This is a personal memoir from an old acquaintance sent to me through a telegram in the year 1949. All I am able to do is relate to you, my dear friends the detailed emotional experience of this woman by the name of Viola. Viola Angelika Bronte, was her full name. She was the most mesmerizing person anyone could have ever set eyes upon, if you were a male or a female. She was a soft-spoken girl, yet she bore a glowing soul that shared more than just occasional empathy towards a perfect stranger. However, she deserved so much more, than she received, or as I should say, had yet to finally receive. When she was only sixteen years old, she became an orphan in a sense, but she was grown up enough to understand what living life really required. Her mother had abandoned her and her father at the age of seven, so her father, an accountant by profession, and a jazz man by night raised her, until oned fateful day, he up and died from a heart attack. Before she became an "orphan", her father instilled in her a great passion of music, and consequently enough, she took up the means of applying herself to the disciplined training of learning the violin. Viola was a perfect fit, for such a child who learned quite quickly, and she became a pleasure to listen to, while she played her music. Her father instilled in her a quiet passion for music, yet it claimed her so, that she was quite the timid teen later on in life. By age 14, boys started showing an interest in her, since she was in fact, very pretty, and precious to the eye. She had the most gorgeous creamy-toned skin, and a blondish-brunette coloured hair, naturally wavy, just above her shoulders. Her eyelashes were naturally long and full of volume. She was a thin girl, but possessed voluptuous lips, and soft, solemn eyes. She kept her virtues always. And dedicated her life to her passion of music long after her father died. There really was no romance in her life, until one night, after playing with a small band in a nightclub, at the ripe age of twenty-two, a handsome, young gentleman named Ian invited her to sit down with him at a private table, after her show. She was shy, but she couldn't resist. No one had ever been able to convince her to "date", and well, she succumbed to the invitation, however, still quite timid. The man offered her a martini, and she said no. He said "okay". Well, he introduced himself. He had been in the business of aircraft. And had even worked with Howard Hughes at times in the past. He had earned enough money in his career to take a break from the hard working man's life, for a while, just to enjoy the small things. He was 28 years old. They had a nice conversation for about twenty minutes, and they both put a spark in each other's eyes. He apologized for having to cut the conversation short, and told her he would like to meet with her again, in a more formal fashion, and he asked her out to dinner. She smiled, and surprisingly said yes. So they agreed to get together the upcoming weekend. Viola was blushing a little, and as she said goodbye to him, her eyes sparkled once more, in the candlelit room. She then packed up her violin, said goodbye to her accompanying band members in the nightclub, and took off out the sidedoor exit. On her way out, someone stopped her, and asked for the time. She said she did not carry a watch, but she knew it had to be around midnight, for she had looked at the clock inside, on her way out. She then realised that it wasn't time that the person wanted. The person was a woman, dressed in a white fur-coat, coated with dark burgundy lipstick across her lips, and black smokey eyes. She grabbed Viola's arm, and a black car pulled up around the corner of the alley, and the strange woman threw her into the car. When she was in, she was immediately bound with a rope around her hands, and tape placed across her mouth. "We have business with you, now", a strange older man, who was the driver said. Poor Viola was forced to drink a glass of champagne, after they then removed the tape. She refused, but they now had a gun pointed to her head, so she sipped it, and unfortunately the champagne was laced with a drug, so she soon passed out.
The next day Viola found herself, no longer in New York, but in a place she would soon call the "Haven of Mistresses"...which was an unholy name for such an ungodly place. She woke up to find herself being used as a prostitute, however, she was not exactly a prostitute, but more of an escort. The strange man and woman ran this business, underground, and she found herself, being forcibly used as company to templar men, and military men in particular. Politics was certainly changing, and Viola was certainly ashamed to be a part of this, but didn't know any way out. She cried herself to sleep, but she gained material gifts given to her by the "head Mistress". The strange woman who had kidnapped her that night. She wondered about the man Ian, and if she would ever see him again. In her mind, the answer was no. Viola was not necessarily treated badly, however, this was a sinful, painful way to start out your young adult life. She begged to be let go, to be freed, but her only alternative was to become a "dancer", and she felt uncomfortable doing this. She was not a nasty or naughty girl, but the irony of it all, was the poor innocent Viola, had already been "violated".
She began "dancing", as apposed to "prostitution", which was a lesser of two evils. There were other girs who were in it for themselves, but what she didn't know was that this was a much deeper reaping, that she should find out about "why" later on. She still played her violin, and in a way, this "haven" was more like an American Geisha house. She was soon offered pills that made her feel at ease, and she began experimenting with other substances, such as "reefer", or marijuana, when the other girls offered it to her. They were whores, but she knew something inside of her was not a whore. The years went by, and Viola was trapped in this circle of madness, but she soon accepted it as a way of life. She was a sad soul, but she had plenty of drugs and plenty of alcohol to keep her from losing her mind, in a sense. She certainly tried to escape, but she was too fragile, and unconfident to even attempt such a thing, for fear of being shot, or raped, or something worse. She figured there was no way out.
I had met her when we were children at a private school, and we were about 11 years old, and once or twice later on in life I had seen her play some shows. We only chatted remotely about girly stuff, but nothing too deep. She alway thought she needed to remain reserved, especially after the loss of her father. So that's how I knew her.
Well, one night, as she told me this story, in her letter, she found some old letters from a man to a woman, romantic letters for that matter, lying beneath the rubberplant beside the staircase of the "haven". It was actually an old mansion in a rural area, outside of any city. The letters were from her father to her mother, begging for another chance, and a bonechilling feeling came over Viola's body. "What was this?", she began to cry, when a hand touched her shoulder, and the "strange woman" stared her down. "Give me those". "Now!"...Viola handed them over, and wiped the tears from her eyes, and ran up to her room, shut her eyes, but couldn't sleep. So she did a line of cocaine, and then got really angry. She then grabbed a bottle of wine, and began drinking and drinking and drinking until she began to feel dizzy, and finally passed out over her bed.
This was a mystery beginning to unfold, but nothing...so far.
....TO BE CONTINUED....