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And he was right, I’m not proud of being a hooker, of my glittering, fitted tank tops and made-up face, of sucking dirty men’s dicks and getting pounded in the ass for a buck.
But damn you, Raine, what fucking choice do I have? Why do you make me feel as if there’s a way out?
I step behind the Golden Dragon, a Chinese restaurant just down the road from where I usually ply my trade. It’s quiet here, and I like it.
The small package Mayleen slipped me turns out to be a tiny bottle of whiskey she must have snatched from a hotel fridge and a burrito sorta thing, stuffed with unidentifiable meat and veggies. Spicy, too. I wolf it down in two bites and send her a mental thanks, even as I save the whiskey for later, when I’ll be freezing my balls off.
She does look out for me. It’s as if she knows I haven’t had anything to eat all day and that the night will get cold.
And then sadness sets in again, and I have my damn smoke, and think.
About Raine.
Can’t help it. The more I fight it, the deeper I sink into the pit, remembering what happened two days ago, wondering if I screwed up. Why I feel that I screwed up something, when there’s nothing there.
Why the hell did I tell Raine those things? About not getting hard, about other johns. About letting him know next time what works for me.
Shit, I’ve gone crazy. That’s the only explanation. I shouldn’t have let him talk me into… whatever that was. That show where I was supposed to jerk off in front of him. I don’t do things face to face. Can’t hide that way.
He was supposed to fuck me, have me bend over, so that I could fake it, and make him happy.
And since when do I care about Raine’s happiness?
This is bad. I have to avoid him, and get on with my plan and my sad life. At least here, on the street, I know what’s what. Who is my friend and who my enemy, who is a customer and who… means more.
Raine doesn’t mean more, that’s for sure.
Finishing my smoke, I throw the butt down and grind it with the heel of my boot, then run a hand through my hair to make sure it’s not sticking out in weird angles, and take my habitual place at the street corner, right outside a shop with a vent letting out warm air, the only thing that keeps me from turning into an icicle on most nights.
Still, the air has a sharp bite, icy teeth closing over my skin. And I take my jacket off anyway. It’s still early, and bait should hang naked on the hook.
The image sends a shudder over me. Or maybe it’s the cold. A cough shakes me, and another, but I manage to get the fit under control. I pop a stick of gum into my mouth and lean back against the wall, on the side that cuts off the wind, and prop a foot against the crumbling plaster.
Better.
Familiar grounds, familiar habits. I let myself sink into the familiarity of it all. I shove my hands into my pockets and look at the cars and people passing by while pretending not to care, though after Simon’s latest shakedown I’m left with a dollar, some small change, and the rest of the whiskey in the mini bottle.
Oh yeah, and let’s not forget the afore-mentioned sleeping bag and duffel behind the dumpster. I chuckle to myself, considering my riches.
Before long, the wind picks up, and the cold slices through me like the kiss of a thousand tiny blades. Another cough rattles my chest. Evening is falling fast, dark shadows crawling over the sidewalk, and despite the warm air coming through the vent, I say screw it and put the jacket back on, even if I leave it open.
Good timing, too, since the guy I see coming down the street toward me ain’t no customer. It’s Jesse Lee.
Or not good timing, after all. If a customer had picked me already, Jesse wouldn’t have found me, and I wouldn’t have to lie to him.
Again, dammit.
I fish out my pack and draw another cigarette out as he approaches, needing something to do with my hands. “Hey, J. What’s up?”
Can’t deny I’m happy to see him, no
matter what. Happy to hear how well he is, how his worries are restricted to finishing a new tattoo design for a client at the shop, or what to get his girl for her birthday.
He’s my fucking ray of sunshine.
“Jason.” He reaches out, grips my shoulder. “Good to see you, man. You keep pulling these disappearing acts on me.”
“Me? Nah.” I chew on the cigarette filter. He grins at me, and I dredge a smile up for him. “What’s new?”
