by Marni Mann
“Have you been there before?”
“Several times,” he said. “I prefer America over Asia. Everything tastes better on this side of the Atlantic.”
“The food, you mean?” I played naive extremely well.
He laughed, and leaned into the desk. The movement sent me his smell; a hint of vodka, musk, and spring air. “The food, too.”
“You must be hungry, then?”
He smirked. “Always.”
“There’s a new restaurant on the corner of Mass Ave and Newbury. They specialize in prime meats…I know that’s your favorite.” I paused for his reaction. “Should I make you a reservation?”
He took off his glasses and his pupils met mine. Then he exhaled a full breath through his nose, sending me more of his smell. “Please.”
I broke our stare to look up the phone number. While I was on hold, I teased the phone cord between my fingers, running my hand up and down its length. When I bit the corner of my lip, I heard his breath quicken.
“They can take you in ten minutes,” I said as I hung up. “It should take you about that long to walk there. Our bellboy Jason can get you a taxi, if you prefer.”
His vision circled my face before landing on my eyes again. “I’ll walk.” He stepped away from the desk, but turned around after a few paces. “Cheers, Charlie. Until later?”
“Always,” I said.
I watched him walk through the double doors. He stopped briefly to say something to Jason, then disappeared down the sidewalk. I had been mentally playing with Jody since I’d met him during my first month at the hotel. But I’d never taken it farther than words. Neither had he. The reason was on the screen of his iPhone: two smaller versions of him and a stunning female who wore his matching band. That didn’t stop me from fantasizing. In my head, Jody dragged me by the arm to his room, threw me against the back of the door, ripped a hole in my tights, wrapped my legs around his waist, and fucked me. I didn’t want him to be soft or gentle, and he wasn’t.
A tingling started.
My eyes darted around the lobby. When the hallway cleared and the elevator settled, I bent over the desk, resting my clit along the edge of the counter. I had six hours left in my shift, and all but three of our guests had already checked in. It was going to be a quiet night. But I wanted to be alone, and somewhere private.
The topcoat of my black nails shone under the lights. My wetness wouldn’t look as hot on my fingers as it would on Jody’s, but they would sparkle…soon. Two at first. Three when I got closer to the peak.
I couldn’t wait six hours. I wasn’t going to.
I picked up the phone, continuing to rotate my hips in a circle, and dialed security. “Walter, it’s Charlie. Can you watch the desk for a few minutes?”
“Is everything all right, Miss Charlie? You look a little anxious.”
I knew the camera was pointed directly at me; it turned me on even more. But Walter couldn’t see anything below the customer’s counter, which was higher than mine. “It will be. I just need to take care of something really quick.”
“I’ll be right there,” he said, and hung up.
CHAPTER FOUR
I was eleven years old when I touched myself for the first time. I was in my bed, my Cabbage Patch Kid and teddy bear behind me. No one was home, so I could explore all I wanted without fear of being caught. Lilly worked nights and Emma was only allowed to have sleepovers on the weekends. I turned Cabby and Teddy around so their backs faced me. I didn’t want an audience at that age.
Lilly hadn’t talked to me about masturbation or sex yet. But for years I had heard deep groaning and high-pitched squealing noises from her bedroom. At first, I had misinterpreted her shouts as anguish, and I was frightened for her. Over time, though, her sounds became titillating. I had envied the way each of the men had held her, how she basked in their attention. The pleasure that showed on her face. So when my hands finally dipped below the sheet, exploring my chest with the pads of my fingers, marching down my stomach until they reached my spot, I pursued the same enjoyment. The movies I had watched in Lilly’s room showed me that I didn’t need a man to create those noises from within me. I could stimulate and please myself. I could command the speed and frequency, and the build of each sensation. I rubbed in a circle until my hands grew tired. I didn’t yet know that if I added in a little pain, my pleasure would have been heightened even more.
What I did know was that I didn’t want to be like Lilly, a desperate woman who clung to a different man every morning—begging for his love, despite the fact that he didn’t even know her name. I wanted to be in control of what happened in the morning, the amount of pleasure I would allow a man to give me, and just how much I wanted to be desired by him.
***
When I got home from school, I asked Mom if we could have grilled cheese and chicken noodle soup for dinner. It was one of the rare nights that she didn’t have to work. I’d been microwaving noodles for weeks, and I hoped the change would stop the ache in my stomach. I didn’t mention to Mom that the nurse at my middle school had suggested soup. She would probably just get angry and yell at me for making up the pain, or call me ungrateful for not appreciating the noodles she bought. Neither was true.
I couldn’t remember the last time we had eaten together, and I wanted it to be special—special enough that she’d want to spend more time at home. So when she left a few hours later to go to the store, I dressed the table with folded napkins and paper plates. We only had enough milk for one of us; I poured it into a cup for her and filled mine with water from the tap. I placed our whites in the laundry machine downstairs, using quarters from my wallet. I emptied all her ashtrays and cleaned them with soap. I even took out the trash. And because she still wasn’t back yet, I took a seat on the couch and turned on the TV. I curled my arms around the pillow and sunk a little lower in the cushions. My lids got heavy, but I fought it.
I didn’t fight hard enough; the crashing of the door startled me awake. The clock by the TV showed it was past ten. My left side had sunk into the back cushions of the couch, so I pulled myself out and stood up. The ache in my stomach returned when I saw that Mom wasn’t alone. The only bag she carried was one from McDonald’s. Her other hand gripped a tall bottle of something clear.
“Here,” she said, throwing the bag in my direction. It landed on the floor, and some of the fries spilled out. “Now go eat it in your room.”
She picked up the glass of milk and poured it in the sink, refilling it with the clear liquid from the bottle. She did the same with my water and handed the new mixture to the man. He gripped the cup with dirty nails, and flicked his cigarette ash in the paper plate. He didn’t look familiar…but, then, none of them ever did. The same voice never came through her bedroom wall twice.
“What the hell did I tell you about listening, Charlie? Get in your room. Now.”
“Don’t be so hard on the kid, Lilac,” he said.
Lilac? He didn’t even know her name.
“You know what you came here for, so shut it,” she said.
I looked at the man, brows furrowed, arms crossed. “Her name isn’t Lilac.”
“Room!” she yelled. “Now!”
I scooped up as many fries as I could off the floor and hurried away, quietly shutting my door behind me. The hamburger was room temperature; the cheese had hardened. I didn’t have anything to drink, but I didn’t dare to go back out. Mom got meaner with each glass…and she drank quickly.
My stomach hurt too much to eat more than a few bites. Afterward, I got into bed. I pulled the blanket over my head and closed my eyes, visualizing the soup. The warm liquid ran down my throat and coated my belly. The little pieces of chicken were tender, and the broth was flavorful, just like Mrs. Hunt made when Emma or her brother were sick.
I must have fallen asleep; when I looked at the clock again it was past midnight. I hadn’t gone to the bathroom before bed. I needed to go. But as I got closer to the door, I heard noises coming from the living room. Th
e same ones I used to hear coming from Mom’s room.
I cracked open the door.
Mom was kneeling on the cushions, bent over the back of the couch, her chin pressed into one of the pillows. Her mouth was open. Happiness filled her face. It was a look she didn’t wear too often; she usually favored showing pain as she puked in the toilet, or frustration like she had earlier, when she wanted me to get out of her space. The man was behind her, moving his body close to her butt, then far from it. They were having sex, like the people on TV and in the movies I had watched in her room. But this was happening in our apartment, right in front of me, and I could hear it. I could smell their smells. I could feel the thickness in the air.
“Oh fuck, baby,” she said. Her voice was different. It was soft, but needy. “Tell me you love me. Tell Lilly you want to be with her.”
I didn’t like the way she was begging him for love and the desperation in her voice. I never wanted to have to whine to a man, pleading and needy for his love.
“You want this dick, Lilly? You come and get this big fucking dick.”
Mom had been somewhat still. But now she was moving, pounding up against his stomach with her butt and thighs. She held her weight with her hands, gripping the back of the couch like she squeezed me when I got punished. As she flipped her hair around, her boobs bounced. Her teeth pressed into her bottom lip, and her eyes closed.
“Tell me you love me,” she repeated.
I couldn’t move; I didn’t want to look away. Emma always got grossed out when her parents kissed in front of us, but I didn’t feel that way as I watched Mom. I found answers in her actions and requests. Her neediness repulsed me. She was the mom, but she sounded younger than me.
Although I was grossed out by the way she’d demanded confirmation from him, something foreign had entered my body—a feeling, an urge that strengthened the more I stared at them. It spread toward my chest; it dipped lower in my stomach, traveling to a spot between my legs. Maybe I needed to change my name. If I went by Cee instead of Charlie, in the same way Mom hadn’t corrected him when he called her Lilac, maybe I’d feel that kind of pleasure. Maybe the same expression would fill my face, and sounds of bliss would come out of me. I wanted to experiment with my fingers and try out her noises. But if I were going to be that loud, I’d have to wait until tomorrow night while she was at work.
When their shouting turned to only heavy breathing and they both lay flat on the couch, I shut my door and got into bed. I smiled; something felt different. I was different. And when I opened my eyes the next morning, Cee was born.
***
I didn’t have my first full-body orgasm until my junior year in high school. I had been touching myself for five years, but I’d only produced small bursts of pleasure. What those years had taught me, though, was an understanding of my body: the spots that I liked massaged by a wet finger or a dry one, what was more sensitive or less, the difference between soft and rough. Up until I was sixteen, the few boys I had kissed tried to plug my throat with their tongue and squeeze my breasts like they were stress balls. Then there was Tyler, who navigated with an experienced touch. I used my sensuality to tease him, to compel him toward my body with a desire to flick certain parts with his fingers and others with his tongue. I never had to verbalize my wants; he read my desires and reactions and he responded. And when my wetness demanded more, he eased into me; because of his size, I took all of him. Emma had complained that her first time was painful, and she had to make the boy stop. Tyler gave me a nibble, and I had been craving more ever since.
My short trip to the hotel’s employee bathroom wasn’t like any of the times I had touched myself in bed, with my stuffed animals turned the other way and my fingertips testing the speed and pressure. And it was nothing like the times I had been with Tyler, no overwhelming intensity building with each bounce. This was me trying to prevent starvation with only a handful of seeds. The restroom had three stalls, and one was already taken. I stood, with the waist of my pants around my thighs, and my other hand pressed against the wall. I couldn’t scream; I couldn’t breathe too loudly. I couldn’t move my feet, only my hand to tend to the surge between my legs. Jody’s face filled my vision; he gave me two fingers, knuckle deep, and one on my clit.
The spike happened fast, and the shudders came hard. But my body didn’t get the full release, and my pussy hungered for another. I couldn’t do it again, not in here, with someone in the next stall. Ignoring my twitching hands and taut muscles, I buttoned the top of my pants and went back to the desk. I would feed again when I got home.
***
An hour before my shift ended, a woman came to the front desk. I hadn’t noticed her walk through the main doors, and I hadn’t heard the chime of the elevator. I took a phone call, and when I glanced forward after hanging up, I saw her leaning against the counter. Her eyes were hidden by a black fedora. Loose ringlets the color of honey hung past her shoulders.
I dipped slightly, trying to peek under the brim of her hat, but the top of her face remained shadowed. With a smile, I said, “Can I help you?”
Her glossy lips were fuller than mine, and there was a wrinkle in the middle of her bottom one. The long vertical line almost looked like a seam. When she parted them and smiled, her perfectly straight teeth became the focal point. “No, Charlie…but I would love to help you.” Even the sound of her was sexy. I could feel her stare move up from my nametag, which was pinned above my breast, and it made my whole body blush.
“And how are you going to help me?”
She smiled again, this time without showing any teeth. I didn’t feel warmth coming from her. The feeling was more like being handcuffed to a headboard. I couldn’t move…and I didn’t want to.
“I have something for you—a proposal, of sorts, that requires an audition. If you pass, it’s going to benefit you. Tremendously.”
I knew I’d never seen her before; I didn’t recognize her mouth. It was a feature I wouldn’t have forgotten.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“I’m a recruiter who finds well-qualified candidates and places them in positions that allow them to showcase their talents.”
“How do you know about my talents?”
“I know a lot about you, Cee.” It was a name used only by the people I slept with, and she said it as though she were breathing it between my legs.
I studied her lips, nose, and cheeks, trying once again to place her. It only took me seconds to confirm what I had thought before. She was a stranger to me.
Should I have been concerned? I didn’t know, but I knew I wanted more from her. I needed to keep her talking somehow, in the hope that she would reveal some sort of clue.
“And what makes you think your position is better than the one I already have?” I asked.
“You would make more money in a week than you do in a month, for starters.” She placed her hand on the center of the counter, and with her other hand traced the length of her middle finger. Then she squeezed my middle and pointer fingers together and traced those. “And it would allow you to do something that you love to do. Something that comes naturally to you...” She licked the edge of her lips, her tongue sticking out a little farther than it needed to.
Was she playing with me, or was her gesture a hint, a confirmation that she knew I had masturbated in the bathroom? The restroom was only for employees and required a special key to gain entry. Could this beauty also be a voyeur?
She answered silently, with a nod.
My face turned even redder. It was one in the morning, the lobby was empty, and we were alone. She had made her point. I wasn’t doubting that her offer was serious, and I needed to tell her that. “You—”
“You don’t have to decide right now…but you will by tomorrow night. I’m going to send a limo here to pick you up.”
“But I don’t get out of work until—”
“The limo will be parked behind the hotel. The driver will stay until five minutes past two. If you do
n’t show by then, this opportunity won’t ever be offered again.”
“Is there a way I can reach you if I have questions?”
“Any questions you have will be answered during the interview.” She turned around and began to walk toward the front door, stopping after a few feet to look over her shoulder. “I hope I see you tomorrow, Charlie.” And then she passed through the main entrance and was gone, as quickly as she had appeared.
Her words repeated in my head during my ride home on the train; they echoed as I sat at our table, our stack of bills in my hand. Several of them had “Final Notice” stamped on their envelopes. I had paid cash for every class I took; I didn’t have my own credit card and hadn’t put a single charge on the ones Lilly had opened under my name, yet I owed a staggering amount to my debtors. Lilly had no savings or a life insurance policy. Her clothes and her shitty furniture would be the only things I’d inherit.
You would make more money in a week than you do in a month.
That kind of money could give me freedom.
But what kind of employer interviewed their candidates at two in the morning? Was it a scam? Would I get hurt, or killed, maybe? And why had she chosen me?
What if it allowed you to do something that you love to do?
Something that comes naturally to you…
The only thing that came to mind was painting. My skills were still so unrefined, but I loved it and it had come naturally to me. Was that what she was referring to?
She never gave me a business card, or her name, even—or the name of the company she worked for. I never even saw the color of her eyes. For no reason I could explain, a feeling spread through my body that settled my chest and my trembling hands. I wanted my wetness to cover her fingers; I wanted whatever she had. And as I lay in my bed, mentally scanning my closet, I tried to pick out what I was going to wear to tomorrow’s interview.
I had nothing to lose.
