“See one you’d like to meet?”
“I sure do.”
And the girl had been one Peggy Hogan, who was a little sloshed when we were introduced, but very cute nonetheless. She told me about her ambitions to be an actress, despite her family’s insistence that she go to business school, and I listened. I was a little sloshed myself by the time we wandered into the Morrison Hotel, where I kept a residential apartment, and she was more than a little sloshed when we tumbled into bed together. Despite my condition, that sweet roll in the hay was a memorable one, one I can look back on fondly even now, practically smell her perfume, which was like roses; but the next morning I had been hung over, guilty, and took it out on the girl.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” I told her.
She’d looked at me sad-eyed, sitting up in bed, covers gathered around her, her eye make-up smeared from sleep, putting racoon circles around the impossibly violet eyes.
“I had help,” she pouted.
“I’m not proud of myself, either,” I said. I was standing next to the bed, looming over her like God in His underwear. “You’re a nice kid. You shouldn’t oughta sleep with strange men. Where are you from, anyway?”
“I live on the North Side.”
“Yeah, yeah, you got one of them flats behind the Gold Coast, right? Right. But where’s your family live?”
“Englewood.”
“That’s a nice little neighborhood. White lace Irish. Your father own his own business?”
She nodded.
“And he’s sending you to business school, so you must’ve finished high school.”
She nodded. “With honors.”
“Figures. You’re a smart kid, so you can go to parties every night and still cut the mustard in your classes. You oughta be ashamed.”
She swallowed.
“This is no life for you. That guy Epstein, he’s a glorified bookie.”
Ingenuously she said, “I thought he was an accountant.”
“He is. From what I hear, he works for the Capone mob, on the side-helping Jake Guzik with the books. Making sure nobody else goes to jail over income tax.”
She smiled a little. “I met Al Capone before.”
That didn’t make any sense. Capone was sent up in ’32. She was about nineteen years old.
“We go to the same church,” she explained. “I’ve seen his wife a lot. St. Bernard’s. I dated one of her bodyguards.”
“Swell! That sort of life appeals to you, huh? Do you know my name?”
She thought hard. Then she said, “Nat?”
“Close but no cigar. Nate. Don’t sleep with strange men. My name’s Nathan Heller, and I’m a private detective. I carry a gun sometimes.”
She smiled, showed me her wonderful white teeth; first thing in the morning and they looked brushed without brushing. “Really?”
“You think that’s swell, I suppose?”
She shrugged. “I don’t see why life has to be dull.”
“Take my advice,” I said, throwing her blue satin gown at her. “Go to school. Find a job. Find a husband. Stay away from Virginia Hill. She’ll make a whore out of you.”
That made her mad.
She got out of bed and stood there stark naked and shook her finger at me. I’d never seen a girl-or a woman for that matter- just stand before me naked like that without a thought about it. As she shook her finger, her delicately-veined, perfect little breasts bobbled. Her pubic triangle was bushy and near black and a gentle trail of hair tickled its way up to her belly button.
“Don’t you call me a whore, you crummy louse. I never took a dime from any man.”
I was wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Watching her was having an effect on me. She noticed and stopped being mad. She smiled, covered her mouth, catching the laugh.
“You’re pretty self-righteous, aren’t you, Nathan Heller-for a man whose dirty mind is sticking out.”
That embarrassed me, and I went in the other room and got dressed. She came out a few minutes later, wearing the flimsy satin blue gown, sweet little boobs bobbling, and said. “You wouldn’t happen to have a car, would you?”
“Yeah,” I said, “but it’s parked behind my office. That’s only a couple blocks from here, though.”
“Would you pick me up out front, and take me home? I can’t hop a streetcar like this”-she gestured sweepingly toward herself-” and I don’t have cab fare.”
“I could give you cab fare.”
Her jaw tightened. “I don’t want any money from you, Nat. Nate.”
“Sure I’ll give you a ride.”
She smiled; no teeth, but plenty of dimples. She had a face like an angel and a hell of a body.
“Sorry I was so rough on you,” I said, later, picking her up out front, as she slid in on the rider’s side of my ’32 Auburn.
“It’s okay. It’s nice that you care.”
“You should stay away from these gamblers and gangsters. And Virginia Hill.”
“You were friendly enough with her.”
“Yeah, but I’m a lowlife. You find some other social circle to move in. Don’t go taking off your clothes posing for no calendar artists, either.”
“It pays pretty good money. Times are hard.”
“You’ve done okay. I don’t imagine your family fell on hard times much. I bet you get an allowance.”
“Is that what you think.”