Pandora's Box

by Allison Hobbs

  The smoky room, it seemed, was a single shade of lifeless gray: the walls, the sofa, the carpet, and the mood of the seven women who waited for customers.

  Victoria wondered if perhaps a few plants placed here and there would brighten the place. But no…nothing green could survive; there were no windows, no sunlight.

  “Is it always this slow here?” asked Allegra, a gaunt, blue-eyed newcomer to Pandora’s. Allegra, however, was not new to the business. She twirled her ponytail nervously as she waited for a response. Her question was ignored. No one, not even Victoria, felt inclined to respond. No sense in encouraging the girl to cut into their money. It was better for everyone if she left in disgust, never to return.

  Wanting to establish that she was not like the rest, that there was a distinct difference between herself and her unrefined co-workers, Victoria was usually polite to the parade of transient new faces that passed through the door of Pandora’s. But not today. Her thoughts were completely absorbed with the thousands of dollars she needed to pay off her debts and repair her credit.

  Miquon was back, despite predictions that she’d never again be permitted to work at Pandora’s. When she entered the lounge, Allegra asked again, this time with a frown, and in a whining tone, “Is it always this slow here?”

  Miquon stopped abruptly and placed a combative hand on her hip. “If you usta things moving faster than this, then you need to take your narrow ass on back to wherever you came from. Don’t be coming up in here complaining. I came to make some money, so don’t be talkin’ all that negative shit. Whatchu tryin’ to do—jinx my night?” Miquon’s head rotated on her thick neck fast enough to cause whiplash.

  Allegra uttered a vague sound of indignation.

  Rolling her eyes hard, Miquon plopped down on the loveseat next to Victoria. She sat too close for comfort, mumbling to herself and deliberately invading Victoria’s space. Victoria inched away but Miquon shifted her position, and her ample derriere took up even more of the loveseat.

  Victoria couldn’t help noticing the tacky black and white checks that looked like miniature floor tiles, painted on the tips of Miquon’s squared-off acrylic nails. Even worse, a nail was missing from the index finger of one hand and the middle finger of the other.

  “You gotta match?” Miquon inquired, impatiently waving a cigarette at Victoria.

  “I don’t smoke.” Victoria’s eyes were riveted to the two fingers clipping the cigarette. Stripped of its nail, Miquon’s index finger looked sickly—vulnerable.

  “So whatchu sayin’?”

  Perplexed, Victoria frowned.

  “Lotta people don’t smoke, but they still carry matches. You need matches to smoke weed, don’tchu?”

  “I don’t smoke weed, either,” Victoria said, regretting immediately that she had opened her mouth. It was foolish to expect Miquon to respond logically.

  “I mean…damn…the way your face broke all up, you’da thought I asked you if you smoked crack! Don’t make no damn sense the way some bitches always gotta have attitude.”

  The average working girl would have challenged Miquon on the B word; Victoria chose to ignore it. Looking for somewhere else to sit, Victoria scanned the room, but all the seats were taken. When she caught Allegra’s eye, Victoria shook her head, giving the girl a one-victim-to-another kind of look. Refusing to commiserate, Allegra sucked her teeth, and turned her head.

  Chelsea, Lauren, and Sydney were squeezed miserably on the sofa.

  Jonee, who morphed daily from one outlandish persona to another, was draped entirely in black. She sat perched like a raven on the arm of Allegra’s chair. Earlier, Jonee had discovered that her favorite wig was missing from her workbag. Stolen, she claimed, as she wagged an accusing finger and insisted Rover do a bag search. Rover refused.

  Jonee’s attire seemed to match her mood. She wore a long black wig with severe bangs, a flowing sheer black negligee that was cut so low, two blackberry nipples peaked out. A black snake bracelet winded its way up her arm, and her down-turned lips and clawed nails were also painted black.

  They were a cheerless group, and Victoria realized that joining them would not lift her spirits.

  “Anybody gotta light?” Miquon bellowed.

  The girl was crude beyond belief! Victoria considered paying Rover a visit, but decided against it. He was too needy, and would probably try to talk her ears off. She was better off stuck with Miquon.

  Chelsea threw Miquon a lighter. Miquon curled her lips around the cigarette as she lit it. A thick cloud of smoke hovered near Victoria. The odor filled her nostrils, and when her eyes began to burn, she had no choice but to seek refuge in the office with Rover.

  “And what did you come to pester me about?” Rover asked gruffly, though Victoria could tell that he was pleased to have her company.

  “What’s the matter, Rover? You look beat.”

  Rover’s eyes were bloodshot, and he was badly in need of a shave. Victoria was surprised to see specks of gray mixed in the stubble.

  “Dominique, the so-called manager on the midnight shift, called out sick last night. Probably too high to come in…so I had to work her shift.”

  “You’ve been working around the clock?”

  Rover nodded his head, and sighed deeply. “I had a two-hour nap.”

  “That’s a shame,” Victoria said in earnest. “Doesn’t the owner have anyone else to cover? What would happen if you were both sick?”

  “I never get too sick to count money.” Rover chuckled. “But I wish Gabrielle could find a more reliable manager for the midnight shift.” He paused in thought, and then continued. “Trouble is, she don’t trust nobody but me. Gabrielle and me go way back. Believe me, I’d work all three shifts if I could. Just to make sure she gets every dollar she’s entitled to. Those girls rob her blind on the midnight shift.

  Victoria pondered Rover’s remark and decided that Gabrielle could afford to lose a few bucks. How much damage could a missing fifty here or there do to Gabrielle’s take?

  Excluding the forbidden tips, Gabrielle collected half of the earnings of every girl who worked for her. For that reason, Victoria felt unsympathetic.

  “I heard you knew Gabrielle when she was working in the business. That true?” It wasn’t like Victoria to pry, and she felt downright naughty. However, there were many rumors swirling about and she didn’t know what to believe. She was more than just a little curious about the mysterious Gabrielle.

  “Yeah, I knew her then, but not the way the girls tell the story. I was never one of her customers.”

  Victoria raised a dubious brow. Was Rover insinuating that he and Gabrielle had been romantically involved? Rover was a nice guy, but from what she’d heard, Gabrielle was out of his league.

  “I used to drive for this Italian guy, whose name I won’t mention.” Rover pronounced it Eyetalian. “It was rumored that he was in the mob. I don’t know. I mind my own business. Anyways, he was one of the owners of the place where Gabrielle used to work—a place called Foxes on 13th and Arch. It’s not there anymore; there’s a restaurant there now. That entire area used to be the red-light district. Massage parlors, strip joints, peep shows, go-go bars, you name it. Back then, there was a lot of money in prostitution.” Rover looked wistful.

  But the bright, curious expression on Victoria’s face vanished immediately when Rover used the word prostitution, and was replaced with downcast eyes and a brooding darkness.

  Rover noticed but pretended not to. “After the Convention Center was built, that area became respectable,” he continued. “A few bars are left, but they don’t have the topless dancers.” He ran his hand over the stubble on his face. “For some reason, the peep show’s still on the corner…the owner must have City Hall connections, I guess. But everything else is gone.”

  “You were telling me about Gabrielle’s boyfriend,” Victoria reminded him.

  “Oh yeah.” Rover chuckled. “He was married. Spent a lot of time with his wife and kids. But every Wednesd
ay, he took Gabrielle with him to the casinos in Atlantic City. I drove.” Rover stopped abruptly, and cautioned with his finger. “Now this is between you and me.”

  Victoria nodded enthusiastically.

  “For lack of a better name, let’s call the Italian guy, Frank. Frank would promise Gabrielle that he’d take her to dinner or to see a show, but once he hit the blackjack tables…well, suffice to say, the romantic portion of the evening ended. Gabrielle would get bored standing around watching, so Frank would give her money, sometimes as much as a grand, to do whatever she pleased. At that point, my role would switch from driver to…I guess you could say…escort. We’d go catch a lounge act, have a few drinks, get a bite to eat…go shopping. I’d be right there with her when she tried on clothes in those fancy designer shops. She valued my opinion, too. Never bought nothing I didn’t give a nod to.” Rover’s voice reflected his pride. “Anyways, that’s how we became friends. Passing time and hanging out together. Waiting for ol’ Frank to call it a night.”

  “So I guess it’s true that Pandora’s is really owned by this Frank guy?” Victoria asked.

  “As far as I know, this is Gabrielle’s business. A gift from Frank. The license is in her name and all the money we pull in goes directly to her.”

  “Yeah, but she’s just a front, isn’t she?” Victoria spoke with authority, but was only repeating information she’d overheard in the lounge.

  Rover shrugged. “Gabrielle’s doing all right for herself. She retired from the business at twenty-five. She drives a Mercedes, has quite a spread somewhere in Jersey, and a place in the Bahamas…Now how many girls do you know in the business who have sense enough to get out before it’s too late?”

  Too late! Too late for what! Victoria wanted to know, but didn’t ask, deciding that Rover probably had dozens of horror stories about girls who wore out their welcome, stayed in the business too long. Victoria exclaimed, instead, “A spread! What do you mean? Gabrielle lives in a mansion?”

  Rover lived in a dank, dark basement at Pandora’s Box, but he nodded proudly as if he resided at the mansion with Gabrielle.

  Although Victoria suspected that Rover was exaggerating, she was troubled by the possibility that she was contributing to someone else’s lavish lifestyle.

  CHAPTER 13

  Several hours later, Victoria found herself in a most unfortunate position—lying beneath an amply endowed black man named Bernard. “I’d like to see you,” he had said with a warm smile when he selected Victoria from the swarm of women who’d greeted him at the door.

  Standing there in the lobby, he’d seemed so well adjusted, giving no indication that behind closed doors he’d behave like something that should be caged.

  Bernard had perfected a technique that prolonged the session. Thrusting deeply and rapidly, he’d build up a momentum, and maintain it for an excruciatingly long time. Seconds away from what seemed an appropriate time to climax, he’d suddenly stop, take a deep breath, exhale with an appalling groan, then, feeling revitalized, the onslaught would begin again—all the while producing a violent flow of perspiration that fell like torrential rain.

  The sheet was soaked. Victoria’s entire body was soaked. She was drowning in a lake of sweat. There was moisture everywhere except on the condom. Victoria was in such discomfort, she considered replacing the dried-out condom with a freshly lubricated one, but changed her mind. More lubrication would make the experience more pleasurable for Bernard, give him a second wind—the session could drag on indefinitely. She’d just have to tough it out with the old condom.

  As the relentless pounding continued, Victoria could feel an inner rage building. She imagined herself shoving Bernard off, and with all her might, kicking him clean across the room.

  Victoria was two seconds from hysteria; she had had enough. Squirming, she pushed away the sweaty shoulder that was pressed into her chin.

  “Hurry up!”

  Bernard stopped pumping and scowled down at her. Drip, drip.

  “Yeah, all right, baby. Just a few more minutes.” The sweating and pumping resumed.

  She turned her head from side to side, frantically trying to dodge the droplets of perspiration. But when she realized that her brand new beautiful braids were being saturated with Bernard’s revolting sweat, she shrieked. “That’s it. Your time is up!”

  Bernard stopped mid-thrust, but remained on top of her. He propped himself up with clenched fists.

  Victoria lay immobilized. Her head lay between his rigid arms and menacing fists. An expression of sheer terror twisted her face. Bernard was either unaware, or simply didn’t care that Victoria couldn’t move, her braids were pinned down by his fists.

  “What’s my problem? You talking so much shit, my jimmie done went soft,” Bernard roared. Spittle gathered in the corners of his mouth.

  Even in a semi soft state, Bernard still had one hell of a whopper. The condom clung so tightly; it looked like a layer of thick dry skin.

  A burning mixture of mascara and perspiration blinded Victoria; she was emboldened by the pressing need to wipe her eyes.

  “Get the hell off me!” With surprising strength, she pushed Bernard off and wiped her eyes.

  “My time ain’t up,” Bernard said, eyeing his watch suspiciously.

  “Oh, yes it is! You’ve been in here for an hour; I’m leaving.” Still rubbing her stinging eyes, Victoria leaped from the bed. With one hand she groped around the room, snatching up her shoes, camisole, panties, and purse.

  Bernard blocked the path as she reached for the door. “You got a lot of game. I’ll give you credit for that. But you got to be crazy if you think you gonna leave me like this.” Bernard glanced at his watch again, with a smirk. “I got ten more minutes. Maybe if you worked with a little more enthusiasm, we could both get outta here.” He grabbed Victoria’s wrist, squeezing it tight.

  Too shocked to speak, but suddenly able to clearly see, Victoria stared, her mouth gaping, at the big hand that gripped her wrist.

  “I paid good money for this. Now if you can’t get me off, then give me my money back!” As spoke those angry words, he pointed at Victoria’s purse, which was tucked snugly under her arm. She had only half his money, and didn’t intend to give it back. The other fifty dollars belonged to the house, and was in the office safe, mingled in with the thousands of dollars collected for the past week.

  It occurred to Victoria that she should scream for help. But she didn’t. Screaming for help seemed incredibly undignified, and would provide the women in the lounge too much fun at her expense. She’d have to quietly handle the situation on her own.

  Victoria tugged, but Bernard tightened his grip.

  “You messin’ with the wrong one, bitch.” Bernard bent slightly so that they were face-to-face.

  Victoria whimpered, which inspired Bernard to work himself up even more.

  “Don’t play with my money!” He spoke through clenched teeth, tightening his grip with each word. “I will fuck you up over my money!”

  Quaking in fear, Victoria accidentally dropped a shoe. Bernard was distracted; he shifted his gaze to the floor.

  In a series of swift motions, she yanked her hand away, pulled open the door, and tumbled out into the hall. Bernard started after her, but realizing that he was naked except for the condom, he retreated.

  Victoria clutched her belongings in front of her (which included a single shoe) and streaked naked up the hall. She darted past Rover’s office and burst into the bathroom. Turning the lock, she fell against the door.

  As her racing heart began to slow down, she caught a sudden, unpleasant whiff. She looked around the bathroom, sniffing wildly at the air. But to her amazement and disbelief, the odor emanated from her! A disgusting, musty, funky, smell of sweat—men’s locker room sweat! Bernard had left his scent; it was all over her. Nothing was worth this, she told herself. No amount of money—nothing.

  There was a shower stall in the bathroom, used mostly by customers. Victoria had never us
ed it. It looked unsanitary, and needed a thorough scouring. The sight of the accumulated film made her flesh crawl. It would take at least an hour-long shower to remove the stench of Bernard, but under the circumstances, a wash-up at the sink would have to do.

  As she pumped soap onto a paper towel, she felt the vibration of heavy footsteps. Her heart began to pick up speed. She could hear Bernard’s voice, a low disgruntled rumble. She could also hear Rover talking softly, in placating tones.

  Would Bernard overpower Rover? Victoria wondered. Could he break down the flimsy bathroom door? If so, what would he do? Beat her up? Strangle her, while in a horny rage?

  How could something like this be happening? Why didn’t he just leave quietly? The man was causing a commotion over ten lousy minutes. She’d been brutalized by his big, impaling appendage for forty minutes. Forty minutes of torture was long enough.

  Sequestered in the bathroom, Victoria prayed that Rover would resolve the unfortunate situation without demanding to hear her side of the story. Her heart wouldn’t stop thumping; she could feel an anxiety attack coming on. If she were forced to look at Bernard’s mean, sweaty face again, she’d surely lose her fragile grip on sanity, and topple over the edge.

  Angry, pounding footsteps stomped down the hall. The next sound Victoria heard was the slamming door. Bernard was gone! Victoria was so relieved, she was practically giddy, but she remained in the bathroom, cowering behind the closed door.

  Rover tapped on the door. “All right, Pleasure. The coast is clear. You can come out now.” There was laughter in his voice.

  Wearing an embarrassed smile, Victoria cracked the door, and peeked out.

  “Did you give him his money back?” She was past caring about the money, but didn’t know what else to say.

  “No way! I’m not in the habit of handing out refunds to someone who’s tied up a room for damn near an hour. Now, in the future, if a customer is giving you a hard time…just leave the room. I’m here to protect you girls.”