Gigolo Girl

by Layce Gardner

  “How’d she get the idea we had a trainee program anyhow?”

  “From what I can figure, she thought trained specialists meant we took on trainees. Honey Belle’s advertising campaign is a bit obtuse,” Desiree said.

  They were lounging on the beige ultra-suede couches in the Victoria Secret store in the Bonanza Fashion Mall while Mildred tried on lingerie in the dressing room.

  “Innocent, my ass,” Candy Sweet said. “That girl is playing you big time.”

  “No, she’s not,” Desiree said. “Why is it you can’t believe that real innocence actually exists?”

  “Because it doesn’t,” Candy Sweet argued. “And that girl is going to prove me right.”

  “I refuse to talk about this with you,” Desiree said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Besides, if my memory serves me right, you took me under your wing when I first arrived in town. I didn’t know shit from Shinola either.”

  The memory brought a smile to Candy Sweet’s usually stern face. “Is that what all this is about? You saving her ‘cause I saved you?”

  “You and Honey Belle took a chance on me. It’s time for me to pay it back. Mildred needs a break. I’ll teach her the how-tos, but I need you to perfect her style. And nobody can do that better than you.”

  The compliment softened Candy Sweet. She tossed her head back so the long blond wig flipped behind her shoulder. “What kind of style you got in mind?”

  “Innocent with a bit of country, but tasteful.”

  Candy Sweet raised her eyebrow. “And how you expect me to do that? I’m not a damn miracle worker.”

  “Please? You’re a fashion genius. You’ll think of something.”

  “You got to tell me true, is she dumb or she just act that way?”

  “Well, I will admit she’s a little on the naïve side. But I think it’s more ignorance than stupid. The thick country accent doesn’t help much either. But that could be made into one of her selling points. We do live in Texas, after all.”

  “Not that Texas we don’t.”

  “Shhh…here she comes,” Desiree said.

  “We gotta do something ‘bout her name.”

  “I know.”

  Mildred pranced out of the Victoria Secret dressing room wearing red cheekini panties with a matching red lacy demi bra that did enormous justice to Mildred’s best assets. “I feel like Bette Davis in Jezebel,” she said.

  Damn, we grow them large here in Texas, Desiree thought. “Wow, you look great.”

  Mildred blushed and held her hands over her breasts. “I feel so… exposed.”

  “Honey, you are. Your tits are the window dressing,” Candy Sweet said. “That’s how you get them into the store to buy the rest of the junk.”

  “Well, what do you think?” Desiree said. She was thinking that if she had a penis it would be apparent by the tent in her pants. Instead, her lust manifested itself by her pinky finger twitching.

  Candy Sweet studied Mildred. “Red is not her color.”

  “What! It looks great on her,” Desiree said.

  “Not if we’re going for the innocent farm girl look.”

  “You all want me to look like a milk maid?”

  “Yes! That’s it. You are the lusty milk maid, the comforting farmer’s daughter, the roll-in-the hay girl,” Desiree said, leaping to her feet.

  “I’m allergic to hay. This one time I was helping with the Baptist Revival for the International Resurrection of Christ Our Lord and Savior and we made a hay maze and I broke out in hives. My throat swelled up and I couldn’t talk for a week. It was just awful,” Mildred said.

  Candy Sweet rolled her eyes. “Thank the sweet Lord nobody’s paying her to talk. Mildred, sugar, go try on that white Dream Angel teddy.” She pointed to a teddy that was on display. It was white with French cut legs and barely enough ruffles to cover the nipples.

  “Oh, sure. Do you want me to put on them stockings, too?” Mildred asked.

  “Yes, but find a white garter with pink bows on it,” Candy Sweet said.

  Mildred pranced away like she was a well-groomed show pony wearing a feathered headdress. Her hindquarters had just the right amount of bounce to them.

  Desiree’s pinky twitched faster and faster.

  Candy Sweet took one look at Desiree and pursed her lips. “Really?” she said disdainfully.

  “You’ve got to admit, she’d be a nice package to unwrap.”

  “Don’t even go there,” Candy Sweet said. “That girl knows exactly what she’s doin’. She could twist you up like a pretzel in no time flat.”

  Mildred’s New Name

  “You gotta change your name,” Candy Sweet mumbled. Her mouth was full of chicken fried steak sandwich and coleslaw. They were seated at a table in the food court surrounded by bags and bags and bags of Mildred’s new wardrobe—courtesy of Desiree’s American Express card.

  Mildred methodically ate French fries. She dunked one in ketchup, took a bite, dunked it again, another bite. It took her three bites per fry. She looked over at Desiree who was texting on her smartphone and slurping a fruit smoothie at the same time. “Desiree, what do you think my name should be?”

  “Hold on, she’s almost reached climax. I’ll be with you in a second,” Desiree said between slurps.

  “What is she doing?” Mildred whispered behind her hand to Candy Sweet.

  “Making some cash on the side. And Honey Belle is going to string her up by her teeny tiny nipples if she catches her,” Candy Sweet said.

  Without looking up from her phone, Desiree said, “I do not have teeny tiny nipples and she isn’t going to find out unless you tell her… which you’re not going to do.” Desiree texted one more line and set her phone down. “That was an easy hundred bucks.”

  “A hundred whole dollars?” Mildred asked with wide eyes. She was astounded. It sure beat the heck out of chicken farming. She’d have to sell a lot of eggs to get a hundred dollars. “All for just texting?”

  “Sexting,” Desiree corrected. She slurped her smoothie.

  “What’s sexting?” Mildred said.

  Candy Sweet said, “Damn, girl, you really did just get off the farm.”

  “You text dirty to people and they pay you for it. This gal wanted a quick spank but in a…” Desiree did air quotes, “virtual way. So she sexts me. I make up a scenario, type some dirty stuff, she gets off and I get a hundred bucks added to my Paypal account. And she’s one of my quick ones. I’ve got a few others that require a short story before they climax—my God, they about wear my fingers to the bone.” She slurped up the dregs of her smoothie and dabbed at her mouth with a paper napkin. “And Candy Sweet’s right. You do need a different name. The Joan Crawford reference would make all the women nervous around their wire hangers.”

  “You’re amazing,” Mildred said with genuine awe. “You can eat lunch, talk to me, and get a woman off. All on your lunch hour!”

  Desiree smiled humbly. Candy Sweet cleared her throat. “Can I be a part of this mutual admiration society or do you all discriminate against us humble women with normal-sized egos?”

  “Don’t pay any attention to her,” Desiree said. “She’s just jealous.”

  Mildred looked at Candy Sweet and in an effort to stroke her fragile ego, said, “Oh, Miss Sweet, I didn’t mean to leave you out. You have the nicest ass I ever did see.”

  “Okay, okay,” Candy Sweet said, waving away the compliment. She took a tube of bright red lipstick out of her enormous cleavage and reapplied the color to her lips. “Now about your new name…”

  “What kinda name you think I should change to?” Mildred asked.

  “Something sexy,” Candy Sweet said, smacking her lips on a napkin. “Mildred sounds like you have an overbite and thick glasses.”

  “But I’ve been Mildred all my life. If I change my name and I’m waiting for an appointment like at the dentist’s office and they call out my new name I won’t know who I am. My teeth could rot and fall out of my head and I’d still
be sitting there.”

  “We all have our stage names that we use except when we go to the dentist and places like that,” Candy Sweet explained. “You can use your real name except when you’re working.”

  “Oh, like movie stars do,” Mildred said, dipping another French fry in a puddle of ketchup and eating it. She’d once heard that Whoopi Goldberg’s real name was Karen. Whoopi sure didn’t look like a Karen to her. Mildred didn’t want to be a Whoopi though. It wouldn’t fit her.

  Desiree said, “It might be best for us to keep her stage name as close as possible to her real name so there’s not so much confusion. When was the last time you saw a dentist anyway?”

  “Why?” Mildred asked. She covered her mouth with her hand.

  “No, you have nice teeth. We just want to keep them that way,” Desiree said.

  “She’s right. You gotta remember people notice teeth, skin, and hair first thing. They’re the holy trinity of beauty,” Candy Sweet said.

  Mildred nodded. Teeth, skin, and hair—she’d have to remember that.

  Candy Sweet wadded up her paper napkin and licked her fingers one by one as she studied Mildred. Desiree stared at her, too. Mildred looked away self-consciously. Now she knew how a chicken felt under USDA inspection.

  “How about Milly?” Desiree said. “It’s just a shortened version of your real name.”

  “Hmm…” Candy Sweet said. “Not half bad. Now to add a dash of country spice. Southern white girls always have those double names. How about Jean?”

  “Milly Jean, hmm…” Desiree said. “I think you’re right. I like it. Milly Jean. What about a last name?”

  “How about Twitty?” Mildred asked. “It was my grandma’s maiden name.”

  “Milly Jean Twitty,” Desiree said, trying it on for size.

  Candy Sweet laughed. “If that ain’t the whitest name I ever heard!”

  “What’s wrong with it?” Mildred asked.

  “Not a thing, honey, not a thing. It’s perfect,” Candy Sweet said, standing. She blew them both a kiss. “I gotta go.” She looked at Desiree and shook her head. “You train the rest of her, she’s your project.” She left her tray on the table and strode off, her perfect ass swinging back and forth like a pendulum.

  “You ready?” Desiree asked. “We need to go get your stuff.”

  “My stuff?” Mildred said, picking up her own tray and Candy Sweet’s and depositing them on the rack by the trashcan. Her mama had taught her to always clean up after herself.

  “I thought you could stay with me for a while. Until you get up and going. I’ve got an extra room doing nothing but storing a vacuum cleaner.”

  “Really?” Mildred said. “You’d do that for me?”

  “Sure,” Desiree said. “Somebody helped me once, now I’m going to help you.”

  Mildred teared up. Her bottom lip trembled.

  Desiree held up her hand in a stop gesture, saying, “Do not cry. Not again. I forbid it.”

  Mildred wiped at her eyes and grabbed Desiree’s hand, hugging it to her chest. “I’ll never forget this act of kindness. I’m a good housekeeper. I’ll clean for you. I’m a real good cleaner. And I can cook. Sandwiches mostly. To tell the truth, I can’t cook anything except sandwiches—peanut butter and banana are my specialty.”

  Desiree smiled. Peanut butter was her favorite.

  Uptown Girl

  Mildred was agog. She stood in the middle of Desiree’s living room and spun in a slow circle, taking everything in. As Desiree watched Mildred, it made her remember how far she’d come. It wasn’t all that long ago that she was fresh out of high school and working in the fish factory in Seward, Alaska. She may have gotten out of that factory and out of that town, but she’d never get the smell of fish out of her nose.

  Desiree’s condo was on the cutting edge of fashionable. It was filled with all modern furniture—dove grey leather couch and loveseat, sleek modular entertainment center, and a huge painting of a fish over the fireplace. She had bought the painting on a whim. It was primitive art, painted in primary colors on two by four planks. It reminded Desiree of where she began, how far she had come, and how grateful she was. In fact, every time she looked at the fish painting she said a silent prayer of thanks.

  Mildred toured the kitchen next. It had granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, and every kitchen gadget money could buy although Desiree seldom cooked. The microwave was the only thing that really got a workout.

  Mildred gravitated back to the living room and looked out the wall of windows. The condo was on the seventh floor and had a breathtaking view of downtown Bon Chance. “I bet when the city lights flicker on at night it looks just like a star-filled sky,” Mildred said appreciatively. “It’s like we’re up in heaven, looking down on the stars.”

  “That’s quite poetic.”

  Mildred turned to Desiree and smiled. “It’s a dream come true. Like it came right out of a fancy magazine,” she said. “It could be on that TV show Cribs.” She turned to Desiree. “You actually live here?”

  “I sure do and now so do you,” Desiree said. She picked up Mildred’s Samsonite suitcase and led her in the direction of her guest room. “Your room is right down this hallway.”

  Desiree opened the bedroom door and Mildred gasped as she entered. “It’s so big!” She opened a closet and squealed when she saw that it was a walk-in. “This closet is bigger than my whole room back home!”

  “You have your own bathroom, too,” Desiree said. She placed the suitcase at the foot of the king-size bed, crossed the room, opened a door and flipped on the bathroom light.

  Mildred walked toward the bathroom, saying, “You got more than one bathroom?”

  “Yes, and it even has indoor plumbing,” Desiree said.

  Mildred laughed and socked Desiree in the arm. “Now, I know you’re not making fun of me, are you?”

  “No, I’m not. Well, kind of, but I grew up in a small town, too. It wasn’t so long ago that I felt the same way you do now.”

  “Where’d you grow up?”

  “That’s a story for another day,” Desiree said. “You like Chinese?”

  “I’ve never met one in real life. Are they really that short?”

  Desiree tilted her head. After a long pause it became apparent that Mildred wasn’t joking. “I meant do you like Chinese food?”

  “I’ve never had any.”

  “Well, tell you what, you get settled in here. Unpack. Take a long hot soak in the tub and by the time you get out, I’ll have dinner ready.”

  Mildred looked Desiree in the eye and said solemnly, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  Desiree shrugged. She had an inkling of why she was doing it. But she wasn’t sure if this inkling was such a good idea. So instead, she avoided the truth by saying, “Didn’t your Mama ever tell you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?”

  Mildred accepted this answer with a smile. “She sure did. She also told me to say thank you. So, thank you, Desiree. You’re the sweetest thang.”

  She quickly leaned in and kissed Desire on the cheek.

  “You’re welcome,” Desiree whispered.

  Desiree’s phone buzzed. She looked at the screen. “Oops, gotta take this.”

  “Another hundred bucks?”

  “Yes. Take your time getting settled,” Desiree said, already texting furiously as she walked out of the room.

  Jelly Donuts

  The next morning, Mildred sat at the kitchen bar watching Desiree cook something that came out of a carton. She wasn’t sure what it was. “Do I really have to watch this?” Mildred asked. She was looking at the cover of a DVD and making a this-is-yucky face.

  “Yes, you do. Don’t think of it as a porno. Think of it as an anatomy lesson.” Desiree was making them scrambled eggs with Egg Beaters and fat-free cheddar cheese. She had put herself on a strict diet because she had the beginnings of a roll around her mid-section. She would not perform her famous “Ride ‘em Cowboy” for her clients
with a jiggly stomach and muffin top. It would not do.

  “I already know all about body parts. I took a class down at the Unitarian church before they got railroaded out of town,” Mildred said.

  “Okay, then. You should know the answer to this question: How many holes does a woman have?”

  “Do holes in the head count?

  Desiree chuckled. “No, they don’t count.”

  “I’m just asking because maybe it’s a trick question. ‘Cause my Aunt Betty lost an eye. She wore a patch over it until she got a glass eyeball. Then every time she sneezed the eyeball popped out. Allergy season was hell on her. So whenever she sneezed she had a hole where her eyeball used to be. That means she had one more hole than most women did. That’s why I asked if head holes counted.”

  Desiree said, “Let me rephrase the question. How many holes do women have in their underpants?”

  Mildred asked, “Can you make it multiple choice? I always do better on multiple choice tests.”

  “No, no multiple choice.”

  Mildred thought it over and finally said, “Two?”

  “The answer is three,” Desiree said. “There’s the P Hole, the V hole and the A hole.” Desiree had only learned this important fact by watching Orange is the New Black.

  “I think Unitarians must only have two holes,” Mildred said. “They didn’t say nothing about three holes.”

  “That may be,” Desiree said. “I don’t know any Unitarians.”

  “But do I really have to watch Debbie does Donuts?” Mildred asked. She looked at the cover of the DVD and involuntarily licked her lips. The cover showed a jelly donut stuck on a woman’s nipple. It looked a whole lot better than the yellow liquid stuff Desiree had put in the frying pan.

  “I’m telling you lesbians love food. So food porn is like two lessons in one. Trust me on this one,” Desiree said.

  “Okay, but I’m never going to look at a jelly donut the same way.”

  “We start mango lessons tomorrow. Believe me after that you won’t ever look at them the same way either. Now eat your egg-less breakfast.” Desiree put two plates down on the table.