“How do those cheeks feel tonight?,” she would laughingly taunt in noticing my labored gait.
Yet, I was never aware that the facility, the building above, was a bordello. If strolling Flatbush Avenue I could not even have identified the facade of the structure where I spent many long and painful evenings as the well caned toy of Miss Antoinette De La Corte.
And in being some ten years past, my visits must have been at about the time when mother De La Corte’s career as notorious Madam of Brooklyn’s classiest cathouse was coming to a close. Perhaps that should be given some thought?
Meanwhile, there is one person who can add illumination to the many events which, with the passing of time, have faded into darkness. I am apprehensive in making contact. But the aging female voice holds a str
