What Is Art? Prostitution. [Open]

[Jinxy Chenevix]

Jinxy was exhausted. Her afternoon show was just over, and she didn't have a show scheduled for the evening. It was nearing the time when rent was due for her, however, and she knew that she presently wasn't pulling in enough money to adequately pay her half of the rent. It was a joint deal with her sister, who didn't hold a steady job but made due--a point which Allena didn't question, for ignorance truly is bliss-- but it was quite difficult for her to maintain her larger portion.

She was dolled up in her "night" wear, with her eyes painted a deep, theatrical black and powdered a soft, conflicting blue. Her sister had assisted her in pulling her bodice as tightly as it went about her middle, and her petite, soft blue dress went on over top. Her bust was accentuated, as were her eyes, lips and hips. It was a routine, come rent time, and as much as she didn't like it she did little to change it, and she did even less to try to save money during the month.

And so now she was at her corner. It wasn't the one she went to all the time, but it was routine enough. Being recognized was not good in this case, but this was the only place close enough for her to get home, unassisted, whilst drunk. Whether or not the man would provide her with alcohol was a different story, but it was always a good idea to take it into consideration.

A few passing men looked interested in what she had to offer, and several nearly approached her. One rejected her for the high price--though it was not every day that one might get to have a romp with someone who was slightly famous, or whose name was at least mildly know-- but she was not discouraged. There were a few others who seemed wary of the timing, but they were always around. It was something to consider before going out, particularly if it was a weekday.

It was not, in fact, a week day. But it might as well have been, for all the luck she was having. She even made a few approaches, and was shot down ever time. Nearly every man gave his condolences.

And so now she stood, wall flower-esque, and waited. She took her liberties and made eyes at a few of the men, but they either didn't notice or shook their heads no.

[Fiend]

Rainey felt like he was walking on a ground made of semi-toasted marshmallows--soft, yet difficult, to walk through. Much like trying to run in shallow water, you not only look stupid but fail to get anywhere in due time. Granted, this would have been acceptable, save the fact that he was actually walking on concrete.

Business and pleasure never was supposed to mix, however Rainey was finding it hard to separate the two. In his business, it was damn near impossible if you asked him- but he wasn't making nearly as much as he could be.

But Bayer's new cough suppressant was leaving his industry questionable. Heroin was apparently three times as effective as morphine. Naturally, Rainey had to get his hands on it. He'd smoked opium to the point of black out-or what felt like it, at least, but this new medicine was making him pretty damn useless.

Non-addictive, apparently. Maybe this would ween him off morphine and opium for good.

Regretting the late night stay in Queens, Rainey knew he had to get home before he stumbled into the wrong territory. He wasn't out of his mind, Rainey knew where he was and how to get home. But the feeling that was circulating in his stomach due to a cough medicine was causing him to feel reckless and carefree: the downfall of any opiate user.

Trying to not be stupid, or look like he was running in water, he kept his eyes a few feet in front of his toes. Busy thinking about how the cheap and easy to get lozenges, syrups, whatever else heroin might be in, would effect the opium dens, he felt his body bounce slightly off another smaller and softer being.

Looking up-which felt like it took about five minutes to lift his head- he was surprised to see what appeared to be a hooker. A pretty one. A young one, at that. Before he could be solicited, he apologized hastily, "Ah'm sairy, Ah wasn't paying any attention..."

Cocking his head lightly, the carefree feeling took over his vocal chords. "Why is a pretty little thing like you standing oan the corner this late?"

[Jinxy Chenevix]

Allena was genuinely startled as the man ran into her. Her arm shot out--a poor move on her part, for upon contact with the brick wall at her side her joint locked and caused her a significant amount of pain-- and she whimpered softly in pain. He didn't seem all that with it, and she supposed that she should have seen him coming at least a few paces before he'd made contact with her.

But this provided her with ample timing for a suitable come-on. Oftentimes the men who were not all with it ended up forking up the most money--the least mentally acute had the most potential. It was a good system, when the money was all counted, but other times it lead her into very sticky situations.

She coughed softly, into her sleeve. "It is fine," she said, blinking a few times in surprise. She was about to advance when he asked another question, again suprising her some. He didn't recoil from the dishonor of being seen near her, and he wasn't already up her skirts. An interesting median, really--she wouldn't hesitate to play upon it.

"I am sure that a quick minded man like yourself vould be able to assume my business 'ere," she said, smiling coyly as she drew herself nearer to him, using her elbows as hinges. She ignored the acutre pain involved in the action, bringing both hands up to his chest area. Her painted eyes looked up at him, the size exaggerated by the makeup. She leaned some weight against him, though noted his initial unsturdiness, and kept it in mind.

[Fiend]

Rainey knew he had to get home-or somewhere he could crash for the night, though that would preferably be his home in his den-because he felt like he was going in and out of consciousness. A stupid smile seemed to be plastered on his face, for all he knew he could be smoking a cigarette. Maybe that was that burning smell.

In reality and in a sober mindset, the burning smell was from the homeless lighting up the trash bins down the ally, and the cigarette Rainey had lit was burning steadily, the self-rolled paper burning away faster each time the breeze blew.

She assured him she was fine; it wasn't like he hit her that hard, anyway. At least it didn't feel like a rough bump to him. Shoulders limp and stance unprofessional, he felt himself sway slightly.

Quick-witted? Snorting, Rainey was out of it, but he wasn't that out of it. He knew he was flat out plastered, enough so that he was positive that he'd be content sitting on a stoop until it wore off a bit.

Nodding, he felt her hands on his chest. Feeling her eyes burn into his, he was obligated to meet her gaze. She had on a lot of make up which made him wonder how old she really was. At first glance, he'd assume she was easily his age, but now he was second guessing himself. Seventeen, maybe eighteen...?

"Aye, Ah know wot yer here faur," swallowing, he felt the cigarette he didn't remember lighting fall out of his left hand. "Richt now, Ah don't think Ah'd be much fun." It would be a damn miracle if he could even get it up, not matter how good he was feeling. Chemicals were deceiving. "And you micht leave me broke." She wasn't American either- she was one of two things: really cheap, or really expensive.

As if he needed to pay for sex, anyway.

[Jinxy Chenevix]

Jinxy smiled as his eyes finally met hers, and she used her hands to rub his chest slowly, in slight circles. She was pushing harder for this man than the others for a variety of reasons--firstly, he wasn't running away. Secondly, he was attractive, even if he smelled of cigarette smoke and drugs. She couldn't exactly identify the drug, though, or if it was just some strange ethnic perfume. It was a bit of a problem, growing up priveleged and sheltered and then being uprooted to some poor meld of a country. She was plenty cultured in the habits of her people, and slightly learned when it came to others. But scents were not her strong point--people may have called her a bitch in the past, but she certainly was no dog.

A pleasant smile crept over her lips when he made it known that he knew what she was there for. Her eyes dropped down and she moved her foot aside as the remnants of the cigarette ashed out onto the ground below. There was no need to get any of the sooty leftovers on her new shoes, or her nice dress for that matter.

She cocked her head to the side inquisitively when he implied that he wouldn't be much fun. "'ow not?" she asked him, pulling herself even more against him as a press of people passed by. "You look like you'd do a plenty fine job," she added, her hand running down to the top of his trousers but not lower nor any more inward for decency's sake.

Her grin broke and broadened itself as he suggested that she may leave him broke. "You may be right about zat," she commented airily, leaning in to speak close to his ear. "But you won't know until after you've gotten your pleasures...." she paused, briefly, "'Ow much money do you 'ave on you?"

She felt like asking if he had a wife, but refrained. There was no need for such moodkill questions as those.

[Fiend]

This broad must have really needed her money. It was beyond Rainey as to why she was interesting in a sluggish, slow, damn near retarded man- money had to be the reason for it, after all. This bitch was broke and thought he just might have some money.

Too bad he'd spent almost everything he had on her person- she was barking up the wrong tree. But he found himself not wanting to let her know that. She seemed like a dime- too pretty to be out here, selling herself out.

Someone had to own her.

Rainey laughed out loud when she assured him he'd do a fine job. He acknowledged her hand starting its teasing regimen, but he didn't feel his blood start flowing south. Not yet, anyway. What a shame. "No- Ah think you'll find yerself disappointed richt now. Take my word faur it," if he were sober, he would have gotten hard just looking at her. That was far from the case while heroin attacked his brain.

This was the best cough suppressant ever.

Instead of answering her question on the contents of his wallet, he dragged the conversation in another direction all together. Something she just might smack him across the face for, if she was the kind to get a wild hair up her ass.

"Whose making you stand oot here this late?" His tone didn't suggest that he wanted to take the pimp out and kill the sucker, at least he hoped otherwise. It was more or less a question of her personality, and her answer could cross a few questions off his list- one of them being if she was being pimped out.

Rainey couldn't tell one why he was so interested in this prostitute as of right now. She was striking to him, enough to invoke his artistic abilities and make him want to paint. Then again, it just might be his cough meds talking.

Unsure of the appropriateness of his question, he quickly added, "Ah sure as hell don't have enough for you to take care of me. Unless you want me to pay for a bed to sleep in," which, ironically, wouldn't be all that bad of an idea now. He was almost tempted to by a hooker- what else would his carefree mood lead him to do? He needed to get off the street.

[Jinxy Chenevix]

Allena pouted a bit--yeah, just her luck. Someone was interested but poor--what else was new, though? She gave him another once over, though, and deduced that he was not as poor as he was pretending he was. This, of course, was something she kept to herself so as not to completely embarass herself. Besides, insulting potential customers was never a good idea.

"My landlord," she said, but then realized that hte joke might not have caught. Her sense of humor had always been slightly slanted from the more native Americans or white-born English-speaking Europeans. She smiled slightly shyly, although this surprised even her. Shy wasn't something she liked to give off, particularly not on the job. Being a shy prostitute was like being a deaf debatist.

"I, eugh, I meant zat rent is due and the 'all does not pay me enough to support both my sister and I. She does not work yet, alzhough I vould say she's at quite ze age vhere she could contribute something." She sighed, heavily, and then leaned back against the wall. At this rate, there wasn't much hope left in her for finding anyone with a full pocket and an insatiable sex strive. "I don't vork for anyone. I mean, not from ze corners. I'd probably 'ave more success if I did," she said, mumbling the last part.

Looking up at him, she hesitated before posing yet another question to him. "Vhy do you ask?" she asked, curiously but brightly enough. At least he was a sociable stranger, and hadn't called her any defamatory name or brushed her away--and, better yet, he hadn't tossed her against the wall. Or lead her on, had his way with her, and then did not give her any money for it.

She almost winced at the thought. There had been a few instances like that in the past, and they always left her feeling...unfulfilled.

Being an unsuccessful prostitute was one of the biggest ego bashers she could think of.

His wording and thick accent confused her, and she stood there looking like a small, fluffy animal that was very befuddled by the information presented to it. A blank gaze passed over her face before she bit her lip, shrugging in response. There wasn't much of anything she could come up with in response, particularly not when she didn't quite understand the question.

She tilted her head, and decided that she may have been allowed to take the conversation on her own tangent. "Vhy do you 'ave no money, if you do not mind my asking you such a personal question? You do not look so poor as ze steel mill workers, or ze dockers. I do not understand why you look rich but 'ave no, eugh, money? Unless you are lying to me," she added, pouting slightly at that. She certainly hoped that she was not being lied to, but then again she didn't exactly know this man, and he had no reason to tell her the truth.

Her hands fell to her own waist, now, though her right arm stayed much less firmly than her left and her palms ended up resting against her outer thigh.

[Fiend]

Rainey looked a bit aghast when the whore said it was her landlord who was, indeed, making her sell herself out on the street. America was odd. However he soon got the feeling that she was being sardonic, and felt a bit foolish. Then again, he gave himself the excuse that he wasn't at one hundred percent.

She explained that she was self employed, and Rainey snorted slightly. He found it a bit funny, but he couldn't pin-point why he was bemused by the hooker's entrepreneurship. You really could sell anything.

"Aye, pimping is getting harder," because hoes are getting smarter. Like this broad, working by herself for herself. No one to get her out there. Leaning against the wall next to her, and gave a small shrug. "The hall? Cabaret? Can't you jist sell yerself there...?"

Her eyes caught his, yet again, and a stupid, heroin-induced smile came to his face. This cough syrup was making him soft. "Ah ask....jist because Ah'm curious..." he supposed that it was really none of his business, and felt a bit disheartened that he didn't think of this before.

Rainey desperately wanted to get back to Harlem. Talking to a hooker and actually considering to spend money wasn't a good sign, and a bed seemed the most welcoming places in the world right now. However, he was drawn back to the streets in Queens when she questioned his financial situation. He suddenly didn't feel so bad about asking about her pimp.

"Rich?" That was perhaps the grandest compliment he'd gotten in a while. Chuckling a bit, he shook his head. "Ah try, thanks. But, no- Ah haven't any money on me. Ah apologize. Unless yer going to follow me all the way back to Harlem, Ah've got a penny to my name." Was she so desperate that she'd actually follow him to the den? Uncaring at the moment, he pulled the penny out of his pocket to emphasize his point.

[Jinxy Chenevix]

Allena smiled a bit, rolling her eyes at him. "And you would know zis 'ow?" she asked, cocking her head to the side inquisitively. She'd hit her head against the wall a bit when she tilted it, but played it cool by resting her head against the wall afterward for a while. Yes, it had been an entirely intentional movement. Right.

She pushed slightly off the wall--enough so that she wouldn't hit her head, anyway-- and shook her head no. "No, no, I am a ballet dancer. Zey do not pay enough zough. I could live in ze 'ousing provided by ze company, of course, but it does not fare vell for my soeur--eugh, sister." She bit her lip, embarassed by her fumbling English. But most people in this country at this time couldn't speak the language well, and this was always a solace for her.

At least she was fortunate enough to have a pretty accent.

"At any rate, she is not fond of ze dance 'all. Zere are shows going on many nights and she loathes music. She is so caught up in 'er own "beauty" zat she cannot miss a minute of sleep or preening for it. She even refuses to stitch because she is afraid zat it vill maime 'er fingers." She sighed, marking closure on her family history. Being a single girl sucked, particularly when you had a prissy, finicky sister on your hands.

His smile made her smile, and she was pleasantly surprised by this. It wasn't often that a customer made her smile. Hell, it wasn't even often that a customer pleased her in the act. This boy looked promising--he wasn't too old, for one, and he seemed hygenic enough-- but looks were never definitive.

"I'm flexible," she said, her double entendre passing her lips unnoticed by her. Usually she giggled childishly when she said something that could be taken adversely, but this time she didn't pay it any mind. The fact of the matter was that she was flexible--she could touch her ankle to her forehead without bending her knee, but more importantly she could go through the boroughs as well as she pleased so long as she was home in time to purchase groceries and head in for practice or recitals.

"Generally, zough, people are not fond of 'aving prostitutes follow zem 'ome. But I...need ze money," she admitted, finally, shrugging it off and avoiding looking at him again.

[Fiend]

"Ah'm jist observant. Broads aren't as dumb anymore. Well...Ah can't speak for every hooker...." he trailed off, watching her cock he head at him and move about in her flirtatious ways without any physical contact.

Ballet. Well, that was a surprise. Rainey didn't think a hooker would be a ballerina during the day. Finding 'hooker' and 'whore' or even 'prostitute' a bit harsh for the ballet dancer, he wracked his brain for something else to call her. When his uncreative mind couldn't think of a synonym, he sighed. "Aye, ballerina. Wot is yer name?"

It seemed better than calling the girl by her profession, unless she perferred to keep her real life away from the streets. Rainey knew people like that, though somehow it tended to fail- so he didn't even try.

The sister sounded a bit off, if one would ask Rainey. But he commented little on this, just nodding and snorting a bit when the girl mentioned how her sister feared stitching.

"Oh...?" Rainey chuckled upon her announcement of flexibility, and he found his mind wandering for a few long seconds before coming back down on Earth. "Flexible enough to accept a penny as payment? Impressive."

If Rainey were to pay for sex, he would never just give a penny. Not even if they left him limp. Unless it was a royal btch of a hooker, he wouldn't leave a mere penny. Raising an eyebrow, he felt a small grin on his face.

"You'd follow a stranger to Harlem? Wot if Ah was some...sick Jack the Ripper?!" Slightly fearing her safety, he realized that she'd be lucky if he were the one she followed. At least he wouldn't beat the shit out of her, abuse her or anything sick like that. "Can't you get off the streets and just work....elsewhere? At least with others...?"

[Jinxy Chenevix]

Allena cocked an eyebrow, crossing her arms across her chest but letting her hands fall, still crossed over one another, to her hip bones."I'm not dumb," she said, assertively but not agressively. "Im just...desperate." It wasn't something she liked to admit, but it was very much a true statement. Her sister needed to get off her freaking arse and contribute something.

He asked her for her name, and she gave a dramatic response. "Jinxy Chenevix, ze brightest, bubbliest, most entertaining and most French ballet dancer in Queens," She said, amping up her accent and energy level and elaborately curtseying, her left leg back behind her with her toe pointed, balancing on the ground. "But you may call me Allena. Ze dance 'all did not s'ink zat zere center dancer should 'ave such a boring, middlewealth name. Allena Delarue."

She shrugged, irritated with the hall and it's owners. Having a petite French girl center your stage was apparently good for business, but they feared that she just wasn't French enough. How ridiculous. She'd only born and lived the majority of her life in France, and as a result had an accent that was almost unintelligible to some.

"And vhat is yours?" she asked, deciding that that was an appropriate direction to take next. He knew her name, so she might as well learn his in return. She shook her head no, though, when he asked if she was flexible enough to drop for a penny. "Not zat flexible. But I am villing to cooperate and go vhere you must, providing you vill pay ze three cents for ze streetcar ride 'ome."

Despite the irony of being a prostitute and being unwilling to walk home in the early morning hours, when it was still dark, for fear of her safety, there were certain precautions that she had to take. She had to be sure that she wouldn't get raped--many girls who were didn't come out of that alive-- and she had to make sure that she wasn't mugged. Or, worse yet, mugged and then raped. In general, she liked to preserve her body and her cash. In addition, one usually didn't get paid when they were raped.

She didn't like to think of the dangers that were impending on a day-to-day basis. Or night-to-night, rather. "Zen I die a painful death," she muttered, bluntly. On more than one occasion she had returned with bruises, though many of them were not facial. Some, of course, were. Occasionally the instructors and other performers in the hall noticed, but bruises were nothing remarkable. Domestic abuse was on the rise, as was alcoholism amongst the poorer brackets. In addition, many suffered malnutrition and the low levels of sustainable iron in the body allowed for people to bruise more easily and more visibly, thus producing more harmful looking bruises when it really wasn't all that much of an ordeal.

"Besides, it is not so bad. Bruises fade--I work to please men, usually drunkards or wealthy men who are dissatisfied vith zere aging wives. Most do not 'esitate to 'it a woman--I pity zere wives, to be honest. I only 'ave to endure it once, and zough some men find it to be, eugh, 'ow does one call it...a turn on? to 'urt or overpower a woman, it is as uncommon as I could 'ope." That may have been a lie. More than once she'd come back with a menagerie of cuts, or a rainbow of bruises. But again, cuts sealed and bruises healed. She got her money, they got their kicks, and everything was forgotton.

She shrugged, "You forget zat it is not as easy for a woman to work as a man. We can perform and we can stitch. Zat is about it. We do not 'ave the opportunities as you do, but I understand zat it does not often cross ze minds of zose zat it does not affect directly." Her short litany wasn't intended to sound whiny, but it was rather true. And obnoxious all the same.

"Besides, it is 'ard enough to sell yourself. Try 'aving to sell two people. Twice the price, per'aps one girl is less attractive zan ze other--zough attraction isn't usually my problem, its ze attractivity of a counterpart I may 'ave-- and it is 'arder to manage. Besides, zen you 'ave to vorry about ze safety of ze ozer. Its more of a burden."

[Fiend]

Rainey had never called her dumb, but he let the faux pas slide by. He was using the brick as his total support system, and had it not been there he was positive that he would have given up by now and laid down.

Her bubbly stage name forced him to snort, and he bit back the urge to tell her that she would have faired off better in France. She curtsied and and was already entertained. Her real name was much less flamboyant and something he liked better. He was glad that she told him to call her Allena versus Jinky. It reminded him of a cat- though, it was slightly fitting.

"Please, as if you care wot mine is," he figured she was asking just to be polite, and that as fair enough. In reality, Rainey was surprised that she was still even talking to him. Unless, of course, his new whore-friend Allena was that desperate to come home with him. "Ah'm tempted to jist give you the damn money instead of your whoring yerself out, you know."

Unhappy with her bluntness, he couldn't help but want to shake her silly and ask her what the hell was wrong with her. If she knew all this, why wasn't she going out for other options? Rainey wasn't about to lecture, however. She was a practical stranger and it wasn't his place.

Rainey did not find that hitting a broad was a turn on. In fact, that was enough to ruin the whole thing. It wasn't his game, really- he'd rather smack around a stupid, ignorant man than a bird any day.

"Thats....thats nice," he muttered out, unable to put up some front. She reminded him that woman haven't the same opportunities as a man, and he felt damn near powerless right now. As tempted as he was to invite her back to his den- just to get her off the street, mind you- he resisted at the moment.

It took him a moment to weed through her French accent before he deciphered her words. That, all in all, seemed logical. Even if the girls wanted to fight back, the cops just might get involved. That was a shitty state of affairs.

"Ah really ought to get home..." he trailed off, finding the whole conversation starting to get a bit odd. He was feeling for a whore, and he didn't need some heroin-induced crush on a woman of the night. Rainey had little to no problem getting a woman to share a bed with him- but the lack of a counterpart was becoming more and more of a trouble of his. Loneliness was something he didn't fair well with.

[Jinxy Chenevix]

Allena looked at him, not really confused but rather bemused. "If you cared enough to know mine, zen 'ow come I cannot care enough to know yours?" she probed, inquisitively. She wouldn't have been opposed to him giving her money with no sex, but he'd also told her that he hadn't more than a penny on his personage, and this was quite the dissappointment to her.

He seemed unwilling now, though, and she wasn't quite sure that she could pitch anything else to him that would make her more appealing. "But you said zat you 'ad no money on you, save ze penny," she said, though she was losing her gusto. If he would not accept her services she was not going to tie him down, force him to screw her and then steal his wallet. Besides, that was terribly dangerous to do. If she got him down long enough to have sex with him, then he'd had long enough to remember her face and her name.

And that was never wise, particularly not if the man had any connection-monetary or potentially rewarding- with the police.

"I understand," she said with a nod, stepping out of his personal space bubble and retreating a few inches into her former position, although she looked slightly less enthused now. It wasn't too late yet, though, and she could still catch the pub crawlers at their most benevolent time--between eleven PM and two AM.

There was hope yet for the evening.

"I'll leave you to zat, zen," she said, looking back over at him with a pleasant half-smile. It wasn't the first time she'd been rejected, but it was one of the first times after a promising conversation. If the man didn't want it, though, she certainly could not make him. She turned her head to catch the eye of another man who had actually been looking at the architecture of the building she was leaning against and winked at him. He grinned and stalled, for a moment, before a small child ran the short distance between him and the curb and grabbed his hand. Clearly the two knew each other, and the man neglected his former potential ambition to make contact with her.

Sighing, she gazed carefully through the crowd. There were a few hopefuls, but all passed her by. She didn't look back to Rainey--whether or not he was still standing there, even, was questionable-- but she had a job to do, elsewise the rent would not get paid and they would really need to live in the dance hall.

It was all a big pain in the ass to her, no pun intended.

[Fiend]

Rainey felt that his name was reminiscent of a four year olds, really. It was cute when he was younger, no doubt. But now that he was in his early twenties he felt damn juvenile. Hence, when the nickname of 'fiend' came around the time he was snorting cocaine off sidewalks, he wasn't bothered. Clearing his throat, he muttered out "Rainey" and shuffled his feet, growing awkward.

She was trying to see if he was lying or not. Okay, maybe he had a dime or two- regardless, he was damn near broke. "Ah've goat twenty one cents, aye?" Honesty was the best policy...when it came to smoking gorgeous hookers who pretended to have an interest in you.

She was obviously growing impatience, looking for other prospects, and Rainey standing there surely couldn't be good for her business. Going to stand on his own, he sighed. "Aye..."

He went to leave as soon as she turned around to get back to her whoring out. Stumbling a bit once he was independent of the wall, his mind wouldn't get off the girl.

Suddenly, he felt his body turn on a dime and he almost ran into her again, however stopped himself just as fast as he turned. "Lassie..." he drawled out, sticking a hand out against the brick. "You...you should come and work with me. My type of people are...yer type of people, tae say the least."

[Jinxy Chenevix]

Allena smiled at his name--it was, indeed, very cute. It was also probably an embarassment, but she didn't consider it to be that all that much. It didn't suit him much, in her opinion, but it made her think more highly of him inadvertantly. It was a Blink moment--although this is a reference that wouldn't be understood for another hundred years-- for sure.

She nodded when he said he had twenty cents, but she wasn't too badly deluded. Actually, she was rather accustomed to it. Her sister gave her similar treatment, usually when she wanted to go to the flickers when rent was due.

Selfish, dishonest money monger. But this wasn't news in the city of New York.

She turned her head back toward him when she saw him move off out of the corner of her eye, and felt a bit sad to see him go. He could have been a good run. His voice returned, though, to her surprised delight.

She tilted her head to the side, wondering exactly what he did. It seemed like a decent offer to her. "I suppose," she began, ponderously, "But vaht is it zat you do?" A pause, "Or...vell, you've told me vhere, but...specifically?" She was problematic when it came to clear articulation. Not her fault, though. That was just how the cookie crumbled.