Gigolo Girl Read online

  Mildred took a bite. It didn’t taste so bad. In fact, it hardly tasted at all. “Thank you for letting me stay here. I really appreciate it.”

  “Well, I couldn’t have you getting fleas. That motel room you were in was God awful.”

  “Motel 7 ain’t so bad. It’s a chain. My mama says you can’t go wrong with a chain.” Mildred rose from the table and retrieved the ketchup bottle from the fridge. Those eggs-things needed something to taste them up.

  “Were you or were you not wearing your shoes in the shower at the Motel 7?”

  “Well, it wasn’t the cleanest of places.”

  “And did you or did you not purchase a can of Lysol to disinfect the bed clothes and toilet seat?”

  “I did.” Mildred drowned her eggs in ketchup.

  “Oh, and just for the record, Motel 7 is not a chain. Motel 6 is a chain.”

  “Well, the nice man at the desk said it was,” Mildred said.

  “First rule: do not trust anyone. Especially nice people. They always want something.”

  “But I trust you,” Mildred said. “And you’re nice.”

  “I’m different,” Desiree said.

  Mildred took a bite of fake eggs again. “These aren’t so bad with lots of ketchup on them. You sure they’re not real eggs?” Mildred had never seen eggs come out of a carton that looked more like an orange juice container, but who knew? Things sure were different in the city.

  “They’re not real. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

  “But you said you don’t cook and you’re cooking.”

  “I’m a conundrum today.”

  “That’s funny, you don’t look nothing like one.”

  Desiree did not know where to go with that remark so she left it alone. She could only imagine what Mildred thought a conundrum was. She ate the fake eggs. Mildred was right—1a jelly donut sounded better.

  “What’re we doing today?” Mildred asked.

  “After we eat our fake eggs cooked by someone who said they don’t cook we need to go to the gym. Being a gigolo girl means staying in shape,” Desiree said.

  “You mean like how Dr. Oz says you need a strong heart so you gotta to run on one of those treadmill things?” Mildred said.

  “You got it.” Desiree stacked their dirty dishes in the sink and turned on the water.

  “I’ll do the dishes,” Mildred said, popping up off her stool.

  “No, you won’t,” Desiree said. “Leave them in the sink for my housekeeper. The last time I washed dishes she accused me of trying to take her job away.”

  “Oh,” Mildred said. For the first time she realized that being an uptown girl had its own set of rules. She only hoped she could learn them all.

  Runaway

  Desiree took Milly Jean Twitty, a.k.a. Mildred, to the gym. Heavenly Bliss charged a pair of hot pink running shorts, a lime green tank top, and aqua tennis shoes to Desiree’s account so Mildred would have workout clothes.

  “I’m going to owe you a lot of money,” Mildred said.

  “Don’t worry about it right now. Once you get your first couple of gigs you can pay me back. Consider it upstart costs,” Desiree said.

  “I didn’t know pink, green and aqua went together,” Mildred said. “Do I look okay?”

  Desiree looked her up and down. She looked more than okay. She looked delectable. But of course she didn’t say that. “You look fine. C’mon, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the girls. Now, don’t let Velvet Thrust scare you. She thinks she’s the queen of the gym who knows everything there is to know about bodybuilding. We’re here for the cardio—remember that,” Desiree said as she led Mildred over to a group of women in the corner.

  “Hey, girls, I want you to meet Mildred. She’s Honey Belle’s new recruit. She’s part of our new innocence line,” Desiree said with more confidence than she had. A new girl meant competition for clients. She hoped the girls realized that Mildred would appeal to a different set of lesbians.

  Candy Sweet nodded at Mildred. She was dressed in a gold lame wrestling onesie and wearing a purple bob wig, doing squats.

  “Welcome aboard, Mildred,” a woman draped over a red exercise ball doing leg lifts said. “If you need any help or have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask. We were all new once.”

  “Not all. Some of us were born to it,” another woman said. She was spinning on a stationary bike.

  “This is Velvet Thrust,” Desiree said without enthusiasm. She gestured at the woman, who had a tight red-haired bun and bulging biceps and abs. Her leg muscles rippled as she pedaled.

  Mildred gawked. “Lordy be,” she exhaled. “You sure are muscle-y.”

  Velvet puffed up proudly. “Thank you.”

  Desiree sighed disgustedly. She pointed at the woman draped over the big red ball. “And that is Fessa Casella.”

  At the mention of her name, Fessa finished her leg lifts and stood up.

  Mildred looked startled. Fessa was itty bitty. She couldn’t have been five feet tall. She was compact, had long dark hair pulled into a pony tail, piercing blue eyes, and red heart-shaped lips.

  “She’s our ‘pocket lesbian’,” Desiree said.

  “I’m built for women who are scared by large, tall, bulging…” she glared at Velvet Thrust, “Dykes on bikes.”

  “There is no love lost between those two,” Desiree said, in a low voice.

  “Truer words were never spoken. Someday I will chew off her ankles.” Fessa pointed two fingers to her own eyes and then pointed the fingers at Velvet Thrust.

  Velvet flipped her the bird. “Fuck off, potato bug.”

  Desiree grabbed Mildred’s hand. “Come on, let’s step away from the drama and get this over with.”

  “You don’t like to exercise?” Mildred asked as they headed to the treadmills.

  “Hell, no. I do it for work. I’d much rather be sitting at home eating potato chips and ice cream.”

  “Oh, I thought people did it because they enjoyed it. Or that’s what people on the TV say.”

  “Don’t trust the television either,” Desiree said. “You ever run before?”

  “No, I never saw a reason for it. Walking got me around just fine. Life is pretty slow in Terrence.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is.” Desiree stopped before a bank of treadmills. “Here, step on the machine. Now I’ll set it up for time and calorie count. This is the safety key,” Desiree said, holding up a red coin-shaped thing on a cord. “You put it in here and push the start button. Once you start walking, you can turn it up higher with this button. Just don’t turn it up too high, too fast. Got it?”

  Mildred nodded. She tentatively got on the machine.

  “Okay, when you’re ready to walk, hit start.”

  Mildred started the treadmill and began walking. After several seconds she smiled at Desiree. “This is fun!”

  “Now, speed it up so you can do a light jog,” Desiree said, getting on the treadmill next to Mildred. She began to walk alongside Mildred.

  “Okie dokie, artie-chokey,” Mildred said brightly, pushing the speed button. She began jogging.

  “I like to warm up with a jog for a little bit before running,” Desiree said.

  Mildred nodded. She broke a sweat but seemed comfortable enough with it. She hung onto the rails but otherwise Desiree thought she was doing great.

  They jogged in companionable silence for five minutes. “You sure you’ve never run before?” Desiree asked.

  “I used to chase chickens a lot,” Mildred said. “This is a lot easier. Plus you don’t step in chicken poop. There ain’t nothing worse than chicken poop. Especially when it squishes up between your toes.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. Ready to go faster?”

  Mildred smiled. “I guess so.”

  “Keep pushing the speed button until you’re running, and then let go of the safety rails and pump your arms. Watch me.” Desiree got her treadmill up to speed. She ran for a moment then looked at Mildred. “Your turn.”
/>   Mildred punched the speed button a bunch of times and began to run as fast as her legs would move. She huffed and puffed, and broke out into a sweat. She let go of the rails and her feet faltered. One moment she was running and the next she was flying through the air.

  Mildred made a noise that sounded like “Eeeep!” and she smacked against the back wall like a bug on a windshield.

  “Sweet Jesus,” Desiree said, pulling her safety cord and leaping off her treadmill. She’d heard of people doing that, but had never actually seen it.

  Mildred was slumped on the floor, her back against the wall and her head lolling forward on her chest.

  Desiree knelt down next to Mildred and raised her head. Mildred looked stunned but didn’t appear to be bleeding. “Are you hurt? Is anything broken?” Desiree asked.

  “I don’t think me and machines are good together,” Mildred whispered.

  The rest of the girls—Candy Sweet, Velvet Thrust, and Fessa—crowded around Mildred. “Is she okay? Is she hurt?”

  Heavenly Bliss pushed her way over to Mildred. She was toting a first aid kit the size of a 1980’s boom box. She knelt down next to Mildred and shined a penlight in her eyes. Medical emergencies were one of Heavenly Bliss’s hobbies. She’d had aspirations to be a doctor—she had saved all her money from hooking to pay for medical school—but time had slipped away from her. So she re-evaluated her life choices and bought the gym from an ex-boxer. She still looked forward to every medical emergency.

  After a full examination by Heavenly Bliss—who seemed disappointed there was no blood—Mildred was diagnosed with a bump on her head and a slight headache. Heavenly Bliss administered two aspirins and a cold compress. Mildred stood up with Velvet Thrust’s help.

  “I’m okay, really,” Mildred said weakly. “I’m used to it. I’ve always been clumsy and fell a lot. My mama made me wear a football helmet until I was six years old.”

  “Maybe we should do the bikes instead,” Desiree said.

  “I don’t know how to ride a bike,” Mildred said, sheepishly.

  “I meant a stationary bike,” Desiree said.

  “I know what you meant,” Mildred said. “I’ve tried stationary bikes before and I still fall off them.”

  Candy Sweet shook her head and walked away, muttering, “That girl is gonna need a lot of work.”

  “I will take care of your muscles,” Velvet Thrust said, giving Mildred’s biceps a squeeze. “I will pump them up for you.”

  “I can do some pressure points to relieve your headache,” Fessa said, caressing Mildred’s other arm.

  “That’s nothing but New Age rubbish,” Velvet Thrust said, pushing Fessa away.

  “Piss off, you big lug,” Fessa said. She kicked Velvet Thrust in the shin and scurried away. Velvet Thrust ran after her, saying, “That’s going to leave a bruise! Get back here!”

  Maybe Heavenly Bliss was going to get some blood after all, Desiree thought.

  Mildred Talks To Greta

  “You’ll never guess what my new job is!” Mildred exclaimed with false bravado. She was on the phone with Greta. She was scared to tell Greta about her new job, but she couldn’t keep something like that from her best friend. So Mildred said it brightly and with pride. Desiree had told her there was no shame in providing a much-needed service to the community. And as Desiree pointed out, Mildred had had sex with a cheating chicken thief for free. Mildred had to agree with that. Why give it away when you could sell it?

  Desiree was out for the night. She had one of her “gigs” as she called them. Mildred sat cross-legged on the couch with the twinkling city lights spread before her. She had made up her mind that when she started getting her own gigs and making money she wanted a condo just like this one.

  And maybe she’d be like Desiree and have a big ol’ fish painting on the wall, only hers would be an egg. She would confront her past and not let her past confront her—just like Desiree said.

  “You know I can’t guess. Tell me, tell me!” Greta said. Mildred knew that tone. It meant Greta was jumping up and down with excitement. “Did you get a new phone? I didn’t recognize the number.”

  “I sure did. I got me one of them newfangled smartphones. Only problem is that it’s smarter than me. It’s so fancy it doesn’t even come with an instruction manual. It took me half an hour just to figure out how to call you.”

  “Well, I’ll be darned,” Greta said. “I miss you something fierce, Mildred. Floyd’s been trying to fill your shoes, but honey, he just ain’t you.”

  “I know. I miss you too.”

  There was a silence where they both pined and shed a tear or two. Greta recovered first. “Now tell me about your new job.”

  Mildred wiped her eyes on the hem of her shirt. She was thankful it was one of her old ones that she brought with her and not one of the expensive ones that Desiree bought her. She rubbed her sore shoulders. Velvet Thrust had made her do bench presses—three sets of ten with a forty-pound bar. Desiree had agreed to it, telling her a girl gigolo needed strong shoulders.

  “Well?” Greta prodded.

  Mildred snapped back to attention. She tried to find a way to tell Greta what her job was without shocking her. “I’m in customer service… for lesbians.”

  “Huh?”

  “Well, I help lesbians get in touch with their feelings…physically,” Mildred said.

  “You mean you have sex with them?” Greta said.

  For once Mildred was glad that Greta was on the ball. “Yes. And they pay real good money, too.”

  “So, are they rich lesbians? ‘Cause I wouldn’t want you to be standing on no corner in a skimpy outfit. You could catch your death of cold.”

  “Oh, no. It’s classier than that. They call me up and I go meet them somewhere nice and most times at their place of residence.” ‘Place of residence’ was Desiree speak. “And Honey Belle, our boss, knows her stuff—so it ain’t nothing kinky or murderous.”

  “So, you’re one of them call girls?”

  “We’re called gigolo girls. You don’t hate me for it?” Mildred asked.

  “Heck, no! You were doing it anyway. Might as well get paid for it, is how I see it.”

  “Oh, Greta, I hoped you’d see it that way.”

  “But you got to promise me that if you don’t like it, you’ll come right home. We could get you a whole batch of new chickens.”

  “I will. I promise. And the best part is that I’m staying with this real nice girl named Desiree. Ain’t that the best name? It’s all Frenchy sounding. She’s real pretty and nice and she’s got this fancy shmancy condo and she’s taking good care of me. You should see the bathroom! It’s bigger than your whole house! And Desiree is awful smart. I think she might be a genius. She’s real pretty too.”

  “Now, don’t you go falling in love with her. You could use a little breathing room in between love affairs. Remember it didn’t turn out so hot last time with Cindy Lee. Damn her and the horse she rode in on.”

  “You seen her lately?”

  “Yeah, she walks around town with her nose in the air. She thinks she’s all that and a bag of chips. More like a bag of manure. Half the town is mad at her over how she done you.”

  “Desiree calls that karma.”

  “Huh?”

  “You know when someone gets their just desserts.” Mildred sipped at her Gatorade. She really wanted a Dr. Pepper but Desiree said pop was bad for the skin. Mildred thought she might be having withdrawals on account of quitting the stuff.

  “Oh, like when Carl Doyle was stealing money from the gas station where he worked and then accidently caught hisself on fire and all the money burnt up?” Greta asked.

  “That’s a perfect example of karma.”

  “Gosh darn it, Mildred, I do miss you so. Talking on the phone just ain’t the same.”

  “I know, but I’ll call you all the time ‘cause I promised you back in the second grade when you loaned me that eraser that we’d be best friends for life and I meant
it with all my heart.”

  “Oh, don’t, you’ll make me cry.”

  “I love you Greta.”

  “I love you too, Mildred.”

  They both sniffled and said goodbye.

  Greta turned her TV back on in time to watch Deborah Kerr and Cary Grant embrace in An Affair To Remember.

  At the same time, several hundred miles away, Mildred hit play on the remote and watched Debbie eat more donuts.

  Qui And The Turtle

  Desiree woke up to the screeching sounds of a woman cussing in Vietnamese. She groaned and stuck her head under her pillow. She was not in the mood for this today. She had a headache and her vagina was sore. She was going to have to call her vagina in sick. Her client last night had worn her out. Desiree hadn’t gotten home until three o’clock in the morning. And now this. Bleary-eyed and bedraggled, she dragged herself out of bed and followed the ear-splitting sounds to the kitchen.

  “What in the name of God is going on in here?” Desiree yelled in order to be heard over the screaming.

  Qui, the Vietnamese housekeeper, tugged on the mop handle while Mildred pulled on the other end of the mop. It was like they were playing tug of war with each other. And it looked like Mildred was losing even though she was bigger by a good fifty pounds and six inches.

  Mildred shouted, “I don’t know what she’s saying but all I was doing was mopping the floor and she flew in here like some kind of little brown ninja and tried to steal my dang mop. Why does she want the mop so bad? Is she trying to steal the mop? Is she going to beat us to death with the mop? I’m only trying to protect you.”

  Desiree thought it sweet that Mildred would try to prevent her from being assassinated with a mop. It wasn’t a very likely scenario, but it was the thought that counted. “No, no, that’s Qui, she’s my housekeeper.”

  Mildred stopped pulling but kept a firm grip on her end of the handle. Qui maintained her death grip on the mop and snarled in Mildred’s direction.

  “That’s the housekeeper?” Mildred asked.