iv
When she came to pick me up, I wasn’t depressed. I’d been feeling down now and again, but you have to understand – overall I wasn’t depressed, I was just ready to be done, like those last few weeks of classes. I was looking forward to death, actually. I’d taken care of my family and friends, what few I had left, and cleared up the rest of my business – closing lines of credit, canceling insurance – you know. I was a free man, and from the perspective of most of the civilized world, I was off the grid and already as good as dead.
She pulled up to the curb in a sleek, black, American classic with darkly tinted windows. It was big and oozed wealth and class from every mirror-polished angle. From my apartment window I watched her park, and for just a moment I wondered if I’d made the right choice.
As she got out on the far side of the car and stood in the street, I could see that she was tall, and more fleshy and curvy than modelesque. She was dressed as a naughty schoolgirl. I think I smirked; they must have picked that from my psyche profile. Her black, curling hair was tied back in pigtails, and her pale face wasn’t caked with makeup (I could see freckles), except for some lip gloss and dark eyeliner. She wore a sheer white blouse, unbuttoned but tied in a knot and scooped open to display a pair of ample breasts squeezed into a red satin bra. The costume was completed by a pleated gray skirt, and as she came around the front of the car – a very naughty schoolgirl! – I saw that she was wearing thigh-high PVC boots over black stockings. The skirt was so short, I caught a flash of her matching red satin panties when she stepped up onto the curb.
Heels confidently clopping and with one arm draped over her large purse, she strode up the walk to the complex. She was chewing gum – that’s what had given me that second thought – but her gait reassured me. It was purposeful – single-minded, yet also casual; she swayed her hips like she was on a runway, but she didn’t appear conscious of it. No, she was conscious of me. She had spotted me at the window and was smirking right back at me as she approached my door. She raised her arm and waggled her fingers at me. She was polished, I decided, and I liked that about her. It wasn’t the polish of a thin veneer – her appearance reflected her true personality; she was authentic, skin to soul. Her confidence was natural and not misplaced.
Again I had that pang – call it having third thoughts – and I hesitated. That casual sincerity, the authenticity she exuded, resonated in me. It was a quality I’d been searching for, in myself and in others. Maybe… maybe I could nurture that in myself, and find some satisfaction.
But, no… No, I’d tried that before. Hundreds of times. The hesitation faded. It was too late for me. This me – who I was now – it was who I really was. So this thing, this plan, was the most authentic thing I could do.
“Hello…?” Her voice came through the door. She had already rung my doorbell, and now she was leaning over from the porch, looking in the window at me. She raised her waving hand to shade the glass, and again she smirked at me. Her nails were manicured and painted black, sleek and shiny like her car.
I shook hazy thoughts from my head and unlocked the door for her.
She smiled as the door opened for her. “Having second thoughts?” Her voice was smooth, and just a little honeyed.
“No…” I shook my head absently. “I mean, yes, but …no.”
She laughed. “You don’t have to explain. It’s a big decision – there can be a lot to think over, of course. We understand.” She stepped through the doorway, past me and into the room, and I let the door shut behind her. “You can always change your mind, whenever you’d like, up to the very end.”
She stopped a few feet in, and I remained by the door, looking up at her. In her boots she seemed taller than me – only by an inch or so, but I felt like she was towering over me. Her presence dominated my small apartment. “Of course, the longer you wait, the more it costs if you back out – for services rendered. You understand.”
I nodded.
She laughed again, then extended her hand. “I’m Jane. Plain Jane.” She held her fingers loosely and her palm turned down, so I took her hand in mine and bent to touch it lightly to my lips. Perhaps surprised, her head quirked curiously to the side and she blinked, but she smiled graciously. She lingered a moment, then took a few steps back to look around the room. “It must be strange for you – knowing that I know so much about you, but you know only what you see of me.” She spread her arms and angled her hips, then turned slowly, inviting me to stare.
Now don’t misunderstand me: I’ve been with women. I’ve seen pornography. I’ve been to strip clubs. But none of that was like having her there – in the flesh, only a few feet away, dressed as she was, smelling vaguely of spices, charging the room with electricity – to get my blood pumping.
“But you like what you see, it seems.” Her eyes flicked down to what I could feel to be a growing bulge in my trousers. The blood surged from there to my cheeks, and I tried to discretely roll my hips for a little freedom. She was grinning at my predicament, and she strutted back toward me, close to me, stopping only inches away. The space between us was magnetic; I thought for sure I would fall into her. One of her thighs jutted forward beneath her skirt and nestled between my legs. We both glanced down at it. “I like what I see too, schoolboy. Maybe we can study some anatomy later, hmm?” Her pigtails bobbed.
Her hands came up to my chest, over my shoulders, along my neck, and under my chin, which she lifted until I looked her directly in the eye. “So. Now that you know my name, let me greet you properly.” She leaned against me and pressed her lips to mine. The kiss was firm, wet, yielding slightly, with a flick of cool tongue at the end. She tasted like cinnamon, probably from the gum. She didn’t step away as she smiled warmly into my eyes. “I think two people can only really know each other when they kiss. I like that you didn’t pull away, or try to take over. It makes me comfortable with you.”
Then she turned and walked further into the room, her eyes flicking about as she examined my things. “Sometimes we get jerks. They always change their mind before the end.” She set her purse down on one arm of my threadbare loveseat and rested her hands on her hips. She stopped in front of my media case and began examining its contents.
“Would you like something to drink? I mean… if you..?”
She smirked as she turned back to me. “I didn’t think you’d be so shy. Well, maybe I could have guessed, but your writing is more confident. That’s cute. Yes, I’d like something to drink. Something hot, but not microwaved. Maybe tea with cream, or cocoa. Or if your cupboard is empty, clear water is fine.
In the kitchen, I pulled open the cupboard door and raised my brows. I hadn’t even thought to clean out the shelves or the refrigerator. I suppose it really didn’t matter. I didn’t have anything in the crisper anyway and the rest would keep for someone else. I clicked on the flame beneath the kettle. “Earl Grey?” I asked the other room.
“Perfect,” she called back, from my bedroom. “But I still take it with cream.”
Several minutes later she called again from my room: “Your trust is coming to us?”
The tea was done, so I followed her into the bedroom. Steam wafted from the mug as I handed it to her. “I’ve given a few things to family and old friends, but everything that’s left is yours. Should I have packed it up?”
She took the mug and sipped, smiling thanks. “No. Someone will come by later. But I’d like to keep these for myself.” She held out two old paperbacks – copies of Siddhartha and Stranger in a Strange Land. “I still prefer paper to the screen. Old habits.” She set down the books on one of my old leather jackets, which now lay folded at the edge of my bed. There were a few other trinkets on the bed, and what looked like an old CD. It was a CD, in fact – a Refinery album. An odd choice.
“Those are my favorites,” I answered, nodding toward the books. “But, I mean, you’re welcome to them. I grew up on the screen, but paper is definitely the best. You feel like you’ve really read something.”
She set down her cup and took a step toward me. Her finger twined around the thong hanging from my neck, untucking the charm from my shirt. It was an ‘ohm’ etched artfully into the inside curve of a broken piece of cowry shell. “I’d like to keep this too, but only when you’re done with it.”
“Yes. I…I’d be honored.” That was lame.
Twisting the rest of her fingers around the thong, she pulled me to her and kissed me again, this time more gently. I closed my eyes, and my knees nearly melted.
For that moment, I forgot how she was dressed, forgot how I must have looked: pulled up against her, limp like a doll. All I felt was something, something original and honest and immediate – her soul maybe – touching mine between her lips.
“Are you comfortable with me?” she asked.
“Yes!” It was a breathless whisper, and my eyes were still closed.
I opened them, and again she had that smile for me. “Now you taste like cream. Mmm.” She motioned to the duffel bag waiting by the door. “Are you ready to go, then?”
I nodded.
“You are ready to leave this place behind? You will never see it again.”
The finality in her words hit my chest like a fist, but I was ready for it. “Yes. I’m certain.” I picked up the duffel and slung it over my shoulder.
“Then follow me.”
After locking the door and the deadbolt I handed her my keys, which disappeared into her purse beneath the things from my room. I walked behind her to her car. Outside, under the hard light of the sun and the watchful eyes of neighbors around the courtyard, I became conscious of how we looked together – how obvious we were. The thighs of her boots rubbed together and squelched when she walked, and even a hint of breeze was enough to lift the pleats of her skirt. Her confidence kept her head up and her shoulders back, so her breasts bounced boldly beneath her shirt with each step. Back on the door, her calling card was wedged into the door frame, stating her profession and claiming my possessions against looters.
I shot a glance over my shoulder, toward the building gossip’s flat. Her blinds were split, and her shadow lurked just behind. The blinds snapped shut, and she disappeared.
Down at the street, after my bag was in her trunk and I was settling into a plushy leather bucket seat, I remarked, “You make quite an impression.” She pulled her heavy door shut and stretched out her seat belt, then leaned over to look past me. There were half a dozen blank faces at the top the stairs, watching us from the shade of the trees. To them we were now shadows behind the darkly tinted glass.
She grinned at me. “I have to advertise, don’t I? How else do you expect us to find more good customers like you? We don’t get much repeat business.” She winked. “Hey, do you want to roll down the window so they can watch us drive off with my hand in your lap? It’s a last opportunity to show them what kind of man you are.” She slipped her hand between my thighs and squeezed, but I left the window up.
