Let The Great World Spin: A Novel - By Colum McCann Page 0,97

bit of flesh still lodged inside it. But most of the time we were a big family, word. No one believes it, but it’s true.

—

On Lexington, they got hotels with wallpaper and room service and real gold paint on the rim of plates. They got rooms where they put chocolates on the pillows. They got businessmen come in for a day. Whiteys. In tighteys. They lift up their shirts, you can smell the husband panic off them, like their wife is gonna come out of the TV set.

The chambermaids put mints on pillows. I had a handbag full of green wrappers. I left the room with green wrappers and men already sweating out their marriage license.

I was strictly a lie-down girl, a flatbacker. Plain screwing was all I knew, but I made them feel like no one else. Oh, baby, let me feel you. You make me so hot. Don’t take that bone to another dog.

I had a hundred little stupid sayings. It was like I was singing an old song. They lapped it up.

—

“Are you okay there, SweetCakes?” “Goddamn, but you make me feel fine!” (One minute thirty, ace, that’s a record.)

“Gimme some sugar, sugar.” “Aww, man, you’re too kissable to kiss.” (I’d rather lick the pipe in the sink.)

“Hey, girl, don’t I do it good?” “Oh, you do it good, oh, yeah, you do, so good it’s good, yeah, good.” (Pity ’bout your little pork sword, though.)

—

On the way out of the Waldorf-Astoria I tipped the hotel detectives, the bellman, and the elevator boy. They knew all the girls on the stroll. The elevator boy had a thing for me. One night I blew him in the walk-in fridge. On the way out he stole a steak. Slipped it in under his shirt. Walked out, saying he always liked it medium-rare.

He was a cutie. Winked at me, even if the elevator was full.

—

I was a bug on keeping clean. I liked to shower before every time. When I got the trick to shower, I’d soap him all over and watch the dough rise. You’d say to him, “Honey, I want some’a that bread.” Then I brought him to the oven, where he just about popped.

You try to get him finished after fifteen minutes, most. But you try to keep him going at least two minutes or so. Guys don’t like it if they pop early. They don’t get value. They feel dirty and cheap. I never had a guy who didn’t come, never once. Well, not never, but if he wasn’t coming I’d scratch his back and speak real nice to him, never dirty, and sometimes he’d cry and say, “I just wanna talk to you honey, that’s all I wanna do, I just wanna talk.” But then sometimes he’d turn over and get all vicious and scream, “Fuck you, I knew I could never get it on with you, you black bitch.”

And I’d keep all pouty like he broke my heart, then I’d lean real close and whisper to him that my daddy was in the Panthers with lots of nigger dogs, and he wouldn’t like to hear that sort of talk, dig? And then they’d pull up their trousers quick and get outta there lick lick lickety-split.

—

TuKwik got himself into fights. He carried a knuckle-duster in his sock. He had to be knocked down before he could get it. But he was smart. He oiled the cops and he oiled the syndicate and he kept all the rest for himself.

The smart daddy looks for the girl who walks alone. I walked alone for two weeks. Ohio. O-hi-o.

I became a modern woman. I took the Pill. I didn’t want no new Jazzlyn. I sent her postcards from the office on Forty-third. The guy behind the counter didn’t recognize me at first. Everyone was hollering at me for skipping the line, but I just went right on up to him, swinging my ass. He blushed and slipped me some free stamps.

I always recognize my tricks.

—

I found a new daddy who was a famous player. His name was Jigsaw. He had a flash suit. He called it his vine. He kept a handkerchief in his pocket. His secret was that inside the handkerchief he had taped a row of razor blades. He could take it out and make a puzzle of your face. He had a little crimp in his walk. Everything perfect’s got a flaw. The cops hated him. They arrested me more when they knew Jigsaw was