SAVAGE: Chapter Two

Expensively framed platinum and gold records hung as if to intimidate visitors to Etta Rawlings offices in the Sunset-Vine Tower. Virtually every inch of space seemed to attest in silent affirmation that one was in the presence of a living goddess, whether she was there or not. Hanging among them were the life-sized portraits that adorned her album covers; breathtaking oils on canvas created by one of the most celebrated portrait artists' money could buy.

Etta was never photographed for her album covers, nor was any photo of her included anywhere on or about the cardboard sleeve, which protected the precious vinyl disk inside. This ingenious subterfuge had been carefully thought out at the beginning of her career and was a proven merchandising formula.

The portrait artist was on Etta's payroll whether he worked or not, the better to keep his work from use for the enhancement of rivals. Indeed, his contract held a clause giving Etta Rawlings a say in who he might or might not accept as a client. In all the years he had been working to help create the Etta Rawlings mystique, he had never been given permission to duplicate the likeness of another entertainer, American or otherwise. His portraits were amazingly lifelike, showing her in romantic, mystical settings that transcended photography. More importantly, they created an illusion of beauty that Etta did not, in fact, possess.

Etta's portrait features were not quite so African-American looking. The flesh tones had copper shadowing to soften the darkness of her skin. In short, they made her appear just a little less black.

Although she didn't know it then, Etta was blazing a trail for a multitude of Black singers who crossed over into all fields of music, but the trend had not yet exploded into the consciousness of the music buying public. In 1966 it was best not to allude to Etta's African ancestry. That would come in a decade or two. In the meantime, Etta allowed her black sisters such as Ella Fitzgerald, Lena Horne, Billy Holiday, and Dorothy Dandridge fight for the civil rights and absorb the abuse of discrimination. Such was not for Etta. She surrounded herself with white people and was sometimes criticized for it by her black contemporaries. Their barbs were as effective as a flea on an elephant. Like the Queen Bee in the hive, all of Etta's worker bees were white as snow, beginning with her pianist and music arranger, Joel Tanner.

For personal appearances and concerts Etta smoothed a specially blended copper power created by a Manhattan chemist onto her face, neck and hands, which made her, appear shades lighter, especially under stage lights. This was not an era in which Etta could be proud of her blackness. To the contrary, she was ashamed of it. To be sure, there was nothing in her childhood, which might have instilled any feelings of pride, self worth or decency.

Her virginity had been lost to a series of "Uncles" who lived sporadically with her Mother and four sisters in one of the worst possible slums of Detroit. She had never known her biological father and her Mother had no idea who he was.

Naomi Rawlings had used the only resource she had to earn a living for herself and five illegitimate children. Her body. It was common for the children to be ushered out of the house when a client came to call. Etta grew up sitting on the door stoop of the ramshackle old house listening to the sounds of her mother, inside, grappling with faceless men who came and went in a steady stream. Her education stopped abruptly after the fourth grade when she became a child of the streets. When Etta was barely fourteen, she ran away from home, unable to further submit to the squalor of her dismal surroundings. By then she had learned how to use her young body as barter for survival.

She had no idea of where she was going, but she knew she had to go. Detroit Winters are bitter cold and she decided to head west, where she had heard it was warm. The further, the better. Somewhere, there had to be a better life and she set off in her journey toward her destiny.

She met every conceivable brand of human filth along the way. Truck drivers exchanged long rides west for sexual favors performed expertly by her knowing hands or mouth. She had lain in vans with strangers who offered shelter from the night for the pleasure of spilling their semen onto her warm, soft flesh. She allowed them to straddle her, feasting their eyes on her tender body, had let them fondle and caress her, telling them lies and feeding their perversities until their bodies wracked with submission to her skillful manipulations.

For her, there was no question of morality; it was a simple matter of survival. Her childhood years and living on the streets had hardened her to weirdoes and deviates. Somehow, she managed to handle them. She learned to live by her wits and instincts. Her personality became both hardened and seductive at the same time. She slept in alleyways with men who stank of defeat, cheap liquor and remorse. They escaped into long forgotten memories of past loves by fondling her, clutching her youth and warmth, staring glassily at her private parts and feeling for the moment the ache of tenderness for a part of life they would never again know or recapture. Etta mastered the art of making each conquest believe, for the moment, that he was whole again. She developed the technique of taking charge of her circumstances, no matter how repulsive and sickening. She came to learn that, in any situation, she could manipulate and prevail, if only she stayed true to herself and never let them reach her inner being. Unknowingly, she was developing the very skills that would later cause nations of critics and fans alike to marvel at her ability to make each listener feel, magically, as if she were singing for them and them alone. Once, she had almost met death while bumming a train ride through the mid-west.

Three transients attacked her and had taken turns holding her pinned to the floor of the rocking train. A filthy, weather-beaten hand across her mouth and nose almost suffocated her as she fought and kicked and tried to scream into the endless night. She felt her clothes being torn away. They forced her ankles, then legs apart and she was entered like a battering ram. The pain was savage and relentless. She had experienced rape before, but never with such force and cruelty. With every ounce of strength she fought, but she was one young girl against three grown men. The animal grunts of her attacker told her had almost finished. No sooner had he withdrawn than a second was hunched over her, his erection glistening in the moonlight. "See, Baby. See?" he kept repeating, "See what Daddy has for the little girl?"

The combined stench of them made her gag. They reeked of cheap wine, whiskey and sweat. She felt a searing pain as the second man rode her to a climax. Her screams welled up from inside, but were silenced before they could escape her lips. A third rapist forced himself down her throat. Still fighting, she clamped her teeth down hard and heard him scream. "Bitch!"

She felt the fury of his fists retaliate against her face and skull. Another groaned as he climaxed.

Mercifully, she sank into unconsciousness.

When she woke, they were gone. She had no idea how long she had lain there or what day it was. She didn't care. Why had she regained consciousness? Why couldn't they have murdered her and ended her misery? There was no God. There was nothing left of life. Her life would be nothing but and endless, agonizing ache of sadness.

The rocking of the boxcar entered her awareness. The monotonous clicking of the wheels told her they were traveling at a very high speed. Where to, she had no idea. Furthermore, she didn't care. She was battered and alone. She decided not to move; it hurt too much. For the rest of the day and into the night she lay staring into space, her universe no larger than one smelly boxcar.

San Francisco had been her turning point. A sharp-eyed pimp spotted her down by the Warf shortly after she hit the streets. His appraisal was that she could bring a higher price if properly managed and groomed. Men paid well for such a dark girl-child, so he took her to the best House in the City, run by Sally and Joe Hammond.

Officially, they owned and operated a legitimate nightclub amidst the flashy neon street called Broadway. Their club attracted a well-heeled clientele. On any night of the week could be found a noted celebrity, a visiting movie star or politician. The white linen clothed tables served as a meeting place for businessmen, international visitors and prostitution, offering any manner of deviation. The Hammonds were always on the lookout for fresh, young flesh to peddle and they paid their supplier handsome "finders fees". When their girls reached an age where they became harder to sell they were turned over to the street pimps who had found them in the first place.

Occasionally an especially beautiful or clever girl escaped into the arms of a wealthy John, but the odds were slim. Most were forced into a downward spiral of street hooking and some were her own and maid service and fresh sheets every day. A wardrobe and one day a week to roam the city with spending money of her own, contingent upon her rule of never being allowed out alone. Her "girls" always traveled in three's. The better to keep track of them.

To Etta's young ears, it seemed an offer too good to be true. Remembering her miserable life on the road, alone and unprotected, she happily accepted Sally's terms. Hot Damn! If Mama could see her now!

It was on one of her "days off" that Etta went walking in the Redwood Groves of the Presidio, overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge and there confided to her two companions that she had always dreamed of becoming a singing star, like Lena Horne. Their screams of laughter caused her to flush with anger and she elected to prove herself then and there. Commanding them to sit quietly on the grass and listen, she began her performance with a clear, highly pitched hum which built to a strong crescendo and then abruptly dropped two octaves into a sentimental ballad that brought tears to the eyes of her astonished friends. They listened, enraptured with the clarity and perfection with which Etta sang; deeply, meaningfully, each tender lyric coming forth from the soul of this odd black girl who seemed suddenly eons older than her years. Instantly, they recognized they were not participating in teenaged daydreams, but were witnessing a rare and precious talent about to be unfurled. The girl's expressions transformed from ridicule to awe.

The performance concluded. A moment of silence enveloped the trio, then, suddenly, the two seated girls jumped up with great enthusiasm, squealing in delight, and hugged Etta as the three jumped up and down. It was the happiest day of Etta's life.

Over supper that evening the two girls dominated all conversation recounting the story of Etta's performance; her stage presence, her ability to act out each emotion of the lyric without detracting from the theme and intent of the composer; the passion and compassion she delivered, the compelling, startling, riveting, commanding, awesome power of her voice! They couldn't find enough adjectives to describe what they had witnessed. Throughout their enthusiastic praise, Etta sat straight and proud, allowing her friends to expound and delight in her talent. Singing was something she had done all her life. It was one of the few things she knew she could do well. She had simply never revealed herself to anyone before.

Throughout the meal Sally Hammond listened intently, but said very little. An idea was forming and she wanted to think about it for a while. Sally was not one to pass up any opportunity. She had been wanting for a long time to make use of the many favors her clients owed her over the years. The opportunity might just be presenting itself in the form of this young, un-molded black girl who evidently possessed a talent for more than lying on her back.

Although technically underage, Etta could be made to look older. Sally admitted Etta wasn't exactly a raving beauty, having a tendency toward plumpness. She was short, barely five foot one, with wide hips and a high rump Joe teasingly referred to as Etta's "African Ass". Her full breasts, Sally assessed, would in years become heavy and ponderous. For now, however, they were fine.

Etta was summoned to Sally's office in the Club, half a block from the restored Victorian Mansion where Etta lived and worked with eleven other girls. It was mid-afternoon and the club was empty except for an ancient Negro cleaning the darkened interior.

"The girls tell me you're some terrific singer, Etta. How come you never told me before?"

"It never came up," was her truthful reply.

"Well, Joe and have been talking about it and, if you're as good as the girls say you are we'd like to audition you. What do you think of that?"

Etta's heart jumped. "Oh, yes, Mam!. I'd like that. I'd surely like that just fine! Her enthusiasm was intense and couldn't refrain from asking, "When?"

"I've already spoken to our pianist, Joel. He's coming in early tonight to run some numbers with you. If he thinks you're any good we can let you do a couple of numbers tonight, just to see how the crowd reacts."

Etta's feet barely touched the pavement as she ran back to tell her friends.

Joel McCain was a soft spoken, copper-haired Southerner from Alabama; a dreamer, philosopher, composer, pianist and incurable romantic. His family dated back generations to the days of plantations, pirates and traders in slaves from Africa, which meant he had been raised seeing the oppression of blacks at the hands of ignorant white supremacists. Although he had witnessed first-hand their treatment at the hands of overbearing whites, like many, neither he nor his family had done anything to undo that which generations of discrimination and suppression had wrought.

He recognized immediately the pain and sorrow in Etta's eyes. Despite her tender years and what he suspected was her connection to Sally and Joe Hammond, Joel felt her inner longing for love and security; the kind of love that could only be sustained by masses of admiring fans; throngs of adoring, faceless people applauding her very existence, breathing life itself into her every waking moment. Given her present circumstances, he saw her chances of achieving it as very slim indeed.

He sat down in the empty club and began to play, browsing the keyboard and studying this young girl intently watching him before eventually inviting her to join in.

She did so without hesitation and came in on exactly the right note of the tune he had been playing. She wrapped herself around the lyric of the song and, by the finish, had made it hers, as if it had never before been sung by any other artist. Joel was not only impressed, he was overwhelmed. He had never encountered such raw talent. She had perfect pitch and a range covering octaves even he had trouble reaching! He was equally impressed with her repertoire of songs, although she could not read a note of music. He was astonished to learn she had never had a lesson in her life, yet her delivery was flawless. Her understanding and interpretation of a lyric was unbelievable! Where had this child been, and why had something not been done with her?

His report to Sally and Joe was that Etta Rawlings was a natural.

"Her range is incredible and she can sustain a note forever. She can sing to the back of the house or barely above a whisper and her voice carries like a feather on the wind. And, she has confidence. When she sings there's nothing else but her and the lyric. It's as if you've never heard the song before. She's dynamite."

Sally's reply was sharp and final. "We'll let her do two numbers at eleven, but I want her out of the club and back to the house right after. I don't want anybody talking to her or finding out she's underage. Joe, don't let her out of your sight."

The club was fully packed on a Wednesday night. At eleven sharp, Sally and Joe stood in the darkest corner of the room and surveyed their clientele. The comedian/master-of-ceremonies, Maxey Rosenbaum, was warming up the audience.

Maxey had been working the club for nearly a year and knew most of the regulars by name. He was considered a master of the insult and was overly fond of ridiculing his audience, much to their delight.

"I'm told we gott'a little surprise for 'yez tonight, folks. Sally and Joe wann'a introduce a little girl they found who's s'posed to have a great pair of chops, so let's bring her on with no further a'do to a nice round of applause."

Etta stepped into the blue spotlight to lukewarm clapping and stood for a moment as if willing herself to take command of the room. She then nodded in Joel's direction and began her introductory number. She began with the same high pitched, ethereal hum she had used to gain the attention of her two companions at the Presidio. Her voice then plunged into her lower register and she swept the crowd into the same tender ballad that had reduced her friends to tears.

Sally and Joe exchanged a look of disbelief.

As the ballad ended, Etta had the audience in the palm of her hand. She proudly acknowledged a standing ovation and shouts and whistles for more. Wave upon wave of acceptance and love flooded over her being and nourished her conviction that this was what she had been made to do. This was the home she had never before known. This was where she would stay, and she would do whatever was necessary to remain in that warming spotlight.

She glanced at Joel, who smiled and began the intro of her second number. It was in direct contrast to her opening song; a free swinging, foot stomping hand-clapping crowd pleaser that had the whole room singing. Etta exited the stage to resounding applause and screams for more.

Maxey Rosenbaum was speechless. He had difficulty regaining the attention of the crowd. Everyone was busy talking about what they had just witnessed. The excitement Etta generated was tangible. Even though she had left the building, her presence was still felt, nonetheless.

Sally Hammond wasted no time in drafting a handwritten contract naming herself Etta's personal manager, which automatically entitled her to twenty percent of the gross she envisioned would be made through Etta's gift. She signed her husband as Etta's Agent, overlooking the fact that he was not licensed in that field; an oversight she would expediently correct using contacts in high places she had cultivated over many years of catering to the baser appetites of the rich and famous. With her twenty percent added to Joe's ten percent agent's fee and any other factors they might control, Sally quickly surmised that Etta had every chance of becoming the proverbial Goose about to deliver the Golden Egg.

Etta, youth and ambition combined, was only too eager to sign their agreement. It promised a whole new life! She felt she would be protected by the Hammonds and Joel was promised by them to be with her, guiding her talent every step of the way. She could stop using her body to buy her way through life and begin concentrating only on her talent. Sally put it in perspective by announcing, "It's time you got off your back and started making money with your voice. And, Honey, Joe and I are going to make sure you do just that."

Sally may have over-assessed her ability, but she was correct in one thing; she certainly knew people in extremely high places. Many were established clients. She knew and had recorded all of their sexual appetites and perversions. They were indebted to her loyalty and ability to keep secrets. Secrets were Sally's stock in trade. She held the confidences of San Francisco's High Society and what she knew reached all the way to New York and into some of the most prominent bedrooms in Washington, D.C.

Many clients credited Sally with being a brilliant business strategist. She had the ability to make decisions instantly and unfailingly correct. She saw in Etta Rawlings all the trappings of major stardom. Etta possessed the one-in-a-million combination of talent, personality and brass that Sally could ride, roughshod, to the top. And Etta was all hers. Signed, sealed and delivered.

Etta's performances were limited to three nights a week in the beginning. Sally shrewdly planned to give her star limited exposure to get what she called the "tongue tom-toms" working. Each midnight performance was packed, thanks to word of mouth and the rush to be in on the beginning of a breathtaking career destined to skyrocket to the outer reaches of the universe. By the end of the second week the Club was turning business away.

Assured of Etta's popularity and success, Sally placed a single telephone call to a very highly placed executive with a major recording company. In her direct, no-nonsense style she informed him if he was not in her Club that Friday night with a contract he was not only a fool, but that his penchant for cross dressing and being spanked would become public knowledge.

And so began the career of Etta Rawlings. The executive signed her immediately and her first exposure to the airwaves in the form of a lilting, sentimental ballad leapt to the number one spot on the music charts. From that time on, generations of fans caused each successive album to gain collector's status, rocketing each one to Gold or Platinum.