you learn a heluva lotta things in the gutter that ain’t in the books

epub or mobi, with thanks to the original sharer

“Lefita, the favorite dancer of the Sultan, who escaped the horrors of a Turkish harem and was brought to this country by the generous owners of this circus to present for you the secret dances of Egypt. She knows the lure of the dances of the world. She it was who danced for the kings of impotent glory. E-v-e-r-y mu-s-cl-e-e-v-e-ry-fib-er in this little la-dees ana-tom-ee quiver-s and shakes like an aspen leaf in a gale of wind-or like a bowl of jell-ee, gentlemen-on a cold and frost-ee morning. She makes the old feel young and the young feel gay, the blind to see and cripples to throw their crutches away … Yes, gentlemen, I’ll be fair. One dollar more each and I’ll see that she gives the whole show—the Egyptian dance, the doniker dance, and the wonderful dance without. Think of it, gentlemen, the soul-stirring—the voluptuous—the sensuous—the wonderful—the maddening dance without.” They all rushed forward with another dollar. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, gentlemen,” said the spieler as Lefita came through a side wall and climbed upon the platform. She danced indifferently, her body moving slowly. In a short time she disappeared.
“That was just the introduction, gentlemen, merely a warming up of her lovely body. In a few minutes she will do the dance without.” He held his long smooth hand up again. “Will all you gentlemen please remove your hats?” he said.
They did as they were told.
Lefita appeared and danced again in the same apparel.
A shillaber sneered as Lefita bowed. “Without what?” he yelled gruffly.
“Without your hats on,” came the bland voice of the spieler. Suddenly the side-walls dropped and the astonished spectators found themselves standing in the open air.
They looked at each other sheepishly and melted into the crowd.

snapping his fingers in time to the wild beat of the jazz band

 

epub or mobi, with thanks to the original sharer

 

He went on and on, talking about the half-woman half-baby inside, Lola the monkey-faced girl, and all the rest of them. “Okay now, here’s the prices. For adults, it’s just fifty cents, that’s half a dollar, the splittin’ of a buck! You can go in now, stay as long as you want, come out when you’re ready. For kids, it’s twenty-five cents and…

“Gus, Gus hold up sellin’ any more of those fifty cent tickets, hold it up Gus! Okay now! It’s bargain day at Coney Island. For the next two minutes, whoever gets over to Gus and gives him a quarter, that’s just twenty-five cents, gets in for kiddies’ prices. No matter how old you are it’s just a quarter.” There was a dash and a clogging, and Gus was swamped. Dozens of people fell for the carny dodge and put down their quarter … which was the regular admission price.

On the stage, a dingy podium-affair at the rear of the canvas tent, a group of unhappy looking people sat in straight-back chairs. The monkey-faced girl, Lola, was dressed in a pair of Arabian pantaloons, of some substance intended to imitate muslin. She wore a halter, and she was knitting. Her face was that of an orangutan. Round, prognathous jaw, beady inset eyes, and hair completely covering her skin. She was a creature who had happened to be born resembling an ape, and rather than marriage and a home, this was her life.

She rubbed up against him, and began to moan low and throaty. “Ohh, Honey,” she whispered, close to him, pressing her body against his, “c’mon back here for a minute, before we go up. I think my roommate’s still awake.”

She kept rubbing, and he hesitated only a moment as he followed her insistent dragging. They moved back toward the underside of the stairway. “Your roommate?” he said in confusion, following her mostly because she was a girl in heat and she was dragging him, “You didn’t mention any roo—”

Hugo came out from the under-stair, the tire chain wrapped around his hand. The chain caught the man just across the right cheekbone, laying it wetly bare, to the bone. He was only able to drop a half-moan from his mouth before it filled with blood, and he dropped heavily to the tile of the hallway. His splintered face gleamed up faintly in the reflected light from the block party outside.

“Drag him!” Theresa snapped, kicking against the man’s legs.

"they'll gyp you if they can and roll you if they can't."

epub or mobi, with thanks to the original sharer

voices and laughter and the strident selling spieling grinding over p.a. systems and the crack of rifles in the shooting gallery and singing yelling shuffling, the thud of baseballs and the soft ratchets of fortune wheels and the bass drum call to bally, try your luck, mister, pitch till you win, the big show just about to start, a few seats left, three balls for a dime, see the strangest people on earth, win a kewpie doll for the little woman, get 'em while they're hot, pick your lucky number, and inside the little lady will show you, hurry, hurry, win an Armour ham, see the alligator boy, this is the show you came to see, naked and unadorned, every number wins a prize, the show's about to start, step right up, try your luck ...

 

Like many hedonistic and highly sexed men, he basically disliked women. He liked to use their bodies but had only contempt for them otherwise. Sleep with one, yes. Live with one, never. So much simpler when one could afford it, as he'd been able to do although not as often as he liked for several years now, just to pay a woman for the use of her body than to go through the boring motions of being nice to one so you could talk her into bed for free. And, if he wanted a rematch, having to try to please her as well as himself; that took two-thirds of the pleasure away. Above all, he hated sentiment, hated to pretend to feel it when he didn't, hated too the very thought that a woman might ever feel sentimental toward him. Sentiment was a lot of crap and the only way to avoid even the pretense of it was to pay for what you got, right down the line.
Naturally, he thought of Trixie Connor.