“Yeah. Hardcore. Full penetration. I mean, the money was good. You know. But it was disgusting. You do something like that for long enough and it steals your soul.”
“I’m sure that it does.”
“So, I dumped that loser and a friend got me a job here.”
“A very good friend, indeed.” He smiled.
He was older, and he was slim, and he was cute in his expensive three-piece suit. Sure, he was balding, but only slightly. There were a few wisps of gray hair that clung to his alcohol addled face as if he was too old to grow a real beard. Right now, he was sipping from a fresh martini that looked as if it had been made of crushed neon and poured over shattered glass. He smoked his cigarette in a long black holder, like they use in old French movies, and the nicotine smelled strange.
There was a limousine parked outside. It was waiting for him and her, if she made the right decision. She tried to convince herself that he was different.
“But I didn’t feel all that good about myself. Eventually I couldn’t stand the guys doing those things to me.” With a sigh she sucked at her own cigarette. His eyes never left her. “You never told me your name.”
“Jim,” he smiled. “My name is Jim. And I know your name.”
“Of course, you do,” she said. At least he thought he knew her name. He didn’t, really. He knew her stage name, Flower.
Her real name was none of his business.
“Do you think that doing porn is bad?”
“Well, it turns me on.” Then he smiled. It was a long grin that almost fell off the end of his face and onto the floor. She looked in to his eyes and then looked deeper. She tried to convince herself that he wasn’t like the others. But the leering smile told her that he was.
“It was nice meeting you. I should get back to the floor.”
“Of course,” he said politely and then his eyes drifted away from her. There were plenty of other girls here who would wet their pants to get into his limo.
She walked away from him then buried the last half of her cigarette in the ash tray next to the exit. With a curt turn she hit the main room floor. A showcase was happening on stage. All the girls who worked at the 20/20 were up there, gyrating for the small ocean of perverts who had gathered here tonight to witness something special only to get the same old thing. She had not been called up because she was with him, the nameless guy with the dollar sign eyes who was friends with the owner.
Apparently, he was a fan. She hated him. She hated all her fans.
How she wanted to get away. But even escape had a monetary figure attached. And it was a big one. To escape she needed money.
Here she made more money than she knew what to do with. After all, she was still young. She was cute. And her legs looked good in high heels. They elevated her to the next level of Hell.
She flicked her bangs out of her eyes and went to get herself a drink. She tried to pretend that she did not exist. The drink would help with that.
***
In places like this the smoking room attracts a certain sort of clientele. Some of them worked this room while the others had the rest of the floor to themselves. She worked this room often because she liked to smoke.
She waited for Jim to leave then returned. It was quiet right now. A two-for-one was going on and April had the place to herself.
Then she walked in.
“You look lonely,” Cewle said. She sat down next to her and crossed her sultry Hispanic legs. There was something in her eyes that reflected her own misery. She looked like a bird that was content in its cage and it was a trait that April wished she had.
“It’s been a slow night,” she said, sucking down another plume of smoke. “Cigarette?” she offered politely.
Cewle shook her head. “I never smoke. I need to be strong, you know?”
“Yeah.”
“I like you,” she said with that thick accent of hers. April had spoken to Cewle before, but not often. She was a quiet girl and there were rumors that she turned tricks on the side. April knew that these rumors were true. She had seen things happen in the champagne room that were not exactly legal. The last time Cewle had looked up at her. They made eye
contact. The guy behind her just kept right on humping. “A girl like you could make a lot of money.”
April said nothing. Was Cewle trying to turn her on? If so, it wasn’t working. Or was she trying to turn her out?
April had made a promise to herself. She would never get turned out again.
“Think about it,” she continued. “Think about who you are and what you want.”
Then she stood up and left, leaving a glow of perfume in her wake.
April shook her head. She was dumb founded. Then she looked up.
Over in the corner he sat nursing a beer and smoking a cigarette of his own. It was a boy she recognized. April did not think that he was different. He was different.
“Hi. Do I look familiar?”
The boy looked at her then shook his head. No. He did not.
“You work at the video store, don’t you?”
“I do. How did you know?”
“Me and my boyfriend were in there the other day.”
“Oh.” He looked ashamed. “Cool.”
“Yeah. And I’ve seen you in here before. Weird, isn’t it? Like a whole ...”
“Other world.”
“Yeah. So what movie did you guys rent?”
“Something stupid. I didn’t like it.”
“Bummer.”
“What’s your name?”
“Kip.”
“I’m Flower,” she said and sat down. “Well, April. Here I’m April but everywhere else I’m Flower.” She waited for it. She waited for him to put two and two together and add up her name with her face. But he did not. Which was strange. He did work at a video store.
“You have two names?” he asked.
“Yeah. Because of the stalkers. You know how it is with some guys.”
“Do I look like a stalker?”
“No. You’re too cute to be a stalker.” She smiled.
“Thanks.”
***
A week later he was forcing the tears to come. He sat at a little table in the middle of the club and watched a girl on stage gyrate to all the popular music of the day. He struggled to make the tears to flow. Finally, they started spilling off his face and into his beer.
“What’s wrong?”
It was her. The one he had been waiting for. The one that he needed love and attention from.
“I just broke up with my fiancée,” Kip told her. He let his lower lip tremble slightly. His eyes told a pathetic story. He was a man who needed sympathy. He needed something.
One of her hands snaked over his shoulder and gently rubbed him. “I’m sorry to hear that,” April said. “Do you need a drink?”
“I think so. Something stiff.”
She called the waitress over and whispered something in her ear. Moments later she returned with a kamikaze shot. Kip slugged it down without wincing.
“Thanks. I needed that,” he mumbled. He looked in to her eyes. “I really loved her.”
“I know you did.”
He opened the wet works and let the tears slide and knew that he was the best actor ever. Kip had not had a girlfriend in years, let alone a fiancée. He just needed some attention. He just needed someone to talk to.
“Come on,” April said, taking him by the hand and leading him into the other room. “You need some private time.”
He trembled when she sat him down at a little booth. He quivered when her hands touched him. She rubbed herself against him and he felt his soul die a little bit inside. It felt great, especially when she leaned in to kiss him.
“Make sure I get your phone number before you leave.”
***
The night had been a long one and now they were stripping off their costumes for the final time and replacing them with street clothes. Cewle stood beside April and looked at her in
the mirror.
“That guy ... he is sweet, yes?”
“He is,” April replied, and she put on a pair of comfortable sneakers, grateful to take off her high heels. Her feet felt like they were three sizes too big and he calves ached. Tonight, she would have cramps that would keep her awake. Which is why God invented oxycontin.
“You like him?” Cewle asked, more with her eyes than with her mouth.
“He is cute.”
“He is. But I have someone I want you to meet.”
“Is he cute?”
“No,” Cewle said. “But he is rich.”
April looked up. She peered deeply into the Mexican girl’s eyes. There was something there that was not human. It was like looking into the eyes of a serpent and the things she was promising were sinful. They would get her banned from Heaven.
“I don’t know.”
“A pretty girl like you should make some money, yes? A pretty girl like you should have everything this ugly world has to offer, yes?”
April looked away. She was already banned from Heaven. “Well ...”
“These are the things this country is founded upon, right? Money. Beauty. Sex. It is all anyone needs to survive.”
April nodded.
“So, I can make the phone call?”
“Sure,” April murmured.
***
He had been waiting for night to fall all day so that he could drink again. The long afternoon, with all its heat and sweltering sweat, was finally starting to fade. And now night was coming, a cool calm that swept across his body with invisible fingers. They were gentle. They massaged him briefly. He had some beers in the refrigerator and some vodka. He had already started drinking. It was going to be a good night.
Before ten p.m. he was drunk and stumbling towards the phone. He called her but there was no answer. He dialed again. The depression began to sink in, so he did what he always did when he was depressed. He ordered a movie on cable.
This was not the sort of movie that they carried in his store. This was a dirty movie, with naked people. He took off his pants and cracked open a beer then sat back to watch “Flower’s Blooming.”
By morning his life was a nightmare.
***
In the distance she could hear the phone ringing. He slept right through it.
The night had been a long one and she was walking away with plenty of money. Now she was glad that he was sound asleep after an expensive dinner and a long drinking session. They had smoked some pot. He was annoying. For a man with the money he had there was no class. There was no decency. He was disgusting.
And his body smelled pungent, like chronic oozing from his pores. He smelled the way she always through that arthritis smelled like, like an old person.
He snored, and she heard the snot in his nose vibrate.
The phone stopped ringing.
April closed her eyes and she thought about him. The man in bed was known as the Vietnam Comic. He was a stand-up comedian and he made enough money to scrape by. Lately he had been doing well. Checks had started to come in after a lifetime of struggle. There was a TV special in the works. He had the money to afford her.
And that boy on the phone who was so far away, she was thinking about him, too. She could see him in her mind’s eye. He was at home alone, weeping into a half-drunk bottle of vodka.
There had to be a way out, she told herself. But the Vietnam Comic was not about to give her enough to leave.
***
He came to this place alone because he wanted to laugh. The Cabal Room was one of his old stomping grounds. The bartender knew him. The waitresses knew him. They both shopped at his work, so he could drink here without worry.
The man on stage was dressed in old combat fatigues. He had a gray beard, but he still looked young. His eyes were too clear. His mouth was too sharp. He was far too young to have seen combat in Vietnam. But he was the Vietnam Comic.
“How do you stop five black guys from raping a white woman? Throw them a basketball.”
No one laughed. Kip smiled. It was so bad that it had to be funny.
“So, I’m telling my girlfriend ... jeez, you’ve got a big pussy. Jeez, you’ve got a big pussy. Why did you say it twice, she asked. I didn’t. Because of the echo.”
No one laughed.
Something inside the Vietnam Comic snapped. Kip wondered if this was part of the act.
“Hey, fuckers. Shit like this got us through the bush back in ‘Nam. We had to break the tension somehow. Fuck, you all think I’m racist. Well, a lot of the black guys used to crack up at that basketball
joke. They thought it was funny because it was fucking real. And that pussy joke? Shit, I was with a woman the other night …”
No one cared. The stage was a cold place. Kip knew the feeling.
“I’ve actually heard the echo in a tramp’s cunt!”
That made a few people laugh. Then a few more. The Vietnam Comic nodded and continued with another lousy joke.
“These two drunk eskimo dude’s go into a convent. They ask the head nun if they have any midget nuns there. She says no, and the guy turns to the other guy and sez ‘See, I told you. You fucked a penguin.”
That made Kip laugh. He laughed out loud. Everyone in the club turned to stare at him. April turned to stare at him.
He went outside and lit himself a cigarette.
“What are you doing here?” April asked.
“I come here all the time,” Kip shrugged. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see my boyfriend.”
On stage the Vietnam Comic was bombing again.
“Was he really in Vietnam?”
“No. He just thinks the jokes are funny.”
“It’s a good gimmick,” Kip told her even though he knew all the jokes from every Vietnam/action movie ever made. “I saw your movie, Miss Flower.”
April’s heart fell from her chest. Her jaw opened. Her eyes went wide.
“Well, I saw one of them. How many have you made?”
“A lot.”
“And now you have a comedian boyfriend,” he said. “How very Hollywood.”
“He asked me to marry him,” April argued.
“Are you going to?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Sometimes the future scares me.”
“The future is a beautiful place,” Kip told her. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Inside another racist joke went over the heads of the bored suburban youths. Kip knew the truth, and so did the Vietnam Comic. They were all racists inside hiding behind politically correct masks.
“You think so?”
“Share your hopes and dreams with everybody. The world will only benefit from your unique philosophy.”
***
When they walked in their aura followed them off the street. There was a way that they held themselves with their heads high and their hair swept back, every lock perfectly gelled into place. They did not go to the bar. They did not go to the VIP room. They simply took a booth and stayed there as rigid as soldiers on the battlefield.
All five were dressed in black leather. The dead cow hide had been polished until it shined, and it made them look vaporous, like shadows come to life. He was in the middle of it all.
The man was old. He was losing his hair. He had a weak jaw but strong eyes that darted about like fireflies. He wore a gray suit and he looked the way she thought death should look. “That is him,” Cewle whispered in her ear.
“Who?”
“The man I want you to meet.”
April looked at him. Death was not someone she wanted to meet. But Cewle had yet to steer her wrong.
“What’s his deal?”
“Just go talk to him. That’s all you need to do. And trust me,” she smiled. “I told him all about you. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
April nodded. And he seemed harmless enough. He was too old to cause any real trouble. An easy mark, if it hadn’t been for all that
leather. Finally, she got up and wandered over to their table, shaking her ass with every step. “Hi. How are you guys doing tonight?”
“You are April?” the man asked. Her name, her real name, coming out of his mouth made her shiver. A cold chill ran down her spine. Around him the leather phalanx was silent.
Gore Suspenstories Page 3
