“Hello,” Reds whispered into the phone. She stood up to leave. She’d wait for the cab outside—away from Dominique’s perked-up ears.
“I have a twelve o’clock for you.”
“Today?” Reds’ tone implied that she hoped Arianna meant midnight. She was too tired to work at noon, but she’d gladly call out at Pandora’s Box to work for Arianna at midnight.
“Yes, today at noon. Are you available?”
“Uh, I….” Reds faltered. She was exhausted. She had five hundred on her and another two hundred at home. Her cash flow had greatly improved since she’d started working for Arianna on the side, but she was not in a position to start turning money down. “Sure, I can do it. Is it the golden shower guy?” Reds mentally added the easy three hundred she’d make from Arianna’s perverted client.
“No, he’s a new client.”
“Oh,” Reds said uneasily.
“This client is paying a lot more than the guy you usually see. He’s paying a thousand.”
“To do what?” Reds swallowed, chuckling nervously.
“He’s paying for a brown shower,” Arianna replied casually.
“Oh, I don’t know, Arianna. I don’t think I can do that.”
“You don’t have to do anything. My client is paying to crap on you!”
There was complete silence as Reds struggled to assimilate the words she’d just heard. “What did you say?” she finally asked.
“I said that my client is paying a thousand dollars to shit on you.”
And so it had all been a hoax. A cruel cosmic joke. She thought her life had finally turned around; money was starting to pour in just like in the old days. But nothing had changed. In fact, things had gotten worse. Far worse, for never in all the years that she’d been turning tricks, never had anyone requested to shit on her. “You must be outta your mothafuckin’ mind!”
“I must say, I’m really shocked at your reaction, Reds. I didn’t think you’d mind. Have you taken a look in the mirror lately? You’re over the hill, you know. And you’ve made more with me in a one month than you’ve made at Pandora’s Box in an entire year. How is that possible? Well, it’s certainly not because of your flawless features or girlish figure. I made it clear from the start that my clients have a distorted view of the world and you fit the profile of the kind of woman they’d find stimulating. We both know that the customers at Pandora’s treat you like shit—so don’t try to act as if being shat upon is a new experience. I truly thought you’d be grateful that finally, there’s someone in the world who’s willing to pay to do it.”
Reds had heard enough. She pushed the off button, silencing Arianna.
The cab pulled up in front of the massage parlor. Reds recognized the Middle Eastern driver who had the stone face and abundant curly locks of a stereotypical terrorist. She was seized by the memory of an earlier encounter with him. The cab driver, also struck by a sudden recollection, frowned. A few months earlier, after a particularly bad night, Reds had pitifully tried to exchange sex for the cab fare. Appalled, the cab driver cursed her in his language and demanded his money in English.
“Wait one minute,” Reds said, as she pushed the doorbell to Pandora’s Box.
“No time for tricks. No games this time,” the driver cautioned.
“No games,” Reds said. “I just want to see if my friend needs a ride.” She’d rather put up with Dominique’s bullshit than succumb to Arianna’s insane proposition.
Squinting sleepily, Rover opened the door for Reds. Dominique stood in the background with her workbag slung over her shoulder, looking surprised to see Reds.
“Come on and share the cab with me, Dominique,” Reds cajoled. Dominique’s face tightened. “Come on, it’s my treat!” Dominique’s face softened a bit. She shrugged, then followed Reds into the cab.
“Forty-first and Brown,” Reds directed the cab driver. Dominique looked at Reds quizzically. “Chile, we ain’t going home,” Reds announced. “We goin’ out…and we gonna get fucked up!” She flashed a thick wad of money and Dominique’s solemn expression swiftly changed into a sparkling grin.
CHAPTER 30
An hour after leaving Pandora’s, Victoria was back in her apartment. Showered and prepared for bed, but too wound up to sleep, she sat on the sofa pouring over old photographs. She came across a picture of her teenage singing group. She stared at her image and smiled sadly at the baby-faced girl who believed her voice was the key to the happiness and acceptance that had eluded her as a child. Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined her future-self working as a prostitute. She shook her head in disgust. How could she have allowed herself to sink so low?
I’m quitting! Victoria resolved, standing up. But her tenacity was short-lived. She couldn’t quit, not yet. She had to get the money for Jordan’s education.
Deflated, she flopped back down on the sofa. She’d have to go back to Pandora’s for a little while longer.
Hit with a huge wave of self-pity, tears began to well. She lifted the receiver to call Kareem, but quickly hung up. What did Kareem care? He hadn’t even bothered to cancel their concert date; he just left her hanging, waiting for him to call. Besides, Victoria had enough experience with melancholia to know that there was nothing that Kareem or anyone else could say or do that would make her feel better. She’d have to get through it—this profound sorrow—on her own.
Rover recounted the money. Twenty-seven hundred dollars was the combined take from the morning and five o’clock shifts. He stacked the bills into several even piles before returning the money to the safe. Counting money was exhilarating, even if it didn’t belong to him. Gabrielle would be pleased with the day’s take, and if she was happy, then he was ecstatic.
He eyed the large numbers on his Timex. It was 12:13. Damn that Dominique! Where the hell was she? And for that matter, where was Reds? Thoughtfully, he stroked the stubble on his chin. So far, Miquon was the only girl to show up for the late shift, so Rover had to ask Jonee (who’d already put in her eight hours) to work the midnight shift. Jonee agreed, but he needed more than two girls; he needed Dominique, the so-called night manager, to get her tail in there and handle her shift. Rover let out a long sigh. The skin flick showing at the theater next door was starting in twenty-two minutes and he hated being late.
At the sound of the doorbell, Rover popped out of his seat and reached for his cap, certain that it was Dominique. But when he consulted the monitor, his face fell with disappointment. Instead of Dominique, there was customer standing in the lobby—a nice-looking kid who looked like he’d be more comfortable on a surfboard. Rover had never laid eyes on the young man, and figured he was probably a tourist.
Rover could hear Jonee’s clicking high heels rushing to the lobby. He looked up at the monitor and observed her sidle up to the young man with the grace of a cat. Miquon, too big to be graceful, fondled her pendulous breasts and smiled her version of a sultry smile. Given his choices, Rover wasn’t surprised to see the lad being led away by Jonee.
A few minutes later Jonee clicked into the office and handed Rover five twenties. With pen poised, she bent down to write her name on the first line of the session log, but suddenly stood up. “I don’t know about dude. He’s kind of weird.”
“They’re all weird,” Rover said in a flat voice, “but that guy looks really harmless.”
“I know, but I don’t like the way he looks. You should see his hands…they’re huge.”
“So the guy has big hands. Since when is that a crime?”
“It’s not that…something’s up with him. I don’t even like the way he was looking at me with his…”
Rover sighed, cutting her off. “You bitched when you didn’t make your quota on the last shift, and now you have the good fortune of getting the first session of the night, and you’re still griping.” Rover looked at Jonee critically. “Some people are never satisfied.”
Running acrylic nails decorated with a splash of bright colors through her synthet
ic blonde hair, Jonee replied, “I know…I know, Rover. But something ain’t right. Oh well, fuck it. If you hear me scream, you better come running!” She tried to sound playful, but as she bent down to sign her name, the worried look on her face suggested otherwise. Jonee slid a dollar bill across the desk. “I’m out of condoms.”
Rover tore a gold ribbed condom off a roll of Trojans. “Need any gel?”
Jonee shook her head, pulled her polyester robe tightly around her tiny frame and strode purposefully toward the session room.
Rover’s thoughts wandered back to Dominique. Irritated beyond belief, he could feel his face flush. The woman had been warned again and again about her tardiness and it didn’t do a bit of good. Once and for all, Gabrielle was going to have to seriously address the problem. It was time to get rid of Dominique. Gabrielle needed someone she could count on—someone responsible. Someone who got her ass to work on time so that he could enjoy the few hours of free time that he was entitled to.
He heard a door slam and within seconds Jonee, barefoot and naked beneath her robe, burst into the office. “I’m not doing that mothafucka! Let him have his money back ’cause he’s asking for some crazy shit that I’m not into.”
“What does he want you to do?” Rover asked with a weary chuckle.
“He took his belt off, and started talking some shit about how he’s gonna teach me a lesson. He tried to sway me with some extra dough—tossed five big ones on the bed, but I told ’em the mint don’t print enough money for me to let a mothafucka whip my ass.” Jonee shook her head in disbelief. “I told you, Rover… That mothafucka is whacked!
“All right, I’ll handle it. You go wait in the lounge.”
Jonee gave a slight shudder and hastily retreated to the lounge.
Rover opened the desk drawer and took out the five twenties that Jonee had given him. He folded the bills in half and carefully placed one of Arianna’s pink business cards in the crease. With a cheerful whistle he strolled out of the office and tapped on the door of the session room.
CHAPTER 31
Using a different voice for each character, Victoria put a lot of effort into the bedtime reading of The Little Engine That Could. She had run out of steam by the end of the tale, and was relieved when Jordan, mercifully, didn’t request a repeat. Admitting defeat, he yawned, rubbed his eyes, and wiggled into a comfortable position.
Victoria kissed her son goodnight, tiptoed over to the light switch, and waited. Within seconds, Jordan was fast asleep. Victoria clicked off the light.
Still recovering from the drama with the delivery guy, Victoria hadn’t been to Pandora’s for two days. The thought of going back turned her stomach inside out, but she’d have to go back if she expected to get enough money to enroll Jordan in private school by September.
Victoria curled up on the sofa with the letter from the admissions office of a private elementary school near Penn’s campus. The letter informed her that the deadline for the scholarship program for kindergarten had passed. There was, however, limited financial assistance for the $18,500 annual tuition. To be eligible for this assistance, she’d have to schedule an appointment with the school’s Financial Director. A copy of Victoria’s personal financial statement, a letter from her employer, pay stubs, and a signed copy of her IRS 1040 statement would be required prior to the meeting.
Worried, she bit her bottom lip. She’d paid taxes the previous year, but had no current pay stubs, and she doubted if a hand-penned note from Rover would qualify as a letter from her employer. She pushed the papers away. Without proof of employment, she couldn’t even set up a payment plan. Between now and September, she’d have to come up with the full amount. She decided to put the certificate of deposit she’d recently purchased toward the tuition, but she’d have to really hustle to get the rest of the money.
When Jordan was safely enrolled, with tuition paid in full, she’d quit Pandora’s, get a real job, and apply for a scholarship for the next year.
As she sat pondering Jordan’s education, the doorbell rang. She glanced at the kitchen clock as she pressed the intercom button. “Who is it?” she asked.
“Kareem.”
Victoria felt her heart might stop. She did a quick scan of the living room. Papers were strewn about on the coffee table, but the room was otherwise in order. She checked out her image in the wall mirror, tightened the sash of her chenille robe, smoothed out the disorder of her hair, and buzzed Kareem in.
She was silent as her eyes swept the length of his body. Kareem was wearing a red Sixer’s jersey with the number 3 emblazoned across his chest, baggy denim shorts, and unlaced Timberlands. He looked good, handsomely urban, as if he stepped from the pages of Vibe magazine. Tingling all over, she controlled the urge to collapse into his arms and cover him with kisses. But he didn’t deserve her kisses. Not yet. Not until she heard what he had to say for himself.
“Hi,” she said, in an icy tone that didn’t match the warmth in her heart.
“I know I’m wrong for not calling you, Victoria. But, uh, I had some issues to deal with. I couldn’t talk to you until I sorted through some things.” Kareem’s voice was low and serious, his expression grave. “We need to talk. Can we sit down?”
Victoria’s face fell. “Sure,” she answered in a voice barely above a whisper as she led him to the sofa. Her stomach tightened into a knot. Not knowing what to expect, she was braced to hear dreadful news. Genital herpes-type news, or gonorrhea, or worse. Oh, Jesus! Then she realized she was allowing her imagination to run wild. A memory of their one-time encounter, informed her that no communicable disease could have gotten past the latex barrier between them. Victoria relaxed, suddenly able to handle whatever was on Kareem’s mind. She looked into his eyes, expectantly.
“I know I promised to take you to see my act, but, uh…the show got cancelled, and I lost a lot of money. I know I should have called you, but the way I was feeling at the time…I just didn’t want to talk to anybody.
“Oh, Kareem. I’m so sorry. I know how much…”
“Can I finish?” he asked. Victoria nodded obediently.
“But that’s not the only reason I stopped calling.”
Victoria sat up, erect.
“I think your job…uh, the kind of work you do, is standing between us. It’s the reason we can’t get this relationship off the ground.
Anger flashed in Victoria’s eyes. “Don’t go there, Kareem,” she warned.
“I have to. We’ve been tiptoeing around the issue; it’s a taboo subject. Look, it’s time to bring it out in the open.”
“Oh really? Well, I think it’s time for you to leave.” Victoria stood up. Her right leg began to shake, and her mouth twitched in indignation. “Who the hell do you think you are, coming over here, uninvited I might add, with your self-righteous attitude? Who are you to pass judgment on me?”
“Calm down, Victoria. Just listen to me.”
“Don’t tell me what to do. You’re in my goddamn house. She gestured wildly, and did a neck twist that would have done Miquon proud.” Oh my God, what was she saying, and why was she acting so ghetto? She felt like she was outside herself, observing herself, and what she saw was a snarling half-crazed woman.
“Do you think you’re better than me, Kareem? Is that what this is about?” She knew she sounded irrational, but couldn’t stop herself. “Don’t forget, we met at my taboo subject. You paid to be with me.” She paused, enjoying the pained expression on Kareem’s face. “Now, it’s out in the open. Satisfied? And since it’s been established that I’m a whore, tell me, Kareem, what does that make you?”
Kareem recoiled. “I never called you that.”
“You implied it. Now as I was saying,” she taunted. “What does that make you, Kareem? I’ll tell you. You’re a trick! You’re nothing but a trick.”
“Don’t say that, Victoria. You know we’re more than that.” Kareem spoke softly, and reached for her hand. But Victoria didn’t like his placating tone, and jerked her
hand away. Kareem looked pained, but continued. “I only went to your job once. The night I met you. My boah and I were driving past the place and he told me that there was a bunch of freaky jawns up in there that would do anything you wanted for a buck. I didn’t believe him and just went in to check it out. And I saw you…”
“That’s bullshit, Kareem. You saw me and what? You had to have me? What kind of freaky thing have you been waiting for me to do, huh Kareem? Just get out!” she screamed, pointing to the door.
But instead of leaving, Kareem pulled Victoria down to the sofa and onto his lap.
“Let me go!” she yelled, but his muscular arms enclosed her from behind. Victoria struggled, but Kareem refused to let her go. She stamped his Timberland-protected feet, wishing she had on steel-toed boots instead of the flimsy, ineffective bedroom slippers she wore. Kareem didn’t flinch; he tightened his hold on her. She spit and sputtered, scratched and kicked, but Kareem held on.
“You’re hurting me, Kareem,” she said through clenched teeth as she thrashed about, trying to break his steel-like grip. “Jordan!” she screamed. “Jordan, call 911!” But Jordan didn’t stir, and Kareem didn’t let go.
Tears of frustration rolled down Victoria’s face and onto Kareem’s arms.
Kareem held her tighter, brushing the side of her face with his lips, rocking her as she twisted and squirmed. She felt herself growing limp, her sobs becoming softer. He held on firmly, waiting patiently to feel her body relax in surrender. Kareem kissed the top of her head, and whispered into her hair, “I’m sorry, Victoria. My words came out all wrong. I didn’t mean to say anything to hurt you.”
Finally, she was still. Barely loosening his grip, Kareem turned Victoria toward him. She fell onto his chest, crying quietly. He smoothed her hair, murmured soft soothing sounds. She continued crying until finally, exhausted, she fell asleep encircled in his arms.
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