This artwork illustrates the story Inevitable Man by Michel Villon, as appearing in the November 1935 issue of La Paree, a surprisingly spicy journal for men. The topless ladies are not, at it might appear at first glance, catfighting; instead they are hanging out in a hot room in Saigon, drinking liquor and helping one of their number pack her luggage for a new adventure.

three topless sex workers spy on a man in the street through closed blinds

Here’s the bit from the story that we see depicted in the artwork:

It was too hot for even the thinnest of clothes, and the three girls lolled about on the wicker furniture clad in only their underwear. Paulette was eighteen, and as yet untouched by the ravages of the sun and heat. Her hair was the color of spun gold, and it hung almost to her waist. In spite of the heat which filled the large, comfortable room, she was never for a moment still. Several shabby suitcases lay open, on the matting on the floor, and it was the packing of these which kept her moving.

Fanning herself languidly with a palm-leaf fan, Yvonne said, “I suppose the future wife of Captain Jacques Renaile will soon forget the two girls with whom she lived in Saigon, nein?”

Paulette straightened. “Jamais!” she said intensely. “How can you say such a thing, Yvonne? After all you’ve done for me? Taking me in when I had no one else to go to. Looking after me. Helping me to find work.” Tears formed in her lovely eyes. “I don’t see how you could think of such a thing,” she finished.

Marie patted her bare shoulder. “Yvonne was only teasing you, ma cherie,” she said soothingly. “We know you won’t forget.”

…

Marie returned to her position behind the drawn Venitian blind. Suddenly, she stiffened.

“Yvonne!” she said excitedly. “Come here! Quickly!” Yvonne and Paulette joined her. Together, they peered through the chinks in the blind.

Standing on the pavement, outside a large office building across the street, was a man. He was tall, broad shouldered, bronzed and dressed in white duck. He was fanning himself with a pith helmet. He was extremely handsome. Yvonne was the first to break the silence. She said,

“So he’s back again! Sacre!”

“Nom de Dieu! Roger Blake,” the unfamiliar words sounded strange on her tongue. “And I swore I’d kill him the next time I saw him.”

“I did, too.”

“Who is he?” demanded Paulette, excitedly.

“He is a man,” replied Yvonne. “An American. He is the French representative of some big American concern, and he travels for them. He has made fools of half the women in Saigon. I felt like the lowest cocotte after he was through with me.”

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