Escapades of an Erotic Spy - Part 1 A Spy is Born by Lexington Manheim Read Free Book Online Page B

you're
welcome." She was practically spitting the words. "There's a memory
for you. May it bring you pleasant dreams when you're sleeping in
your own bed rather than some prison cot."
    She dabbed at her eyes with a discolored
handkerchief.
    As for me, I felt sick. I
didn't know what to say. What can you
possibly say to your mother after hearing something like
that?
    "I know I haven't given you much of a life,"
she went on. "I've barely had one for myself. But as far as I'm
concerned, we're even now." She tucked the handkerchief into her
sleeve. "They should be letting you out pretty soon. I'll wait for
you outside."
    I was released within the hour, a summons in
my hand. My mother and I rode home silently on the train. We had
nothing to say to each other. The silence continued once we got
back to our apartment. It wasn't all that late when we reached
home, but I went to bed immediately. I had no energy, no appetite,
no spirit. I barely had the stamina to cry myself to sleep.
    The next morning, I went to the bank and
withdrew all my savings. Then I proceeded directly to Union Station
where I bought a train ticket to New York. I stopped at a trash
basket and deposited the tiny bits of paper that had once been my
cherished correspondence from Beau. Though it absolutely killed me
to do it, I tore the pages into the teeniest of pieces rather than
leave them to be used as evidence against my love. I couldn't take
a chance they'd fall into the wrong hands. The authorities would
have neither me nor those letters to use against him.
    I boarded the train at 10:30 a.m. and set
out for my destination. I had never been to New York, but I wasn't
going to be there long enough to see the sites. I was just passing
through. Somewhere in that city's harbor was a ship I'd be taking,
although I didn't yet know which ship that would be.
    I had left behind in the
apartment a short note of explanation for my mother. In spite of
everything, I didn't want to worry her further. But, of course, my
mind's real focus wasn't on her. It was on Beau. My beautiful, beautiful Beau. The last I had seen of him, he was being roughly ushered out
of the hotel room by two of the deputies. Tears streamed down my
cheeks as I thought about never seeing him again.
    Arriving in New York, I
walked toward the Hudson River and wandered along West Street until
I found an open office of a steamer line. There was an outbound
listing of a ship scheduled to depart that evening, bound for Le
Havre, France. I bought the cheapest ticket available. It still
cost most of the money I had saved. But when the ship sailed that
evening, I was aboard. From the deck, I watched as the light from
the Statue of Liberty's torch flickered away into nothingness. At
that moment, it seemed like something very permanent had occurred.
Good-bye, America; bienvenue , France.
    * * * *
    Which brings us, once again, back to
Monsieur Robinet's Pigalle photo studio and his naughty naked
ladies.
    "I think I can use you,"
the photographer said. "You are a girl exotique."
    "I am?"
    "You are not like the other
girls. You are different . And, as I said, different
is good."
    "Different how?" I asked.
    The old man stroked his
beard. "You are not French. You are not small of the chest
or derriere like
so many French girls. You are not the typical wife or daughter of a
Frenchman. You are not the girl next door even. You are not,
uh…"
    "I'm not white."
    "Exotique." The grandfatherly photographer leaned back in his
chair. The point had been made. "Can you be here tomorrow at one?"
he inquired. "I'd like to start shooting right after
lunch."
    "Sure," I said. "What should I wear?"
    He puckered his lips to the side in a rather
dopey expression that gave the answer completely.
    "Oh," I said.

CHAPTER 2
    Naughty Ladies
     
    Montmartre:
    I awoke the next morning to the sound of
Elie and Mendel Bardach humping in the room above me. They
were…well, how can I put it? They were a randy couple. Yes, that's
accurate—but not