Page:Levenson - Butterfly Man.djvu/95

Rh I tell him, hot mama …!" His voice dropped to a low whine. "You're such a nice girl—why do you do it?"

"Sonny boy," she said as she stepped out of her evening gown, "let's talk about something else. Anything goes with me except asking me why I am what I am."

Frank and Jack's was gaudy, noisy and gay. Frank had built a substantial, square, brick building to house his many enterprises. The soiled appearance of the exterior attracted soiled people, quiet dinner parties, tourists, schoolteachers, maiden ladies and lovers. The dining-room was always crowded with these respectable, likeable, American gentry.

In the rear was the combined dance hall and gambling room, rendezvous of gamblers, petty and great; vicious women, jaded husbands, lecherous old men, boys with narrow mouths and vacant eyes. A long bar occupied the back wall. Slot-machines, arranged in a row, invited coins of every denomination.

At the opposite wall were the gaming tables, mechanically operated roulette, blackjack played according to house rules, craps, with house dice.

Midway between bar and games was the dance floor. Here, during most of the evening, couples moved languidly to the soft music of Mexican guitars. Quiet matrons dancing with their husbands rubbed shoulders with drunken prostitutes. For men, Frank and Jack's was the devil's paradise.

The room glittered. Many-colored streamers floated from the rafters. Behind the bar an artist had sketched a nude figure in crayon and soap. Women laughed shrilly; men roared with pleasure or cursed with hearty disgust.