fun part. You’ll have to go to the Bureau of Sanitaire for an examination by a doctor.” She leaned into Suzette’s ear and whispered. “He has to check your private parts to make sure you don’t have diseases and such.”
Suzette pulled away from her in horror. “You can’t be serious?”
“What?” Annette laughed. “Never had a man look at you down there?” she teased, lowering her eyes to her pelvis area. “Every fifteen days, he comes to the brothel to take a peek at you. You best get used to it.” She reached out her hand and playfully tickled her waist.
Suzette pulled back, appalled. “I can’t do this,” she pleaded, turning away toward the door. “Why doesn’t she just let me work as a housemaid or something?”
Annette grabbed Suzette’s wrist to prevent her from leaving. “Because, honey, you’re a pretty one, that’s why. She’ll make money off you, and even more opening night, if you get my drift.” Annette winked.
Suzette didn’t quite understand her meaning at first, but then it became all too clear as they proceeded down the hallway to the counter. Madame Laurent was going to sell her virginity for a high price.
“She’s here to register,” Annette blurted out at the officer behind the desk. “You know what kind I mean, don’t you sweetheart,” she said, dripping seduction off her lips, leaning her elbows on the counter, and batting her eyelashes flirtatiously. The officer lifted his gaze and smiled, recognizing Annette.
“A new one, eh?” He looked at Suzette, enjoying the vision. “Have a seat then over there.” The officer pointed to a row of chairs alongside the wall. “One of the inspectors will call you in a minute.”
Annette grabbed Suzette’s arm again and led her over to a chair to sit down. Suzette fidgeted the entire time, while Annette hummed an Irish tune underneath her breath, low and soft. A few minutes later, a man dressed in a blue police uniform walked out and handed a bundle of paperwork to the clerk behind the desk. He picked up a clipboard, turned his head, and glanced over at them.
“Both of you or just one?”
“Just her,” Annette quipped, pointing her finger. “I already got my card! She took her card out of her pocketbook and waved it at the inspector like a flag. “See, dearie! Carrying it like a good little girl, I am.”
He scowled at Annette and growled at Suzette. “Come with me.”
Suzette stood up and followed nervously behind him until they came into an office. He closed the door and motioned for her to sit in a chair before his desk. She did, and then looked at the inspector, eyeing his appearance.
The officer looked bad-tempered and annoyed, as he fiddled with papers. Suzette concluded he was middle-aged due to his graying temples. His potbelly rested on top of his trouser belt, but his uniform was clean and pressed. A mustache decorated his upper lip and curled at the ends, meeting his long burly sideburns. On his lapel he wore a silver badge with large engraved letters, M. Dubois, Brothel Inspector.
“Just have to ask you the usual questions,” he announced, breaking the silence between them.
Suzette met his eyes, and she was thankful he had softened his harsh tone. The first question of many spewed out of his mouth, while Suzette’s palms rested upon her bobbing knees.
“Name?”
Suzette was momentarily distracted by the office interior and didn’t answer. The inspector bellowed to regain her attention.
“Name, I said!”
“Excuse me, Monsieur.” She focused and swallowed the lump in her throat. “It’s Suzette Camille Rousseau.” She tilted her head as she watched the inspector dip his quill into the inkwell and scratch her name across the paper form.
“Age?”
“Eighteen.”
“Place of birth?” He paused for a moment and then cursed. “Damn this pen.” Clearly irritated, he tapped the end into the inkwell once again, not raising his head in Suzette’s direction. He cleared his throat,
Suzette pulled away from her in horror. “You can’t be serious?”
“What?” Annette laughed. “Never had a man look at you down there?” she teased, lowering her eyes to her pelvis area. “Every fifteen days, he comes to the brothel to take a peek at you. You best get used to it.” She reached out her hand and playfully tickled her waist.
Suzette pulled back, appalled. “I can’t do this,” she pleaded, turning away toward the door. “Why doesn’t she just let me work as a housemaid or something?”
Annette grabbed Suzette’s wrist to prevent her from leaving. “Because, honey, you’re a pretty one, that’s why. She’ll make money off you, and even more opening night, if you get my drift.” Annette winked.
Suzette didn’t quite understand her meaning at first, but then it became all too clear as they proceeded down the hallway to the counter. Madame Laurent was going to sell her virginity for a high price.
“She’s here to register,” Annette blurted out at the officer behind the desk. “You know what kind I mean, don’t you sweetheart,” she said, dripping seduction off her lips, leaning her elbows on the counter, and batting her eyelashes flirtatiously. The officer lifted his gaze and smiled, recognizing Annette.
“A new one, eh?” He looked at Suzette, enjoying the vision. “Have a seat then over there.” The officer pointed to a row of chairs alongside the wall. “One of the inspectors will call you in a minute.”
Annette grabbed Suzette’s arm again and led her over to a chair to sit down. Suzette fidgeted the entire time, while Annette hummed an Irish tune underneath her breath, low and soft. A few minutes later, a man dressed in a blue police uniform walked out and handed a bundle of paperwork to the clerk behind the desk. He picked up a clipboard, turned his head, and glanced over at them.
“Both of you or just one?”
“Just her,” Annette quipped, pointing her finger. “I already got my card! She took her card out of her pocketbook and waved it at the inspector like a flag. “See, dearie! Carrying it like a good little girl, I am.”
He scowled at Annette and growled at Suzette. “Come with me.”
Suzette stood up and followed nervously behind him until they came into an office. He closed the door and motioned for her to sit in a chair before his desk. She did, and then looked at the inspector, eyeing his appearance.
The officer looked bad-tempered and annoyed, as he fiddled with papers. Suzette concluded he was middle-aged due to his graying temples. His potbelly rested on top of his trouser belt, but his uniform was clean and pressed. A mustache decorated his upper lip and curled at the ends, meeting his long burly sideburns. On his lapel he wore a silver badge with large engraved letters, M. Dubois, Brothel Inspector.
“Just have to ask you the usual questions,” he announced, breaking the silence between them.
Suzette met his eyes, and she was thankful he had softened his harsh tone. The first question of many spewed out of his mouth, while Suzette’s palms rested upon her bobbing knees.
“Name?”
Suzette was momentarily distracted by the office interior and didn’t answer. The inspector bellowed to regain her attention.
“Name, I said!”
“Excuse me, Monsieur.” She focused and swallowed the lump in her throat. “It’s Suzette Camille Rousseau.” She tilted her head as she watched the inspector dip his quill into the inkwell and scratch her name across the paper form.
“Age?”
“Eighteen.”
“Place of birth?” He paused for a moment and then cursed. “Damn this pen.” Clearly irritated, he tapped the end into the inkwell once again, not raising his head in Suzette’s direction. He cleared his throat,
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