I heard some muffled shouting, cursing and a series of thuds punctuated by agonizing yelps. It came from outside–the universal sounds of violence. I turned my head to the direction of the commotion, unable to see outside the windowless room. “Just a couple of drunks fighting,” she told me nonchalantly. “Don’t worry, it doesn’t have anything to do with us.”
The girl sitting next to me was no stranger to violence. She was used to getting smacked around from time to time. Not that she enjoyed the occasional beating, but she accepted it as an adjunct to her livelihood. She never cried while she licked her wounds, and she certainly could care less about some two-bit drunk getting his face rearranged.
She looked at me, holding her gaze for a few seconds, sizing me up as she pulled on her cigarette and expelled a stream of smoke from the corner of mouth. She had a cold, icy stare that made her older than she was.
After she finished sizing me up she stood, took another drag from her cigarette, opened the door and said, “Get undressed. I’ll be back in a few.” She blew out another cloud of smoke, walked out the door and shut it behind her.
There wasn’t much in the room–just a worn out mattress and a small pillow. The red light bulb on the ceiling flickered and dimmed from time to time. It was all very utilitarian. There was no pretense; no veneer to disguise the fact that this was just a dirty little brothel that serviced the local population of blue-collared married men and horny college boys.
I sat at the edge of the mattress and wondered how I got suckered into joining my two compadres in their journey through such a seedy back alley in a seedy part of this strange town. There was no way I was going to disrobe for this broad.
When she returned with a handful of handy wipes, lubrication and a condom, she saw that I was still fully clothed. She frowned, mildly irritated. “I ain’t got all night, bub,” she said dryly. “We’re on the clock and I ain’t getting paid to undress you. What’s the matter, you shy or something?”
The last thing I wanted to do was to copulate with this whore. The second to the last thing I wanted to do was pick a fight with her. “It ain’t that I’m shy,” I replied. “But I’m here because one of my buddies dragged us down here. He’s been out to sea for six months and the only ass he’s seen is on the back of a bunch of hairy sailors and Marines. He ain’t been laid in a while and he’s been driving us crazy, with the way he’s been acting on account of that fact. He’s picking up the tab, and didn’t want to come here alone.
“Me, I got a nice girl waiting for me back home. I might be a dumb Marine, but I’m smart enough to know a good thing when I got it and I ain’t gonna mess it up here. Like I said, my buddy’s picking up the tab, and it would make him feel good about himself if he didn’t know that we didn’t do anything more than converse.”
The hardened eyes of the whore softened just a little. She paused after taking in my words. “It’s nice that you have love. There isn’t a whole lot of love in the world. Take care of that girl and treat her right.” She lit up another smoke and asked, “Want some coffee?” I nodded yes.
She left and returned with a small cup of joe. Her eyes had returned to stone. When I finished the cup she shooed me out of the room and down the hall, towards the brothel’s entrance.
The very round madam of the place wobbled towards us, looked at the whore and nonchalantly asked, “Was there a happy ending?” The madam might have been running a dirty business, but she wanted her customers to get what they paid for. The young girl with the old gaze nodded yes to her boss, walked me to the front door and turned around without a goodbye.
I looked back and watched her sit next to another girl on a squeaky couch in the anteroom. They sat emotionless, sitting with arms folded and legs crossed, smoking cigarettes, waiting for their next appointments. I joined my buddies outside. We walked out of the alley, howled at the moon and jumped in a cab.
Tags: drunk · love · marines · prostitution · sex
