She grabs my hand.
"THIS," she tells me "THIS is my fucking jam girl."
Why is it that people that can't sing always sing the loudest?
Ms Wendy is quite a sight today. Six feet tall, she squueeeeeezes her feet into some red size ten pumps that match her skin tight crushed velvet mini dress. Her fishnet pantyhoes make her legs look fucking fantastic. From th back, she looks like a slightly tacky version of a model. In the front, she looks like a linebacker. Those broad shoulders give her away every time. In the dark, without glasses, I suppose she would pass as biologically female. It doesn't matter what she looks like- she is Ms Wendy to me. She lets me come over and gnaw on gummy bears from her candy jar while she gets ready. It is like being at your grandma's house.
Ms Thing is full, I tell myself.
I wish I was the same way. I can't get into crystal right now. After my last battle with the shadow people, I have been hitting the downtown pretty hard. Meth seems to make me end up walking around the Tenderloin with one shoe on and one shoe off talking to demons that call my name from the corners of my eyes. Just when I get to were they are supposed to be, those motherfuckers disappear.
"GIRL," she yells again "you are going to have to get out of here soon. I got real money coming over bitch."
I love watching her get ready. It seems like I have been sitting in this same spot for hours. In fact, I probably have been. I check my pager 10:26. Yep. All day in the same spot. I love watching hookers get ready for work. Especially, the Transgender girls. Between the plucking, the tucking, and the illusion to lead to the fucking, there is simply no better way to learn about the game of life.
She points her brush at me "why is you have that goldmine in your pants and you are broke?"
I shake my head "I got sick of my sugar daddy" I told her. "He was too much to deal with."
For a second, I thought she was going to beat me with that wire hair brush she was using to brush out her wig.
"Have you lost your fucking mind?" she asks me "Seriously, did you fall off a curb?" She shakes her shoulders as she checks her look in the mirror.
She continues "You have a seventy year old man that wants to date you- a seventy year old white man at that- who is MARRIED and you are worried about being bored? You make me sick bitch."
After 18 months of dealing with limp old dick and being paraded around midpriced restaraunts, I had finally told my sugar daddy not to call me ever again. It wasn't even about him. Truth be told, I did care for him. He taught me a lot about the world. He helped me get on methadone, he paid for my room, most of all he actually gave a shit about my well being. The reality was I felt like a total scumbag knowing that somewhere his wife was wondering where he was while he was off hanging out with a junkie hooker praying he could achieve a fleeting erection. It was too too much.
"So," she touches up her lipstick "you would rather sell syringes and hang out with bitches like me than take his easy money. I am disowning you sister girl. Get out."
She points to the door.
"Do you know what I have to do for this money? Exactly bitch."
She kisses me on the cheek as I walk out the door, assuring me she will see me later.
Of course she will. She needs me to inject her with both her next hit and her hormones. One is the arm and one in the ass.
" If we cannot make babies, maybe we can make some time
Thoughts of pretty u and me, Erotic City come alive "
GOD I have that song stuck in my head now. I pass the doorman as I head for my room. I don't normally stay in this hotel. Now, I remember why. It is close to the witching hour. 11 o'clock is when the trick come out that are seeking a different kind of lady friend. I see them file into the hotel. The old ones, the young ones, the cab drivers, the stockbrokers and the retired police officer. They all want the same thing- to be kissed by a woman and fucked by a man.
I turn on my broke down black and white tv and settle in for the night. The antenna is long gone. Someone used that to smoke crack in a few weeks back. I got my wake up ready for 3 or 4 am whenever Ms Wendy comes to get her medicine. I am almost asleep when I hear a pounding at the door.
BAM BAM Is this the police? Fuck, I shove all my shit between the mattress and the boxspring.
"OPEN THE DOOR TRACEY." It's Ms Wendy. Before now, I wasn't even sure she knew my name. She is always calling me Bitch.
I yank the door open to see her with her wig to the side. "I killed a trick girl" she huffs "I killed this trick. Come look."
Here we go, A fucking nother one! I slide on my flip flops. The floor here is caked with spooge and cigarette butts and whatever else. As we walk briskly down the hall, my mind turn to all kinds of scenarios. Is he going to be ass up with a broom handle shoved in there or hog tied wearing panties? Oh my my my. She flings open the door without trying to cause to much attention.
She points "there he is."
On the floor, next to the bed is a fully clothed businessman with his tie loosely wrapped around his arm. The needle sits on the nightstand right next to him. She didn't have to explain. A weekend warrior, some dope, and sex. I got the picture. I stick my hand on his throat to check his pulse when he snatches my hand.
"Don't take my wallet," he tells me forcefully.
Another one of these tough guys.
"I heard you ODEd," I told him. Apparently he didn't know. Whatever, fucking asshole. I was trying to help him. This is the second one this month. At least she didn't inject him with speed, although I do notice a wet crotch. He either pissed himself or she gave him the ice treatment.
"No, I'm fine" he tells me gruffly "the dope just hit me a little too hard."
"you got some more..." I spit out before Ms Wendy pushes me out the door. FUCK. I just wanted his hook up.
As I walk towards my room, I think about the gummy bears I have stashed in my shorts and the wake up in between my matress. Another night in Erotic City.