It was a Christmas eve but not a Christmas card one. There were plenty of colored lights but mostly they’d just been hung without any imagination. It was not cheerful. Night was coming on and Johanna slipped into a deep doorway to get out of the wind for just a moment. She intended to continue when the cold blasts might briefly let up. The doorway was of a small shop in Brooklyn; one of those dingy little places from the twenties or thirties with an address on the transom, Now it was 1963.

There was a little light inside and Johanna could see a clerk fumbling over something at his counter, not even noticing that she was on his doorstep. The display window was nearly empty. There was a lot of dust and a few nondescript books that looked like they had been there forever. Perhaps they had been. Probably a bookie shop, she thought, not intending the pun. Not that it mattered to her. Sure, it was sad that people wasted their kids’ milk money on the horses, but no more so than those addicted to heroin or alcohol. The guy inside finished wrapping something then finally noticed her. He didn’t seem to care though. He took his package and disappeared into a backroom. Johanna still had five blocks to walk and she had better do it quickly, before darkness. Besides, while the doorway gave some shelter from the wind it could not help the temperature which had been falling throughout the day. Out she stepped into the north wind which now blew sleet like flakes of rain into her face. Not yet cold enough to snow, Johanna thought. Just wet and mean.

She tried to hurry but there were slick spots on the sidewalk and she was wearing heels. She should have put on rubber boots that day. She’d foregone the boots, her leg warmers, warm wool pants, and a parka, in favor of the heels which were now giving her trouble, a skirt, and a short tight jacket. That might have been enough at noon before the cold set in, and the north wind, and the sleet, but not now that the sun was setting.

Damn! Five blocks, four in a moment. Damn wind. Damn north wind. No. I must never damn the north wind. North Wind had been Johanna’s favorite book character when she’d been much younger, just nine years old or thereabouts. George McDonald’s North Wind had appeared to a little boy in the form of a wondrous comforting spirit. Johanna’s had read the story over and over and North Wind had become her companion when no one else had wanted to be; when her mom had died and her Dad had disappeared, and she’d gone to live with an aunt who didn’t want her. Of course that was before she’d bloomed. Afterward, every boy she met had wanted to be her friend.

I was such a child, she thought, remembering how she had prayed in a church before a statue of the Virgin Mary. But it had not been the Virgin to whom she had prayed. It had been to her friend North Wind; and North Wind had given her guidance. Be nice to the boys even the clods and nerds but stay away from guys in bars. There was no doubt in her mind where that thought had come from; she was not even old enough to go to a bar. It was not her own thought, for sure it had come from the kind North Wind.

Of course Johanna knew that the whole fantasy was a silliness; but it was her silliness and she’d keep it close to her. She’d once been a pretty young lady with a nice front and an enormous rear. With these she’d made a living off the guys in bars that she’d been warned against. Now the only thing she wanted was to give it all up and be safe and secure again in the arms of North Wind. She had grown up more than she liked and was in her thirties. Sometimes she wished she hadn’t; and if this was North Wind blowing sleet in her face because she’d not obeyed her advice then she must submit. There was surely a good reason for it.

Three blocks to go. The street lights were coming on. Soon other working girls would be out too. Competition but also companionship and safety. They’d been times; there had been dates and parties that had turned nasty. Safe was important. They watched each others backs when one of them “went out” with a new guy. but they still had to play whatever the guys and the weather.

Finally she reached her street. Johanna had a small apartment over a fabric store. It was nothing special; just a little living room, an alcove for her bed, a kitchenette, and an even smaller bath with just a shower, there being too little room for a tub. But that would feel like heaven tonight. She could shower off the chill, change into something dry, and warm up last night’s spaghetti before having to go and earn a living.

This time Johanna did dress warmly. The guys wouldn’t that much care. A blow job was a blow job on a night like this. On a night like this; Johanna thought of what night it was: Christmas Eve. The bars would be full of men with no better place to be. Maybe she’d find a nice one. One of whom North Wind would approve. Not likely in a bar though. The tall lady, the considerate spirit, had warned her of men in bars. Now she lived off of them and their neediness. What else was I to do, North Wind?

When Johanna left her apartment the rain had turned into a sleet-snow mixture such as makes New York a lousy place to be in winter, even on Christmas eve. But at least she had an apartment now. The previous year she’d sought warmth in a church on Christmas eve. She’d wanted to be warm and comfortable with her friend North Wind’s statue. But all the “nice” families had looked at her when she came in. She didn’t have a long woolen coat. She hadn’t had a hat. Her dress was too short and her handbag too big. She’d been wearing high boots that nearly disappeared under the skirt. She hadn’t stayed and when she left an usher had looked at her with an expression that was a combination of pity and disgust as he held the door. There would also be warmth in a bar down the street even if the Christmas cheerfulness was hollow.

____________________

 

Thomas was horny. An after hours holiday drunkfest at the school where he taught had made him half sick too. But whotthehell. Take a few aspirin and hope to avoid a headache in the morning. There was nothing to be done for the rest, the fog and weakness, the dryness, the need for a drink in the morning to clear his mind.

He got an hour sleep but was then awake again. Go out and find some ass, Feel the night air at least. He left his apartment and wandered into the sleety night. There was a girl. She was past the age for tight pants. Really broad in the butt, and probably wears a rubber panty-girdle…. But she didn’t look wrecked yet.

 

“Outside the barracks,

By the corner light,

I’ll always stand and wait for you at night.

We will create a world for two

I’ll wait for you the whole night through…

For you Lili Marlene… For you Lili Marlene.”

 

In a few hours it would be Christmas. He’d be able to sleep late in the morning. He was forty-three; feeling a little old and getting cold. One more day and the stupid so-called Christmas music will be replaced with even sillier New Year’s stuff.

 

“Surely tomorrow you’ll feel blue,

But then will come a love that’s new.

For you, Lili Marlene… For you Lili Marlene.”

 

Tom stopped in the shadows cast by a tree and such a street lamp, but this one was outside a closed liquor store and the song that was rolling around the back of his mind was from long, long ago when the world had seemed a more romantic place.

He watched the girl. She was of average height and looked to be in her late thirties, just a little worn looking. Business was probably getting irregular. A wide belt above a grand ass drew her waist smaller than natural for someone her age. Eventually she saw him waiting but made no motion to acknowledge it. Instead she adjusted the strap of a huge handbag that hung over one shoulder and moved off down the street in the opposite direction, abandoning her whore-pace for a half-block, then turning in the relative lightness of another lamp to see if he were following.

But Tom was not following. As usual he was drawn between glands and loneliness on the one side and worry and disgust on the other. Drunken sex with a whore that he didn’t even know was unlikely to be a lively affair. Likely it would be pretty mechanical. It could turn out about as friendly as a purchase from a news dealer, but for the price of a show. Should he take the chance that the next half hour could be worth thirty bucks? Nice ass though. I’ll bet her friends call her Big Butt. That thought improved Tom’s mood a bit.

A car came slowly down the street close to the curb. The two young guys inside looked to be joking with each other and their “music” was something loud, throbbing with base, and annoying. Big-butt saw them and without much decision moved a bit closer to the curb.

“Hey Cunt! Aren’t you kind of old for whoring?”

The car sped up. One of the boys whistled a shriek to his world, and laughing, was gone. The girl just bitched “bastards” to no one in particular and started walking back to where Tom had first seen her. Her head wasn’t hanging but her face was blank. The street was empty and ugly despite the holiday decorations. He considered that perhaps she had become impassive to insult. But the childish assholes in the car had decided him. It was Christmas Eve and he was seeing someone as lonely as himself and he’d feel better about himself if she did too. They could at least share their loneliness. He walked directly toward the girl. She didn’t move or change her expression. If she made any gesture toward him it could be termed soliciting. Tom knew that he had to approach her. At least there was no chance of mistaking this whore for someone waiting for a bus.

“Assholes!” he said. She didn’t answer. “Are you working?”

“What have you in mind?” She still showed no expression.

“I want to fuck.”

“Well, you are blunt. Thirty bucks. Have you a place or should we just find somewhere dark?”

“I’ve a place.” Tom took her hand to lead her. For a moment the hand stiffened and he looked her straight in the eyes. They stood looking at each other for just a moment, evaluating each other. It must be admitted that Tom was thinking of diseases, filth, gossip, and self-esteem. He didn’t want to hold that hand; he just wanted to fuck… with protection. He was holding it for her. Then she decided. Her hand relaxed just a little. He thought her face softened just a bit too and they began to walk together.

“Is it far?”

“Just around the corner.”

“Do you want to go in first, alone? I can follow in a few minutes.”

“No. You’re my date for tonight,” he joked, and the whore smiled just a little.

Tom’s apartment was not some sparse bachelor pad. He had his pleasures and not all of them involved his teaching or drinking or sex. He could afford it because the place was rent controlled by the city. It was a palace for a high school history teacher living alone in New York. It had been laid out as a railroad flat with narrow rooms running front to back. Besides the tiny and very dated kitchenette and bathroom in the rear, there were three main rooms. The largest served as a living/dining area that looked out on Flatbush Avenue, There was another, smaller, room that Tom rather grandly termed his study or library, and through it one entered his bedroom. Each room was furnished appropriately, the living/dining area was quite attractive in a beatnik way with some nearly antique tables, chairs, and lamps. What had once been a working fireplace now housed a white porcelain Siamese cat two feet high. On the mantle was a beer stein from college, a green vase bought at an antique store in Connecticut, and his family pictures; plus a precious little blue box that contained his departed mom’s engagement and wedding rings.

The door to the library was open and beyond it was the bedroom. The whore looked about the living room for a trinket to detach when she would leave. She saw the box but Thomas poured them drinks and her attention was diverted.

“You have a lot of books. Are you a professor?

“No. I just like to read a lot, mostly history.” Thomas knew better than to begin a deep conversation but Big-Butt went into the library and began looking his books over. She did not touch any, just looked. Then she came back and took the scotch that Tom held out.”

“Are you in a hurry?” Big-Butt found herself asking.

“Not unless you are.”

“It’s crappy outside. … I liked history in school. Can I borrow one of your books?”

That’s the last I’ll see of it, Tom thought. “Which one?”

Butt walked back to the shelves and drew down Henri Pirenne’s classic Mohammed and Charlemagne. At least it was one which could easily be replaced if he never got it back.

“Sure you can borrow it but you might find it boring.” Tom mentally slapped himself for the unintended insult.

“No, Pirenne was a very convincing writer. It’s too bad so many good historians lack his style.”

The teacher was totally floored; put in his place by a streetwalker. But why not? Two weeks ago he’d been telling his students that if they couldn’t work at what they liked that didn’t mean having to give the thing up entirely. “You’ve read Pirenne?”

“My history teacher wanted me to try college. He gave me a little book on the Pirenne thesis. It had excerpts from Mohammed and Charlemagne and from some other books by guys who didn’t agree with him. I might like to read the whole thing. I’ve sort’a gotten out of practice of reading serious things.

“OK.” Tom was in a new mood. “Here, if you like medieval history you might like this too.” He took down C. D. Burns’ The First Europe and handed it to the girl who browsed the text briefly.

“No. Let me borrow Pirenne. I’ll take the other one when I bring this back.” She put Pirenne’s masterpiece carefully into the enormous satchel that she carried. Full of God-knows-what, Tom thought. Then she disappeared into the bathroom leaving the door barely ajar. Tom was a little nervous. He knew that you should never bring a street-girl home or let her know where you live. It wasn’t safe. There was a flush and then the sink faucet ran for a long time. When she came out Butt was wearing only her panties. They weren’t rubber but rather a nice knit thong. Tom had also stripped and she took him by the cock and lead him to the bed.

“What’s your name?”

“Johanna. What’s yours? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Tom”

The cold rain / snow mix continued and Butt allowed herself to be convinced to stay for another drink then to climb into bed a second time, this time to rest a little before she’d have to leave. “Would you like me to come back later?”

“I can’t afford it.”

“Do you do Christmas?”

“Not much lately. I did when I was a kid.

“Me too. Do you miss it?

“I suppose. You?”

“It’s not midnight yet, not Christmas yet.” Johanna went to the bathroom again. Trips to the bathroom were a good time to pick up trinkets. The guy would usually leave her alone then. She went to the living room to get her bag. That box on the mantle was pretty and might contain something valuable.

Returning she asked: “Did you enjoy?” rather more seriously than Tommy expected.

“Yes.”

“Will I see you again?”

“I need my book back.” They smiled at each other and Tom got off the bed and led her out the door.

Alone, he set a pot of coffee brewing. He was very tired and still a little sick from lack of sleep and all the booze he’d had that night. Now the coffee would keep him awake. He poured a mugful anyway and returned to his living area, picking up The First Europe from where the girl had left it on the mantelpiece. For a moment a suspicion jolted him but a quick shake of the blue box confirmed that his mother’s rings were still there.

There was a knock. It was Johanna again. “It’s really mean outside. There’s a church down the street. Would you like to do Christmas?”

____________________

 

Johanna lay in a warm bed remembering that Christmas Eve. It had all been so long ago. An artist’s sketch of North Wind was framed on a bookshelf next to a small statue of Mary. For a moment she looked at it. Silly? Maybe. Maybe not. On her left hand was an antique wedding ring. I didn’t meet him in a bar.