She fastened it. Carrol put the paper down and surveyed her again, moistening his thick lips and nodding approvingly.

“Nice rags,” he said. “You was doin’ all right for a while, huh?”

“It’s been some time.”

“I figured. Girls don’t come here when they’re making it good somewhere else.”

“Can I go outside now?”

“Sure, baby. Get to work. Sit around and smile,” he grunted. “The happier you make those boys, the more dough you’ll walk out of here with. Take it slow. I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

Terry sat at a table in one of the booths. There was a slight stir of early evening activity as working people on their way home dropped in for quick drinks. She felt self-conscious and ill at ease in the low-cut evening gown which made her look like a calendar illustration in that atmosphere. The girls began to arrive. They looked at her curiously but made no move to become acquainted. Three were blondes or near blondes, one was dark, one had red hair and strangely pale, blue eyes. She was older than the others and she had been drinking. Two men engaged the girls in loud, ribald conversation. They talked mild, suggestive smut. The girls laughed at the stale jokes—all but the red-haired one who seemed to have drunk only enough to make her morose and silent. She walked over to where Terry sat and gave her a tentative smile.

“Welcome to the menagerie,” she said.

“Thank you,” Terry said.

“Name’s Lola, Lola Larsen.”

“How do you do, Lola. I’m Terry. Terry Wade.”

The other women saw them talking. They too came over, unable any longer to maintain the pose of indifference.

“Terry,” Lola told them, pointing to Terry. She didn’t bother to mention the names of the others.

“Been in town long?” one of the blondes asked.

“Quite some time, yes,” Terry replied vaguely.

Customers began to drift in. Somebody put a nickel in the record machine and a crooner began to wail about a hopeless love. The evening wore on.

The bar was crowded and Terry sat between two middle-aged men who had come in drunk. They tasted the drinks they had ordered, then left them on the bar and vied with each other for her attention. She listened to details about their personal tastes in women, growing apprehensive as she found that she did not know how to make them drink and buy more drinks. She finished the glass of Scotch that stood before her and asked if she could have another. They ordered it, then argued with each other about the privilege of paying. They left their own glasses almost untouched.

15

15