Tramps.

Chapter Three.

Mr. Tate had already left for a meeting he had in Houston this morning and Mrs. Tate was getting ready to leave as well. Who knows? Maybe Mr. Tate was adding to the list tonight.

Mrs. Tate wrapped a black scarf around her head that blended in with her dark hair. She put on some dark Browline Sunglasses that she had bought on a trip to Milan. Her lips were bright red as well as her cheeks. She looked shallow and grave with despair. She could have been attending a funeral.

She hurried out of her room and directly down the staircase that led to the front door.

“Sharon!” She called. The maid came out the kitchen to stand in front of Mrs. Tate.

“Yes, Mrs. Tate?”

“I would like you to call around the driver; I’ve got important business to take care of.” Mrs. Tate said, taking out a compact mirror from her purse. “Oh, and I should be gone for the next few days. Notify the staff of my absence, will you?”

“Yes, Mrs. Tate.”

“Oh, and Sharon?” The maid stared at Mrs. Tate without answering. “Do not tell Robert I have left.” The maid lingered before nodding and quickly running back into the kitchen. Mrs. Tate only had to wait five minutes before the car pulled up in front of her. She checked her complexion in the compact mirror. Vile.

The driver got out of the car and opened the door for Mrs. Tate. She thanked him and got in. Her house had always looked so bright and luxurious, but today it looked old and rotten. Ivy was growing up on the bottom and trees towered over the mansion, leaving leaves and twigs on the roof. When they had bought the house it had seemed fabulous. Today it was old and ugly. Nothing seemed to please Mrs. Tate anymore.

“Ralph,” Mrs. Tate said to the driver. He lifted his head to look at her through the rear-view mirror. “Do you think my house is ugly?” He scoffed.

“Your house has to be the most fabulous house in all of New York, Mrs. Tate.” He said. She didn’t ask again, but she did not agree with the driver.

The green scenery that had enveloped her turned into sky rise buildings and bustling streets. Men and women of all every social status walked together on the streets. Men were selling suits and newspapers. Woman were tugging children a long. New York.

The driver stopped the car in front of a large apartment building. Mrs. Tate thanked the driver and got out.

The building was modern and had a nice shag carpet that ran all the way down to the elevators. Mrs. Tate walked down and pressed the up button. The elevator came down within minutes.

She stepped in and pressed the 11th button. She rode the elevator in silence, only moving to retrieve a cigarette from her purse. She lit it. Mrs. Tate felt calm and collected compared to everything she had felt yesterday.

The doors to the elevator opened on the 11th floor. Mrs. Tate walked down to the last door at the end of the hall. She knocked on the door twice and waited silently. Mr. Rutherford opened the door.

“Oh hello Marjorie, I’m afraid Cheryl isn’t in right now, but you can-“

“Just what I was hoping for, actually.” Mrs. Tate interrupted him. She pushed open the door and walked inside Mr. Rutherford’s home. “Isn’t it a bit peculiar that Robert is in Houston without his political advisor?”

“Not really, I mean, my presence wasn’t required-“ Mr. Rutherford stuttered.

“Oh shove it Will, I don’t have any time in my day for more lies.” Mrs. Tate said, sitting down on a couch in the Rutherford’s living room. “Get me a glass of gin, will you?” Mr. Rutherford twiddled his hands and sighed, heading to the bar. He poured a glass of gin for the two of them and gave one glass to Mrs. Tate. She took a long sip out of hers while Mr. Rutherford set down his glass, full.

“What have you come here for, Marjorie?” Mr. Rutherford begged.

“I think you have some sort of idea.” Mrs. Tate smiled down at the pudgy man. He sighed. The gig was up.

“What have you found?” Mr. Rutherford sighed. Mrs. Tate stayed smiling at the mayors political advisor for sometime before reaching into her purse and pulling out one manila envelope.

“Look familiar?” Mrs. Tate asked him.

“Actually, no.” Mrs. Tate opened up the envelope and revealed dozens of pictures hidden inside. She placed them on the coffee table and spread them out for Mr. Rutherford to see.

“And these?” Mrs. Tate asked. Mr. Rutherford looked over the pictures. His face went from concerned to grave. He held his face in his hands.

“Oh lord, Marjorie…” He said. “Listen, you do not understand what this could turn into-“

“No, I understand. That’s the reason why I’m here in fact.” Mrs. Tate smiled at Mr. Rutherford said. “If this was to come out, I might be a bit embarrassed. Really, New York would feel bad for me. I don’t lose a lot if this information was to come out. I can think of a few people who would.”

“Robert?”

“You.” Mrs. Tate said. Mr. Rutherford looked solemn. “Who would want to hire a political advisor who let all this information slip so easily? Besides, Robert is basically out of the job. What job do you have left?”

“What do you want from me, May.” Mr. Rutherford sighed. Mrs. Tate pulled out something else from her purse: the list of woman.

“I want you to tell me how I can find these women.” Mrs. Tate handed him the list. Mr. Rutherford sighed, shaking his head.

“May, I cannot help you in finding these women. Whatever you are planning to do, I cannot help you.”

“But you will, because you do not have a choice.” Mr. Rutherford stared at Mrs. Tate.

“I guess I didn’t know the Tate family as well as I thought I did.” He sighed and looked at the top of the list. “This woman… I believe Robert met her in Philadelphia. You can find her by calling this man…” He went into the kitchen to grab a pen and came back in with a book similar to Robert’s.

Instead of being filled with sexual encounters, the book was filled with names and numbers. He wrote down one under the first name.

“I’ll give you this number, but you’ll have to find the rest on your own. I can’t condone this sort of behavior… Whatever that behavior may be.” Mr. Rutherford handed the piece of paper back to her. Under the first name were ‘Walter Brown’ and a seven-digit number next to it. So, this was Walt. A pimp? Marjorie thought.

“Thank you for your time, Will.” Marjorie got up to leave, but turned back around.

“By the way, Will…” She said. “If this conversation was to reach Robert… Those behaviors may be soon inflicted upon you.” Marjorie smiled down at the man. He stared wide eyed at her. She walked out of the door without saying a word.