Helen Donovan had been bad, had broken some rule, had violated some rule not yet legislated, had given scandal. Little Helen Donovan needed to be lectured, and then, after what passed for a fair trial in the parochial school of old, punished.
But that was it: old Monsignor Hardy used to look at her just the way that stranger had tonight.
It didn’t matter. She was not going to continue this line of work forever. For one thing, it was far too dangerous. You never knew what sort of client you were going to entertain. Often enough it was just an insecure guy after some variety or a thrill that he thought only a pro could deliver.
But there were the other times when the john was a certifiable sicko. She shuddered. Those dicey episodes were only too easy to recall and too painful to ponder voluntarily.
Then too, she had done well-very well-financially. She felt sure she was on the verge of a secure future no matter what happened. Then-when that magic moment arrived-she could quit. She wasn’t certain when it would happen. But she’d know when it did.
He was walking across the lobby in her direction. Even if he had not been headed straight for her, she would have known. Moderate height, moderate build, balding, dark hair clipped tight to the scalp. But it was his expression that identified him. It was a singular mixture of self-confidence, embarrassment, bravado, and ingenuousness. She’d seen it all too many times.
He stood before her chair, looked down at her and asked, “Are you …?” He seemed unable to complete the question; what if he were mistaken?
“… Helen? Yes, of course I’m Helen. How many women did you think you’d find in the lobby wearing a religious habit?” She was peevish, but she tried to make the putdown sound lighthearted.
“Well, good,” he said. “And I’m …” He hesitated. “… John.”
“Of course you are.”
“Well, shall we go up to my room or would you like a drink first?”
“No, no drink.” She didn’t want one at the moment and, for her own protection, she was doubly concerned that he not start drinking. Sometimes the meekest, mildest men became mean drunks.
They said nothing on the elevator. But after entering his room, she turned to him, smiled, and said, “Well, John, is there anything special you’d like?”
“What do you mean?” He came close to blushing.
“I’m not amind reader, John. We’ve got only this three hours together. I don’t want you to feel anything but perfectly satisfied. So I’ve got to know just what you have in mind. I mean, in addition to the basics.”
He fidgeted with his tie, pulling it loose from his collar.
She stepped close to him, undid the tie, and began unbuttoning his shirt. “It’s like a menu, John,” she said. “You’ve got to place your order before the meal.” She felt him quiver slightly.
“I … I knew I wouldn’t be able to tell you,” he said, “so I wrote it out.” He fumbled in a pocket, brought out a folded piece of paper, and handed it to her.
She quickly scanned the paper, then looked at him. “This sounds like it could be a lot of fun, John. But it’s going to cost three hundred dollars more.”
He stepped back abruptly. “What? Three hundred bucks! I’m just a haberdasher from Toledo. That’s heavy! Heavier, lots heavier, than I expected.”
She moved close to him again and fiddled with buttons. “John, you’re already paying two hundred dollars for the religious habit. You want a memorable evening. And you can have one. But everything costs, John. You know that. You’re a successful businessman.
“But, it’s up to you, John.”
It was clear she was not going to negotiate. If he wanted it, he would have to pay for it. He shrugged and helped her with the buttons.
Another satisfied customer. She seldom disappointed. In fact, all things considered and since everyone had different expectations and levels of enjoyment, she might well claim that she never disappointed. Not only was each success a personal satisfaction, it was good for referral business.
It was near midnight as she exited the Pontchartrain. It was snowing. Long since, the streets of downtown Detroit, as well as most of the rest of the city, had been abandoned by nearly everyone except drug dealers and users, the homeless, drifters, and muggers.
All things considered, she felt fortunate there was a cab on duty outside the hotel. As she entered the vehicle, the driver awakened. He half turned to appraise his passenger. A nun. Odd. Especially at this time of night. But cabbies quickly get used to all manner of humanity. “Where to, Sister?”
“Forty-eight hundred Grand River.”
“Forty-eight hundred … that be near 14th, 15th?”
“That’s it.”
“You got it.”
She was grateful for the warmth of the cab. The driver had kept the motor running while waiting for a fare. He had little alternative. It was December 26, a frigid December 26. That near the Detroit River, with the force of its piercing wind, without heat a person could get hypothermia in a hurry.
“Forty-eight hundred,” the driver mused aloud, “and 15th. That wouldn’t be old St. Leo’s, would it?”
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t want conversation; she hoped monosyllables would make that clear.
“Ain’t much goin’ on at old St. Leo’s anymore.” The cabbie had not gotten the message. “You know, I grew up around there.”
She made no sound.
Her lack of response did not discourage him. “Yessir,” he continued, “it wasn’t even St. Leo’s. Was a franchise or a mission or something like that. Called Guadalupe-Our Lady of Guadalupe. Only one or two white families there when I was growin’ up. Hell-’scuse me, Sister-but Guadalupe doesn’t even exist anymore. Hell, St. Leo’s hardly exists any more.
“Geez, we used to go from church-Perpetual Help services-over to the old Olympia. Hell, the Olympia is gone, too. Red Wings-Howe, Lindsay, Abel-the Production Line. Jack Adams, best damn coach in history. Jack was a good Catholic too.” He looked at her in his rearview mirror. “I’m a Catholic, ya know, Sister.”
“I would never have guessed.” Her attention then abandoned him. She became lost in thought: Was now the time to quit?
“Geez, Sister, I’ll never forget one priest we had at old Guadalupe: Famer Paddock-a good man he was-gone, now, I guess. This was a pretty quiet neighborhood most times back then, except on Saturday nights. Then all hell would break loose. I remember old Father Paddock telling me one day that he stopped one of the black guys in the parish and asked him if the neighborhood could keep the noise down on Saturday nights ’cause on Sunday he had to work and he needed some peace and quiet on Saturday nights to get ready for Sunday Mass. And this guy says to him, ‘Father, if you ever was a black man on Saturday night, you would never want to be a white man again.’”
She didn’t laugh, But then, nuns, as he remembered them, were a quiet lot.
She had thought that when it was time to quit, she’d know it. Now, suddenly, out of nowhere, she was overwhelmed by a growing certitude that this was it. It had nothing directly to do with tonight’s trick. He had been easy enough. Even, pound for pound, a gentleman. No, her concern was that she had been pushing her luck, The odds, if you will. Countless occasions of extreme danger … she had been saved by something. Something beyond her power to control. What? Prayer? She smiled. Whatever it was, she sensed that it was running pretty thin lately. The last thing she wanted was to end up on a slab in the medical examiner’s emporium.
“So, there we were, Sister,” the cabbie rattled on, “me and this friend of mine helpin’ this guy sell newspapers outside the Olympia. The deal was, after we helped this guy, he would move us inside where he told the ticket taker that we worked for him and we were gonna sell papers inside, and when they were all sold he’d see to it that we left. But”-laughter-”that wasn’t how it worked, Sister. Nah, we’d go in, leave the papers on the floor inside, and then go see the show,” He shook his head, pleased at the memory.
“This one night it was wrestling, with Primo Carnera.…” He looked at her in his rearview mirror again. “He was the former heavyweight boxing champ, y’know.
“Anyway, it was a pretty good show. A fake of course, but a good show anyway. Then, after all the matches were over, I started walkin’ home all by myself. And then, under a streetlight, I see these two guys waitin’ on either side of the sidewalk. Well, I decided to go right ahead and right between them. But when I got to them, the bigger
