Author: Marcus van Heller (not the real one).

About: Early fake van Heller about an Edie-Sedgwick-like socialite who's introduced to her sexuality at the hands of a family maid and rises through her family fortune to become a top socialite and actress. Something of a first-wave feminist, the sympathetic portrayal of young Mandy is one that doesn't quite sync with other accounts in the post-Paris van Heller genre, but still merits a look.

Excerpt:

“Well, he wants me to do a dog act, and I don't wanna. He makes me put on a show now, you know, for the guys in the saloon, five bucks a head—but I don't go for the dog bit.”

“Whatta you mean a show?”

She shrugged. “Screwin' in front of guys, that's all. Usually Sammy, you know him?”

I shook my head.

“He's a wino, owes Earl money. Earl gets him ginned and we go in the back room and I get him hard. Then he rams me. That's all. Fifteen minutes or so.”

“I think Earl's a shit.”

“Yeah, he is.” Lena lowered her voice. “One night I caught him screwin' Ma. She was plastered, didn' know who he was.”

“Maybe you oughta run out.”

“Yeah, I gotta, Mandy. Cris and I'll go to Cleveland and Cris can get a job, he knows some guys. I'll do some boffin', we'll make out.”

“Jeez, honey, be sure to let me know where you are.”

“Hell yes, Mandy.”

They all left before morning. Marty had a terrible head, but he got on me as soon as he woke up. He was too sleepy to realize how much grease I had in me.

He was very moody too. I knew immediately that he was sorry we'd got married. Somehow it hit him. After the ceremony. He wouldn't admit it even when I gave him plenty of chance. He went out and didn't come back till late at night. And he was drunk again. He was so drunk he couldn't screw me, and he tried.

I put up with that for three days. The third day Chuck showed up. “I just saw Marty over at Earl's bar, gettin' loaded.”

By then I needed it. I looked at him hungrily. “Yeah, he gets drunk every day.” I looked at him and slowly began to unbutton my blouse. I saw him lick his lips. Then he came over and scooped me up.

He almost ran into the bedroom with me. When he stabbed me with it I sighed aloud. Married life was for the birds. I curled around him and held him.

“Fuck me, darling, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me—”

He made me squeal.

He was still screwing me when Marty came stumbling upstairs. I wanted to get up, but Chuck held me.

“He's too fuckin' drunk to see straight.”

Chuck was right. Marty came shambling into the bedroom and flopped on the bed right beside us. In a second he was snoring. Chuck grinned down at me and went on goosing my pussy.

It made me giggle.

The next day I left Marty. I packed up and moved out. Everything I had was in one large suitcase. I checked it at the bus station and went to the bank at ten. I drew out my money, changed it to traveler's checks and took the bus for Cleveland.

Screw marriage.