#2 - Raleigh Street & Jackie the Hooker

#2 - Jackie teaches us all

The Raleigh Street Courts consisted of six apartments and one house. Three apartments were on the left and three were on the right. The two sections were separated by a ten-foot wide concrete path which led to the two-story house in the back. Most people didn’t live in the courts for more than a year or two, or at least not in the same apartment. We started out in the middle one on the right, and within six months, moved to the middle one on the left.

When my grandmother moved to Glendale, she took the last one on the left. It had belonged to a retired prostitute named Jackie and her six-year-old son Barry. Jackie had moved up the social ladder and was now a doctor’s assistant. However, while she may have changed occupations, she was still a hooker at heart. She wore pounds of make-up, the longest false eyelashes I’ve ever seen, and clothes designed to entice men of all ages. But it was her mouth that gave her away. All of her words and concepts were inappropriate for all listeners. She said “f#$k” more times in a day than most people "do it" in a lifetime. Her totally uninhibited approach to conversation kept my mother (and me) visiting on a regular basis.

She would sit at her formica table, dressed to the hilt, like a queen on her throne. In one hand she held a cigarette, and in the other, a martini glass filled with gin and tonic. She posed her long, thin fingers like a classy lady in a 20s movie. Frequently, she set down her cigarette and her martini glass to perform her ritual of hand washing, lotion applying, and finger manicuring.

Her hair, of which she had little, was usually pulled back flat under a cheap scarf. This was an interesting contrast to the careful attention she gave to all other aspects of her appearance. Like those damn fake eyelashes, which were always in place even first thing in the morning. She explained how she slept all night with her thumb on her temple and her fingers on her pillow to keep her head propped up. She swore she never moved when she slept.

Her only inhibition seemed to be peeing. She never said anything about it, and we sure didn’t ask, but she definitely didn’t want anyone to hear her doing it. As soon as she closed the bathroom door, she would turn on the faucet, and not turn it off until the toilet was completely done flushing and refilling.

Her biggest and most frequent complaint was that most men didn’t know how to “f#$k.” She blamed this on the fact that there was no formal training program in which they could learn. This lack of training had inspired her to make it her life’s work to “teach them.” I never did get any of the specifics on what her curriculum included; just that she was working to rid the world of “bad f#$ks.”

I always had a lot of respect for Jackie. She was funny and witty, and she looked at the world from a perspective that was new and exciting to me. She was bold and unreserved, and she had no problem speaking her mind. She was a trendsetter—she was the first white woman I knew who had dated a black man. However, the day she decided to include her son in the list of men she would someday “teach,” my opinion of her began to waiver. She had always been rather controlling of her son’s life, but this was too much. She explained that it would be an embarrassment to both of them if she raised a son who couldn’t perform well in bed.