Bruce took Karen by the arm as they walked away. He was lost in thought.
'You know, Karen, I'm not sure this is Aunt Minna's and Aunt Aida's home,' Bruce finally said. 'It's more like a house.'
'A house?' Karen repeated. 'What do you mean?'
'I mean,' said Bruce, 'once in Louisville I was taken to a house. It was not as classy or large as this one, but almost as luxurious. It was a house of ill fame, Karen. This resembles it. You know, a house is not always a home.'
'Bruce! Do you know what you're saying?'
'I'm not really sure,' Bruce said.
'Well, don't say it, please don't say it!'
At nine o'clock that evening in the Everleigh Club, the Armbrusters, father and son, the latter uneasy in his woollen brown suit and bow tie, had finished their supper.
Harold Armbruster felt relaxed, expansive, as he continued to ply Alan with champagne.
Armbruster had advised his son to eat lightly and drink heavily to overcome his nervousness. They'd both dined on roast chicken, and now Armbruster sat back to enjoy a cigar and watch Alan steadily sipping the champagne.
'Quite a place, this Everleigh Club,' Armbruster admitted.
'Yes.'
'No one ever told me a whorehouse could look anything like this. I bet the girls are just as beautiful.'
Alan made one last effort at resistance. 'Father, I don't have to do this. I'll know what to do with Cathleen. Let's just go home now.'
Armbruster shook his head vigorously. 'It's now or never. If I let it be never, you'll be in real trouble next week when it matters. I'm going to see you through this, Alan. You won't be able to count the times you'll thank me later.'
'If you insist,' Alan mumbled.
'I've never insisted on anything more.' Armbruster waved his hand at Edmund, who was immediately attentive. Armbruster said to him, 'We're through eating. I'll wait down here and have another few drinks until my son is ready to leave. Will you see that he's taken upstairs for some entertainment?'
'Certainly, sir.' Edmund beckoned the nearest hostess – it was Karen. 'I'll have our hostess escort him upstairs.' When Karen reached his side, Edmund leaned over and whispered to her, 'Take the boy up to Margo's room. You know which one. Margo will be expecting him.'
Karen extended her hand to Alan, who rose reluctantly. He cast one wretched glance at his father, and then he trailed Karen out of the restaurant.
As they walked slowly to the staircase, Karen said, 'You look like you're going to the guillotine. Is it your first time?'
'First,' Alan answered in a quavering voice.
'It may be an ordeal,' said Karen, 'but it can be fun once you're relaxed. I don't think you'll be sorry. Margo is very nice.'
'I… I hope you're right.'
They reached the top of the staircase, and Karen guided him past the numerous doors.
'Margo, Margo,' murmured Karen to herself, 'she's in eight or nine. I'm sure it's nine.'
She opened the door partially and peeked in. 'She must be in the bathroom. In fact, I can hear the water running. All right, Alan, you just go in alone. Take off all your clothes and sit on the bed. Soon as she comes out, she'll tell you what to do.'
'Okay,' Alan swallowed.
Karen shut the door tightly, and left for the downstairs, praying it went well for the poor kid.
And that Bruce would never find out about this.
In the boudoir, Alan stood helplessly, surveying the room and seeing nothing but the brass bed, with its thick mattress covered by a white cashmere blanket.
As the sounds from the bathroom ceased, he realized that he could not just stand there fully clothed. With numbed fingers he began to shed his clothes and drop them in a heap, first his jacket, then his bow tie, then his shirt, next the shoes and socks, and finally his trousers. He was left standing in his sleeveless, one-piece union suit with its button fly partly fastened.
Embarrassed to wait naked, he moved towards the bed, and was about to slip under the blanket, when he heard the knob of the bathroom door turn.
Heart going like a triphammer, he turned towards the bathroom as its door opened and a small, attractive girl, lost in the dim light, appeared. She was loosely clad in a pure white peignoir and he could make out her legs, and then her lovely figure, even the dark patch between her legs. Momentarily breathless, his gaze went up to her breasts, fully evident beneath the thin garment, and then his gaze went up to her face.
When he saw her face, he gasped audibly.
This was no whore named Margo.
This was Cathleen, his Cathleen Lester, the virgin he was engaged to marry in a matter of days.
He jumped to his feet just as she realized that a young man was present in the room, almost undressed, and then she gasped too. 'Alan!' she exclaimed in a strangled voice.
Momentarily stunned, he found his voice. 'Cathleen! What are you doing here?'
'What do you mean what am I doing here? I'm living here with my aunts in their home until our marriage.' She stared at him. 'The question is what are you doing here – and in my room?'
'Cathleen, this isn't your aunts' home. This is a famous house of prostitution. It's the Everleigh Club.'
'You must be crazy. It isn't. It can't be. Where did you get the idea that this is a…?'
Alan broke in on her. 'It is. It's a brothel, a house of prostitution. It's known everywhere. Whatever your aunts told you, they are running this place. They are madams.'
'Don't you dare say that -'
'I'm saying it because it's true. Listen to me, Cathleen. For heaven's sake, listen to me. My father decided I must have some experience in sex before our wedding night. It's an old-fashioned idea. Take your son to a sporting house and make him learn what women are all about. The biggest brothel in Chicago is a house called the Everleigh Club, run by two sisters named Minna and Aida Everleigh – not Lester, but Everleigh. He brought me here against my will. I don't want to be with any woman but you. But my father insisted. He dragged me here for dinner and drinks tonight – I mean, what would a restaurant be doing in a private home? – and then he sent me upstairs to consort with a prostitute named Margo. The person who escorted me sent me into the wrong room. Now do you understand?'
Cathleen was pale, shaking her head. 'I can't believe it, I just can't believe it. You mean my Aunt Minna and Aunt Aida are actually madams, and they've been lying all these years? My father sent us here in good faith, to stay with our aunts before the wedding. He doesn't know…'
'Nor does my father know about Minna and Aida. He must never find out that his future daughter-in-law has been living in a house of prostitution.'
On her bare feet, Cathleen had moved closer to Alan. She said in a low voice, 'Alan, it's not important what your father thinks. To me, it's only important what you think.' She hesitated. 'Because I'm here, surely you don't think I'm a prostitute?'
'Of course not!' He shook his head vigorously. 'I know who you are. I know you're not working here.'
'But maybe you're not sure.' She reached out and touched Alan's chest. 'Darling, you've got to be sure before we go ahead. You've got to know I'm not one of those girls. Everything that I've told you is true. I'm a virgin, Alan, and I can prove it.'
With that, she unfastened her peignoir and let it fall to her feet. She faced him, utterly nude.
'Let me prove it, Alan,' she said, and then turned, walked to the bed, threw back the cover, and lay down.
Dazzled by the sight of her, Alan swayed on his feet, choking. His eyes feasted on her body as she lay on the bed. He felt the swelling hardness in his crotch. Suddenly his thick penis came straight up and burst out of his underwear.
He could see Cathleen's eyes widen.
