Spent (12 page)

28

B
unny pulled up to
the clinic on Friday at closing time with her liquid smile dripping down at the corners. We headed towards the bathroom to change clothes. Off came the baggy, shabby scrubs and on with the pink g-string and the white, shiny, tiny shorts. On top, a tight white tank top with a plastic heart and patent leather red cha-cha heels.

You never know when you'll need a sharp, spiked heel.

Bunny fastened the shiny black buckle on her baggy red and white Santa suit, complete with red faux fur pom-pom hat. The whole thing stunk of mildew. The top was tight and had two big gold buttons that were bells. The skirt hung loosely on her hips and had a big fuzzy white border along the bottom. She popped a small white pill then slowly applied cherry red lip gloss in the mirror. It occurred to me that our outfits were color coordinated, which put me at ease.

“So what should I call you when we get there?” she asked.

I'd used a million names over the years: Stevie, Rhonda, Violet, Candy, Lolita, Angelique, Alexis…

“How about Rosebud?” She handed me a small white pill.

“I like that,” I said, and put the pill in my makeup bag for later or never. I was trying to stay sober—that was something I wasn't giving up on. I clenched my teeth.

Bunny and I carried our things out to her car, which had a bumper sticker that read “Question Reality.” I got in on the passenger side next to her Carl's Jr. bags and cans of Diet Coke.

We pulled away from the clinic and drove off into the hot and humid October night and onto the 101 Freeway. Bunny lit a menthol cigarette; she smoked Mores like my mother and squinted her brown eyes. She blew smoke in front of her face.

“So, the wife, Kay, is an ejaculator. It gets all over the place. We eat her out. Use toys on her. Fred mostly just watches.”

“It's about the wife?” I asked.

Bunny looked at me and laughed. “No, I wouldn't say that. He won't touch you much. You don't have to touch him. He might kiss you. Depends how high they get,” she said between drags.

“How long does this take? An hour?”

I looked at my watch. I was losing a little of myself with each passing moment. I drifted away and stared at the blood orange sun. I thought of the pill I took from Bunny earlier. The pill was oval. Smaller than Vicodin but with an “x” on the top. Maybe it's Ambien. I never favored pills except to sleep after a powders bender.

“A little bit longer.” She nodded and fidgeted with something in her purse.

The sun was falling fast and we were still on the freeway, heading North. The more Bunny explained, the more my stomach churned. I looked for an escape, but there was no turning back now. The more nonchalant Bunny was, the more I felt like I was watching a movie of myself.

She said, “Fred might try to shove his tongue down your throat while he jerks off.” I pinched my leg. Dug my nail in deep. Maybe the pill was morphine. “Kay will want to diddle us both and squirt in your face.”

I chewed my lip. I tasted blood. Her voice sounded like it came from behind us—like there was an answering machine of her voice in the trunk. Klonopin. It could be Klonopin—the king of benzos. She said, “I'm on my period so don't go too crazy down there.” I reached for the warm can of Diet Coke from the floor. I couldn't feel the fingers of my right hand.

We pulled up to a white security gate with two burly guys standing in a glass booth. “Bunny for number nine Mustang Lane.” They nodded with raised eyebrows but let us through the gate. We continued up a mountain road with cowboy movie street names like Trigger and Gunsmoke. We kept going up and around and two rights and a stop. Generic looking but very recently built mansions were tucked into the desolate canyon; each had the same SUVs parked in their driveway. We got out, and it smelled like horses. She pushed buzzer number nine and another white metal gate lifted.

A graying guy wrapped in a white, terry cloth towel skirt answered the door—the kind with Velcro at the waist for easy access. He said, “Hi Bunny” in a low near whisper but reached for me instead. A sluggish, wet tongue slid into my mouth before I could pull away. He tasted like burnt coffee and blue cheese. His skin was a rough, fuzzy kiwi. He kissed Bunny, too, and we followed him up some wide stairs with white banisters. They led to a dark hallway with brown walls that hinted of smoke.

“How's business, Fred?” Bunny made easy chit chat. Fred was her regular. That's job security for girls like us.

I thought of all the ways I'd tried to get by in Los Angeles. I'd cleaned the houses of swimsuit models, drew blood and siphoned piss, counseled porn stars, bartended baby showers and Bar Mitzvahs, organized storage units and closets. And then there was this. I'd tried to stay away from this. Only when money's tight, I told myself. But money was always tight. I had bills to pay, something I needed, stuff I had to have. I couldn't resist. I could collect a few clients and make more than what my five part-time jobs paid all week. I'd find another topless club with a sorry buffet and slim, gold poles. I'd find more coke dealers, ex-cons, and geezers to dance for; more soldiers with PTSD and government checks—for just enough cash to get me through one more day.

For the first time since moving from San Francisco, I felt hopeful.

“See you two cuties in a couple minutes.” He dropped us off in the bathroom and walked down the hallway.

Pot smoke hung in the air like an omen. I heard the clanking of glasses.

We are in the middle of nowhere and Bunny is the only person who knows I'm here.

We got things ready. Bunny opened a duffel bag and displayed her impressive collection of dildos: long and black, fleshy pink, swirly purple, and one that was the shape of an arm with a fist; some of them vibrated, and one had a little dolphin on top (it was turquoise), but they smelled like an outhouse on a hot day.

“Jesus Christ, Bunny. Didn't you disinfect these?”

“Sure, usually, but I just came from seeing someone,” she said.

“So I smell.”

I reached for the faucet in the bathtub and ran hot water, squeezed some orange liquid soap from a plastic bottle and threw the rank dongs into the bubbling brew, angry with myself for not grabbing condoms at the clinic earlier.

“Are you trying to get hepatitis?” I said. I knew better. She rolled her eyes. I heard a knock at the door and Fred's voice: “Girls, are you taking a bath in there or are we going to have some fun?”

I grabbed the black prick and whispered to Bunny. “Clean this one so we can get this over with.”

“Take it easy,” she said, like I was a buzzkill.

“We're coming!” I cooed. Bunny wrapped a peach towel lovingly around our wet schlong, grabbed some tangerine flavored lube and opened the door.

We were wet with the soapy suds.

“Ho ho ho,” Bunny sang at Fred and slipped on the slimy linoleum floor.

“Shit,” Fred helped her up and led her down the dark hallway. I guess he was used to this. I followed them into the candlelit room where blonde Kay was waiting, cross-legged, smoking a joint in a tan velvet chair in the corner. Her cheeks sagged with age, but her breasts were two perky plastic oranges in her chest. She wore a Victoria Secret catalogue negligee that wasn't cheap. Her quick smile reminded me just a little of Mom's even grin. She wore open-toed cork seventies wedge shoes and was sipping on white wine. She left a pink lipstick stain on the rim of the glass. She had straight white teeth, whiter than bone.

“Hey cutie pies. Wanna party?” Kay's voice was high and fake. She beckoned us to move closer. She offered us wine from a bottle on a round glass table. “Yeah,” Bunny said matter-of-fact. I shook my head. Kay's eyes were like aqua blue birds darting around the room. She was thin, fleshy, not firm. The long blonde hair wasn't hers.

The room was spacious but windowless. It had a fireplace on one wall with some pillows and blankets thrown down in front of it. Dozens of white candles burned, filling the air with a sickening sweet floral cloud. This will help with our fecal predicament, I thought. There was a soft California King-sized bed with stuffed animals on top of it.
Were there children around or were these Kay's friends
? Framed pictures on the walls near the fireplace showed an eleven or twelve-year-old girl who looked like she'd had an accident with a can of hairspray.

Fred plopped down on the bed and leaned on his side, watching us. He was tan and maybe sixty. I looked around the room for a clock but the one by the bed was turned around facing the wall, hidden from my view on purpose. Fred's skin was a leathery hide: rough and wrinkled.

A strange porn played on a thin screened television: a woman painted blue licked another woman in full tiger regalia; ears, tail, and black and gold stripes covered her body. They chased each other through a fake jungle then had sex with an orchid. I looked for porn actors I knew from the clinic, but the body paint and costumes made it impossible. Two blondes performed oral sex on each other in a tropical setting. This must be what Fred expects, I thought. The sound was muted.

“Make love to her now, ” Fred commanded. Bunny crawled on the floor and growled like a tiger. When she was in front of Kay's knees, she lowered her face, head, and Santa hat between her long, tanned, shiny legs. Kay giggled. I removed Kay's n
é
glig
é
e and reached for her brownish nipples. They tasted like Jergens lotion. Fred stroked himself beneath the terry cloth towel skirt.

“Yeah. Girls. That's it.
That's it,” he mumbled. He sped up his jerking animal motion.

After a while, Bunny removed my shorts and g-string and pulled me to the floor over by the fireplace on top of some blankets. I helped Bunny wriggle out of her Santa skirt and panties. Bunny got chatty.

“Your body's creamy and sexy,” Bunny told Kay while rubbing her thighs with almond scented oil. Kay's eyes were closed and she was on her back. I took over with the almond oil. Bunny lubed up our long black friend with the tangerine slime and approached Kay's crotch. She let it dangle in the air for Fred to see. Fred had removed his terry cloth number and was rubbing his cock with greasy, calloused hands. He nodded and moaned and I could see cracks in his leather skin in the dim light.

“That's it, baby, relax.” He was talking to Kay.

Bunny set down the dildo then licked her fingers and rubbed Kay's clit. She transformed into a gifted fondler before my eyes. Tongue, fingers, tongue, fingers, tongue, fingers and then Kay cried out like a sick cat and squirted all over Bunny's face. My turn. Enter black dildo. Kay started wiggling and moaning and I started to drift, pretending I was watching myself from the wall where the pictures hung. I imagined Kay's pussy as a large hot pepperoni pizza with black olives, mushrooms, and extra cheese. It was a greasy affair, half Canadian bacon and pineapple, sweet, tangy, and hot. It was within reach and I could smell its magic, and I would devour it in a half-second. I bit into my lip while Kay released all over me. Her eyes were closed, and she had soaked the towels beneath her. Bunny's baby voice woke me from the pizza dream.

“Kay looks like a Christmas present tonight, right Fred?” She had fitted the Santa hat onto Kay's head. Kay laughed. I was soaked with foreign fluids; smelling of the ocean, salt water, and almond oil. I wanted to go to the bathroom and wash it off. I wanted to be dry. I wanted to slap Bunny. I wanted to take her white pills.

“I'm ready for a smoke break,” Fred announced. He wiped his sticky hands on his towel skirt.

“We're going to the bathroom. Back in a minute,” I said and reached for Bunny's hand, motioning to the door. It was time to change toys and find a clock.

One at a time, we washed our faces in the sink. I went for the blue dolphin dildo soaking in the smelly suds in the tub. I waved it in the air above our heads making it dip and dive.

“Let's use Flipper on her,” I said.

“I'm not high enough.” Bunny tuned me out—sat on the toilet and rested her face in her hands. The clock on the counter had roman numerals. Forty minutes had passed. She took out another white pill and chased it with water she sucked from the faucet. I didn't ask her what the pill was. It seemed too personal a question. I wished time would speed up.

By the time we walked back into the room, Fred and Kay were passing a joint. Fred giggled and let out a piggish snort, which made them both laugh hard. We sank back to the floor, and I presented Flipper to Kay. She giggled and spread her legs. She wanted me to massage her thighs and lick her pussy. I wanted to get it over with and resumed.

Bunny leaned over Kay and kissed her neck, face and mouth, working her way down to her breasts. Bunny was like a wind-up sex toy, high and rubbery. An escapist by nature, I never stay in the room. I float and leave my husk behind.

Things were going well until Fred decided he wanted to get closer to us. He rubbed his dark dry skin against me. It felt like petrified wood. He grabbed my hair and pulled my head back so hard I let out a little, “hey,” but he ignored me and shoved his tongue down my throat again. His lips were thin and hard, his raspy voice said, “Rosebud. Make love to us.” I wanted to pull away, but I didn't. I wanted to ask him about his skin condition. I wouldn't touch him beneath the terry cloth skirt because that was never the deal, but he grabbed my wrist and moved my hand towards it, to test me; to see how I would respond. I pulled away.

I thought of bolting. I thought of lunging for the wine glass and hurling it against the fireplace. But where would I go? A dog howled outside. I could go sit in the car and wait for her, but then I wouldn't make the cash. I hated myself for agreeing to do this job and now there was no turning back, only moving forward. In that moment, I understood how gunmen go on shooting sprees and then kill themselves; and I understood how junkies relapse after many years of sobriety. The only way to squirm out of this was to take the immediate focus off of myself.