Gigolo Johnny Wells Read online

  He left the pool hall, grabbed dinner at the luncheonette. He ate three rare hamburgers and drank a malted. His eating habits would have to change when he hit the big time, he told himself. He’d have to learn how to act in a restaurant. Not the way he’d played it last night, for example. If he was a slob, a broad might give him a fling once to see how he was in the hay. But she wouldn’t want him around on a steady basis.

  Hell, it was just common sense. He’d work it out. He might not be able to read a menu in French, but he’d get by. It just took a little brains, that was all.

  When he got back to the pool hall Beans was there.

  “Outside,” Beans said. “I get nervous in the john. I’ll tell you all about it.”

  They went outside.

  They took a back booth at the candy store around the corner where the proprietor knew enough to bring them their cokes and leave them alone. Beans took a sip of his coke, lit a cigarette and smiled.

  “It could have been worse,” he said.

  “How much?”

  “I told you — it could have been worse.”

  “Yeah, but how much?”

  Beans blew out smoke. “The watch was the big thing,” he said. “The one with the suede strap, not the other one. The good one, it was an Omega.”

  “So?”

  “Moe says it’s the best watch going. A very good mechanism. Not only that but they’re common. I mean, it’s not like there was only one of them in the city. He can sell it easy.”

  “For how much?”

  “How much can Moe get? I didn’t ask. Retail is around three hundred. That’s new, of course. This is like second-hand.”

  “How much did he give me?”

  Beans smiled. “Ninety. That’s just for the one watch. It was the big item. The table lighter, it’s a Ronson and all but it isn’t worth that much. Not gold just silver. The bracelet did pretty good and the engagement ring was good, diamonds like that always are. The total comes to three-ten.”

  “Three hundred and ten bucks?”

  Beans nodded.

  Johnny covered his excitement by swigging the coke. The money he had in cash plus the $310 from the stuff gave him close to five big bills.

  He was rich.

  It was that simple. With dough like that he could buy more clothes than he needed and take a room in a damn good hotel. There wouldn’t be any more skimping, any of the hand-to-mouth routine.

  Not now.

  Now he was set. The money, even if he blew it in a fancier front, would last a good long while. And by the time it was gone he would have plenty coming in.

  He was set.

  “$310,” he said reverently. “That’s nice, Beans. You did good.”

  “That’s what he gave me.”

  “How much do I owe you?”

  Beans looked blank. “It was a favor.”

  “A favor is one thing. This is more.”

  “I just ran an errand.”

  “You got bread coming. A fence coulda given me thirty bucks for the watch and I wouldn’ta known the difference. How much do you want?”

  Beans looked away. “I already took,” he said. “I’m a rat, Johnny.”

  “How much did you take?”

  “Twenty. You want it back you can have it. I’m sorry, Johnny. It’s just — ”

  “You got ten more coming, man. Take it off the top and pass me the three yards.”

  “You mean it?”

  “Course I mean it. C’mon — give me the three bills. That’s plenty.”

  Beans made movements under the table. He separated a ten-spot from a roll and passed the roll under the table to Johnny. Johnny took it, shoved it into a pocket.

  “Nobody knows about this,” he said.

  “I’m clam, Johnny. You’re cutting loose, aren’t you?”

  “Somebody say so?”

  Beans shook his head. “Just a guess. The way you been acting, I don’t know. Leaving the city?”

  “Just the neighborhood.”

  “What’s the bit?”

  Briefly Johnny told him what he had planned. Beans listened in silence. He seemed to understand. He, too, was a professional in his chosen field of endeavor.

  “Luck,” he said finally. “Drop around when you get the chance. I don’t know how long I’ll be in town, though. It may get hot for me soon. Nobody caught me yet but people have been adding things up. The cops’ll hear the rumble. They won’t catch me in the act. They’ll wait and jump on me when I’ve got a roomful of stolen stuff. I want to leave before the roof falls in.”

  “Luck.”

  Beans left the candy store. Johnny stayed where he was, ordered another coke and sipped at it. No more Beans, he thought. No more cokes. No more candy stores and no more pool halls.

  Instead he’d hang out in bars and eat in posh restaurants and go to Broadway shows. There was no questions about it — it would be a switch But it would also be a change for the better, and there was no question about that either.

  He laughed suddenly. He was only seventeen. Maybe the bartenders in the 59th Street bars wouldn’t serve him. That would be a hell of a thing.

  He laughed again.

  Then he finished his coke, paid for it, and left the candy store. He bolted his door again with the two-by-four and counted out all his money. It came to $450 and change. He was beginning to get nervous — he’d never had a roll like that before, had never even thought about that kind of bread. But he wasn’t going to kick. Nobody would take the money. And in another day or two he’d be holed out in a decent hotel where you didn’t have to worry about getting your money stolen.

  He hid the money in the room, finding four different hiding places and dividing the money into four bundles. Then he took a subway down to Times Square and wandered around, trying his skill at a shooting gallery, grabbing a hot dog at Grant’s, downing a beer in a bar on Eighth Avenue. He killed time until he was tired, then grabbed a cab back to his room and sacked out.

  He woke up early. Then he stuffed his wallet with his money and went out. He skipped breakfast and took a subway down to Times Square again. He got out of the subway and kept heading downtown on Broadway. If he remembered right, there were a string of fancy men’s shops from 38th Street down to Herald Square. He was right. He walked past two shops, checking the windows and getting an idea of what the styles were. Then he walked into the third he came to.

  It was called Brinsley’s and it was expensive. The salesman who greeted him took a good look at Johnny, starting with the dark hair cut in a d.a. and moving past the jacket to the jeans and cheap shoes. His disapproval was evident.

  Johnny didn’t get mad. He’d expected this. You looked like a slob and you got treated like a slob. The only way to play it was truthful — or as close to the truth as possible.

  “Hello,” he said. “I’m sorry about my clothes. I’m not as cheap as I look.”

  The salesman’s jaw fell.

  “I came into some money recently.” Johnny said, trying to say it the way Clark Gable might have said it in a movie. “I’d like to invest in a decent wardrobe. Top to bottom. I need shoes and shirts and a suit and slacks and a jacket. I even need belts and ties and underwear. Think you can help me?”

  It was the right approach. The salesman was overjoyed. He spent eight hours a day five days a week selling clothes to men who could afford them and who always bought the wrong thing. Now a good-looking young man — one who could really wear clothes — was telling the salesman to pick out a wardrobe for him. The man could not have been happier.

  “Let’s see,” the man said. “Where should we start?”

  “Any place. Everything I’ve got is going to go in the ashcan. So you can sell me the store if you want.”

  “Mind a personal question?”

  “Go on.”

  “How much can you afford to spend?”

  Johnny calculated rapidly. “Two-fifty is tops,” he said. “Two hundred would be better, but I’ll go two-fifty.”
r />   And they took it from there. The salesman determined Johnny’s suit size and showed him half-a-dozen suits, any of which would have been fine for him.

  “All values,” he said. “You could spend the whole two-fifty on a suit if you wanted to. No point in it. These run from ninety to a hundred and they’d be hard to beat at any price. They’ll look well and they’ll hold up.”

  “And the style?”

  “It’s right,” the salesman said. “On any of them. You want to look a few years older without making it obvious, don’t you?”

  Johnny hesitated, then nodded.

  “Then take the dark gray sharkskin. You should dress conservatively. It makes sense for you anyway. You’re good-looking. You don’t need to have flash in your clothes. The quieter you dress, the more you stand out.”

  Johnny nodded. It made sense to him, and he was glad he’d levelled with the man.

  “Two pairs of slacks,” the man said. “Light and dark gray flannel. They’ll go with the suit jacket or with the sport coat. And the best coat would be a blue blazer, I think. It’s always appropriate, and if you stick with one jacket you can afford a good one. One fine jacket is better than two cheaper ones.”

  That’s what Johnny had figured.

  “And a black alligator belt,” the salesman said. “Fifteen dollars and worth it. It sets a tone.”

  They went on and on. Underwear, two pairs of shoes, a dozen shirts.

  “How about ties?”

  The salesman took a breath. “Don’t say I said so,” he said, “but you’re out of your mind if you buy ties here.”

  Johnny’s eyebrows went up.

  “Ours start at two-fifty,” the man said. “Go to a tie store. Pick out nice quiet regimental stripes and don’t pay more than a dollar a tie at the most. There’s not a man alive who can tell the difference between a dollar tie and a ten-dollar tie.”

  “Really?”

  Really. And they all go in the wastebasket the minute you soil them, so the cheaper they are, the better they are. In anything else quality matters. You get what you pay for. Not ties.”

  They went on. The man told him that the alterations would be taken care of right away that he could pick up the clothes tomorrow. That was fine.

  The salesman took out pencil and paper and carefully added a long column of figures. “That comes to $219.88 with the tax,” he said. “You want to leave a deposit and pay the rest tomorrow when you pick the clothes up?”

  “I’ll pay it now.”

  “Cash or check?”

  “Cash.” He paid the bill and got a receipt from the salesman. Then he turned to go.

  “Mr. Wells?”

  Johnny turned.

  “Mind a word of advice?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Get your hair cut.”

  Johnny grinned hugely linking the man very much. “I intend to,” he said.

  A barber used a lawnmower on his hair. When he was finished Johnny barely recognized himself. The long black hair was still black but it was no longer long. Instead he had an Ivy League cut that could have stepped right off Madison Avenue.

  “You wanted it that way,” the barber said.

  “It’s fine,” Johnny told him. He tipped the barber a quarter and left.

  He treated himself to a steak dinner that night, staying downtown and catching a double feature at a Times Square movie house. He didn’t really want to see a movie, much less two movies, but he wanted less to hang around the neighborhood much with his hair short. People would talk. It wouldn’t be good at all.

  After the movie he had a glass of milk and a toasted English muffin at Bickford’s. Then he grabbed a cab and went home. It was time to go to bed and he was tired.

  On the way upstairs he wondered whether the landlord had gotten around to locking him out yet. He hoped not. Tomorrow he’d pick up his clothes and see about a room at a good hotel. He might as well spend the last night in the old dump, if only for old times sake.

  The door was happily unlocked and he went inside, shoving his wallet between the mattress and the springs again. There was no real reason to bolt the door with the two-by-four and he didn’t bother. He stretched out on the bed and let his mind make plans.

  Big plans.

  The salesman had been a tremendous help. He’d have gone nuts trying to pick out a wardrobe all on his own. He’d have bought all the wrong things, and he’d have wound up with junk or else have paid too much money for his clothes. This way he had all the basic essentials and they’d fit into his budget. When he got his hands on more extra cash he could always round out his wardrobe at Brinsley’s. A few more jackets and some extra shirts and slacks wouldn’t hurt. And another pair of good shoes might come in handy. But for now he was set.

  Next came the hotel. He wasn’t sure where he’d stay, but he could always worry about that in the morning. Now it was time to get some sleep. He could use it. Unless he was far off the track, the next week or so was going to be a busy one.

  He got undressed, piling his clothes in a tangled heap in the corner. He’d wear them downtown tomorrow, then get rid of them for good. He got under the sheet and closed his eyes.

  He was almost asleep when the door opened. His eyes fell open at once and he whirled around, ready to put up a fight to save his money.

  “My God in heaven,” a voice said. “You got your hair cut! You look a hundred per cent different!”

  He stared. It was Linda, the fourteen-year-old. And she was wearing the same towel he’d seen her in that morning.

  And nothing else.

  Chapter Four

  SHE WAS MUCH PRETTIER than he’d ever realized before. Her hair was softly blonde and she wore it in a pony tail that trailed halfway down her back. Her eyes were a very bright blue, her skin a very healthy pink. The towel was yellow, just a shade brighter than her hair. She was barefoot. He noticed that her feet were very small and daintily formed

  “I took another shower,” she said. “I take a lot of showers. Especially when it gets warm. In the summer I take three or four showers a day.”

  He could smell the sweet after-bath smell of her. She smelled of soap and water and young beauty. He looked at her and saw how alive she was with youth. But, Christ, she was so damned young! She looked like the sister he had never had. She was young, far too young, to be in his room in the middle of the night.

  “What do you want?”

  She pouted. “That’s not a nice way to talk, Johnny,” she said. “You could at least invite me in.”

  “Close the door,” he said.

  She came in and closed the door behind herself “Does it have a lock?”

  He took a breath. “The two-by-four,” he said, pointing to it. “The hunk of wood. You jam it under the knob and it locks the door.”

  “I know how it works,” she said. She locked the door with the two-by-four and turned to face him again.

  “Now what do you want?”

  “I got lonely. I thought maybe we could sit and talk for a few minutes.”

  “Lonely?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Your old lady out?”

  The girl’s face darkened “She’s drunk as a pig.” she said. “Every night wine. She drinks this cruddy muscatel. It’s so sweet you could puke. You ever taste it?”

  He shook his head. He didn’t like wine.

  “I had some one time. I got, you know, dragged, sort of. So I drank a few glasses of her cruddy wine. She never missed it. It tasted rotten but it made me feel all funny.”

  “I can imagine,” he said.

  “All warm,” she said. “All funny inside.”

  He took a deep breath. “Look,” he said, “I don’t get it. I’m sorry I walked in on you when you were in the shower. It was a mistake. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “So you can split now. I mean — ”

  “I know what you mean,” she said. “But I want to stay.”

  “Linda.”

  Very nonchalan
tly she sat down on the edge of his cot, her eyes on his face. She crossed one leg over the other, and he got a momentary glimpse of the interior of her warm young thighs. He swallowed.

  Easy, he told himself. You don’t want this one. Tomorrow you get out, you start a new life. Complications you don’t need. Fourteen year old girls you don’t need.

  “And you want me to stay,” she went on.

  “Like hell I do.”

  “Maybe you don’t now,” she said softly. “But you will, in a minute or two.”

  The towel slipped a little lower on her breasts. They showed halfway to the nipple. It seemed impossible for a girl her age to have such large breasts. They were a pale pink and they looked as firm as melons.

  He tried to remember what it was like with a younger girl. Dammit he’d spent too much time with older broads. It was hard to think of what it was like with something nice and young. But Linda was just plain too young.

  Wasn’t she?

  She smiled. She reached out one hand and began to stroke his chest through the sheet. The sheet was all that covered him and she stroked his chest slowly. Steady he told himself. Steady. Just relax and maybe she’ll go away.

  But in spite of himself he found himself responding to her. He was losing ground and she was gaining, and he knew now that it was only a matter of time. He saw the hunger building in her eyes and guessed that it was inevitable.

  But such a young girl! Hell, she was a virgin, too — he was sure of it. And if there was one thing he didn’t need, it was a fourteen-year-old virgin. He needed her like he needed a fractured skull.

  “Nice Johnny,” she cooed. “You don’t know what it did to me when I was in the shower and you were in the room. I could tell you were watching me. I thought you were going to take off your clothes and come into the shower with me. I was hoping you would. I wanted you so bad that after you left I was practically shaking in the shower.”

  The mental picture was too exciting for words.

  His opinion of her was beginning to change. If this was a virgin, he thought, then so was he. This didn’t talk like a virgin or act like a virgin.

  And, he went on, if she wasn’t a virgin it didn’t matter how young she was. If somebody else had already copped her, he might as well take advantage of the situation.