Out of the Easy Read Online Free PDF

was a buxom redhead with wide hips who wore nothing but green. She had every shade imaginable—jade, mint, forest, apple, but absolutely everything was green. Dora was rough-and-tumble. I’d often find her snoring in a collapsed bed with a melted ice pack between her legs. She loved to sleep and could slumber through anything. Dr. Sully came every Wednesday morning to examine the girls, and sometimes Dora slept right through it, naked, with nothing but a green feather boa around her neck.
    Evangeline stood only four foot eight and looked like a schoolgirl. She played up the part but was mean as a snake. Evangeline was a reformed kleptomaniac. She didn’t trust anyone and slept with her purse over her shoulder—even wore her shoes to bed. But she didn’t steal from the dates. Willie had rules. No stealing, no drugs, no freebies, and no kissing up in the rooms. If a man came downstairs with traces of lipstick on his mouth, Willie would throw the girl out. “You think you’re sitting under the apple tree? I’m selling sex here!” she’d yell. Evangeline’s room was always filthy. Today there were dirty tissues stuck all over the hardwood floor. I had to peel them up one by one.
    “Shut up and quit your hummin’. I’m trying to sleep, you little wench!” screeched Evangeline.
    I dodged the shoe she threw at me from under her covers. Evangeline had no family. She certainly didn’t have a father like Forrest Hearne. I sighed, thinking about Mr. Hearne. He assumed I was attending college. And why not? No one said a girl like me couldn’t go to college. Then I laughed. How many college girls cleaned cathouses?
    “I said SHUT UP!” screamed Evangeline.
    I walked down the hall to Mother’s room and turned the knob gently, careful not to make a sound. Cokie had oiled the door for me. Mother hated when it squeaked. I slid quietly into the room and closed the door, smiling. Mother’s room smelled of her Silk ’n’ Satin powder she bought at Maison Blanche. As usual, her stockings hung over the chair, but her black garter belt wasn’t there. I peeked into her high, red-canopied bed. Mother wasn’t in it.
    The bell tinkled downstairs. Willie was awake. I picked up my pail, left Mother’s room, and headed down to the kitchen.
    Sadie, the cook and laundress, was scurrying around the sink.
    “Happy New Year, Sadie,” I said.
    She nodded, smiling with her mouth closed. Sadie was mute and never spoke a word. We didn’t even know her real name. Willie named her Sadie because she once knew a sweet crippled horse named Sadie. The horse ended up getting shot. Willie said she wished we were all mute like Sadie.
    I set to making Willie’s chicory coffee. Like many in New Orleans, Willie was particular about her coffee. I perfected her brew when I was twelve, and she’d insisted I make her coffee ever since. There wasn’t really a secret. I bought the coffee from Morning Call and added a little honey and cinnamon. With the pail in one hand and the coffee tray in the other, I walked through the parlor and back to Willie’s door. I tapped my foot gently against the bottom.
    “Open,” said the hoarse voice.
    I pushed the door with my hip, catching it again and closing it with my foot. Willie’s apartment was nothing like the rest of the house. Potted palms throughout her sitting room and bedroom gave it a tropical feel. Willie’s rolltop desk sat on an antique Aubusson rug next to a buttercream marble fireplace. An ornate birdcage hung empty from the ceiling in the corner. As usual, Willie sat in the center of her high bed, propped against the pillows in her black silk kimono, platinum hair combed, red lipstick freshly applied.
    “Happy New Year, Willie.”
    She scraped a file across her long fingernail. “Hmm . . . is it?” she said.
    I put the pail down and set the tray of coffee on her bed.
    She took a sip and then nodded in approval. “Paper?”
    I pulled the paper out from the back of my apron and handed it