The two women sat side by side in the back seat as the taxi sped toward New York City. Claudia hugged the baby and stared out the window at the flickering lights of the Manhattan skyline that gave way to a sickly yellowish glow once they entered the Lincoln Tunnel.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“The tunnel to New York.”

“What is that?”

Margot drew a picture with her hands. “It’s a way for cars to cross the river, like a bridge under the water instead of over it.”

“We are under the water?” Claudia gasped.

“Don’t worry!” Margot laughed. “It doesn’t leak.”

But Claudia sat still, frozen with fear until they reached Forty-Second Street, where the gaudy colors and carnival atmosphere immediately captured her attention. She gawked at the rows of movie marquees lining each side of Eighth Avenue, black-lettered titles glaring out from pulsating backdrops of white neon light. “Girls! Girls! Girls! All Topless! All Nude!” She couldn’t take her eyes off the spectacle unfolding before her.

Sleaze and glitz win again, Margot observed wryly. The girl couldn’t be more than nineteen, twenty, tops. How could she protect herself, much less the child? But Margot wasn’t in a position to adopt them. She’d drop them off on the Lower East Side and be done with it.

The cab turned right on Broadway and sped downtown, reaching Tompkins Square Park in just over ten minutes. As it headed toward the East River, she directed it to Avenue C, where they pulled up in front of a partially abandoned five-story tenement building.

“This is it,” she said as the car came to a halt. “Which apartment?”

Claudia had memorized the address weeks before. “Is number 5A.” She sat still a moment, not quite believing she’d finally arrived. “I want to know how to thank you,” she said, voice trembling. “You have been so—”

“I hope everything works out,” Margot said, relieved the unexpected encounter was drawing to a close. Noticing how dark the street was, she added, “I’ll wait until you get inside. Go ahead,” she urged as Claudia climbed out of the cab. “Before you freeze to death.”

She watched the girl drag the suitcase and the baby up the stairs and push a buzzer. Seeing the door open, Margot was about to give the driver her address when angry shouting erupted.

“Get the hell out of here, bitch!” A crazed, emaciated woman, her bleached hair pulled into a knot sticking out from the top of her head, had appeared in the doorway.

“Donde esta Antonio?” Claudia stammered.

“Don’t give me that ‘me-no-speaka-English’ bullshit!” the woman barked back, jabbing at the suitcase until it clattered to the street.

“But where is Antonio?”

The woman sneered. “So he screwed you, too? Join the club, honey. You ain’t the only one looking for him. And when Winnie finds him,”—she stuck a thumb at her chest—“he’s gonna wish he’d stayed lost.”

“I am his wife!”

“So, whaddaya want? A medal? I know a bunch of guys be real interested to know he has a wife, and a kid.” She spat out the words, gave Claudia a shove, then wobbled back up the stairs.

“Antonio!” Claudia screamed.

“Get the hell out of here!” the woman shouted at her, pulling a gun from her pocket.

Panic-stricken, the girl stumbled back.

“Get in!” Margot snapped. She’d thrown the suitcase into the cab when Claudia dropped it. Now she pushed the girl and her baby into the back seat, jumped in beside them and slammed the door. Winnie was still waving the gun in the air as the cab sped away.

A few hours later, Margot tiptoed past Claudia and Juliana, both of whom were curled up on her bed, out cold. She wondered what she’d gotten herself into, then pushed the thought out of her mind and grabbed a red mini-dress and a pair of black spike-heeled ankle boots from the closet. She dressed quickly, arranged her long chestnut hair, applied her makeup, checked her back view in the mirror, then inspected the contents of her purse. Compact, lipstick, condoms, Mace, keys, a small stash of money. Ready for action.

She took the elevator downstairs from her twentieth-floor apartment and tipped the doorman to flag a cab. Settling into the back seat, she gave the driver an address on the Upper East Side, then pulled out a small vial of cocaine, a portion of which she ingested inconspicuously with a tiny gold spoon. A girl needs something to get her through the night, she thought, thanking the genetic good fortune that had prevented her from getting hooked on the stuff.

As she leaned against the seat, the familiar tingle spread through her body. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the role she was about to play, just as she’d learned at the Actors’ Studio so many years before. She’d been good, really good. Everyone had said so. She’d had her share of supporting roles in several critically acclaimed Off-Off-Broadway shows, then snagged the lead in Another Saturday Night. After that, things had just seemed to fizzle out, but she was certain she was overdue for a change in luck. All she needed was that one big break.

The cab pulled up in front of a well-maintained brownstone lit by replicas of old-fashioned gas streetlights. She was buzzed into a long hallway hung with pictures of nineteenth-century society women in various stages of undress. This led to a living room painted a delicate robin’s egg blue and furnished with overstuffed paisley-print sofas and love seats. Ornate mirrors in gilt frames reflected the fire burning in a stone fireplace.

“Hey, Margot. What’s up?” asked an exquisite, caramel-complexioned girl with chin-length black hair.

“Amber!” Margot exclaimed with pleasure. “Where’ve you been? I haven’t seen you in ages!”

The other girl’s face darkened. “You know Lou. He got really pissed off when I tried to put a little money aside.”

Margot knew enough about Lou and the Svengali effect he had on his girls not to pursue the matter. “You okay?”

“Sure. What’s life without a few bruises?” Amber laughed bitterly, then gestured toward a tall, voluptuous blonde seated on the other side of the room. “You gotta watch out for this one. She’s a real barracuda. Chews ’em up, spits ’em out and wouldn’t think twice about stabbing you in the back if it meant a few more bucks in her pocket.”

“The pushy type?” Margot glanced at the blonde, who was busy retouching her hot pink nail polish.

“You got it,” said Amber. “Sometimes I think Lindy’s losing her touch. She’s hired some real winners lately.”

Margot motioned for Amber to shut up as the topic of their conversation strode into the room and clapped her hands to get the attention of the half-dozen or so women lounging around.

“As most of you already know,” Lindy said, getting straight to the point, “There was a serious breach of security the other day.”

All eyes were riveted on her elegant form in its tailored gray suit with a white lace camisole worn beneath the jacket. A generous expanse of cleavage was tastefully displayed. She perched gracefully upon the three-inch heels of her black leather shoes, her petite body projecting an image of inaccessible height. Her skin was alabaster, with only a few faint lines around expressive, almond-shaped eyes. With dark hair pulled back and fastened at the nape with a gold clip, she looked more like a twentieth-century Madonna than the manager of one of New York’s most successful “salons,” the term she preferred when referring to her business.

“Because of this,” she continued, “Dawn’s now in critical condition at Beth Israel. Starting tonight, I’m implementing new procedures, which are to followed exactly if you wish to entertain guests in my house.” The threat was delivered with the utmost composure. Only her voice hardened a bit as she spoke.

“For those of you who are unaware of what occurred, Dawn failed to notify Karen that she was going into the Rose Room. I suspect she simply wanted to go off the books. Let me remind you all that, when I’m not here, Karen is in charge and is to be informed of all transactions negotiated with the clients. You are to sign in at the beginning of each session, indicating anticipated duration and what it entails.”

She paused, sweeping her eyes around the room. “The rules of this house are for your protection. Ignoring them can lead to the kind of tragedy Dawn encountered.” Her manner conveyed the impression Dawn had, in any case, gotten exactly what she deserved. “If you don’t sign in, Karen doesn’t activate the alarm system. As there are no clocks in the suites, the only indication of how much time has elapsed is the red light above the doors that blinks on and off five minutes before the session is over. The chimes you hear after that are your signal to vacate the room. Is that clear?” she asked coldly.

The girls stared at the floor. Each of them, at one time or another, had tried the same thing as Dawn… they just hadn’t been caught.

“Now, let me tell you what happened,” Lindy said in a steely voice.