Broken Girl

by Gretchen de La O

  “Will you excuse me, Miss Complicated?” Shane’s voice danced against my ears as his hand caught my elbow and pulled my thoughts from that night.

  “Sure, Mr. Persistent, I . . . ahhh, I’ll be right here; just . . . washing my clothes.” I dumped the laundry sack into the rolling cart next to me separating my colors from my whites, and I started thinking about having lunch with him tomorrow. Every couple of items I’d look over at him and watch him help the lady who had lost her quarters. Her arms swung as she talked to him, his head bobbed up and down as he listened, I wanted to hear his voice, but the sound of the washing machines whizzing on the spin cycle filled the room.

  He reached into his pocket, pulled out a handful of quarters and handed them to her. He cocked his head in a confident nod, smiled and started for the office. He disappeared behind the walnut-brown door. The quarter lady pulled her clothes out of the machine and put them in the next washer over. She mumbled curse words under her breath, well, at least that’s what it looked like as her lips moved. Shane came back out of the tiny office with a small beige canvas tool bag.

  His pace was fast, determined and yet when he looked over at me, he slowed his stride. His eyes widened, as big as the smile that grew over his face. I smiled back before I turned to my clothes and realized I was holding up my slinky black see-through camisole. All the blood in my body was captured in my cheeks. I balled up my top and tossed it in the washing machine with my darks, closed the lid and reached into my purse for my roll of quarters.

  Within several minutes I had two washers rumbling with full loads. It was the perfect time to take full advantage of my view and watch Shane wrench on the coin taker. He pulled back the front of the coin holder, his hands were large and strong. I found myself staring at him, and hardly blinking as his muscles tightened defined. But when he bit his lip with a focused scowl and his long fingers fiddled with the mechanism for the washer, I got all kinds of damp downstairs. It didn’t help the situation in the random instances the washers had the same cycle changes, and in that silent slip of a moment I could hear him huff and growl while he torqued on the coin return. Nice, manly sounds which made me wonder about him being so vocal during sex. I tightened my thighs together.

  Nimble with his fingers, he pulled them out of the machine tainted with grease; inducing a twitch that lingered down low. I noticed the quarter lady watching him work on the machine along with me. She pulled a couple of dollars out of her pocket and slowly meandered over to the change machine. Any woman who fucked for a living recognized when a skank was on the prowl for a fill. She churned her hips like she was mixing hot chocolate and spread her legs just enough so she looked like she was inviting a fuck. Yeah, the bitch was making her move.

  Shane cleared his throat loud enough to pull me from watching quarter lady play out her scene. When I looked over at him, his eyes were glued on me, staring at me like I was something that he needed to devour. He hadn’t taken her bait and instantly I was ready to be whatever he wanted me to be.

  Damn it, I wasn’t going to do this . . . I wasn’t gonna let myself become interested in anyone. Not now, not anytime soon. It was my time to work my way out.

  I decided a year ago to save up as much money as I could and get the hell out of here. Get as far away from disgusting old men who matched the burnt sidewalks I strolled up and down looking for a wealthy fuck. With the money I had saved I was about a month out from having enough funds to get a little place out in the suburbs. No more filthy back alleys and seedy parks. Unfortunately, my life was played out on the streets of San Francisco while I tried to slay my darkest demons with sex. It was the thrill of the chase, of pushing the limits and making hand over fist money while fucking arrogant assholes and breaking them while they were buried balls deep.

  I didn’t want to invest in someone who was just gonna break my heart. I wasn’t ready to make lunch dates with nice guys and my ability to express any emotion beyond my survival mode became the façade donned for self-preservation. I didn’t want to feel any more of that pain. The best way to avoid the heartache . . . don’t go chasing after it. Keep it where it belonged . . . neatly packed in a suitcase, waiting for anyone but me to pick it up.

  Shane lowered his caramel eyes to his hands before he rolled the corner of his bottom lip between his pearly whites. He pulled a rag from his back pocket and focused on rubbing the grease from his fingers. His actions were intentional, his sex appeal was through the roof. Even if this moment moved beyond flirting into something more, how in the hell was I going to make something like this work? The minute he finds out I’m a prostitute, it’s over. I might as well save face and move on. Nothing but a fucked up situation destined to end up like every other relationship where I’ve tried to become invested. He got exactly what he needed and all I was left with was a full suitcase of broken dreams and empty wishes. I realized it was an infatuation that would never work. Shane was just too good and I was whatever people were willing to pay.

  I looked away before walking over to a row of chairs that split then curved in an attempt to make waiting in a laundromat pleasing. All seats filled except for one, I lowered myself into the chair and pulled a magazine from the defunct little table next to me. Thumbing through the pages, I saw him, it made my heart trip across my chest. A double take, my eyes raked the pictures and words. It was Mr. C. The man I thought was sent to save me from my life a year ago. He was featured in a two-page spread about his engagement to Ashley Hancock, the only daughter of the family who owns Hancock Vineyards. I dove in, devouring it like a ravenous animal. The Laundromat around me dissolved and I sunk deeper into the memory of him. All it took was an article in a magazine to find out why I wasn’t his choice. Mr. C, Garrett Theodore Chadwick, a self-made millionaire was engaged to a beautiful woman and I was nothing more than a convenient fuck he wanted to keep on payroll. Finding this article was a sign, a premonition that I was never meant to fall in love with guys as seemingly perfect as Shane.

  I pulled my clothes from the washing machines and pushed them into the dryer. It was a mindless action, done a hundred times before, but in this instance, as my thoughts solidified on the memory of Mr. C. I couldn’t stop the need to replay the very first time I met him. Reading about him totally fucked with my head, and as usual when it came to him, my heart played along as he consumed my mind, completely. Mr. C had something over me; it was a dark force that kept me clinging to the belief that I was someone important to him.

  I was nineteen when I fell in love for the first time. He found me on the corner of, I need to eat and who wants to pay my water bill. It was slow going, my total pull for the night before was only about three hundred bucks. Rents even in the shittiest parts of the city were way the fuck out of hand and I needed to earn another grand over the next four days so I could pay my rent and stay in the shit-hole for another month.

  He drove past me in the most beautiful midnight black Maserati. Low to the ground, big chrome-rimmed wheels that oozed sex as they rolled to a stop and then backed up next to me. I’ll never forget, it was sexy as all hell when the dark passenger’s side window rolled down and he leaned across to talk to me. His slate blue eyes met mine and I knew at that moment, he wasn’t going to ask me for directions.

  PAST

  “EXCUSE ME, I’M new in town, and I seem to be lost,” he says as his eyes leave mine and track down my legs and back up. His smile broadens, before he chews the corner of his bottom lip.

  “Well, hello, New-In-Town, sorry to hear you’re lost. Maybe I can help you, what are you looking for?” I say, leaning down resting my forearms across the window jamb of his Maserati. His eyes draw to my heaving tits, his smile grows broad before he runs his hands around his steering wheel. His Rolex tumbles across his wrist and the smell of his sexy cologne takes a stroll through my body.

  His tongue wets his nice full lips before he takes an exaggerated swallow. “I’m looking for someone that can help me find my way around this beautiful town.”

&n
bsp; I smile, shifting my hips, causing my tits to bounce, his eyes pause on my chest. “Well, I’m pretty versed in the points of interest in this town. Seeing that you are new and all, I can even hook you up with a discount on entertainment.”

  “I guess we should talk about how much you think this entertainment might set me back?”

  I see the desire in his eyes, the animalistic draw he has to my skin. The attraction isn’t a problem and seeing we both want the same thing I figure upping my regular fee isn’t gonna break his bank. Either he’ll go for it or haggle me down a couple bucks. One thing I know for sure, I ain’t gonna let him get away. Guys like this are rare and don’t just show up looking for a good time. I drag my hands across the edge of the door tracing the rubber window seal before I step back and make sure he sees everything I have to offer.

  “Entertainment around here is two hundred fifty bones every half hour.”

  He reaches over and pushes the passenger’s door open.

  “Okay, Miss . . . ?”

  “Rose,” I say as I drop into his Maserati.

  “Rose, beautiful, Miss Rose that sounds perfect. I’m going to really enjoy getting to know this town,” he growls as he runs his lengthy fingers across my knee and up to the edge of my daisy dukes. Goose bumps rise on the back of my neck.

  “So, Mister, where would you like me to take you?” I ask as I pull the five-point-harness across my chest.

  “My sweet Rose, I know exactly where I’m going to take you,” he says as he speeds away from the curb.

  My heart flips and falls into my stomach. My body presses into the seat. I’m not scared, even if I’m supposed to be. There is something tranquil and safe about him, it feels as if he’s one of my regular dates.

  “Exactly where am I gonna entertain you?” I question, leaning close to him. I drop my hand against his black suit pants and stretch my fingers across his inner thigh, only close enough to brush across the tension in the huge bulging seam of his zipper.

  “In my hotel room.”

  “Oh, really? What entertainment are you thinking about in your hotel room?” I tease. I know what he wants, we’re adults and nobody of his stature hangs out on hooker alley for directions.

  He looks over at me, his eyes narrow; his golden skin radiates his intention far beyond any words that pour from between his lips. If expressions can tell stories, I can only imagine the tale they’ll tell me. Would it include kinky shit, or is he going to be my missionary man?

  “Well, that’s up for negotiation. How about we just get there?”

  I watch him as he pulls the steering wheel and tugs on the stick shift. I keep my hand on his thigh and feel his muscles flex and relax as he drives me to the hotel where he’s staying.

  He pulls into the Shelby Heights Hotel. Only people who have a shit load of money or families bred to be key players in royalty stay here. This guy isn’t fucking around. He must dangle from the purse strings of royalty or suck the tit of his family’s old money. Either way, I’m kicking myself that I didn’t pin him for a clear grand per half hour for my entertaining him.

  The valet, dressed in what looked like a jester suit pulls on my door, and holds out his ghostly hand.

  “Ma’am, may I help you out of your vehicle?”

  The only thought thundering in my head as I’m looking around is that Mr. Loaded and I are gonna fuck in style.

  “Sure,” I answer, giving him my hand.

  Gleaming white marble bleeds thin gray veins that scatter through the columns on either side of the rotating glass and gold front door. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that my ass would ever walk through these doors. Mr. Loaded’s arm slips across my lower back, his lips close to my ear, his words dance across my hair as he whispers, “I already like your town.”

  Shivers jet down my spine. A reaction I want but am afraid to acknowledge. He tosses his keys to the court jester valet and firmly pushes me forward keeping me in his grasp, and just far enough in front of him.

  “Mr. C.” The jester dips his head.

  He nods.

  Mental note taken, at least Mister Loaded has a semi-name or at least an initial.

  We push through the circular door, spitting us inside one of the most prestigious hotels on the West Coast. I’m pretty sure this will be the first and only time I’ll be standing in the lobby of the Shelby. My eyes wide, my mouth agape, I’m taken and yet intimidated as all get out at the same time. A mix of excitement as well as shame churns in my gut, I know I don’t belong here. I’m comparable to the beggar’s daughter who keeps praying Cinderella is even a possibility. Maybe, somewhere in this world I’ll find my moment to take what has been handed to me. Maybe the glass slipper will for once fit my foot.

  An older hefty bald man came buzzing over to us. His black double-breasted suit perfectly pressed, with a perfect amount of his white cuff showing at his wrists. I notice his shoes are shiny enough to blind you on a bright day just like the cue ball shine off his head.

  “Good evening, Mr. C. Nice to see you back again. We’ve put you in the room you requested. Thank you again for choosing the Shelby Heights Hotel.”

  “I don’t want to be disturbed. I’ll call down if I need anything,” Mr. C says to the short balding man.

  “Absolutely, sir. Anything else we could do to make your stay with us pleasant?”

  “Yes, this is Rose. She wants anything, you get it for her.”

  “Yes, sir, done,” he says as he hands Mr. C a room key.

  Holy shit, fuck, who is this Mr. C guy? What has he done to gain so much power? What is his story?

  My heart thumps in my chest, whatever simple belief I have about Mr. C just being wealthy, is destroyed beyond any idea of his material power. He demands the respect from the staff of the exclusive Shelby Heights Hotel and they do it willingly, without question.

  “All right, beautiful, right this way,” he breathes. His hand is anchored against my lower spine, guiding me to the elevator. There are two doors, both gleamed print-less gold, shine so pure I can actually see myself in the door before it pushes open. An elevator operator, dressed almost identical to the valet in his jester outfit greets us with a peachy smile, filled with enough sweetness I’m sure the guy must have practiced his speech in a mirror.

  “Good evening, Mr. C. Nice to see you again, sir.”

  Mr. C nods in response.

  I watch as the elevator jester pushes his key into the lock next to the letter P. The music barely above a whisper becomes louder as I see myself on the closing gold doors. I turn and look out the back of the elevator, three glass walls overlooking a huge pond with tropical plants and brightly colored birds flying in the mist.

  Mr. C’s hands slip around my hips as he presses his cock against my ass. He drops his mouth against the side of my head; his words cling to my hair before slipping into the curve of my ear.

  “Are you ready to entertain me?” His words drain straight to between my legs, as he thrusts himself against my ass.

  “Depends on the package you decide to blow your wad on. What’s your budget?” I purr as I sway my ass back against him. He catches his breath, and hums across my cheek. He smells so good, his breath, warm and inviting, I want to feel him exhale against the folds between my legs. Sure, this is business, but who says I can’t enjoy the benefits of a date who seems to know how to please a woman.

  “We already agreed on two hundred and fifty dollars every half hour. When did you start the clock?” he asks quietly before thrusting again.

  I push back.

  “The minute I sat in your car,” I whisper.

  He chuckles against my cheek, his lips pushing, tasting my flesh.

  “All right, Mr. C, here we are, the penthouse suite.” The elevator jester stands against the doors that disappear into the wall.

  Mr. C reaches into his pocket and gives the guy a healthy stack of cash and whispers something in his ear. The man nods before he disappears behind the closing doors.

  W
hen we get up to the common area of the penthouse, there’s a gigantic black and gray speckled rock table and a huge bouquet of flowers that takes up the entire center of it. White lilies and orchids with green leaves throughout the vase.

  “Should we discuss terms of this entertainment first?” I ask, leaning against the stone table.

  He drags my hair away from my neck, and pushes his lips against my collarbone.

  “Absolutely,” he hums against my skin.

  “Well, then, before I show you some entertainment, maybe you can show me your sizable deposit for your amusement,” I say struggling to focus on business. But that’s exactly what this is. I’m killing the mood, but I don’t want to be evicted from my shitty apartment at the end of the week.

  His eyes narrow, almost irritated as he pulls back from me.

  “So, no entertainment until I pay a deposit?”

  “Yeah, you’re already into this night five hundred bucks and you haven’t even seen me naked yet.”

  “All right, fine, since you are so wrapped up in the idea that I need to give you a sizable deposit, why don’t you tell me what you want for, let’s say, the entire night?”

  “The entire night?”

  “Yeah, let’s say five hours of the night? What are your fees?”

  “Twelve hundred bucks,” I say without flinching.

  “What if I wanted you for let’s say . . . two days, how much will it cost for you to entertain me?” he asks, his eyes wide, his jaw clenches.

  “Four grand and that’s a bargain.” Again, I say this without flinching.

  He laughs out loud. “You are pulling numbers out of the air, you know that, beautiful Rose? Okay, so how about I pull a number out of the air. How about I give you six thousand dollars to entertain me as long as I am in town? Is that fair?” His steely blue eyes twinkle; a contented expression spreads across his face and he waits for my quick response this time.