79 Park Avenue (17 page)

Marja looked at her swiftly. "Would they let me stay with him if I talk? I can work and keep him."

The woman shook her head regretfully. "No, they couldn't do that. You're too young. But—"

*Then it doesn't make any difference, does it?" Marja asked.

The woman didn't answer.

Marja got to her feet. "Come on," she said. "Let's get it over with."

The courtroom was almost empty. Only a few spectators sat in the rows near the railing. She glanced idly at them as she passed. They looked up at her curiously but impersonally. She meant nothing to them.

A hand reached out and brushed her arm as she walked by. "HeUo, Marja."

She looked up, startled.

It was Mike. There was a friendly, reassuring smile on his lips. "I tried to see yuh," he whispered quickly, "but they wouldn't let me."

Her face settled into a dull, impassive mask. There was no use telling him she had given orders that she didn't want to see anyone. She continued walking.

The Welfare woman was just behind her. "That's a nice looking boy," she said in a friendly voice. "Your boy friend?"

Marja's eyes were blank. "I don't know who he is. I never saw him before in my life."

The judge was a tired, bored-looking old man. He peered down at Marja. "You are charged with attacking your stepfather with a knife, young woman."

She didn't answer.

*Ts Mr. Ritchik here?" he asked, turning to the clerk.

The clerk called: "Mr. Ritchik."

Peter came forward from the back of the court. His face

'was still covered with a big white bandage. Marja looked at him. It was as if he were a stranger. The five weeks since she had seen him had been a lifetime.

"Mr. Ritchik," the judge asked, "v^ you tell us what happened?"

Peter cleared his throat nervously. "She's no good, Your Honor. A tramp. She wouldn't listen to nobody. She worked at the dance hall and never came home nights. When she did, it was late. That night I spoke to her about coming in decent hours Uke other girls. When I went to sleep, she sneaked into my room and cut me."

Marja had to smile. If it weren't for her mother's memory she would tell them what had really happened. But Katti was entitled to that much peace.

It was over in a little while. She stood in front of the desk while the judge looked down over his spectacles at her.

"Marja," he said, "we are sending you to the Rose Geyer Correctional Home for Girls until you are eighteen. It is nay hope that you will put your time there to good use and learn a trade and a Christian way of life."

She looked up at him blankly.

"Any questions?" he asked.

She shook her head.

He rapped his gavel on the desk and got to his feet. Everybody in the court stood as he walked pompously from the bench. The door closed behind him, and the Welfare woman turned to her.

"Come with me, Marja," she said.

Dumbly, Marja followed her. Mike was standing behind the rail. He tried to speak, but she looked right through him. A hurt expression came over his face. It wasn't until she was through the door that she realized he was crying.

The Rose Geyer Home was in the far end of the Bronx.

She looked at it curiously as she got out of the car with the policeman and the Welfare matron. It was almost hke the country up here. The Home was surroimded by open fields.

An hour later she was escorted to the doctor's office by one of the girls, who looked at her questioningly, but spoke not a word as they walked down the long gray corridor.

She held the door open for Marja. "In here, honey," she said in a not impleasant voice. She followed Marja into the office. A thin, gray-haired man looked up. "I got a new fish for you, Doc," the girl said.

The doctor shrugged his shoulders wearily. "In there." He pointed to a small room. "Take off all your clothes."

His examination was brief and efficient. Twenty minutes after she had come into his office she was dressed and back in the entrance room.

The doctor handed her a prescription. "Get this filled at the dispensary and take it aU during your pregnancy," he said.

Marja was startled. She cast a quick glance behind her. The giri who had brought her was sitting against the wall. She turned back to the doctor. "Who, me?" she asked incredulously.

The girl's voice came from behind her. It was flat but not without humor. "He don't mean me, honey. I been here without a guy for two years now, damn it!"

Marja looked at the doctor, then at the paper in her hand. Suddenly she realized what it meant. She sank into a chair beside the desk and began to laugh.

The doctor stared at her. "Whaf s so funny?" he asked.

She looked up at him, the tears running down her cheeks. That was the hell of it. He would never know. Nobody would.

The State vs. Maryann Flood

I WAITED while the clerk administered the oath to the

te's &st witness. She was a tall, dark girl with a dramatic in the middle of her long jet-black hair. She seemed quite calm and uninterested in the people in the court. Her eyes were dark and unreadable.

"Your name, please?" the clerk asked.

"Raye Mamay," she answered. The voice was surprisingly light and thin in such a tall girl.

The clerk nodded to me and I walked forward slowly. I stopped in front of her and looked up. "How old are you, Miss Marnay?" I asked.

The answer came promptly. "Twenty-three."

"Where were you born?"

"ChiUicothe, Ohio."

"When did you come to New York?" I asked.

"About two years ago."

I was beginning to get used to the strange, thin sound of her voice. "What did you do in ChiUicothe?"

"I lived there," she said.

I could hear the faint sound of laughter in the courtroom. I waited for it to subside before I spoke again. "I meant, what did you work at for a living in Chillicothe, Miss Maraay?"

"Oh," she said. "I didn't know that was what you meant. I was a schoolteacher."

I looked at her. The hell of it was that she really had been a schoolteacher. "What grade did you teach?"

"Kindergarten," she answered prompdy. "I love children."

I couldn't help smiling at the way she said it. "I don't doubt that. Miss Mamay," I said. I let the smile leave my face. "What made you decide to come to New York?"

"I wanted to be an actress," she said. "Professor Berg, he was the dramatic teacher at the senior school, wrote a play which we put on in the little theater. It was called Lark in the Valley, and I played the leading part in it. He said I had so much talent that it was a shame that I had to waste it in a small town like Chillicothe. He said I was another Mary Astor. So I decided to come to New York."

"And what happened after you arrived in New York?" I asked.

"Nothing," she said. "I walked around for weeks and nobody would even see me. Even with the letters that Professor Berg gave me."

'Then why didn't you go back to Chillicothe?"

"I couldn't," she answered in her small voice.^ There was a note of hurt in it "Everybody would know then that I was a failure.'*

"I see," I said. "Then, what did you do for a living?"

"I got a job in a restaurant on Broadway as a waitress. It was a place where a lot of show people came in. I had

heard that many girls who worked there found jobs on the stage."

"How long did you work there?" I asked.

"About three weeks," she said.

"What happened then?"

"I was fired," she answered in an even tinier voice, if that was possible. "The manager said he ran a restaurant, not a dramatic school."

Another ripple of laughter ran through the courtroom. I waited for it to pass. "Then what did you do?"

"I looked for another job, but I didn't find any. One day I was talking to another girl in the rooming-house where I lived. She said with my face and figure I ought to become a model. I thought that was a good idea. Many models become actresses, you know. I asked her how I could become a model. She sent me up to Park Avenue Models."

I nodded. "Was this the first time you had ever thought of modeling?"

"Yes," she answered.

"What did you do then?'* I asked.

"I went up to Park Avenue Models and applied for work."

"Who did you speak to when you went up there?"

"Mrs. Morris."

"What did she tell you?"

"She said I would have to get some pictures taken and then she would put them in her file. She gave me a card with the names of about four photographers on it. Until I had them, she said, she couldn't do anything for me. I explained to her that I didn't have the money for it. She said she was sorry but she couldn't do anything for me until then. I was just about to leave when Miss Flood came out of her office and saw me."

"You mean the Miss Flood who is here in this courtroom?" I asked.

She nodded. "Yes."

"What happened then?'*

"When Miss Flood saw me, she snapped her fingers and said I was the girl. She sent me to the 14th Street Fur Shop. That was the first time I ever modeled. I wore one of their fur coats and walked up and down in their windows so people could see it" There was a note of pride in her voice. "I was their favorite model. You see, I'm very tall, and people can see me a long way off. I worked there at least three days a week ever since."

"What other modeling did you do?" I asked.

She hesitated a moment. 'That was the only place I ever worked."

I nodded. "How much did they pay you?"

'Ten dollars a day," she answered.

"That came to about thirty dollars a week," I said. "Was that enough for you to live on?" -

She shook her head. "No. My dramatic lessons cost more than that each week."

"How did you make extra money?"

"I used to date a lot," she said.

"Date?" I asked.

She nodded. "That's what we called it."

"Who do you mean by 'we'?" I asked.

"The girls I knew," she said.

"How did you go about this—er—dating, as you call it?'*

"It began after I had been working a few weeks as a model. I asked Miss Flood for some extra work and she called me into her office. She said that a model's life was often very difficult and sometimes took a long time in paying off. She told me that sometimes clients called her up

and asked her to recommend some girls to go out with them. She said these men were very generous and always tipped the girls well for just spending time with them. She asked if I was interested."

"What did you say?" I asked.

**I was interested," she replied.

Another ripple of laughter ran through the courtroom. I didn't blame them. "What did you do then?"

"Miss Flood arranged a date for me that night. He was a nice gentleman. He took me to dinner, then we went up to his apartment for a few drinks. He was very amusing. He gave me ten dollars when I left. He said that was for being so nice and for me to tell Miss Flood that he was very pleased."

"Is that all you did?" I asked. "Have a few drinks?"

Her face changed color sUghtly. She seemed to be blushing. "We had two parties," she almost whispered.

"Parties?" I questioned, looking at the jmry. "What do you mean by parties?"

"Intercourse." She was still speaking in that low, hard-to-hear voice.

"You mean you had intercourse twice with this man?" I asked.

She nodded. **Yes. That's what I mean.'*

"Weren't you surprised that the man wanted that? That he took it for granted?"

She shook her head. "No. The men were no different back in Chillicothe. They all look for the same thing."

Laughter scaled the courtroom walls. The judge rapped his gavel. The noise subsided.

"What did you do next?" I asked.

"I went home to sleep. I was tired," she said.

The roar ahnost blew the courtroom apart. Even I had to

work to keep a straight face. Finally I could speak. "I mean when you went back to Park Avenue Models the next time."

"That was the next day. I went back to thank Miss Hood for being so nice to me. She asked me if I had a good time and if I was willing to go on any more dates. I said I would if all the gentlemen were as nice as this one. She assured me that she knew nothing but nice gendemen, then she asked me how many parties we had. I told her and she took some money out of her desk and gave it to me. I didn't want to take it, I told her that the gentleman had given me ten dollars. She laughed and said that was my tip, and made me take the money.'*

"How much was it?" I asked*

"Fifty dollars," she said.

"Did you realize what this meant?" I asked. "That you were committing an act of prostitution?"

"I didn't look at it hke tiiat," she protested. "If I didn't like the gendeman, I didn't have to do anything. I wouldn't."

"Did you ever meet any gendeman you didn't like?" I asked sarcastically.

She shook her head. "No. Miss Hood was right. She only knew the finest-type gentiemen."

Laughter again echoed through the court. I waited imtil it had subsided. "Before you knew Miss Hood, did you ever have intercourse for money?"

She shook her head. "No."