Gigolo Girl

  This is a work of fiction; names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Square Pegs Ink

  Text copyright © Layce Gardner & Saxon Bennett

  All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without the authors’ permission.

  Editor: Kate Michael Gibson

  Katemichaelgibson.com

  Mildred

  “Mama, I don’t care what you say, I ain’t taking her back,” Mildred Pierce said. “You didn’t raise me to be a doormat.” She put her fists on her hips and tilted her chin defiantly.

  Faye Pierce sighed and stirred the boiling pot of grits. “Don’t get all up on your hind legs, missy. Sometimes people run off and then live to regret it. I bet if you weren’t so high and mighty, Cindy Lee would come slinking back with her tail tucked between her legs.”

  Mildred and her mother were in the kitchen of the old farmhouse. Earlier that morning Mildred had gone out to the chicken coop to gather eggs and that was when she had noticed the depth of her girlfriend’s deception. “Mama, she stole the egg money. She even stole the chickens. How the hell am I supposed to run a chicken farm with no egg money to buy chicken feed and no chickens to feed even if I did have the money?” She hung her head and shook it slowly from side to side. “I’ve been clucked over but good.”

  “Watch your language, young lady,” Faye scolded, shaking the wooden spoon at her. Bits of grits splattered the worn linoleum.

  Mildred pooched out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “Cindy Lee’s nothing but a darn chicken thief.”

  “You’re the one who took up with her,” Faye said. “You’re the one who fell under the spell of her city slicker ways.”

  Cindy Lee, ex-girlfriend and bona fide chicken thief, was from Bon Chance, the biggest city in all of Texas. She had run to the country to find her “real self.” And right now that real self was fucking Sarah Jane Parker from the Co-op.

  Mildred’s self-righteousness deflated. She sat in a slumped-over heap at the wooden table with her head in her hands. “Like I have a ton of prospects around here,” she said.

  “There’s always Tommy Larson. He still moons after you. And he just got promoted to head sack boy over at the IGA,” Faye said brightly.

  “I want more outta life than a sack boy,” Mildred said.

  “Don’t disparage sack boys. That’s a union job. He gets vacations and everything. Or how about Walter Pederson over at the hardware store?”

  “Mama, you know I don’t bat for that team.” Even if Mildred had been straight, she wouldn’t have touched either of those boys with a ten foot pole. Walter was dumb as a box of rocks and Tommy thought he was the Fonz from the television show Happy Days. He hadn’t even been born then but he still idolized the Fonz. Hell, Henry Winkler was so old now he was a spokesperson for Geritol. Mildred didn’t know which one of those boys had the lower IQ. At least Cindy Lee had been brighter than them.

  “I’m just saying you should give it some time,” Faye said. “You might change your mind about boys.” She put her hand on her hip and cocked her head at Mildred. Her gray hair hung in wisps about her face. Faye had once been the prettiest woman in all of Terrence, Texas. She’d even been runner-up in the Miss Texas pageant. But now her good looks were as faded as the flower-patterned apron she was wearing.

  Mildred felt sorry for her mother because she had fallen in love with the first man who sweet-talked her into bed. Two weeks before their wedding, he met the preacher’s oldest daughter at The First New Baptist Church ice cream social. They ran off together the next day, leaving Faye at the altar, high and dry. Nine months later Mildred was born.

  Faye hadn’t been to church or eaten a single bite of ice cream since.

  Mildred suddenly stood up. Her chair keeled over backwards. She knew that if she stayed in this town one minute longer she would end up becoming her mother. “I’ve just had a revolution,” she said.

  “You mean revelation, honey. Now, what would that be?”

  “I’m leaving on the next bus,” Mildred blurted.

  “Leaving?” Faye said. She shut down the burner on the stove and turned to face her daughter. “What do you mean, leaving?”

  “I’m getting out of this hick town. No more chickens. No more eggs. I’m going to the big city. I’m going to make something out of my life. I’m tired of waiting for things to happen to me. I’m going to make them happen,” Mildred said with an undertow of strength she hadn’t known she had.

  “But, Mildred, this is your home. You don’t know nothing about the big city and its vice-filled ways. You could get mugged. Or led astray.” Faye dabbed at her wet eyes with the hem of her apron.

  “I have to go, Mama, don’t you see? I can’t stay here waiting on love to find me. I gotta go find it.” She turned and left her mother in the kitchen crying into the grits.

  Mildred dashed upstairs and packed. It didn’t take long. Everything she owned fit neatly into the one suitcase they owned—an avocado green Samsonite. It had never been used. It was the one Faye had intended to use for her honeymoon vacation.

  Mildred picked up the phone and dialed. It was a landline telephone with a rotary dial. It was also a harvest gold color and hanging on the hallway wall. Mildred dialed the number by heart and quickly told her best friend, Greta, that she needed a ride to the bus stop. “I’ll tell you all about it later,” she said before hanging up.

  As Mildred was heading out the door, Faye stopped her. “Take this,” she said, handing over an old knotted-up handkerchief.

  “What is it?” Mildred asked.

  “Money I was saving up for something special. A nickel here and there. Nothing much, mind you.”

  “And you’re giving it to me?”

  “Well, you’re my something special. Didn’t you know that?”

  Mildred blinked back tears. “Oh, Mama!” She threw her arms around her mother’s neck and hugged her hard.

  Outside, a car horn honked. “That’s Greta,” Mildred said. “She’s giving me a ride to the bus.”

  Faye whispered into Mildred’s ear as she tucked the handkerchief into the pocket of her cut off jeans, “You just remember where you came from, you hear? Don’t go getting so uppity you don’t recognize your own mother.”

  Mildred sniffled. “I love you, Mama.” She turned and ran out the door before she lost her courage.

  Desiree

  Desiree Hart did not understand why they called it foreplay. That sounded like a golfing term and there wasn’t any similarity between golf and sex as far as she could see—except for maybe that hole-in-one business. She supposed that was a similarity of sorts. What most people didn’t understand about making love to a woman was that it was all about foreplay. It was the teasing, kissing, biting and caressing that women liked. It was the means and not the end that counted most. Desiree would get her woman there eventually—she always did—but it was her capacity for longevity that made her the highest paid gigolo girl in all of Bon Chance. Of course, she did get paid by the hour. And she had never had a client complain about that.

  Desiree Hart was old-time Hollywood movie star beautiful. In an au natural way, not a botoxy liposuctiony kind of way like today’s movie stars. Everything about Desiree was natural. And in this day and age, that was saying something. She had brown eyes as big and expressive as Bette Davis and a personality as big as Joan Crawford’s. She had legs like Betty Grable, lips like Clara Bow and she could fill out a sweater better than Lana Turner.

  At the moment, Desiree was massagi
ng the feet of Evelyn Peabody. Evelyn came from across the pond and was a tea-drinking, fish-and-chips-eating, Pimm’s-swigging kind of woman. Desiree loved foreign women. Most of her clients originated from different points around the globe. Desiree’s client list was like Disney’s Epcot Center—a world tour of pussy.

  “I say, let’s have another Pimm’s. I’ve got you for the evening, correct?” Evelyn stuck out her lower lip in a mock pout. “I know Fridays are tough but I really needed you. I have ever so much tension, right here,” she said, taking Desiree’s hand, running it up her thigh and leaving off at her groin.

  Evelyn was usually Desiree’s Wednesday client but Evelyn had been out of town and missed her regular day. Desiree did some finagling to fit in this evening because she liked Evelyn and the sex, and besides, Evelyn promised they could watch Downton Abbey together afterwards.

  Desiree poured them another Pimm’s. She ran her finger around the lip of the glass and let her eyes caress Evelyn’s face. Evelyn was in her early forties from what Desiree deduced from their many conversations. Evelyn liked to have sex first and talk second. Desiree enjoyed her stories. Evelyn was a lawyer and by virtue of her money had been everywhere and seemingly done everything. She had tastefully and expensively highlighted hair. When the light caught it just right you could see the strands of gold. She had pale green eyes and freckles she concealed under make-up except when she was with Desiree. Within the confines of her high-class condo, Evelyn wore no make-up and only a men’s sky blue oxford shirt sans panties.

  Desiree sipped her drink. She did what she called “eye-fucking.” This meant she gazed at Evelyn, doing the elevator eye thing—up and down, up and down with her eyes. She knew it made Evelyn shiver with anticipation.

  Desiree set her glass down and eased to the floor at Evelyn’s feet, holding eye contact. She continued massaging Evelyn’s feet. Evelyn’s feet had a hard life of high heels and they ached all the time. Desiree used her thumb to trace a circle on the sides of her heel, a little known erogenous zone. Evelyn sighed in gratitude. Desiree kissed her toes and sucked the tip of each toe in turn as if they were playing “This Little Piggy.”

  Desiree took great pride in her chosen profession. She didn’t just fuck women. Desiree gave them the entire sexual and sensual experience. She was a master planner of orgasmic timing.

  By the time Desire got to “this little piggy had roast beef” Evelyn was practically begging her for release.

  Desiree took her time. She didn’t want to be hurried. She massaged Evelyn’s other foot, also massaging and sucking each toe. Next, she stroked Evelyn’s calves and parted her legs. She kissed her smooth elegant thighs, her lips working their way ever higher. Desiree could sense the liquid heat between Evelyn’s legs, the moist tender flesh of her sex becoming a pool of desire. Desiree touched her cleft and cupped Evelyn’s vulva kneading the downy top. She slid her finger into the cleft and between the silky folds now slick with smoldering heat and fragrant with want.

  Desiree slipped her expert tongue over Evelyn’s sensitive love button. Evelyn let out a guttural moan. Desiree circled the bud with her tongue then brushed the top of the sweet spot. The velvet warmth of her tongue made Evelyn push toward her, arching her back and closing her eyes. Desiree’s tongue dipped in and out of Evelyn’s womanhood. She greedily devoured it, forging deep, poking, thrusting and pulling out again, flicking her tongue across her love button and lapping up her wetness. Evelyn cried out and collapsed. She put her hand on Desiree’s head, signaling her to stop.

  “Bloody hell, girl, you’re going to give me a heart attack someday.”

  “Not today I hope.”

  “No, not today, thank God.” Evelyn picked up her Pimm’s and took a long satisfying drink. “Now turn on the telly. Let’s see what Lady Mary Crawley’s up to this week.”

  Bus Stop

  Mildred’s mother was a classic movie junkie. As a result, Mildred had been teethed on old movies. She grew up at the knee of Joan and Bette and Ava and Rita and Carole. Since their last name was Pierce, it only seemed natural that her mother had named her after her favorite Joan Crawford movie, Mildred Pierce.

  Mildred’s best friend was Greta. She was named after Greta Garbo. Mildred’s mother and Greta’s mother were also best friends. Greta’s mother was going to name her daughter after her favorite Greta Garbo movie, Ninotchka, but there was the spelling issue so she settled on naming her Greta.

  Now as Mildred and Greta stood at the bus stop saying their goodbyes, Mildred thought about how the movie Bus Stop was not all that great. She thought it was Marilyn Monroe’s misguided attempt to be something she wasn’t—a great dramatic actress. The only thing worse was when she went through that Arthur Miller phase and made the movie The Misfits. She died the following year, which just goes to show you what can happen when you live your life to please other people.

  Mildred figured if she wasn’t proactive her life would end up without a happy ending. And if there’s one thing she hated, it was a movie without a happy ending. She desperately wanted to live her life as if Frank Capra was directing it. She wanted to be the star of her own life movie—a romantic comedy with a feel-good ending.

  Greta stared at her best friend, her eyes filling with tears. “You don’t have to go. Floyd says he can find you some work down at the IGA.”

  That was Floyd’s cue to step forward. He was Greta’s fiancé and therefore, he had a vested interest in anything that made Greta sad. “I can get you a real good job, Mildred,” he said.

  “I can’t stay. Cindy Lee was the straw that broke my back,” Mildred said.

  “I got you a present,” Greta said. “I was going to give it to you on your birthday, but since you’ll be gone…” She dug in her purse and pulled out a Trac phone. “It’s got lots of minutes on it. So you won’t have to worry about that. Now, you call me soon as you get there.”

  “I got you something too,” Floyd said. He blushed. His face was only slightly less red than his hair. He was the spitting image of Archie in the comic book and just like Archie he never seemed to age. He was forever seventeen.

  “You did?” Mildred said.

  “Yep.” He handed her a cylindrical black object. “I got it out of Eye Spy magazine. But I think you might be needing it more than me.”

  “Thank you!” Mildred said with a lot more enthusiasm than she actually felt.

  “Do you like it?” he asked.

  Mildred studied the object. It looked like a small flashlight. She didn’t exactly know why she’d need a flashlight in the city what with all their bright lights, but it was the thought that counted. “Is it some kind of newfangled flashlight?”

  “It’s a Taser,” Floyd said.

  “What’s a Taser?”

  “Here, let me show you,” Floyd said. He took it out of her hands. “See, it’s a flash light if you push the red button this way and it’s a Taser if you push it that way.”

  “But what’s a Taser do?” Mildred asked.

  “It gives a person a big shock of electricity,” Floyd said. “If some bad guy comes at you, you flick the switch this way and stick him with it like this,” he jabbed at his own leg and a horrible crackling noise sounded. Floyd dropped to the ground and clutched his right leg, spasming and contorting.

  “Works…real…good,” he said between clenched teeth.

  “Floyd, are you all right?” Greta said, getting to her knees and cradling his head in her lap.

  “Sweet Lord,” Mildred said, picking up her Taser with newfound respect. She turned off the power. One demonstration was enough. She helped Greta get Floyd up.

  “I’m okay,” he said, with false bravado. “Just need to walk it off.” He walked away. However, his right leg didn’t seem to work too good and he kept walking in large loopy circles. Once he was out of earshot, Greta asked, “Are you sure about this?”

  “I’m sure,” Mildred said.

  “You’ll forget about Cindy Lee in no time. You were too good for her any
way.”

  “It’s not just about her. It’s about making something of my life. I need to get out of this town. I’m striking out and heading to the big city,” Mildred said.

  “Why would you want to do that for? Your home is here in Terrence. Your best friend is here.” Greta looked pitiful.

  “Why don’t you come with me?”

  They both knew she couldn’t. Greta’s mama was on the verge of dying. She had been on the verge of dying for the past eighteen years. Mildred was beginning to wonder if Greta’s mama really was sick.

  “If Mama would get her dying over with then maybe I could get out of this town,” Greta said. Her eyes got wide and she clamped her hand over her mouth like she couldn’t believe something that horrible had come out of it.

  Greta couldn’t hold it in any longer and broke out into huge sobs. Mildred dropped her suitcase and wrapped her arms around her. “Oh, sweetie, I know, I know…”

  Greta blubbered, “It’s just that I know what’s going to happen. I’m going to end up living here my whole life, taking care of Mama, then I’ll have a houseful of kids, you know I like children, don’t get me wrong. And I love Floyd, but I’m too young to live this way. Mama’s dying has me in a holding pattern. I’ll never get out of this town. I’ll never get to see the world.”

  “Your mama’s prolonged sickness has you in a state of suspenseful animation,” Mildred said. “It’s not fair.”

  “You mean suspended animation, honey,” Greta said between sobs.

  At that moment the bus pulled up. Its brakes squeaked and it belched a cloud of noxious fumes. The accordion door hissed open.

  Greta wiped her eyes and picked up Mildred’s suitcase. “Go on,” she said, shoving the suitcase at Mildred. “Go find your happy ever after.”

  Mildred only nodded. Her throat was so tight no words could come out. She mouthed “Love you,” and stepped into the bus. The door folded shut behind her.