Live Girls

by Ray Garton

  “Yeah?"

  Roger smiled with strangely dark lips. His hand was still held out before him, waiting for her to take it.

  “Well,” Sondra said, looking around, “I gotta friend, too, see. She'll be back pretty quick and she's gonna wonder where I am."

  Roger lowered his hand and slipped it into a pocket. “I can pay very well.” He held up a handful of bills.

  “Well, Christ, buddy, why don't you just throw the money up in the air and see how much attention we can attract?"

  He put the money back in his pocket. “Sorry,” he said quietly.

  Sondra put a hand on her hip, brushed her hair back with the other, and said, “You sure this ain't for you? You're, um...” She smiled. “You're pretty interesting, you know? I like you."

  He shook his head slightly. “For my friend."

  She sighed and looked around for Hildy again. “Well, shit.” She narrowed her eyes. “Okay, money in advance, right?"

  “Of course.” He reached over and pressed some money into her hand. “Two hundred dollars?"

  She blinked. “Jesus, you gotta horny friend.” She stuffed the money in her purse at her side. “Okay, where to?"

  “This way."

  She walked with him across the street, along the sidewalk, their feet splatting softly against the wet cement.

  “So what's your friend into?” she asked. “I don't do just anything, you know."

  “Sucking."

  “Into sucking, huh? Two hundred bucks just for me to come suck her?"

  He turned his head to her only slightly, one cheek raising with a gentle smile. “No. She does it."

  After a few blocks of silent walking, Roger slowed in front of a small black storefront with a flashing sign that read LIVE GIRLS.

  “Hey, hey, wait a sec,” Sondra snapped. “This is a peep joint."

  “This is where my friend is,” he replied, leading her to the curtained doorway.

  “Nope.” She stopped. “Uh-uh. I'll have a world of shit, I go into a place like that to turn a trick. What, she wants me to go into one of them dirty little booths with her, or somethin'? The management'll shit a brick sideways, I go in there."

  He smiled again. “She is the management."

  Sondra stood outside the black building and thought of the two hundred dollars in her purse. “First sign of trouble,” she said, “I'm haulin’ my ass outta there."

  “Fair enough,” Roger said. He took her arm and led her through the curtain.

  “Jesus,” Sondra breathed, “it's pitch black in here."

  “Just come with me."

  She reached out a hand and felt cold, rusty bars, then a wall. Just beyond that, Roger opened a door and led her through. She heard it close, then heard a lock click. Sondra detected the presence of a third person in the dark with them. She sniffed; something smelled sweet. She heard Roger speak to someone in a whisper, but she could not understand what he said. There was an unintelligible reply. Sondra closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. The darkness was thinning slowly. She looked through the barred window at the curtained doorway through which she had come; light from outside shone through the narrow part in the curtains.

  “Come this way,” Roger said, never letting go of her arm. He led her through another door; its hinges sounded like the laugh of an old woman. It shut behind them. There was definitely someone with them now, someone standing just behind Sondra to her right.

  Roger let go of her arm and stepped away from her. With a click, soft light came from a small lamp on an end table against the wall, landing in a round pool on the dirty floor. Sondra looked around the tiny room; Roger stood by the lamp looking at someone over her shoulder. She turned and could see a figure in the dark. No face. A shadow cast by nothing. Roger smiled at her, then spoke to the figure behind Sondra.

  “Shall I go?"

  “Yes,” a voice said from the darkness at Sondra's back. “I'll let them up when I'm finished.” It was a woman's voice, deep and touched, perhaps, by the accent of a language unfamiliar to Sondra.

  She heard scratching, like a kitten pawing at a door. At first, she thought it was coming from outside the door behind her. Then she realized it was in the room with them. Not exactly in the room, but ... coming from beneath the floor.

  With a nod to the shadowy figure, Roger turned and went back out the door, smiling in at Sondra before closing it behind him.

  The faint scratching became a heavy scraping against wood.

  Sondra turned to the woman hidden in the darkness. For the first time in a long while, Sondra was scared, and when she spoke, her voice trembled. “Look,” she said, “I don't like the feel of this, know what I mean? No offense, or anything, but, tell you what. I'll give you your two hundred dollars back and just take off. How ‘bout it?"

  The woman stood there, a part of the darkness around her, motionless and unnervingly silent.

  “Okay?” Sondra asked, smiling uncertainly.

  The scraping became a thumping.

  The woman stepped into the circle of light cast by the lamp and all Sondra could see were her eyes. Deep, red eyes that gripped her and held. For several moments, she saw no other part of the woman's face except those two enormous, embracing eyes.

  “You're very pretty,” the woman said, her voice as quiet as a lustful thought. “Very healthy and soft looking. Desirable."

  Sondra could not speak. She could not move. She wasn't even sure she was breathing.

  “I'm glad Roger found you,” she continued, taking another step forward. Sondra realized the woman was holding open her arms to Sondra. She moved toward the woman, unable to resist. Sondra saw her face as the woman's hands touched her shoulders. She saw the white white flesh, the silver hair framing the long face, narrow, upturned ears, the flat nose, the lips, and when the woman smiled hungrily, Sondra saw her teeth, long and narrow and sharp, dripping with saliva.

  The pounding beneath the floor became frantic. Sondra's last thought was a memory of her daughter; her last sensation was the woman's mouth pressing to her throat....

  Afterwards, she stood slowly, her mouth dripping. She ran long fingers over her lips, then licked them clean. Reaching out a hand, she flicked off the lamp. She was more comfortable in the darkness. The darkness was cool and soothing.

  She leaned against the wall a moment, feeling her strength return, warm behind her eyes, making her feel as if she glowed in the dark room. She felt whole, strong, satisfied.

  She bent forward, threw a bolt lock on the floor, then another. She wrapped her fingers around the flat handle and lifted a trapdoor, stepping aside.

  They clumsily began to pull themselves up with twisted hands and knobby fingers. Some of them had lost the flesh at the tips of their fingers and bone protruded from the ragged skin.

  Others shot up from below, their vein-webbed wings flapping softly as they fluttered near the ceiling, their red eyes gleaming in the blackness.

  All of them were disfigured in some way, bent, crippled. They swarmed over the still form on the floor, their teeth and claws tearing the flesh, their lapping tongues filling the room with quiet sounds, wet sounds, as they fed on what remained of the girl's blood.

  She passed quietly through the room, through the door, closing it softly behind her. She sat once again in the cage, blending into the darkness behind the bars, sated and waiting.

  5

  ____________________________

  “MY GOD!” CASEY SHRIEKED, ROCKING WITH LAUGHTER. “I can't believe she actually said that to you! Are you, are you...” She stopped, recovering from her laughter. “Are you sure that's what she had in mind?"

  “Sure sounded that way to me,” Davey replied, his voice a little hoarse. He was lying on the sofa in an old gray jogging suit. Casey was sitting Indian-style on the floor turned toward him, a white carton of takeout Chinese food in her lap. The television was on, the volume low. The gray images of The Black Cat cast a flickering glow on Casey and Davey in the otherwise dark ro
om. “Now we know the real reason Chad got that job."

  “Well,” Casey said, a little bitterness in her voice, “I knew it wasn't because he deserved it. I don't think he even knows what he's doing half the time, he's so preoccupied with that damned singles bar he hangs out in every night."

  “The Trench?"

  “Yeah. Slime. Wonder if Miss Schuman knows that her little pet is going out and getting it on with bouncing bimbos a few times a week. Anyway, Chad is just what Penn is looking for. He wouldn't read more than two pages of a truly good manuscript if you made him. You know, I read the manuscript about the magician and the crippled girl? Good story. You just wait, it'll sell somewhere.” She scooped some noodles into her mouth and chewed, smiling up at Davey. “You made the right move,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Davey agreed. “I think I did. I feel good about it. I just don't know what I'm gonna do now."

  “Don't worry too much about it."

  “Well, now that Beth's gone ... She was helping out with the rent and stuff. Not much, but let's face it; selling tickets at that slimy theater doesn't exactly keep caviar on the crackers, you know? But it was something. I'm gonna have to move fast so I can put some groceries in the fridge. Maybe if I'd done this sooner ... maybe she wouldn't have left."

  “Hey, bucko,” she snapped, “don't start that with me. If that's why she left, you're better off without her. Of course, I don't give a damn why she left, you're better off without her anyway." She held up the carton. “Are you sure you don't want any of this? It's good."

  Davey looked down at the carton with its mash of noodles and vegetables and sauce and his stomach did a little flip. He hadn't been feeling too well since he'd gotten home; his appetite had been gone since morning and he hadn't eaten all day. The thought of food in his mouth only made him feel worse.

  “Positive,” he said. “My stomach's a little upset."

  Casey leaned forward and squinted at him. “You do look a little pale. Maybe you should just eat some soup. Get a little food in your stomach."

  He shook his head. “No, thanks."

  “Get lots of Vitamin C,” she suggested, taking another bite of food.

  “Thanks, Mom."

  “And don't be a smartass. You've got to stay well if you're going job hunting. Nobody in their right mind'll hire you if you look anemic."

  He chuckled, staring at the television. “You know, I'm gonna kind of miss the trash at Penn."

  “Gimme a break."

  “No, really. Some of that stuff was fun. Some of it. I learned a lot of weird stuff from those stories. How to break into very secure buildings, how to defend yourself with a pocket comb. How to blow up cars with Ping-Pong balls and—"

  “Whoa, wait a minute. Ping-Pong balls?"

  “And Drano."

  “You're shitting me."

  “Uh-uh."

  She took another bite, then set the carton aside, leaning toward Davey with interest. “Okay. I'll bite. How do you blow up a car with Ping-Pong balls and Drano?"

  “You take a Ping-Pong ball, inject some Drano into it, then drop it into the gas tank of your favorite Godless communist, and ... boom!” He spread his fingers wide.

  “C'mon, now. Drano explodes?"

  He shrugged and turned on his side toward her. “Some sort of chemical reaction. The gasoline dissolves the Ping-Pong ball after a while—that way the good guy has enough time to haul ass—then when the Drano and the gas mix, it explodes. Any petroleum distillate is supposed to work. I”—he covered his mouth with his palm as he yawned—“don't know. I just read it in one of those ‘true’ adventure stories."

  “Well, it's certainly good to know if you ever go into the terrorist business."

  They both chuckled.

  Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi were playing chess for the lives of a young couple who had wandered into Karloff's huge art-deco mansion.

  After several moments of silently watching the movie, Casey turned toward Davey and watched him as his eyes grew heavy, as the gray light flickered over his pleasant face. When he finally noticed she was staring, Davey said, “What?"

  “Nothing. Just thinking."

  He waited, but she just continued looking at him, smiling softly.

  “Well?” he pressed.

  “I was just thinking that ... I'm kind of glad that Beth took off."

  Davey blinked a few times. He was used to her joking about his choice of women friends, but her tone now was serious. Sincere.

  “I'm sorry,” she said, shaking her head apologetically. “That probably wasn't a very nice thing to say. However I may have felt about her, I know she meant something to you. But, well, I am, dammit! My reasons are kind of selfish, I guess, but that's the way I feel."

  “Okay, so what are your reasons?"

  “Well, she was bringing you a lot of heartache, for one thing. But I also think that maybe you and I will have a little more ... time together."

  Davey sat up a bit straighter. “There's more, I can tell. Go on."

  She squirmed, took another bite of her food, then set the carton aside and scooted closer to Davey.

  “What happened between us, Davey?” she asked suddenly, her voice so quiet he almost had to strain to hear it. “I mean, that day we spent together, walking around the park, making up stories about all the bums and bag ladies, harassing the pigeons, then, when we came back here, spent the night together ... that was wonderful, Davey. I mean, it. Really. Was. Wonderful. Then afterward, we never talked about it, never did anything about it, it was almost like it never happened. So, what'd we do wrong?"

  Davey watched her for a moment, hoping she would continue. “I really don't know,” he finally said.

  “Neither do I, which makes the whole thing even more stupid and frustrating! You didn't need to go off and shack up with Beth, and I didn't need to quietly sit on the sidelines and watch, wondering if you'd ever come to your senses again!"

  He sighed but didn't say anything.

  “Anyway, now she's gone and you're available, and all that shit, and ... if you're interested ... I'd kind of like to, well, I think we'd be ... oh, I'm fucking this up. I didn't even plan on talking about this, you know.” She got a tight-lipped look of determination on her face, and she said, “Davey, are you interested? Yes or no."

  He almost laughed at the cards-on-the-table tone of voice. “Casey,” he said, “I'm sorry. Sorry if I made you feel—"

  “Don't apologize!” she snapped, bringing her face so close to his that he could smell her not unpleasant Chinese-food breath. “That's all over now and we've got another shot at things. Life's too short to spend apologizing. So what do you say?"

  Davey finally laughed. Softly. “You're a tough cookie,” he said.

  “Mama Thorne didn't raise no airheads."

  He sat up on the sofa and she scooted over, waiting for a reaction.

  “I've got to admit, Casey, I'm a little puzzled. I mean ... I'm not really your type, am I?"

  Casey slid away from him. “And just what is my type?" She didn't let him reply. “If anybody has a type, it's you. And I can't fit into it!” She stood and paced with her hands on her hips.

  “Oh?” Davey said. “And what's my type?"

  “You still don't know, do you?” She turned to him. “Remember Patty?"

  Davey had met Patty in the elevator on his way to work one morning. She'd said she was going to apply for a job at Penn but was sure she would never get it. When he asked why, she'd replied, “I can't do anything, and I sure can't keep a job. Well, except for one. But I don't like it."

  Sure enough, she hadn't gotten the job, but he'd taken her to dinner that night. She had talked him into giving her a place to stay until she could get a job. She'd claimed to be looking for work, but she never found any, though she'd somehow managed to always have spending money.

  One day, six months later, Davey came home from work early with the flu to find her in the bathroom with a grossly overweight black man. She was giving him a
n enema in the bathtub.

  “It's nothing personal, just a job!” she'd shouted just before leaving a short time later. “But everything's personal to you, isn't it?"

  Davey looked up at Casey, wondering what she was getting at.

  “She needed help, didn't she?” Casey asked. “Needed, oh, I don't know, caring for. Right?"

  “Well, yeah, she—"

  “She needed a good shot of self-respect and confidence, right? You thought you had something to offer her. And Beth. You found her in the lobby of the Union being knocked around by her boyfriend. You took her home, gave her a place to stay, took good care of her, let her cry on your shoulder ... really, Davey, don't act confused when I say you have a type."

  Casey stopped pacing and stood before him.

  “You let them use you, Davey, and then when they're finished, you fall into a big pout. Why don't you take a look at your problem and do something about it. Stop thinking that no woman will have you unless you can do something for her."

  She sat down and stretched an arm out on the back of the sofa.

  “I don't want you to do anything for me, Davey,” she said softly. “I don't want to change you, I don't want to help or pamper you. I just think you're a pretty terrific guy with whom I want to...” She thought a moment, and giggled. “...get naked."

  Davey laughed, but briefly. He felt tired. Not just physically tired, but exhausted from the juggling he'd been doing during his relationship with Beth, and before that with Patty, trying so hard to ... what?

  To make them happy.

  She's right, he thought with disgust.

  “Casey,” he began slowly. “I'm not so sure it's a good idea."

  “And Beth was?"

  “Touché.” He sighed. “Look, I'm not saying ... I'm not telling you that..."

  “Yes or no, Davey."

  He put a hand on the side of her face and gently moved his thumb over her soft skin. He honestly did not know what had happened between them. If Patty hadn't come along, perhaps something would've developed with Casey, something more than their strong but (with the exception of one night) platonic friendship. He would probably have never become involved with Beth.