Chances by Jackie Collins Page A

box.”
    Carrie squirmed away from his touch.
    “How’ll I know she’ll behave?” Lissy questioned suspiciously.
    “Oh, she’ll behave,” Leroy said airily. “She don’ know no other job. She loves it. Jest keep her fed an’ locked up. You won’t have no trouble.”
    “I don’t know….” Lissy was unsure.
    “’Course you do. She’s young. You’ll make a fortune with her.”
    “How much you want?”
    “I thought we agreed a hundred dollars. You’ll make that back in a matter of weeks—then it’s all profit.”
    Lissy narrowed businesslike eyes. “Fifty, Leroy, that’s as high as I’ll go.”
    “Shee-it!” Leroy was angry. “You backin’ down on me?”
    “Take it or leave it.”
    “Make it seventy-five.”
    “Fifty.”
    “Sixty,” he whined.
    Lissy relented. “Fifty-five an’ it’s a deal.”
    They shook hands and money was exchanged. Then Leroy was on his way without so much as a goodbye.
    Lissy stared at Carrie. “You’re too skinny,” she stated. “Gotta fatten you up. Come with me, I’ll show you your room. An’ a good bath wouldn’t do you no harm.”
    Life at Lissy’s establishment was an improvement. Meals were regular, the johns were better, and the room she was kept locked in was luxurious in comparison to what she was used to.
    There were other girls there too. At first she wasn’t allowed to even see them, but after a couple of months, when she had more than earned back her price, Lissy relented and gave her a few sweet tastes of freedom.
    She would have run. But Leroy was right. She had nowhere to run to. She was a whore now; nothing could change that sad fact. There was no going back to Philadelphia or a job with Mr. Dimes. Whoring was her life, and as one of the other girls pointed out, if it was to be her life why didn’t
she
make money out of it too?
    Shortly afterward, she approached Lissy. “I want a share of what I make,” she insisted.
    Lissy laughed. “How come it took you so long to ask?”
    By the age of fifteen, Carrie had saved herself a nice little stash of money. With her big breasts, long dark hair, and oriental eyes, she was really something to look at.
    Lissy understood when she told her she was moving on. She wasn’t happy about it, but there was nothing she could do.
    Carrie took herself to see Florence Williams, one of the biggest madams in Harlem. She lived in a beautiful apartment off 141st Street along with three special girls, and after one look at Carrie, Florence was happy to give her a room. The deal was she would get twenty dollars a john, and out of every twenty she would pay Florence five for her rent.
    The room she had was a dream. A comfortable bed with a white cover and matching telephone. In the corner was a china washbasin and beside it a pile of clean towels, kept that way by a maid who visited the room after every customer.
    A maid! Carrie did not enjoy what she was doing, but it was certainly becoming more acceptable.
    The other girls at Florence’s were friendly. And what’s more, two of them were white. Carrie was soon to discover that half the customers were white! She was amazed. She had never imagined that
white
men would have to pay for it, seemingly respectable white men who probably had good jobs and wives and all sorts of advantages in life.
    The other girls laughed when she expressed her surprise.
    “Honey, white men a hell of a lot dirtier than some horny nigger,” Cecilia told her. Cecilia was tall and haughty-looking, the last person you would suspect would be selling it. “Niggers want to give it to you good, show you what a great big wonderful fuck they are. White guys… well, they like it strange. Tie ’em up and beat ’em like they’re doîn’ somethin’
real
filtheee. Give me a good old spade any day.”
    Cecilia had skin the color of buttermilk, red hair, and long long legs. She spoke in a lazy southern drawl. The other white girl was all big wide eyes and bounce.
    And then there was Billie, a