(no subject)
New Short Story
.We had never been here before. And we had been a lot of places. It was possible he had fallen into some money with the recent divorce but I had expected nothing of this stature.
“Do you like it?”
“How could I not?” I wanted to dive beneath the covers of the perfectly made bed and lick the caviar off of the small silver bread knife sitting on the bedside. I wanted to drape myself in the curtains and feel the silk against my skin. I wanted to call room service at 3am to bring types of chocolate I couldn’t even pronounce. But he was only paying for an hour. And I was no Julia Roberts.
He didn’t undress in his quick usual fashion but sat at the edge of the bed untying his shoes. He looked at me with his blues and motioned for me to sit down.
“I trust you Harry, but you know I gotta see the money first.”
He looked embarrassed to have forgotten as if we hadn’t been doing this same routine for the past three years. He looked as if something heavy was on his mind as he had forgotten his cufflinks and his socks were different colors. He placed the wad of cash on the nightstand and sat back down again.
“Will you sit with me now?”
He looked different tonight. Maybe it was the room as I had more often seen him in different lighting against musty orange drapes that matched tethered carpets, flannel print bedspreads and flickering light bulbs. I much preferred him in this light.
I took a hold of the strap of my blue dress and let it slide down my shoulder slowly, seductively, “Do you want me to…”
“Undress? No. Just sit next to me.” I sat bedside him and let my hands slide down the soft bedspread, dreaming of what it felt like on the inside. I reached to him and cupped his face in my hands, skipping his cheek with mine and let my lips fall on the nape of his neck. He shuddered and pulled me away.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Baby, there’s no time for talk.” I needed to get him hard and out of there before I became too attached to room 412 and wanted to stay forever.
“I asked you here tonight because I needed to tell you something.” I sat upright. We had heard about this before. The fall. It always happened, but never to me.
I tried to distract him, spread my legs and let my own hand tickle the inside of my thigh. I let my head fall back and I let out a soft murmur. I watched his eyes follow my hand as it got closer. Suddenly, he grabbed my wrist, forcing me to gasp and look him square in the eyes for him to say what I was expecting,
“Joanna. I love you.”
I laughed. The kind of laugh that carries on far too long, even when you realize the other person hasn’t even made an attempt at a chuckle. I became quiet, “Jesus Harry, you’re serious?”
“Well of course I’m fucking serious Joanna. Does this look like a usual place we go?”
I looked over to the caviar and then to the silk curtains. “I suppose not.”
“I wanted to make this special and now you’ve ruined it.”
I tried to make sense of it all. A man of 47 years, divorced and stuck in a dead end company that was on the verge of letting him go for reasons he felt I was too dumb to understand. This wasn’t supposed to happen to us. He was my best client. Three times a week and he never wanted to do anything crazy like the rest of them. Granted I’ve had to wear a gag a time or two but that’s nothing I mind. He would never hurt me, for this very reason.
I had to leave before things got anymore serious. He had me deadlocked in a stare and I was just wishing he’d gag me instead. “I should go.”
“What the fuck Joanna? I spill my heart to you and that’s all I get?”
I avoided the issue at all costs. Harry got up and walked circles in the carpet, leaving a trail visible to only me, who appreciated a carpet that wasn’t infested with termites and fleas.
“I’m sorry Harry. I don’t feel the same. But I would hate to lose you as a client, we have so much fun...” I got up to grab him and pull him in closer but he wasn’t having it, throwing me to the ground.
“You wanna hit me Harry?” I said, standing to my feet. “I’ve been hit before.”
“Why? Why don’t you love me?” He was getting pathetic and I was about to break my cardinal rule because of it.
“I’m married, Harry.” He stopped pacing and leaned himself against the dresser.
“You’re fucking kidding me.” I wasn’t. “All this time?”
“Nine years.”
“Kids?”
“Two.”
“Whore.” I had been called that before. It came with the territory. But it stung when it came from him. He never saw me as that.
I looked to the bedside table and wished the caviar wasn’t going to go to waste like it was. I hadn’t even touched the curtains. “Keep your money. This conversation’s on the house.”
I saw in Harry what I’m sure his ex-wife and company saw in him every day in that moment when he spit in my face. The thoughtlessness in the act and the reaction of regret on his face when he pulled back from hurling his saliva on me.
I wiped my face with the bottom of my new blue dress and reached for the wad of cash he had left on the table.“But I’ll charge you for that.”
I left room 412 and Harry that night, not thinking of the comfy sheets and curtains, but reminding myself that I was no Julia Roberts and he was far from Richard Gere.
.We had never been here before. And we had been a lot of places. It was possible he had fallen into some money with the recent divorce but I had expected nothing of this stature.
“Do you like it?”
“How could I not?” I wanted to dive beneath the covers of the perfectly made bed and lick the caviar off of the small silver bread knife sitting on the bedside. I wanted to drape myself in the curtains and feel the silk against my skin. I wanted to call room service at 3am to bring types of chocolate I couldn’t even pronounce. But he was only paying for an hour. And I was no Julia Roberts.
He didn’t undress in his quick usual fashion but sat at the edge of the bed untying his shoes. He looked at me with his blues and motioned for me to sit down.
“I trust you Harry, but you know I gotta see the money first.”
He looked embarrassed to have forgotten as if we hadn’t been doing this same routine for the past three years. He looked as if something heavy was on his mind as he had forgotten his cufflinks and his socks were different colors. He placed the wad of cash on the nightstand and sat back down again.
“Will you sit with me now?”
He looked different tonight. Maybe it was the room as I had more often seen him in different lighting against musty orange drapes that matched tethered carpets, flannel print bedspreads and flickering light bulbs. I much preferred him in this light.
I took a hold of the strap of my blue dress and let it slide down my shoulder slowly, seductively, “Do you want me to…”
“Undress? No. Just sit next to me.” I sat bedside him and let my hands slide down the soft bedspread, dreaming of what it felt like on the inside. I reached to him and cupped his face in my hands, skipping his cheek with mine and let my lips fall on the nape of his neck. He shuddered and pulled me away.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Baby, there’s no time for talk.” I needed to get him hard and out of there before I became too attached to room 412 and wanted to stay forever.
“I asked you here tonight because I needed to tell you something.” I sat upright. We had heard about this before. The fall. It always happened, but never to me.
I tried to distract him, spread my legs and let my own hand tickle the inside of my thigh. I let my head fall back and I let out a soft murmur. I watched his eyes follow my hand as it got closer. Suddenly, he grabbed my wrist, forcing me to gasp and look him square in the eyes for him to say what I was expecting,
“Joanna. I love you.”
I laughed. The kind of laugh that carries on far too long, even when you realize the other person hasn’t even made an attempt at a chuckle. I became quiet, “Jesus Harry, you’re serious?”
“Well of course I’m fucking serious Joanna. Does this look like a usual place we go?”
I looked over to the caviar and then to the silk curtains. “I suppose not.”
“I wanted to make this special and now you’ve ruined it.”
I tried to make sense of it all. A man of 47 years, divorced and stuck in a dead end company that was on the verge of letting him go for reasons he felt I was too dumb to understand. This wasn’t supposed to happen to us. He was my best client. Three times a week and he never wanted to do anything crazy like the rest of them. Granted I’ve had to wear a gag a time or two but that’s nothing I mind. He would never hurt me, for this very reason.
I had to leave before things got anymore serious. He had me deadlocked in a stare and I was just wishing he’d gag me instead. “I should go.”
“What the fuck Joanna? I spill my heart to you and that’s all I get?”
I avoided the issue at all costs. Harry got up and walked circles in the carpet, leaving a trail visible to only me, who appreciated a carpet that wasn’t infested with termites and fleas.
“I’m sorry Harry. I don’t feel the same. But I would hate to lose you as a client, we have so much fun...” I got up to grab him and pull him in closer but he wasn’t having it, throwing me to the ground.
“You wanna hit me Harry?” I said, standing to my feet. “I’ve been hit before.”
“Why? Why don’t you love me?” He was getting pathetic and I was about to break my cardinal rule because of it.
“I’m married, Harry.” He stopped pacing and leaned himself against the dresser.
“You’re fucking kidding me.” I wasn’t. “All this time?”
“Nine years.”
“Kids?”
“Two.”
“Whore.” I had been called that before. It came with the territory. But it stung when it came from him. He never saw me as that.
I looked to the bedside table and wished the caviar wasn’t going to go to waste like it was. I hadn’t even touched the curtains. “Keep your money. This conversation’s on the house.”
I saw in Harry what I’m sure his ex-wife and company saw in him every day in that moment when he spit in my face. The thoughtlessness in the act and the reaction of regret on his face when he pulled back from hurling his saliva on me.
I wiped my face with the bottom of my new blue dress and reached for the wad of cash he had left on the table.“But I’ll charge you for that.”
I left room 412 and Harry that night, not thinking of the comfy sheets and curtains, but reminding myself that I was no Julia Roberts and he was far from Richard Gere.