting, leaning on his cane. He flagged me down.

"The mail truck is scheduled to leave in fifteen minutes for the train station. A friend I know agreed to leave the rear door of his truck open and take a coffee break. We weren't here and the package better not show any signs it was tampered with."

"But I didn't bring..."

"All taken care of, Honey." He opened his coat, revealing an array of tapes, knives, and other do-dads.

I smiled.

"For a detective, you sure don't plan ahead."

"I just jumped out of bed -- Let's do this!"

I recognized Augusto's packages right off. I chose the nearest one. Steve held the flashlight while I slit the top of the container. Between two wrapped frames I found paydirt. A cellophane bag full of brown powder, heroin! All the pieces fell into place. Rita Evans; linked, somehow to the Poquino Crime Organization. She was obviously the west coast conduit for heroin shipments coming in from the Orient. Once it got to Brooklyn it moved throughout the east coast. Augusto's frequent shipments provided the perfect cover.

"Time's up, Honey!"

As carefully as I could, I restored the cellophane bag and replaced the packing material, and retaped the box. We left the idling truck just as a blue-clad, short-statured figure exited the back entrance of the post office. Steve and I kept our heads low and beat a hasty retreat. There were only a few dots to connect. How exactly did Rita tie into the mob? As soon as I caught some shuteye, I would begin a serious investigation into Miss Statuesque.

Before I could do that, however, I spent the next few days dealing with having been absent for close to three weeks in Sister Margaret's home for wayward women. I went to my doctor and had a head-to-toe physical, just to make sure that none of my "clients," despite the protection, gave me a surprise present. I also had to straighten out some of the financial bumps my absence from the real world caused my banking, car payments, and rent to both my office and my apartment. The last thing I needed as a P.I. is a skip tracer on my tail. I also had to give a deposition at the police station on my "activities" at Sister Margaret's.

Naturally, Detective Mark Strong found an excuse to be in the room as I gave my testimony. Talk about infuriating! He hung on to every detail. At one point, he placed a thick book on his lap! I was so glad I've never given him more than some passionate necking! Whatever possibility there had been of us ever getting back together again vaporized over the course of the three hours I was in that office with the stenographer.

In a huff, I barged out of the room as soon as I uttered my final sentence. As I opened the door a pyramid of cops collapsed in a knot at my feet. The creeps had been eavesdropping! I groaned and dodged out to the parking lot. I'm sure all those overgrown boys were comparing notes and picturing me in all sorts of disgusting positions. Good thing that Los Angeles doesn't have criminals that could keep them occupied! As I reached my car, Mark came storming up.

"Wait, Honey!"

"I said everything, I've had to say in that deposition, Mark. Think on this. You will never get what those sailors, mechanics, and invalids got. That stunt you pulled in being present for my disposition is the last and final straw. All you will ever have of me is your vivid and pornographic imagination!"

I sped out of my parking place and took a long, therapeutic, and scenic drive along the highways of Los Angeles before returning to Malibu and my apartment. The phone was ringing as I unlocked the door. It was Glen! Just the tonic to the funk I was under we spoke for nearly two hours and decided on a second date. There was a new comedy at the Playhouse downtown and Glen had scored some prime tickets. More than anything, I needed a laugh and a strong shoulder to lean my head against. The play was not so hot, but the date was fantastic. I practically floated home. I could not wait for our third date.