close atmosphere and the balls of dust that hid in the corners.
“You wait here and I’ll be right back,” Owen grumbled. “Now sit!”
Owen returned to the front hall and ran up the flight of dark, narrow stairs to the next floor. He rapped smartly on one of the six panel doors that led off the center hall. “Go ’way!” came a muffled complaint.
“Madge, get your tail out of that bed and come to the door. We’ve got a problem.”
A frowzy woman of questionable age with ponderous breasts struggled up from her sagging mattress. She loved her bed and spent every spare minute in it. It was a joke that once Madge got a man in the bellied-out hollow of that mattress he’d yell for mercy. She pushed back long kinky hair from her face to which the ravages of last night’s lip rouge and powder still clung. She opened the door, leaning against the jamb, looking out at Owen. “Why is it ‘we’ have a problem when you get yourself into a mess and ‘I’ have a problem when the money doesn’t come in fast enough?”
“Never mind, never mind.” Owen pushed his way into the heavily curtained room that did not allow even a glimmer of light from the window. “Fer God’s sake, why do ya keep this room so dark?”
“‘Cause I like it that way! Now what’s your problem? O’Shaughnessy refuse to deliver the liquor till you’ve paid your bill?”
“Nah! I’ve got a cousin downstairs—”
“A cousin now, is it? Well, don’t ever count me as one of your family, you snake.” Madge scratched her rump; the narrow gray straps of her chemise fell off her fleshy shoulder. “You said yesterday you’d be bringing in a girl to replace Trisha, rest her soul. I said it before and I say it again, that business with Trisha was your fault, Gallagher. If you’d been a little more careful and a bit more generous, she could’ve had the job done at the usual place instead of with the butcher you set her to.”
“That’s water under the bridge.” Owen scowled, pulling open one of the drapes, wishing he hadn’t when he turned to face Madge again. All traces of prettiness were lost to the aging harlot, lost to sin and liquor. But she ran a decent house and kept the girls in line and paid off the law and anyone else who nosed around more than was good for them. Madge was all right. “Fer Jesus sake, put some clothes on!”
Madge took the order as a compliment. “Why, Owen sweet, I didn’t think anything could rouse you. Whatever you say,” she said, pulling on a beribboned scarlet wrapper over her chemise.
“The problem is,” Owen asserted, “she’s just over from Ireland, and they cut her hair out to Tompkinsville. Almost as short as my own, blast their souls. She looks more a lad than me own brother. She can’t be more than thirteen, and she’s so little and skinny the wind would blow her over. On top of that, she’s a tongue that would make the devil himself wish for sainthood. That’s the straight of it, and I don’t know what to do with her.”
“Send her back. I don’t want no part of a kid. If you’re smart, you won’t have nothin’ to do with her either. I’m in this business for money, not to wet-nurse some kid.”
“You ain’t too smart, are ye, Madge? This kid ain’t got nobody here in America but me. Only me. Who’s she gonna run to? Besides, you know yourself, there’s those men who have a taste for little girls. She’d even be appealing to them what have a hankering for boys. There’s money in her, Madge, I can smell it. And since this is my house and my business, I don’t want no lip from you. You’ll do as I say.”
Madge arched her thin, pencilled brows. “And who says so, Mr. Gallagher? There’s plenty of pimps who’d want me to run their houses for them and keep the girls in line, and don’t you forget it!”
Owen knew this to be true and tried a different tack. “Ain’t you ever had the urge to be a mother? She’ll steal your heart, this one will. Be nice to her, Madge, take her under your wing and teach her the business.”
“Steal my heart? What heart? And if she’s kin to you, that’s not all she’ll be stealing. If you’ve got any more bright ideas, save them. You’re a slick weasel, is what you are, Owen Gallagher. Why I put up with the likes of you is more than I know.”
Owen dreaded the look he saw on Madge’s face. Looks like that always emptied his purse. Later he would worry about dealing with Madge; right now he had a little investment down in the parlor that, if handled the right way, would make him a rich man. “I have business up on Broadway that needs my attention,” he said, “so I’ll leave the girl up to you. Her name is Callie. Don’t let her mouth worry you none.”
“How hard can it be to deal with a kid?” Madge snorted, missing the way Owen’s eyes rolled. “Go on and see to your business, and I’ll handle things here. But I’m warning you, Gallagher, I’ll try her for two days, that’s all. I’ve got better things to do with my time. After that, if she doesn’t work out, you get her out of here and off my hands. Agreed?”
Owen Gallagher would have agreed to selling his soul at that moment. He nodded briskly and slid through the open doorway like the snake he was.
Madge sighed lustily. She did everything lustily. She wondered if she should take the time for a quick wash and decided against it. She’d better see to the kid. She’d try a bit of the mothering Gallagher suggested.
Callie had just completed her ninth circle of the small parlor and was becoming impatient. Where was Owen? All manner of doubts were creeping into her head when she looked up and saw a woman dressed in the most magnificent wrapper she’d ever seen. She was conscious of the buxom shelf of breasts and then of the darkest, dancingest eyes smiling down at her. She couldn’t help herself, and she reached out to touch the gaudy dressing gown. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured with awe. “Some day I’d like to send my mum one just like it.”
Madge eyed Callie suspiciously but found no hint of mockery in her face. Her youth and innocence almost brought tears to Madge’s eyes. Oh, no you don’t, Madge Collins, she scolded herself, there’s no such thing as a whore with a heart of gold and you know it! She looked down into Callie’s sweet face and saw the clear blue eyes fringed with thick black lashes. The kid’s gonna be a beauty, her experienced eye told her. “A gentleman friend brought me this from Paris. That’s Paris, France,” she clarified. “Once it had feathers up here, but they all molted like the bird they came from.”
“Even without the feathers, it’s beautiful! My mum would look like a stage actress in that. I know it must have cost a fortune, and your gentleman friend must have thought very highly of you to bring it all the way from France. I know I’ll never see Paris, France.”
“Don’t say never,” Madge said. “I used to say things like ‘never’ and ‘ever’ and ‘forever’ and look at me. I got me this dressing gown fit for a queen and who’d ’ve thought it? Not me, I’ll tell ya! Say, you look hungry and so’m I. When’s the last time you had something to eat?”
“Yesterday. I didn’t even have time for tea this morning, thank you, Mrs. . . .”
“Collins. But you call me Madge, you hear? A little thing like you needs to eat regular. Come with me.” Madge ushered Callie down the dark hallway to the kitchen. “Let’s have some bacon, potatoes, and eggs. How’s that sound? Do you like buttermilk? I think there’s some in the window box, and it should be nice and cold, considering the weather we’ve had recently. I’ve got some fresh bread, and we can have some of that wild strawberry jam I made last summer,” she said proudly. “Why’nt
