Conversation with a Working Girl

a Short Story by Kellis

February, 2000

�What�s your fee for a half hour�s conversation?�

The girl whirled in his direction.� He was sitting at a table against the rail, nearly concealed by a large potted palm.� An hour earlier he had looked up from his book at the sound of a door opening and seen her emerge from 403.� She had looked furtively up and down the wide balcony, then consulted an object taken from her purse.� She had proceeded immediately to 407 and was promptly admitted.� A half-hour later she had emerged from 407, again scanned the balcony and the object from her purse, then knocked at 417, again to be promptly admitted.� Now she had just re-emerged on the balcony, performed her quick surveillance and was again consulting the suspected pager.� She was a pretty brunette, attired in clean slacks and a colorful sleeveless blouse appropriate to the Florida spring, carrying a substantial black purse suspended from her shoulder.

She wended her way through the spaced tables and chairs to stand before him.� �How long have you been on this balcony?� she asked.

�Longer than you.�

She glanced around.� �Have you seen anyone else?�

�Only some of the men who let you into their rooms.�

Her eyes narrowed.� �Are you a cop?�

�No.�

�Are you sure?�� Her lip curled.� �The cops are such liars!�

�Of course you know them.�

She shrugged.� �Enough to know that.� If you�re not a cop, what�s your interest?�

�Isn�t that obvious?�� He smiled slightly.� �My name is Glenn.� What�s yours?�

She studied him.� At last she said, �Call me Lily.�

He nodded.� �Appropriate: a flower that lies spread open.� But you didn�t answer my question.�

��A flower that ���� She grinned slightly.� �But not open for talking.�

�Why not?� I�m not your competition.� Our conversation won�t be personal � just intimate.�

�I get it,� she said with an ironic grin.� �You want to ask why a girl with my looks is doing this, right?� Mind if I sit down?�

He stood up.� �Please do, and excuse me for not offering.�

He resumed his seat as she took the indicated chair across the table.� She lowered her purse to the deck and interlaced her fingers on the tabletop.� Her nails were a dark pink that matched her lipstick.� Her eyebrows were evenly curved lines and her mascara seemed freshly applied.� When she smiled, teeth glistened evenly in healthy pink gums.

She tilted her head toward his book.� �What are you reading?�

He turned it to show her the cover but said, �Presumably you�re doing this because the pay is better and the work is easier than other things you�ve tried.�

She shrugged.� �I guess you could say that about the reason for most lines of work.�

�My question is, why don�t more women do it?�

She parted her lips to reply but hesitated briefly.� �I could say, �Who knows?�� But actually I do know.� It�s because most of them are sheep.�

�Sheep?�

�They do nothing, especially in regard to men, unless they sense that all their girl friends agree it�s a good move.�

�You don�t think the law has anything to do with it?�

She sniffed.� �The law never stopped anyone.�

�Not you, at any rate!� Sheep, eh?� How did you get away from the flock?�

She grinned slowly.� �You really want to hear my sordid tale?�

�Very much.�

�All right.�� Her slight grin widened into a smile.� �I�ll tell you in just a minute.�

She fetched up her purse and took out a small cellular telephone.� She punched it twice and held it to her ear while staring into Glenn�s eyes.� She waited briefly, the remains of her smile still on her lips.

�Lily,� she said.� �Finished the fourth floor.� 417 ought to be calling in.�� She paused.� �Not a complaint.� Wants to negotiate a pool party.�� She listened for a moment before snapping, �Let Eris do it.�� Another pause.� �I don�t care.� Math exam tomorrow morning.� I�ll check in when it�s over.� Bye.�

The telephone returned to the purse, the purse to the deck.� She leaned back in her chair, licked her lips, sighed and said, �I�m thirsty.�

He took an even smaller telephone from a shirt pocket and punched a single digit.� As she had done, he stared at her with the instrument against his ear.� �Room Service?� Hold just a moment.� What will you have, Lily?�

She smiled.� �A large chocolate shake.�

�No kidding?�

�I need the calories.�

He shrugged and relayed her order.� �Add a brandy alexander to that, will you?� And a scotch on the rocks.�

When he had repocketed his instrument, she asked, �Only one button?� Is that the phone from your hotel room?�

�Yes, smarty.� They can locate me even out here on the balcony.�

�Bet they lose a lot of them.�

�Nope.� It�s only a cordless.� Beeps like mad if you take it out of range.� But a milkshake at your age?�

Her eyes twinkled.� �You think I�m too old for a milkshake?� If I�d thought of it, I�d�ve asked you to have them put a couple eggs in it.� Mind if I smoke?�

�Go ahead.� Eggs!� You�re slim but I wouldn�t call you skinny.�

�Thanks, I think!�� Reaching down, she took a pack from her purse and knocked out a cigarette, fitting it into a long black holder.� She lit up, leaned back and took a deep puff.� Sighing in contentment, she blew out a gray cloud.� Cigarette and holder thrust up from her teeth at a jaunty angle.

His eyebrows rose appreciatively.� �I haven�t seen anyone use a holder in years.� Are they becoming stylish again?�

She laughed.� �Style has nothing to do with it.� It�s for the johns.�

He studied her.� �They like the looks of it, do they?�

�Looks!�� She snorted.� �Haven�t you noticed?� Men have just about quit smoking.�

�So what?�

�So they object to the odor of it.� This long holder keeps it out of my hair.�

�What about your breath?�

Her head tilted toward the purse, now still on the table.� �A mint spray,� just in case.�� She chuckled.� �Though most of what I kiss can�t smell.�

�Ah � yes.�� He shook his head.� �I won�t bother to say you ought to quit.�

�I started it to lose weight.� It works;� I lost twenty pounds.�� She chuckled wryly.� �Now I�ve got to gain ten back.�

�Who says?�

�The director.�

He cocked his head.� �As in the movies?�

�As in the movies, if I can get to 120 and a C-cup.� Who�s the brandy for?�

�Anyone who likes a chocolate shake will like an alexander.�

She inhaled another deep draft and said while blowing out the smoke, �Did you want to ask me some questions?�

He nodded.� �How about the question you suggested:� why is a girl with your looks doing this?� But I would rephrase it.� What are looks worth?� Don�t you make all your arrangements by telephone?�

��What are looks worth?�� she repeated rhetorically.� �Let me tell you about Peeper.�

He grinned.� �Is that a person or a room with a hole in the wall?�

�Peeper is a 25 year old woman who looks to be about fourteen:� cute, skinny, short, hair always in a pony-tail, no boobs � and she wears braces � when she wants.� They�re special ones that she can pop in and out.� She puts them in before she knocks on a strange door.� A lot of the johns run her off, but those who don�t, pay big!�

He nodded.� �That�s not surprising.� What�s your point?�

�You asked what looks are worth.� I�d guess in Peeper�s case, about a hundred bucks extra per trick.�

�I was thinking of conventional good looks � like yours, for example.�

�Conventional, you say?� Thank you anyway.� It�s the same thing.� If I mess up my hair or smear my mascara, the next john will get cold feet � or if he doesn�t it could be even worse.�

�How?�

�How do you think?� When you look rough, people get rough!�

He nodded slowly.� ��Rough� is an interesting word.� I�d use it for the girls that stand half-naked on San Francisco street corners, or even worse, Times Square.� They look rough.� Or pitiful, shivering in winter.�

She said thoughtfully, �I�d guess they have a different problem.� They need to look different from the clamps.�

�The � what?�

She grinned.� �Clamps.� That�s what my crowd calls the girls who keep it clamped.�

�Are any like that left?�

�Relatively speaking.�

He chuckled, observing, �Here come our drinks.�

She turned to see a uniformed servitor approaching, balancing a tray of drinks on the tips of his fingers.� He lowered the tray to their table and waited for Glenn to sign the chit, after which he bowed, expressed ritual gratitude and departed as briskly as he came.

She stuck a straw into the milkshake and sucked powerfully, collapsing her cheeks.� Her eyes twinkled on his.� She released the straw, swallowed and asked with a leer, �Are you thinking of golf balls and garden hoses?� I�m good, but not that good.�

He smiled.� �I gather it�s a thick milkshake.�

�Almost too thick.�� She winked.� �Did you ever wonder how it feels to the straw?�

�I know how it feels to the straw!�

She chuckled.� �Was that cocktail for me?�

�Sure.� Try it.�

She transferred her straw from the milkshake, took a sip and nodded.� �Right:� a milkshake with punch.�

�Good description,� he agreed.� �It contains chocolate liqueur, heavy cream and brandy, in equal parts.�

She took a deeper pull then admitted, �I don�t know much about alcoholic drinks, but I could grow to like this one.�

�Lily ��� He hesitated.� �You�re very young, aren�t you?�

She considered her answer, at last admitting, �It knocks me over that Peeper has to buy me a beer.�

�You�re under 21?�

�And now they�re starting to get mean about cigarettes, too.�

He shook his head.� �That was inevitable when they did away with the draft.�

�The draft?�

�You�ve heard of it, haven�t you?� When they could send all the eighteen year olds to war, to die as necessary, it stuck in the craw to deny them beer and smokes.�

She sniffed.� �Well, it�s your generation that makes the rules.�

�Maybe so, but it�s not a generational thing.� It�s the damned do-gooders, the same crowd that wants to stop your visits to strange hotel rooms.�

She shook her head and said confidently, �Actually it�s just more sheep.�

�What do you mean?�

�The women sheep say, �Don�t do it unless the flock approves.�� The men sheep say, �And we�ll hurt you if you do it anyway.��

�Succinctly put!�� He leaned back in his chair.� �Your words?�

She shrugged as she finished the cocktail.� �I read a lot of history last fall.� It�s pretty obvious.� Human society was always like that.� And that�s why I�m doing this.� I decided not to be a sheep.�

She transferred her straw back to the milkshake before settling her eyes on his.� She took another deep pull of the thick liquid.

He asked, �Isn�t that just teenage contrariness?�

She grinned.� �Do you have a daughter?�

�Two, both teenagers.�

�You think they�re contrary, do you?�

He shrugged.� �I just pay the bills.� It�s my sister who thinks they�re contrary.�

�What�s your wife think?�

�Nothing.� I�m a widower.�

�Sorry.� Your daughters will slip back in the fold when they get a bit older.� But in my case ��

When she trailed off, he said, �You were going to tell me your sordid tale.�

She grunted.� �Santa Claus ruined me.�

�Santa Claus?�� He stiffened.� �You mean some Santa molested you?�

�Just my head.�� She leaned back.� �Escaping the flock was a little easier for me, I think.� Most girls model first on their mothers and their mothers� friends, but my mother got killed by a drunk driver when I was four ��

�I�m sorry.�

She waved a hand.� �Probably I should be, too.� I hardly remember her.� My father hired a housekeeper to raise my brother and me.� And warm his bed now and then, but that�s another story.� She was more interested in him than us kids.� I think it�s a rare woman who mothers step-children a tenth as well as she would her own.� Of course, that�s not news to anybody, is it?

�The point is, I wasn�t so surrounded by the flock.� The housekeeper didn�t keep close tabs on me.� One result of that was introduction to sex sooner than most girls.� When I understood what it was, I couldn�t believe all the hype about it.� What�s the big deal?� Then I understood.� It�s the same kind of thing as Santa Claus:� another big lie.� Just another pressure point to control you.�

He smiled.� �Were you disappointed to discover the truth about Santa Claus?�

�I believe astonished is the right word.� His red suit was everywhere:� TV, magazines, billboards, ringing a bell on the street corners, taking me on his lap in the mall.� All a lie.� Even as a little kid I was devastated by the scope of it.� The whole damned world was in on the scam!� People don�t realize the damage this does to everything else they want a kid to believe.

�Most kids probably shrug and pass it off, but I decided they�d never hook me again.� So when sex ed told me all the flock-approved rules for sex, I was ready to tell the flock where to flock off.�

�Lily, you know some of those rules are valid.�

�Yeah, the practical ones, like keeping your gums healthy if you plan to suck and putting fresh condoms on the dicks for everything else.� But the so-called moral ones are crap, like Santa Claus.�

�You mean you, ah, do oral sex without condoms?�

She grunted.� �It�s not dangerous if your mouth is healthy.� A lot of guys really hate to come in a condom.� They�ll pay extra.�

�You don�t swallow, of course.�

�Good god, no!� And you rinse out right away.�

�Do you take a douche?�

�That�s one advantage of condoms � unless he wants to lick, which is rare.�� She tilted her head towards the purse.� �I�ve got a couple douche kits just in case.�� Her lip curled into a leer.� �Only the old ones go for that.�

�It sounds like business is good.�

She took another long pull on the milkshake before responding.� �Yeah.� Too good sometimes.� Della would break my back if I�d let her.�

�Literally?�

�Pretty close!� When I called in just now, she had two more waiting.� In this same hotel.�

�But it�s a Sunday afternoon!�

She laughed.� �You don�t hear me singing Never on Sunday.�

�Saturday night I could understand.� But a Sunday?�

�Sunday afternoon is hot!� And Thursday night.� Saturday, too, but not as much.�

�Why Thursday?�

�That�s when the sin thumpers get paid.� After a week of goody-goody they�re ready to party!�

�Then most of your, ah, clientele is local?�

�Only on Thursday.� On Sunday it�s mostly early arrivals for Monday business, like you, except they know Della, of course.�

�She�s your dispatcher, I take it.�

��Dispatcher!�� I�ll have to tell her that one.� She�s our madam, or would be if we had a regular house.� She knows all the tricks and has all the contacts.� They say she used to be a real madam.�

He watched her take another deep pull, apparently the last.� Air at the bottom of the cup rattled flatulently.� �So what�s in it for you, Lily?� Anything besides the money?�

She shrugged.� �It�s my job.�

�And I understand it pays well for the time invested � unless you get hurt.�

�I don�t get hurt.�

He nodded.� �Until you do.� Your phone conversation suggested you�re a student.�

�Right.� But that�s not the reason for the job.� I wasn�t raised in a trailer park, Glenn.�

�You mean you don�t need the money?�

She grinned.� �Don�t tell Della.�

�Then � you do this for fun?�

�Sure.� But not the way you think.�

�You don�t enjoy the sex?�

�No!� she laughed scornfully.

He spread his hands.� �Fun?�

�It�s exciting.� The johns are interesting.� I should say, the differences between them are interesting.� What they do � that�s just stupid.�

�Stupid?�

�I�m their Santa Claus!�

�In what sense?�

�In the worst sense.� Santa Claus is supposed to care what you personally get for Christmas, right? �The johns think I care how they wiggle, how big a dick they have, how much they jizz.� I compliment them and play the game just like the mall Santa Claus, oo-ing and squealing, so they�ll ask for Lily the next time.�

�You have lots of repeat customers?�

She nodded.� �Especially on Thursdays.�

�What do you care about?�

�Little things.� How close they shave, their underwear, the way they smell under the arms, their accents, the crazy things they say.� Balls.� I like the feel of balls.� Tell me something:� why doesn�t playing with them do more for a man?�

He grinned.� �From what I hear, it depends on the man.� They�re easy to hurt, you know.�

�Oh, yes, I know.�

�Did you ever have to kick a pair?�

�Not yet.�� She grinned.� �I learned it on myself, would you believe.�

�On yourself?�

�When I was a kid, the boys would let me play sandlot softball with them.� I was playing third base one afternoon when I was about fourteen.� The batter hit a line drive and before I could get my glove down the ball hit me, �kerplop,� right in the crotch.� I grabbed it from between my jeans, meaning to throw him out at first, then realized I didn�t have to.

�I looked around.� Every boy was staring at me with his chin dragging.� One of them put real feeling into his voice.� �You better be glad you�re a girl!��

He chuckled.� �I can just see it.�

�They wouldn�t let me play softball any more.�

His chuckle became a laugh.� �Obviously you had an unfair advantage.�

�I guess.� But if they�re so sensitive, why doesn�t it please to roll them around?�

�Like a handful of marbles?� Ouch!�

She laughed.� �I mean gently.� Or suck on them?�

�You�re saying it doesn�t work?�

�They just push the cock head at me.�

He nodded.� �That�s where it�s at, as you kids say.� Where is it at for you?�

She frowned.� �You mean ��

�What gives you the most fun?�

She grinned slowly.� �Talking about it.�

�Just talking?�

�Della gets us together for what she calls a �Monday Morning,� whether it�s Monday or not.� I guess it�s a term from the old days.� We tell her and each other what happened during the week.� She makes notes on the johns for future business, and ��

�How does she identify them?�

�Most pay by credit card.� That gives her a real name and card number.� What she wants is how they behaved, what they asked for, how they tipped, do we want to see them again.� You understand:� future business.� We compare notes.�� Sometimes it gets really funny.�� She smiled reflectively.� �We�re our only true friends.�

�A sisterhood, eh?�

�A good one.� Della sees to that.� No bimboes, no druggies.� Blood tests every week and a six week paid vacation when we turn up positive.� I should say, if.� None of us has got a positive yet.�

�All your � customers are agreeable, are they?�

�Oh, no!� Not hardly.�

�Then what�s the good of Della�s notes?�

Her eyes flashed.� �We don�t go back to the bad ones!�� She shook her head.� �It�s the drunks.� A lot of johns need to get their courage up.� Then they can�t keep what matters up!� That gets frustrating for everybody.� If they don�t come they won�t pay. �Sometimes they blame the girl.�

�And then what?� Do they get violent?�

�Once in a while.� The worst I�ve got is kicked out of bed.� One of us got herself knifed pretty bad in the hip.� She stayed to argue.� You have to know when to skip.�

He regarded her thoughtfully.� �That�s what I meant about not getting hurt until you do.�

�I knew what you meant.�� She shrugged.� �So there�s a risk.� That�s what makes it exciting.� You never know what a new man�s going to do.�� She smiled.� �He might even buy you an alcoholic milkshake.�

He grunted.� �Which you aren�t old enough to drink.�

She smiled defiantly.� �That�s only the law talking.�

�But you never enjoy the sex?� That�s terrible!�

She cocked her head.� �Oh, I wouldn�t say never.� Sometimes at a party the sheer intensity will get me off.�

��A party.�� You mean an orgy?�

She nodded.� �I�ve heard them called that:� lots of men, several girls, big payoff.�

�Several men at once?�

�Sure.� And another one on as soon as one is off.�

�Who has parties like that?�

�College fraternities, for example.� But the largest I�ve seen was the Burtonham crew.�

�The what?�

�Navy destroyer.�

�You mean the one that bought 10,000 tickets and won the lottery?�

�Yeah, that one.�� Her eyebrows rose.� �I didn�t know it made the national news.�

�They threw a dance,� he mused.� �My daughter attended it.�

She leered.� �And they threw a wild private party afterwards.� So you�re a local!� Why are you staying in this hotel?�

He grinned.� �Better service here.� That party must have been something to see!� How many guys:� three, four hundred?�

�Probably.� Who counted?� And they all knew each other.� They weren�t so finicky about a little mess.�� She shivered.� �I was sore for a week.�

�Do you know how many girls were working?�

�Della said 25.� Several clubs.�

��Clubs?��

Lily nodded.� �That�s what we are:� just a little social club.�

�300 guys and 25 girls.� Have you done the arithmetic?�

�Huh!� That ship had just returned from the Persian Gulf.� Do you think each john only popped once?�

�Didn�t that � scare you a little?�

�Scare us?� All those cocks were hard.�

�Well, of course ��

�Men aren�t so dangerous when their cocks are hard, Glenn.� Then you know what they want.�

He stared at her.� �An interesting theory.�

She lit another cigarette.� �One of our girls did get hurt.� She slipped in a puddle.� The john doing her from behind fell on her and made her break an ulna.�

His eyes widened.� �An ulna?�

�It�s a bone in your forearm.�

�I know what it is.�

�It was the way she fell, a freak accident.� Ten johns picked her up and hauled her to the hospital.� Nice fellows � even if four of them did bang her in the ambulance!�

�Yeah.� Nice fellows.� Do you ever work parties on yachts?�

�Oh, yes.� But you have to watch out.�

�For bad behavior?�

�Bad?�� She giggled. ��That�s what we�re there for.�

�I mean violent.�

�On yachts?�� She shook her head.� �What I meant was sunburn.� I have light skin that burns too easy.� And deep tans are a lot less popular than they used to be.� Do you think blue veins look sexy?�

�As a matter of fact I do.� So you prefer darkness on a yacht?�

�That�s right.� They won�t let you stay in the cabin, so I give daytime boat rides a pass.�

He waited while she blew a long stream of smoke, then said, �I understand nighttime boat rides can get exciting.�

She nodded noncommittally.� �A little.� I like the fresh air.�� She grinned.� �Actually it�s just another orgy.� What�s the word?� Sedate.� That�s it.� It�s a sedate orgy � the opposite of the Burtonham.�

�How about the Millicent rescue?�

�The what?�

�Millicent was the name of the yacht.�� His eyes narrowed.� �You didn�t hear about it?� Last spring, maybe April.� The owner fell overboard and one of the girls jumped in after him.�

�Oh.�� Her face lost all expression.� �Did you know that guy?�

�I�ve met him.�

She studied him carefully.� At last she said, �Nothing happened.� They turned on the flood lights and pulled him aboard in a minute or two.� Nobody was hurt.�

�Then you were there?�

She snubbed out her cigarette.� �What�s your interest in it, Glenn?�

He shrugged.� �Nothing.� Curiosity.� I heard he was chasing one of the girls, tripped over a rope and fell overboard.�

�Yeah.� He was chasing my best friend.�

�Your friend?�

�That was before she broke her arm.� He was drunk.� I told you about drunks.� He had this cock-shaped piece of ice he wanted to poke her with.�

�He meant to rape her with it?�

�Oh, they were playing.� He wasn�t that drunk!� Everybody was naked, which is why she ran.�

�Who was brave enough to jump into the dark water after him and keep him afloat until they could throw out a life preserver?� Was that you?�

�No.� It was the same girl he was chasing, my best friend.� Actually she did get hurt a little.� Cut her leg on a cleat getting back aboard.� Had to have a few stitches.�

The man took a deep breath, then leaned back in his chair.� All the previously evident fascination was gone from his face.

�What�s the matter?� she asked.

�Tell me one other thing.� Did Della arrange that party?�

�Sure.� That�s her main ��� Lily�s voice trailed off. �She peered at him searchingly.� �Don�t I know you?�

His head dipped.� �Yes, you do.�

�You are a cop!�

�No, not a cop.�� He sighed.� �Your name is Nancy Bricker, isn�t it?�

Her face whitened suddenly.� She stared at him with wide eyes.

Approaching high heels rang loud on the deck.� Both turned distractedly toward the arriving figure, neatly attired in a woman�s business suit with ruffled blouse.� Despite her slimness, the woman clearly belonged more nearly to the man�s generation than the girl�s.

He got quickly to his feet.� �Hello, Mabel,� he said quietly.

�Sorry I�m late, Glenn,� the newcomer responded in a mature contralto.� She smiled.� �At least you�ve been entertained.�

The girl swept up her purse and sprang to her feet.� Eyes averted, she declared, �Just remembered:� gotta go!�� She turned away and marched head down toward the balcony egress.

The woman looked after her curiously.� �I�ve seen that girl before!� Who is she, Glenn?�

He sighed.� �My daughter�s best friend.�

END

Copyright � 2000, Kellis

Stories at http://www.dhp.com/~kellis