The Price of Innocence (The Legacy Series) (11 page)

“After that comes the fun part. You’ll have to go to the Bureau of Sanitaire for an examination by a doctor.” She leaned into Suzette’s ear and whispered. “He has to check your private parts to make sure you don’t have diseases and such.”

Suzette pulled away from her in horror. “You can’t be serious?”

“What?” Annette laughed. “Never had a man look at you down there?” she teased, lowering her eyes to her pelvis area. “Every fifteen days, he comes to the brothel to take a peek at you. You best get used to it.” She reached out her hand and playfully tickled her waist.

Suzette pulled back, appalled. “I can’t do this,” she pleaded, turning away toward the door. “Why doesn’t she just let me work as a housemaid or something?”

Annette grabbed Suzette’s wrist to prevent her from leaving. “Because, honey, you’re a pretty one, that’s why. She’ll make money off you, and even more opening night, if you get my drift.” Annette winked.

Suzette didn’t quite understand her meaning at first, but then it became all too clear as they proceeded down the hallway to the counter. Madame Laurent was going to sell her virginity for a high price.

“She’s here to register,” Annette blurted out at the officer behind the desk. “You know what kind I mean, don’t you sweetheart,” she said, dripping seduction off her lips, leaning her elbows on the counter, and batting her eyelashes flirtatiously. The officer lifted his gaze and smiled, recognizing Annette.

“A new one, eh?” He looked at Suzette, enjoying the vision. “Have a seat then over there.” The officer pointed to a row of chairs alongside the wall. “One of the inspectors will call you in a minute.”

Annette grabbed Suzette’s arm again and led her over to a chair to sit down. Suzette fidgeted the entire time, while Annette hummed an Irish tune underneath her breath, low and soft. A few minutes later, a man dressed in a blue police uniform walked out and handed a bundle of paperwork to the clerk behind the desk. He picked up a clipboard, turned his head, and glanced over at them.

“Both of you or just one?”

“Just her,” Annette quipped, pointing her finger. “I already got my card! She took her card out of her pocketbook and waved it at the inspector like a flag. “See, dearie! Carrying it like a good little girl, I am.”

He scowled at Annette and growled at Suzette. “Come with me.”

Suzette stood up and followed nervously behind him until they came into an office. He closed the door and motioned for her to sit in a chair before his desk. She did, and then looked at the inspector, eyeing his appearance.

The officer looked bad-tempered and annoyed, as he fiddled with papers. Suzette concluded he was middle-aged due to his graying temples. His potbelly rested on top of his trouser belt, but his uniform was clean and pressed. A mustache decorated his upper lip and curled at the ends, meeting his long burly sideburns. On his lapel he wore a silver badge with large engraved letters, M. Dubois, Brothel Inspector.

“Just have to ask you the usual questions,” he announced, breaking the silence between them.

Suzette met his eyes, and she was thankful he had softened his harsh tone. The first question of many spewed out of his mouth, while Suzette’s palms rested upon her bobbing knees.

“Name?”

Suzette was momentarily distracted by the office interior and didn’t answer. The inspector bellowed to regain her attention.

“Name, I said!”

“Excuse me, Monsieur.” She focused and swallowed the lump in her throat. “It’s Suzette Camille Rousseau.” She tilted her head as she watched the inspector dip his quill into the inkwell and scratch her name across the paper form.

“Age?”

“Eighteen.”

“Place of birth?” He paused for a moment and then cursed. “Damn this pen.” Clearly irritated, he tapped the end into the inkwell once again, not raising his head in Suzette’s direction. He cleared his throat, indicating he was waiting once more for her to answer his question.

“Paris. I was born in Paris,” she blurted.

“Are you married, widowed, or celibate?”

“I’m single,” she answered, thinking it an odd sort of question, convinced a married woman would never prostitute her body.

He lifted his eyes and reiterated, “Are you celibate?”

“I’m chaste, if that’s what you mean,” she responded tersely.

“Are your parents living?”

“They are dead.”

He blinked, and then raised his head to look at her. “Pardon me, Mademoiselle. I am sorry.” He continued in a business-like tone. “What was your deceased father’s occupation?”

“He was a professor at the University of Paris.”

“Do you have any children?”

“No.” She mused over the absurd question.
Does he think I’m like the Virgin Mary or something, able to conceive in a chaste state?
The suggestion, on the other hand, reminded her of the distinct possibility that her new occupation could result in that awful consequence. Ignorant of any means of birth control, she feared the possibility.
What will happen then? Will Madame Laurent kick me out on the street anyway
? Her anxious thoughts were interrupted by another question.

“How long have you lived in Paris?”

“I was born here, remember?” The irritated tone of her voice caused the inspector to lift his brow and glance at Suzette with a warning gaze.

“I’ve lived here all my life,” she said softly.

“Have you ever been arrested?”

“No, Inspector, I have not.”

“Have you ever practiced prostitution anywhere else?”

Silly damn questions
, she thought to herself. She had just answered his question about never having been with a man. “I think I answered that earlier.”

“Hum, that’s right—chaste.” He cleared his voice for the next question and looked directly into Suzette’s eyes.

“I apologize, Mademoiselle, for the inconvenient question, but I must ask you the following. Do you have any venereal diseases?”

“I think you already know the answer to that one too. No.” Suzette tried to be patient, but the questions were insulting and funny at the same time. A nervous giggle escaped her lips, thinking this entire process a sham.

The inspector raised a brow over his applicant’s reaction. “Is there something funny?”

“No, Monsieur,” she replied, quickly wiping the silly grin from her face. “Nervous . . . I’m just nervous.”

“All right then.” He dipped the pen in the inkwell once again for a fresh flow. “Education?”

“Yes, I have finished school. My father educated me well.” For some reason, Suzanne felt compelled to emphasize her intelligence, trying to find an ounce of dignity in the moment.

“Final question.” The inspector laid down his pen and clasped his hands together, resting them upon the desktop. “Tell me, Mademoiselle, what is your reason for registering as a prostitute? Since you claim you are still a virgin, perhaps I should direct you to a religious institution to, shall we say, convert your thought processes. However, you seem intent to pursue this course of action.”

Suzette thought for a moment. This was the question Annette warned her about, and she needed a good answer. What if she told him that she had been blackmailed into joining the brothel? Perhaps squealing that Madame Laurent was forcing her to be a whore would get her out of the situation. However, when she remembered all the threats she was sure to carry out, Suzette feared the repercussions that awaited her for making such an accusation. If she did, she would be back on the streets, perhaps spending the night on a park bench or sidewalk or door stoop in some alley. Madame Laurent’s words echoed in her mind telling her of the consequences.

“
You’ll no doubt be raped within a week because you’ll have no one to protect you, diseased within a month, and dead within three.”

“I’m hungry,” she blurted out in a shaky voice. “I am also homeless, penniless, and alone. I have been offered a job that provides good food and housing. Is that reason enough?”

The inspector picked up his pen, jotted down a few lines, and said nothing further. Suzette wondered what he was thinking, but his face expressed no empathy, only indifference. No doubt, in his mind, she was just another throwaway like the hundreds of other girls who probably sat in the same chair. The only thing left of value in her life was her body.

“All right. Here is your registration card. Please take this back to Madame Laurent as proof of your compliance with the law.”

He handed the card to Suzette. “A few more matters before you leave, Mademoiselle. There are the rules for prostitutes in Paris.”

The inspector continued in what sounded to Suzette like a rehearsed speech. He droned on about the rules of her trade and instructed her in one last act.

“I am required to have you read the regulations to me aloud before you depart, in case you have any questions. It’s imperative as a prostitute that you are fully aware of the law and consequences of disobedience.”

Suzette looked at the small card and turned it over in her hand. Like a student reciting her lessons to her teacher, she began reading her obligations as a prostitute.

“
OBLIGATIONS AND RESTRICTIONS IMPOSED ON PUBLIC WOMEN.”

Stopping for a moment, she glanced up to see the inspector’s eyes intently watching her performance.

“Public women are called upon to present themselves at the dispensary for examination, once at least every fifteen days.”

Suzette continued reading the regulations. She must carry the card at all times, was forbidden to practice on the streets,
and must dress modestly without bright colors. The lengthy directives read like orders to a criminal who was being locked up in a prison. There were regulations where she could stand, where she could walk, and how to look out a window. When she was finished with the recitation, she wanted to burst out laughing.

Finally, she came to the end and looked at the inspector.

“Well, do you have any questions?”

“No, sir.”

“I hope you sense the severity of disobeying the law, Mademoiselle. I would hate for our next meeting to find you behind bars, oui?”

Frightened, she hoped to God that she could remember all the rules. “No, Monsieur, I do not wish to see you again either, I assure you.”

“Next, you must go to the Bureau of Sanitaire to be medically examined,” he announced. “When the physician has declared you free of disease, you are free to return to Madame Laurent and report for work. Every fifteen days, you must submit to a physical examination at the brothel whenever the physician arrives. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Embarrassed and humiliated, Suzette stood up, curtsied in respect, and walked out of the office back to the lobby. She tucked her registration card into the bottom of her purse. Annette rose from the chair and came to Suzette’s side.

“Makes you feel like trash. I know.”

“I hate Madame Laurent,” she spat.

“You just don’t get it, do you? She’s saving your life, yet you hate her?”

She took Suzette’s hand. “Come on. The Bureau of Sanitaire is just around the corner. Now you can enjoy the next round of business.”

* * *

When the last moment of unending embarrassment concluded, Suzette pulled up the sheet over her naked body, suppressing her tears in front of the physician. She sat on the edge of the examination table. There were no words to describe the shame burning through her veins.

A dreadful acceptance of her fate sickened her soul. She watched the physician write notes on a piece of paper and waited for further direction. The room was silent except for Suzette’s whimpering. When he finished, he folded the piece of note, slipped it in an envelope, and handed it to Suzette.

“I see you are a virgin,” he said, with a raised brow. “Make sure you do not skip the regular examinations like some girls do. Madame Laurent’s establishment is fairly clean, but the clientele is not always guaranteed to be disease-free.” He stood up and headed for the door. “You may get dressed,” he instructed but hesitated leaving. “Has anyone spoken to you about birth control, Mademoiselle?”

“No, doctor, I have no idea what to do or if anything can be done.”

“Well, there are methods the girls at the brothel will no doubt talk to you about. I suggest you have a heart-to-heart talk with another woman in the same profession about such matters.”

“All right. I will.”

Suzette watched the physician leave the room and close the door behind him. As soon as the latch clicked, Suzette burst into tears. A moment later, someone knocked. She tried to control her emotions as the door opened. It was Annette. Suzette slid off the examining table with the sheet wrapped around her shaking body.

“You survived, I see. You’ll get used to it.”

For the first time, she saw a glimpse of compassion on Annette’s face, and Suzette took the morsel offered.

“It was horrid.”

“Come on now, get dressed. You’ll feel better.”

Whatever virtue she possessed died at the hands of the doctor. Suzette dropped the sheet baring her naked body before Annette. When she finished dressing, Annette escorted her outside, waving down a carriage for their ride back to the brothel.

“Come on, we need to get back. We have business to attend to before seven. Besides, I’m hungry.”

Chapter Nine

  Suzette, upon her return, was told to proceed to Madame Laurent’s office. She rapped softly on the door until she heard the cold and unyielding voice bid her entrance. She approached the desk with envelope in hand and stood tall waiting to be told what to do. Suzette glared at her employer feeling no endearment for her whatsoever.

“Give me the report,” she demanded.

Suzette handed over the documents angry over the smirk of victory written across Madame Laurent’s face. She motioned for her to have a seat, but Suzette didn’t budge.

“Relax, Suzette! It will be quite all right. You worry far too much about this entire matter. Now sit!”

She plopped herself in the chair and watched Madame Laurent open the envelope. After pulling out the papers, she read the contents.

“God! Bureau des Mouers. What a waste. I wish they’d shut the wretched office down.”