Gigolo Girl

by Layce Gardner

  “Who are those women?” Mildred said, pointing. “Are they on our side or they just don’t like people who wear sandals?”

  “They’re other gigolo girls. You didn’t think we were the only ones, did you? See that woman over there wearing the beige pantsuit?”

  Mildred squinted and asked, “The one who looks like Florence Henderson from The Brady Bunch?”

  “That’s the one. Her name is Erica. She runs the east side of Bon Chance. All her girls dress like office workers. There are a lot of women out there that like that look.”

  “I don’t get it,” Mildred said.

  “Me neither. I think they do a lot of I’m-the-boss-and-you’re-my-secretary-kind-of-stuff.”

  “Oh, like the movie Cactus Flower with Ingrid Bergman and Goldie Hawn?”

  Desiree glanced over at her. “Never seen it.”

  “Oh, you should. It’s this marvelous movie where the secretary who is also the dental assistant falls in love with Walter Matthau even though he’s ugly and he thinks he loves the cute and stupid hippie girl. He doesn’t know it at first but then realizes that he does love Ingrid Bergman.”

  Desiree looked dubious. “I guess you have to see it.”

  “So all those women dressed in skirts and blazers are Erica’s girls?”

  “Yep,” Desiree said.

  “Did you ever work for her?”

  “No, why do you ask?”

  “Because you would look very attractive in a suit,” Mildred said coyly.

  “Well, thanks,” Desiree said, blushing. “I prefer working for Honey Belle. She has a better benefits package, which is why we have health, vision, and dental insurance, not to mention the 401 K plan. I hope you’re taking advantage of that.”

  Mildred nodded. She couldn’t really think about her 401 K plan now – she was too fascinated with the brawl down on the dance floor. She thought, this must be what it’s like to watch a prize fight.

  “Give ‘em hell!” Mildred yelled down to Velvet Thrust, who was water-boarding a Leather in the punch bowl. Mildred’s conscience got the better of her and she added, “But don’t kill her.”

  “Are you getting soft?” Desiree teased.

  “Well, no. I just don’t want Velvet Thrust to go to prison for murder.”

  “What do you mean, Velvet Thrust would love prison. She’d be running the place inside of a day.”

  “Should we go down and help? We did start the whole thing,” Mildred said, watching as Heavenly Bliss picked up a bottle of champagne, shook it and uncorked it. Champagne sprayed everywhere and the cork was a bull’s-eye—hitting a Leather right in her leather-clad ass.

  “No, it’s almost taken care of,” Desiree said. “I’d say it’s all over but the fat lady singing.”

  “What fat lady?” Mildred asked.

  “It’s just an expression. It means the show is almost over.”

  The Birkenstocks turned over a table of baked goods and cowered behind it. The Leathers had taken off their boots and thrown them at the call girls, who deftly held up chairs, using them as shields. Now, the Leathers stood weaponless in their stocking feet. The call girls formed a straight line, and reared back to throw the boots at the Leathers. It looked like a naughty adult version of Dodgeball.

  The whole room ground to a standstill.

  Honey Belle and Heavenly Bliss laughed. Honey Belle said, pointing at the Leathers, “When will you bitches ever figure out that we all got the street smarts and you’re nothing but a bunch of poseurs?”

  “And you all,” Heavenly Bliss said, addressing the Birkenstocks, “Plainly don’t know nothing about fighting period, so why don’t you all just go on home and eat some more of your pacifist alfalfa sprouts.” She did a shoo-fly gesture with her hands.

  “You all need to get the hell out of here so we can start partying,” Honey Belle said, doing the chicken thing with her head and neck that black women have perfected over the ages.

  “What about our boots?” asked a Leather.

  Fessa wound up like a pitcher on the mound and let fly. The boot hit the Leather in the head and down she went. “Anybody else want a boot?” Fessa shouted.

  The Leathers shook their heads in unison.

  Desiree glanced over at Mildred who was giggling. “They sure don’t look very tough right now,” Mildred said.

  “I know, right?”

  “You can pick up your boots later. After we’ve had our dance,” Honey Belle said, putting air quotes around the word ‘our.’ Now scat.”

  “Hey, we paid to have a dance here too,” one of the Birkenstocks said.

  Velvet Thrust threw a boot at her, clocking her right in the head. She toppled over like a felled redwood.

  That seemed to settle it. The vanquished army left single file and barefoot, heads hanging low.

  As soon as the door closed behind the last leather butt, Heavenly Bliss shouted, “Let’s get this party started!”

  The Last Dance

  The D.J. set a new tone by putting on the theme song from the movie Love Story. “Here you go, ladies, it’s the most romantic song on the face of the planet so get dancing.”

  “Oh, Desiree, I just love this song,” Mildred gushed. “It gives me goose bumps every time I hear it.”

  “Okay, let’s go dance,” Desiree said. She peered over the railing down at the dance floor. “Now that it’s just us, we can rejoin the party downstairs.”

  But Mildred had other ideas. She took Desiree’s hand and placed it on her hip, saying, “Not down there. I want to dance right here, just us.”

  “This is a really mushy song,” Desiree said.

  “It’s the perfect song. I’ll even let you lead,” Mildred teased.

  Desiree took Mildred in her arms. They began to sway. Mildred closed her eyes and sighed. She nuzzled into Desiree’s neck.

  “We fit together perfectly,” Mildred said.

  “I noticed that,” Desiree said. Her body began to respond to Mildred, every nerve on high alert, every cell screaming for Mildred’s caress.

  Then Desiree had a moment of truth. She looked deeply into her own heart—that place where you confront your fears for what they are. And she knew, without a doubt, she loved Mildred. However, she didn’t know what to do about it. Here she had Mildred in her arms, humming along to the music, her happiness bleeding onto Desiree—it was like she’d taken a fatal shot to the heart—her love unfurling like a blossoming rose across her chest. To put it bluntly…Desiree was scared shitless.

  “Mildred…” Desiree whispered. She couldn’t think of what to say next. How would she explain her desire—all her cooped up feelings seemed like they were all trying to get out of the door at the same time and the bottleneck made her tongue-tied.

  “I know,” Mildred said. She pulled away from Desiree’s shoulder, stood on her tippy-toes and kissed her.

  As the music swelled, so did their passion. It seemed as if they were two snow people who melted into one. Desiree got lost in the kiss. She knew they shouldn’t go there. It would ruin Mildred’s chance of a career, of staying in the city she’d come to love. Honey Belle would disapprove. And once Desiree fell in love she wouldn’t be able to stand knowing that each night Mildred would be seducing other women. This was why Honey Belle discouraged her girls from having a girlfriend. However, even knowing all that, Desiree’s willpower deserted her. She melted into the kiss.

  It grew deeper, more insistent, their tongues intertwining like the lovers in Klimt’s painting, The Kiss. What her mind really should have been doing was The Scream by Munch. Why the hell was she thinking about paintings instead of backing away from Mildred, telling her no, they couldn’t go there? This would be the ruination of both of them. But then she forgot all about that when she ran her hands up Mildred’s back.

  Mildred pressed into her as the theme to Love Story played on. Didn’t this movie have a tragic ending? Wasn’t this the movie where the girl dies and Ryan O’Neal has to go on with his life after having given u
p everything for her—his riches, his family ties, his chance for a happy life? Oh, God help me, Desiree thought, what the hell am I doing?

  Mildred lightly touched her breasts and kissed her hard, their bodies wrapping themselves around each other and fitting together like two puzzle pieces in a meant-to-be-moment and Desiree couldn’t stop herself.

  Mildred slipped her hand beneath the waistband of Desiree’s pants and Desiree shivered. The student had become the master. Desiree had taught her pupil well.

  The song ended. Desiree came back to her senses. Just like in the movie Mildred loved, Dirty Dancing, Desiree pulled a Patrick Swayze and realized every repercussion their shared love would cause. Their lives and their careers would be ruined.

  The realization came like an ice pick through her heart. She had to leave right now. She had to get in the car and drive away. Baby would be better off in the corner alone.

  “I’ll be back. Just stay here,” Desiree said, telling the first lie she’d ever told Mildred, and hating herself for it.

  Mildred looked confused. She pulled Desiree in for another kiss.

  “I can’t,” Desiree said, turning her head.

  “Did I do something wrong?” Mildred asked.

  “No,” Desiree soothed. “You did everything right. I’m going to go to the ladies’ room,” she lied a second time.

  “But I need to tell you something first,” Mildred said. “I love—”

  Desiree interrupted with a kiss. She kissed Mildred like it was the last time their lips would ever touch. When she pulled away, she turned and quickly walked to the exit. She stopped, turned back, and smiled.

  Mildred looked so beautiful. So happy. So deserving of a true love—a love that she could never give her.

  Desiree turned and fled down the stairs.

  Making Tracks

  Desiree ran all the way to her car. She threw it into drive, stomped on the gas pedal and never looked back. She exceeded the speed limit hoping fate was on her side and she wouldn’t get a speeding ticket. As she drove, she figured out a time schedule. It would take Mildred at least fifteen minutes before she got anxious enough to go looking for her. After checking the ladies’ room, Mildred would question the girls about whether they had seen her. Then she’d go out to the parking lot and look for Desiree’s car. After that Mildred would either get a ride or hail a cab in order to get home and look for her. Desiree figured she had about an hour to pack a bag and disappear into the night.

  She parked her car at the curb with a screech. Taking the stairs two at a time—waiting for the elevator took too long—she flew into her apartment. Two duffle bags filled with understated clothes—jeans, shirts, cross-trainers, a pair of boots, panties, her phone charger, Kindle, iPod, her laptop—and she’d be set. Anything she forgot, she’d buy later. She took one last look around her apartment. Mildred could afford the rent now. It comforted her somewhat that Mildred would have a nice place to live even if it was a mausoleum to their brief life together. She could always redecorate.

  Desiree grabbed her duffle bags and was out of the apartment in exactly twenty-two minutes. She dashed for the car, threw the bags in the back seat, and drove like hell. She passed the Bon Chance city limits sign before it dawned on her that she had no idea where she was going. In all her figuring she hadn’t figured on an end point. Where should she go? It had to be a place no one would find her.

  Honey Belle had friends in high places, which made her a damn good tracker. She’d find Desiree in a matter of days. Honey Belle wasn’t going to let one of her top girls go missing. Desiree furiously thought of all the thriller movies she’d watched about how they traced people. She knew she couldn’t use her credit card or her debit card or her cell phone.

  She got off at the next exit and pulled into a convenience store. She pumped gas and removed her cell phone battery. While she waited for the tank to fill, she plugged in the address for the nearest Bon Chance Savings and Loan into her GPS. She’d pull cash out of her account and get a Trac Phone. She ransacked her brain for other methods of tracking. She would have to go back to using her real name.

  She purchased a Rand McNally atlas at the convenience store. She got cash from the ATM. Sitting in a parking lot of the bank she perused the map of the United States. Damn, it was a big country. Why couldn’t it be someplace like Germany or Luxembourg, somewhere small enough to make a simpler choice?

  She flipped the page back to Texas when it occurred to her. There was one place no one would ever think of looking. Terrence, Texas. Mildred had sworn she wasn’t ever going back. No one would think that Desiree a.k.a. Diane Daniels would be caught dead in a hick town like Terrence. She plugged in the coordinates and the GPS took it from there.

  Hopeful Romantic

  Mildred was still on the balcony waiting for Desiree to return. After ten minutes, which seemed like an eternity when you were waiting for the rest of your life to begin, Mildred went looking for Desiree. She checked the ladies’ room first. She even opened the doors to all the stalls in case Desiree had fallen ill, fainted, and hit her head. All she found was a couple making out in the handicap stall. The woman wearing trousers was on her knees with her head under the skirt of the other woman. They were both moaning so loud, caught up in the throes of passion, they didn’t even notice Mildred.

  Next, Mildred walked through the dance floor even though she had scanned it from the balcony above. Still, no Desiree.

  Mildred ran to the bar area. Maybe Desiree was getting a bottle of champagne to toast their newfound love.

  Desiree was a true romantic, Mildred mused happily. Mildred was in the first fuzzy hour of nearly-consummated love. She could still feel Desiree’s tender lips against her own. Her heart was so full it felt like the Grinch’s when he found the spirit of Christmas. Mildred even imagined spending their first Christmas together despite it being July.

  Mildred stumbled upon Candy Sweet sitting on Roni’s lap. She tried to keep the desperation out of her voice as she said, “I can’t find Desiree. Have you seen her?”

  “No, but I tell you what we did see. You two up in the balcony smacking on each other,” Candy Sweet said. She winked. “I knew you all had a thing for each other. I’m happy for you. Being in love is so wonderful. Isn’t that right, honey?”

  “That’s right, sugar,” Roni said.

  “But she said she’d be right back and now I can’t find her.” Mildred scanned the room again. She still didn’t see Desiree anywhere.

  “Go ask Velvet Thrust. She’s acting like a security guard, pacing the perimeter, making sure none of the enemy tries to sneak back in. She might have seen her,” Candy Sweet said, stroking her girlfriend’s cheek.

  As Mildred crossed the dance floor she saw one of Desiree’s client’s, Evelyn, nonchalantly smoking a cigarillo right under the No Smoking sign. She was sitting at a table filled with other women who looked more like they were at a board meeting than a social gala. Evelyn appeared to be paying no attention to the conversation swirling around her. Mildred sidled up next to her, crouched down and whispered, “Excuse me. Are you Evelyn?”

  “Depends on who’s asking,” Evelyn replied dryly.

  “I’m asking. You see, I work with Desiree…” Mildred said.

  Evelyn turned to face Mildred. She raked her eyes up and down Mildred’s body then said, “You must be Mildred. Desiree told me all about you.” She doused out her cigarillo in a glass of champagne.

  “She did?” Mildred said.

  “Why yes, love. She has a rather soft spot for you.”

  “Oh, well…” Mildred said, wringing her hands. “You see, I’ve lost her. I wondered if you might have found her.”

  “Lost her?” Evelyn said. She stood and pulled Mildred back from the table. She lit a fresh cigarillo and her next words tumbled out swaddled in smoke, “How exactly did you lose her?”

  “We were up on the balcony…uh, you know…together. And she said she’d be right back and I haven’t seen her since.”
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  “Did the ‘uh, you know’ part of being together have anything to do with getting personally involved with each other’s anatomy?”

  “Well, yes, and it was so wonderful, but I don’t know what made her go missing. It’s weird. One minute we were kissing and the next she’s gone.”

  “Oh, dear,” Evelyn sighed. “Perhaps we should go check for her motor car.” Evelyn took Mildred by the arm and escorted her to the exit. “Where did she park, love?”

  “Right out front,” Mildred said, “In the lot across the street.”

  “Damn, you paid those Robin Hood thugs twenty dollars?”

  “Desiree was concerned about me and my shoes.”

  Evelyn looked down. “Well, yes, that was kind of her.”

  “She’s like that, you know. Thoughtful and caring.”

  “Yes, I do know, and that’s what worries me.”

  Evelyn didn’t explain what she meant by that and Mildred didn’t have the courage to ask. She had a sinking feeling it meant Desiree was gone and not just gone but Gone gone as in the forever kind of gone.

  They passed by the hotel bar where some of the disgruntled dance attendees had congregated. They glared as Evelyn and Mildred walked by.

  Evelyn flipped them the finger. Mildred hadn’t known that British people used the finger. Evelyn did it with more class somehow. It was a high brow “fuck off.”

  The building doorman opened the door. Evelyn stopped. “You haven’t seen a young woman wearing a tuxedo pass by here recently, have you?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’ve described about half of the women who’ve been through here.”

  “Yes, I suppose I have,” Evelyn said with a sigh.