Alex paused only briefly at the last stop sign between him and the freeway before turning left towards the onramp. He cut, barely, in front of a police car. It was 3 a.m. Surely, the police car would turn around.
He steered around the cloverleaf as he looked out his side and rear view mirrors. As he passed through the underpass, the police car was nowhere to be seen. Still, he drove, five miles above the speed limit, in hopes of losing them if they did turn around.
Out-of-state plates; 3 a.m.; leaving the worst part of Detroit; there was no way he was making it out a free man.
But, the mile markers passed, one-by-one, as he kept pace with the semi-truck traffic and kept his eyes peeled for the police or the State Highway Patrol.
Meanwhile, his two sisters had troubles of their own. One’s troubles, as it always seemed, to be caused by the other. Portia was laying in bed, attempting to sleep. She gripped her cellphone tightly in her hand, waiting for the call. When it rang, she knew it was bad news.
“Portia? I’m so glad you picked up. I need you.”
“Is Alex alright?”
“How should I know? I’m in jail. I need you to bail me out.”
“Holy cow, Phoebe.”
“I know. Don’t tell anyone. Not mom and dad, and especially don’t tell Alex.”
“Okay, where are you?”
“Downtown.”
“How do you think I’m supposed to get there?”
“Call a cab. I’ll pay you back.”
Portia threw on some clothes and called for a taxi. It was nearly an hour before it arrived. Portia got in and rode downtown. She paid the cab driver with all the money she had. Although she knew Phoebe was loaded, she didn’t expect to see any of it back.
It all began nearly three hours earlier, when The Executive Club closed. As with any bar, the men were looking to close deals before opportunities dried up. A familiar face, Fred Walker, was in the club, but he had gone another route – choosing someone who was better at social foreplay, and cheaper on the wallet, too.
Two men sat in chairs next to the runway. They were unaccompanied by girls. Tracie wasn’t working tonight, so Phoebe was on her own.
“And now, gentlemen, rev up your engines, here comes Porsche.”
Phoebe carefully climbed the stairs and worked her way to the stage. The men pulled their chairs to the edge of the runway and watched as she twirled around the pole and strutted back and forth.
One of the businessmen held out a crisp dollar bill. Phoebe writhed in front of him, twisting and turning and working her body. She spun to her back, arched her back and crabbed his tie as she slithered over the edge of the stage. Her head landed on his lower thighs as she rested on his knees. She grabbed his tie and wiped it across the chasm between her breasts. The man smiled. Phoebe winked. He tucked a five-dollar bill into the string of her top. She rolled her head on his lap, working her way up his thighs. He stuffed one five dollar bill after another until he’d blown his wad. As the song ended, Phoebe smiled and winked again.
“Want to buy me a drink?”
The man nodded enthusiastically.
“Help me up.”
He cradled her shoulders as she twisted about and sat next to him on the edge of the stage.
“One more song,” she whispered.
She collected the money from her bikini and tossed it in a pile on the floor. Then, she worked every man around the stage for all she could. The more attention they gave her, the more she gave them. When the song ended, she swam back to her pile of money and tossed it lightly over her head before picking it up and gathering her top and thong.
‘Whew!” she said as she found a chair between the two businessmen. The one who had paid her all the attention (and money, too) helped tie her top back into place. She kissed him lightly on the cheek as she bent over to pull her heel strap over her ankles. She placed her left hand on his upper thigh for balance. She carefully flicked her fingernails over the slick polyester hem.
“Like shooting ducks in a barrel,” she thought to herself, “with a shotgun.”
She slipped her thumb under her g-string as she eased back into the chair. The businessman flipped his wallet open. Phoebe reached in and fingered a $20 bill. He glanced up at her. She tilted her head and licked her lips. He tucked the bill perfectly into place.
(Shooting ducks)
She chatted him up, as she always did. It was the same old small talk – What do you do for work? How long have you been a dancer? What’s your real name? You’re a really good dancer. You have a great smelling perfume / smile / eyes / hair / body / legs / chest / ass …or whatever else does or does not work. It doesn’t matter to them – they’re businessmen, trying to pump their ego or pick up a dancer for the night.
Some want girlfriends and some want pay-per-view girlfriends. Some just want laid. Phoebe didn’t care. She just wanted the most amount of money for the least amount of work.
“Let’s go to my hotel room.”
“Sure,” said Phoebe, “but what about your buddy?”
“He’s got his own car.”
“We can just go to one of these motels behind the club.”.
“Nah, I’ve got a room in a 5-star hotel downtown. It’s a little bit of a drive, but I don’t want to pay for two rooms.”
“If you’re going to take me downtown to fuck me, you’ll have to pay for my time, too.”
“Yeah, sure.”
The man seemed distracted as he looked across the smoke-filled club at his friend. He was hooking up with another girl for after hours fun.
“Let’s go then. I want my money up front.”
“Let’s wait until we get to the hotel.”
“I want the traveling money now.”
“Uh…yeah, sure.”
He gave her what was in the wallet – sixty dollars.
“I need more,” demanded Phoebe.
“That’s all the cash I have.”
“Make a withdraw from the ATM.”
“I have traveler’s checks in my hotel safe.”
“Alright, I guess this will have to do for now.”
Violet, one of the new girls, had already closed the deal with the other businessman.
“Let’s go with them,” said Phoebe.
“Hold on,” said the man. He walked over to the other man and whispered in his ear. The man nodded and then waved him off. The businessman returned to Phoebe’s side.
“He wants to split up.”
Phoebe shrugged. It seemed stupid, but simple. She grabbed her gym bag from the locker room and returned to her table.
“You ready?”
“Let me just close my tab.”
Phoebe waited some more. Finally, they were good to go.
“I’m going to take my own car,” said Phoebe.
“That’s fine. Just follow me.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Just follow me.”
She followed him until they pulled up in front of the hotel. A valet approached Phoebe. Meanwhile, the man sent a quick text on his cellphone.
“Can I just leave my car here?”
“I have to park it.”
“It’ll be under two hours.”
“Just let him park it,” said the businessman. I’ll pay for it.”
The businessman guided Phoebe’s hand towards the valet and then tipped the valet. He flipped his phone shut. It beeped once, but he didn’t answer it.
“Let’s go,” he said.
As they headed toward the elevator, the man guided her again.
“What do you want to do?” asked Phoebe.
The man shrugged.
“My hourly fee is $200 plus tips.”
The man nodded, but remained silent.
When they arrived at his room, he paused for a moment. He opened the door and made his way inside first. The lights were on and the bed was rumpled, but clean. Phoebe sat on one edge, quickly peeling off her high heels.
“What are you doing?” asked the man.
“Isn’t this what you want?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m just getting ready. Time is money, you know.”
“We never agreed to any terms,” said the man.
“Yeah we did,” said Phoebe, “$200 per hour plus tips.”
“What does that get me.”
“Time is money. If you tip me well, I’ll treat you right.”
The man went to his dresser drawer. There was a coiled wad of dollars wrapped with a rubber band in his desk. Phoebe’s eyes fixed on the drawer.
“For five-hundred, I’ll give you full service.”
“What’s full service?”
Phoebe scooted closer to the gentleman, rubbing her hands over the same particular part of his pants, in the fold between his legs and groin, gently massing him.
“I could start with a handjob.”
“That would be just fine,” said the man.
Then, he stood up and pulled away from her. The door to the adjoining room opened. Two men dressed in suits stepped through the doorway.
“Miss, you’re under arrest for soliciting and massage without a license.”
“What?”
“Come with me,” said the businessman as he guided her into the adjoining room. It was set up like a miniature booking station. A stack of papers sat on the table. A fingerprinting and photo station sat beside the table. One of the officers grabbed her by the hand while the other asked for her driver’s license.
“Relax your hands, let me do all the work.”
He rolled each of her fingers in the inkpad and progressed across all ten digits before getting palm prints and offering her a clean wipe. He then guided her in front of the wall. The other man snapped several photos of her before leading her down the hall to another room. A group of strippers and escorts, including Violet, sat in a line on the beds, waiting to be taken downtown for booking.
“Awww, man,’ groaned Phoebe.
It would be over an hour until Phoebe called Portia. Meanwhile, Alex was on the road with three kilos of cocaine tucked beneath his seat.
About the time he crossed the Ohio-Pennsylvania border, he decided he was in the clear. There wasn’t one vehicle within view to the front or back of him. The bright white lights of a gas station loomed in the distance. As he neared the offramp, an air of relief washed over him. He popped the trunk as he stopped the car and immediately stashed the small package in the wheel well before going to the cashier’s window.
He purchased soda and chips and then asked for ten dollars of gas. He returned to the car and filled it up. As he pulled out of the gas station, a white car pulled in. At first, he thought it was a police car. It was just someone from Ohio. He headed back to the highway. Other than that, the trip home was completely uneventful.
He took the exit to Homewood South. Home Sweet Home. The lovely old brownstones and clusters of electric wires strewn from one pole to another looked beautiful compared to the Detroit ghetto.
He pulled into the parking lot behind Ace’s apartment. The regular crowd was there. Alex fetched the package from the trunk and tucked it under his jacket as he headed toward the apartment. Ace sat on a parking block with George, just outside his apartment.
“Hey Alex, you got a gift for me?”
“Sure do.”
Alex pulled the package from his jacket and handed it Ace. It looked like a brick of gold in Ace’s hands. He handed it off to George. George tucked it under his arm as he led Alex to Ace’s apartment. He gave it to a guy sitting on the couch. They shook hands and the guy headed out with the coke.
George pointed to the couch. Alex sat down while he went to Ace’s room in the back. Alex heard him unlock the bedroom door, shut and re-lock it behind him. He came out a few moments later with a small envelope. Alex began to open it.
“Not here,” said George. As Alex looked around, a few of the guys sitting around the card table in the kitchen glanced over at Alex. After a brief pause, Alex nodded his head and tucked the envelope into his jacket where the coke had been.
They returned to the parking lot. Ace was standing near a car while a few guys were working on. Alex shaked both their hands.
“Alex, I forgot,” said Ace, “I promised your little sister something.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m going to get you a second legit job so you don’t have to do this anymore. You’re good with numbers, right?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” said Alex.
“I have just the thing for you.”
Alex went to his car and drove home. He opened the envelope and counted the money as he waited for the light to change. It was $500 for a couple hours of work. Alex tucked the money into his wallet and patted it as he stuffed it into his back pocket.
Thoughts stirred through Alex’s mind as he made his way home. Why would Phoebe want him to do something safer? Then a light bulb went on inside his head. It was Portia. Of course it was Portia. Phoebe never had time to think of anyone but herself.
“I’m looking for Phoebe Gatteau,” said Portia as she stepped up to the window at the jail.
“Let me check the register…here she is. Prostitution, 1st offense. That’s $1,000.”
“One-thousand?”
“If you want, you can see a bail bondsman and they can help you.”
Portia agreed and the man handed her a list of bail bond agencies. She walked a short way to the bail bondsman and he helped her through the process.
“I charge fifteen percent. Most places charge twenty.”
She filled out the paperwork and signed the papers. Afterwards, she paid and he gave her a certificate. She took it down to the courthouse and posted bail.
“She’ll be out in an hour or so.”
“An hour?”
Phoebe waited on the cold metal chair as the sheriff process Phoebe’s paperwork. It was over 90 minutes until Phoebe emerged from the holding cell.
“You okay?”
Phoebe nodded, “Let’s get out of here.”
They headed to Alex and Portia's apartment. Alex's car was parked out front. Alex was in his bed. Portia fetched some sheets and pillows for Phoebe to sleep on the couch. Portia drank a glass of milk and then went to bed, too, only three hours before she had to be at work.
Phoebe tossed and turned on the couch until she finally turned a light on to read. She dug the court papers out of her purse and rifled through them. Her heart pounded as she thought about all this mess. From now on, she’d have some pretty significant black marks on her permanent record. She imagined all the opened doors suddenly closing because of this one event.
It wasn’t just one event, though, and she knew it. Her time came. Still, she could not see herself ever being like Portia. She didn’t have the patience for any of that.
She tossed her papers on the ground and covered up with the blanket. The night was starting to give way to a dull gray sky. Like all things in the world, the day was perpetual. What happened yesterday was gone. Today, everyone would get a chance to try again.
No comments:
Post a Comment