Inspector Herington related a sordid story of abominable acts that are in some cases unprintable, involving high school girls ranging in age from 16 to 18, many from good families. “There was a pattern,” Inspector Herington explained. “Girls would go to the Telegraph Club to see a nightclub act, and once they were there they would be plied with alcohol and invited for dates by older women who were sexual deviates. Once a girl was ensnared, she would recruit her friends from school.”
At first, the girls would think it was a “lark,” Inspector Herington said. But soon, some of the girls started to wear mannish clothing and were known as “butches,” emulating the older women who had seduced them. These sexual deviates took the lead in inviting unsuspecting teenage girls to private apartments in the North Beach and Telegraph Hill neighborhood, where marijuana cigarettes were offered, and Benzedrine, known as “bennies,” were for sale.
The story continued on page five and included a sensational account of a cluttered flat in North Beach, reportedly the home of Telegraph Club owner Joyce Morgan, where a stash of marijuana had been found next to a detective novel. Although several teen girls were mentioned, none were named. Lily read the story several times, both hoping and fearing that she had missed Kath’s name, but it wasn’t there. Each time she read it, the story seemed more bizarre. It was as if the reporter had taken the truth and distorted it into a pulp novel. Reading it made her feel as if she had been splattered with something filthy, and no matter how hard she scrubbed, she would never come clean.
She crumpled up the newspaper and shoved it back into the trash, sick to her stomach. She poured herself a glass of water and then she couldn’t drink it, instead standing half frozen with panic while she stared blankly out the window. All she could think about was Kath. She remembered her beneath the stairs at the Telegraph Club, the darkness a cocoon around them as they kissed, the sound of Tommy singing in the background like an old record on repeat. She needed to find out what had happened to Kath.
She ran back into the hall, picking up the telephone and dialing Kath’s number again, but again there was no answer. She hung up in frustration, unsure of what to do. She wished she knew Kath’s address, so she could go there and wait for her to come home—and then she spotted the corner of the telephone book on the shelf beneath the phone. She pulled it out and knelt down on the floor, flipping to the page for Miller, and ran her finger down the numbers, searching for Kath’s. About halfway down the page she found it. She grabbed a pencil and tore off a piece of paper from the notepad by the phone, scribbling down the North Beach address.
The front doorbell pealed loudly. Lily started and dropped the pencil, which immediately rolled beneath the telephone table. She bent down to retrieve it, but the doorbell sounded again, and there was an impatient edge to the repeated rings.
Eddie poked his head out of the living room at the end of the hall. “Lily? Are you going to get the door?”
She gave up on the pencil and scrambled to her feet, discombobulated and tense, thinking irrationally that it must be the police. “Stay in there with Frankie,” she told her brother.
“Why?”
“Just go!”
His eyes widened in surprise, but he retreated, glancing back at her worriedly. As the doorbell rang again, Lily went downstairs. At the bottom she put her hand on the deadbolt and called out, “Who is it?”
“Lily? It’s Shirley. Let me in.”
Confused, Lily opened the door. Shirley stood on the front step carrying her purse and a garment bag.
“What are you doing here?” Lily asked. “Is something wrong with your dress? I thought I was supposed to meet you at the judging.”
“I just picked up my dress at the cleaners. I need to talk to you.”
There was something strange about the expression on Shirley’s face. “About what?” Lily asked. She wondered if Shirley’s parents had found out about Calvin.
“Can I come in?”
Lily let her in, and Shirley started up the stairs. Lily closed the door and followed. “Did something happen?” she asked.
Lily heard Eddie saying hello to Shirley, who responded briefly. At the top of the stairs, Shirley took off her shoes and set down her bags. “Are your parents home?” she asked.
“No.”
“Let’s go in the kitchen.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
Lily went after Shirley into the kitchen, and Shirley shut the door. She went to the kitchen table as if she were about to sit down, but then she seemed to think better of it and paced over to the sink, arms crossed.