"Hey, girls, did you hear about the Ape man?"

"The who?"

"The Ape man, Bambi Bird-brain; you know."

"She mean Harry Gibbon."

"Oh, yeah, Harry. I know Harry. He gimme a twenty-dollar bill once."

"Well, he won't be givin' you no more."

"Why not, Caroline?"

"He croaked, that's why."

"Huh?"

"Hung himself last night, outside his apartment"

"Who say Harry hung hisself?"

"Jimmy."

"Jimmy? An' you believe dat mutha?"

"He overheard the guys that called it in."

"Was Harry into drugs or somethin', Caroline?"

"Ask Spook face."

"Was he, Helene?"

"Uh huh."

"But ain't Jimmy a narc."

"He only heard it, stupid; he wasn't there."

"Oh."

"That's not all."

Linda enters, harvesting cash from her g-string.

"What's up?"

"The Ape man hung himself last night from his fire escape."

"Oh, yuk!"

"And the cops found all this kinky stuff inside his room."

"Oooo, Caroline, you didn't tell us that part. Like what?"

"Like rubber pussies an'..."

"Okay, shut yo' mouff up. Harry lonely, dat all."

"Did he ever ask you out, Helene? He asked me."

"Harry Gibbon asked everybody out; big deal."

"You can shut yo' mouff up, too, Miss Water-Wing Implant."

"Stop callin' me that!"

"The man 's dade; don' be pissin' on 'im."

With that, Helene glides out. Caroline, pulling a face, plops down and shrugs.

"What's with her; did she put out for Harry?"

Linda blithely counts her dollar bills.

"I wouldn't doubt it; she'd go down on Rin Tin Tin."

Bambi looks perplexed.

"Who's that?"

Caroline farts aloud, then condescends to answer.

"A dog, you dolt."

 

Her nipples daubed with cold-cream, Helene incites a stir. 

Dearest Helene,

I love to watch you dance. Your dark skin makes me think of Hershey's chocolate. You are not like the other dancers because you enjoy what you are doing. I can tell. Your big white smile is genuine. You really are a professional, through and through. I would like to take you out, if you wouldn't mind. Also, I am a gentleman, not to worry.

If no, I'll understand, but please don't tell the others. They'll make fun. Besides which, I've been told, they tend to fib.

Anyway, I sure hope that you'll say yes.

Sincerely yours,
Harry Gibbon

Helene awaits her second number; it cues up in the juke; the needle finds its groove. The loudspeakers hiss.

Dearest Helene,

I waited for you after closing but you never came. I don't mean to bother you. I only thought that maybe you thought I was married. I had a wife, but she passed away last September. I'm free now. I don't have even a girlfriend. If that was what it was, not to worry. I'll wait again tonight.

Sincerely yours,
Harry Gibbon

Lumps are swelling down pant-legs, in response to Helene's exertions. Tip to toe, her swarthy features gleam. Record three in place, the ruckus recommences.

Dearest Helene,

I saw your friend last night. I honestly didn't know. You could have told me, though. I wouldn't have acted so boldly. I'm not mad or anything, just a little embarrassed. If you don't mind, could I have my letters back?

Anyway, not to worry, I'll stop bothering you.

Sincerely yours,
Harry Gibbon

Helene's damp loins are garnished with a leafy wreath of bills. One last shimmy of her double-bubble butt, and she sidles from the stage.

 

 

house must draw...

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