“Our next client won’t be in for another two hours,” Becca informs me.
Perfect. The cold weather’s chill factor seeps through the window cracks in opposition to the bare minimum heat the building provides – a good enough reason to stay in my regular clothes. I fall into a deep sleep using my coat as a blanket.
The room is darker when I wake up. Someone has adjusted the lighting to a softer setting. Lenny Kravitz strums his guitar strings out of the speakers bouncing the acoustics. His raspy vocals purify the air as he romances the object of his affections. An unrecognizable calm saturates the air.
I get up to investigate the silence, and find there’s no one at the front desk. Each room is empty. My anxiety, now a rising sea, floods my mind as I reach the end of the hallway and find Becca, Angel, Lola, and Cheri in the last room. They’re all over each other. Becca’s face is between Angel’s legs. Angel’s fingers are inside of Cheri, and Lola is kissing her breasts.
The shock renders me an outsider – a voyeur on the outskirts of all the action. Lola looks over, aware of my presence, before actually seeing me there. Within seconds she’s kissing me deeply. My mouth overflows with her saliva.
It’s too much.
I’m choking on something.
I pull away, gasping for air. There’s blood all over her mouth, my blood. It’s everywhere now, gushing out of me.
Lola doesn’t flinch.
She stands there, panting like a savage beast. The heaving turns into a maniacal laugh.
“What’s wrong?” she growls.
I jump out of the nightmare. My coat is still sheltering me on the couch. Angel, Brandy, and Betty are watching daytime television. The lines between sleep and awake still have me disoriented. The dream replays in my mind; Lola’s face smeared with my blood, her crazy laugh, and the rumble in her voice spooks me.
It was just a dream.
It’s time to freshen up and get dressed for this client coming in. I’m ready to spice things up with a new outfit that I purchased over the weekend. The look is finalized with a matte red lipstick to increase my odds of getting booked. This need to make more cash forces the realization that TLC is changing me. I’ve never felt like I needed money before.
“Wow, you look fierce.” Becca whistles like a construction worker.
“Thanks, I added to my seductress wardrobe of three whole looks.” I joke.
“Let me take a picture of you.”
Becca pulls out an instant camera that she uses for new clients. I standby, hoping it has run out of film. Photos are not my favorite thing, especially dressed the way I am right now.
“Well, aren’t you going to pose? Do something sexy.”
“How does someone do sexy? That doesn’t make sense. Just take the picture.”
“Fine.” Becca positions herself. “Can you at least pucker your lips for me?”
I arch my back, bend my knees, and purse my lips together. Chest out.
“Better?”
She catches the snapshot as it slides out of the opening.
“That lipstick is so fire on you.”
The image in the photo looks nothing like me. My hair – usually tied up or in a bun – is teased into high volume. I’m wearing Lola’s stilettos again. They no longer make me walk like a football player. A shimmery corset compresses my ribcage and boosts my cleavage, with black shorts that fit like panties.
“Where are the rest of the girls?”
“Well, Sugar quit because she got a job as a dog walker. Lola and Cheri said they have a school thing, and Ana is sick.”
Damn, I was looking forward to seeing the girls today. The last time I spoke to them was Saturday morning as we all left the diner.
“That sucks.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s way too calm here today. At least The Wolf is coming in. He’ll shake things up.
“Who is that?”
“He’s our youngest client. The finest one, too.” Becca gushes. “Late twenties, CEO of some big company. Latin. I don’t know from where exactly, but his accent gives it away. He talks like he’s from a Spanish soap opera. And did I mention how fine he is?”
Thank God. The last thing I need is some old man wanting me to play with his smelly beard.
With nothing better to do, I drink to combat the bitter cold around us. Angel starts a game of spades. As we play, Betty tells us stories about her time in the military and how she still has nightmares from time served in the Middle East.
“I only signed up because I wanted to get the hell out of Sweet Water, Alabama,” she says with a twang I notice for the first time. “I hate that place. Let me tell you something. Cow-tipping shouldn’t be the highlight of anyone’s weekend.”
“How did you end up in New York?” Brandy asks.
“The same reason anyone moves here, to feel alive.” Betty then charges it to love – speaking about her boyfriend in reverence. “He saved me from a life of mediocrity.”
I hold my wine up for a toast.
“You’re an American treasure. You escaped your hometown, survived a war, followed your heart to New York, and ended up here with some badass babes. I’d say you found the adventure you were looking for.”
“Here’s to Sweet Water, Alabama! For sucking so much, you had to leave.” Angel shouts.
We laugh and raise our glasses to her again.
The five minute warning bell sounds off. I have now consumed too many glasses of White Zinfandel, and a spirit of sexy is racing through my body. The costume I’m wearing is also stirring this confidence. I ask Brandy to help me reapply my lipstick. Our shared body heat ignites a running fever I have imbibed myself into.
“Your lips look so kissable with this lipstick,” she says.
Her words fuel the current between us.
Each one of the girls makes their way to a seat within the social circle. The client enters while we’re patiently waiting for him. Freshly touched up perfume, heels adjusted, and another glass of wine for good measure. The liquid courage commissions a provocative side as I cross my legs. He pays attention. Becca was right; this guy is ridiculously good-looking. It makes me wonder what his sins are. I’m sure he doesn’t have a hard time attracting women.
Maybe he’s a serial killer.
No, no, no. I can’t think like this. How am I supposed to book this session if I’m sitting here thinking he’s a murderer?
The girls take their turns talking to the client. I say nothing and wait for him to address me first. His eyes follow as I flip my hair over. Angel is going in about her fascination with fire and basically outing herself as a pyromaniac. Somewhere between wondering if this guy is Dexter and reminding myself to be seductive, I lost a handle on the conversation.
“Are you Prophecy?” he finally directs his attention my way.
“Oh, so you’ve heard of me?”
“Yeah, I’ve heard some things,” he teases. “From Andy, mostly.”
“Well, he’s not a reliable source.” I counter. “He just wants you to spend your money here.”
His eyes follow as I uncross my legs.
Wait, what am I doing? The conversation where Becca lets me know what his fetish or fantasy is didn’t happen. What if it’s too much for me?
The game of seduction stops.
Angel and Brandy keep talking, but I’m unable to adjust to their words – the alcohol has officially taken over. The kitchen becomes my sanctuary until he walks out of the lounge. A decision has been made.
Dear God, please don’t let it be me.
Another nap would be amazing. I’m also really not in the mood to be coy and put on airs while pretending to be a lady. Becca walks in.
“Prophecy, you’re up.”
“You didn’t even tell me what he likes. What am I in for?”
“There will be a bag of grape
fruits. It’s usually a dozen or so. You take each one and throw it at him as hard as you can. Compliment his body. Tell him how strong he is for withstanding such pain. You get extra tips for that.” Becca squares up.
“So, I just hit him anywhere?”
“Yup. Then he’ll offer you another fifty for a massage. Do it.” she advises.
“I’m so tipsy. There’s a good chance I’ll miss him completely. Does he give extra for that, too?”
Becca yanks my arm and pulls me out of the kitchen.
“Go. Time starts now.” she pushes me towards the rooms. “It’s a one hour block. I’ll knock at forty-five minutes then on the hour, if you’re not out yet.”
I’ve only done thirty-minute sessions so far. Maybe getting drunk wasn’t a bad idea, after all.
The Wolf faces me when I enter. He’s already down to his boxers and black socks with an athletic, chiseled body. Making him feel worshipped will be easy. The grapefruits are stacked on the dentist-looking chair.
“Was this explained to you?” he begins, exuding dominance.
“Yes, but I should warn you that I played softball in high school.”
He smiles, pleased with my answer.
“Have a seat.”
The Wolf begins with questions about my personal life. Each answer I provide is made up on the spot. I can be whoever I want – why not make it fun? The topic then changes to his stresses and responsibilities of running a business.
“My biggest fear is not succeeding,” he admits. “It haunts me every night. I have over 15,000 employees that I’m responsible for.”
Something in the distance of his mind distracts him.
“There are days I just want to run away from it all, but then I would feel guilty about giving up. The hamster wheel goes on and on.”
The Wolf finishes his drink and serves another. My glass is still full; the need to pace myself feels more urgent now. Hesitant of what to say, I massage his shoulders. This part is supposed to happen after the grapefruits, but I’m acting on instinct. His upper body relaxes from my touch.
“Then, I come here and do this thing. I feel so good when I’m here. My wife and I haven’t had sex in almost a year. This is the most intimate contact I get.”
The weight of his load is exhaled with a deep sigh. His shoulders slump. A comfortable silence dwells between us. I massage his scalp and pull on his hair in a soft tug. My fingertips press each temple in a circular motion. The Wolf pulls away and buries his face into both palms. Seconds later, I realize he’s crying.
“Are you okay? Do you want to stop the session?”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll still pay you extra,” he assures.
I’m more concerned with having to coddle him as he wipes the tears away.
“I caught my wife having sex with another man yesterday. They were so into it that they didn’t notice me standing at the door. That man was having her on my bed.”
My mind wanders off to the last time I saw a man cry like this. It was Papi when he finally saw me after two months of being a runaway. My older brother, Kelvin Jr., chased me into a store I ran into for refuge. Once I saw his turquoise 1991 Camaro pull up, I knew it was the end of my freedom. He dragged me home to face my parents, and my father broke down.
“I left without them noticing and came back hours later. My wife was cold and distant, as usual.” he continues.
“Why don’t you tell her that you saw them?”
The Wolf’s body tenses up again.
“If I tell her, then I have to leave her. What kind of man would I be if I stayed?”
“You don’t have to leave her. People forgive their partners for cheating all the time.”
“For respect. If I allow her to disrespect me, how will I respect myself?” he shifts to aggression. “We’ve been together since we were fifteen years old. I can’t believe she would do this in the home I bought her.”
He stands up suddenly. The tears are gone, and his breathing is heavy now. One fist punches into the other.
“She’s lucky I didn’t bash their fucking heads in!” his jaw is clenched as he paces back and forth.
“Maybe you should let me calm you down.”
I conceal the fear he’s triggering in me. If this runaway train isn’t stopped now, he could get violent and take his anger out on me. The pacing continues until he finally regains control, then returns to the loveseat.
“Why don’t we stop talking about her for now? Isn’t that why you came here? To escape?” I whisper in his ear. “Why don’t we get on with this?”
Hands run up my thighs and around my waist as I stand before him. My fingernails claw the surface of his back and along his ribcage. He faces the wall. This is a cue. It’s time for the grapefruits.
“Your legs look so strong.”
I cast the first one – it hits his left leg. The Wolf’s knee buckles from the impact, but he composes himself, takes a deep breath, and straightens his posture.
“THANK YOU! MAY I HAVE ANOTHER?” he cries out.
“May you have another? You are as strong as you look.” I pretend to be impressed.
The next one hits his right shoulder.
“THANK YOU! MAY I HAVE ANOTHER?” he cries out.
“I wish I had a man as strong as you in my life.”
The third grapefruit pelts his lower back. His breathing intensifies.
“Turn around.”
The Wolf obeys. His muscles contract and tighten from the pressure of his panting. A sudden locking of eyes takes me out of character, and the intensity of his gaze overwhelms me.
Another grapefruit.
This one strikes him on the stomach; abdominal muscles stiffen as it ricochets.
“Come here,” he says.
I pause, then surrender to his will.
The Wolf targets a kiss on my lips, but I dodge it swiftly.
“I don’t kiss on the mouth,” I recall this line from Pretty Woman and use it to my advantage.
The kisses land on my neck instead. A part of me is giving in; the other part is scared of what I’m allowing to unfold. The world spins around my head. A surreal feeling takes over as soft rock music plays from the speakers, and he kneels before me to remove my shoes – first my left, then my right. I position myself on the sofa as The Wolf takes my toes into his mouth, tongue slithering between them. An unfamiliar sensation moves through my entire being. The sucking and nibbling cause my body to shudder as I sink into the leather couch.
The Wolf’s tongue makes its way up my thigh, hands following, as he kisses through the fibers of my shorts, then reaches the source of my lustfulness. His hand comes up to unbutton them. I stop him, shaking my head no, but my resistance is a half-staffed white flag.
“I just want to taste you,” he whispers, reaching for my shorts again.
This time, I allow it. They come off in one quick motion. The Wolf’s mouth grazes the inner part of my leg. At the same time, hands grip my hips and pull me forward. The intensity shoots chills to every inch of my frame. He licks me just once, then looks up and smiles.
I don’t smile back.
A pool of mixed emotions hampers the indulgence. The Wolf puts his mouth on me again. This time the pleasure hypnotizes me as his tongue strokes the folds of my femininity. I’m dangerously close to climaxing as I suppress the moans and a desire to thrust into his face. If the girls hear me, they might get the wrong idea. Or precisely the right idea.
A knock on the door makes me jump; he doesn’t react.
“Fifteen minutes left,” Becca announces.
“Okay, thanks,” I respond, melting into the swirling motions between my legs.
Within minutes I’m grinding, shoving his face into me, and shaking off the pleasure. The Wolf looks up. I squeeze his head with my legs, getting every last shiver before setting hi
m free from my grip.
This time I’m the one smiling.
He starts to put his suit back on as embarrassment reddens my cheeks; I can feel the heat rising. I put my panties and shorts back on and sit there, confused about what just happened. The Wolf avoids eye contact as he puts his tie and blazer on.
“That was interesting,” I say in a feeble attempt to dispel the awkwardness.
“Yeah, it was.” he nods, pulls his wallet out, sets two hundred-dollar bills near the wine bucket, then walks out.
GETAWAY
Marco has let me pick up extra shifts after hearing about the last encounter at TLC. My biggest sins of smoking too much and binging on hot wings and fries are trivial compared to life in the underground. These last couple of weeks have exposed me to more life-altering moments than I’ve experienced in my nineteen years on this planet. A sensory overload between the girls and our clients took me for a ride on an emotional roller coaster at 180 mph with no seat belt.
The incident with The Wolf was icing on an already spoiled cake. A dark cloud binds me to the memory of him placing money on the table after eating me out. A pill too hard to swallow; a glitch-in-the-Matrix kind of mindfuck. It enforces the realization that I’ve been selling more than my time at TLC. Women and girls are being murdered daily for this shit. We’ve all read the stories of forced labor and human trafficking, and here I am signing up for it to buy expensive clothes, eat at fancy places, and party the night away. The foolishness antagonizes me.
When Sammy invites me to Philly for the weekend, I jump at the chance to escape. Leaving the city on the Cross Bronx Expressway feels like salvation. She talks the entire ride, but my inability to follow the rambling is no deterrent to her word vomit.
“I know she loves me. She’s just afraid I’m going to cheat. But yo, I swear I would drop everybody if she was my girl.”
Sammy doesn’t come up for air once.
I wonder what Adelina is doing. We haven’t spoken all week. I’m also thinking of telling Sammy about The Wolf. My only hesitation is how she’ll take it. It could ruin our trip and friendship if she judges me because I’ve been on edge these days. Self-criticism weighs more than any cross the world can erect in your honor. This shame that has built a home in me is enough of a burden.
Identity Interrupted Page 6