My Second Piece of Ass

Had I made a mistake by picking up the phone? When Laura said, “I hate to ask,” I thought to myself, ‘who’s going to tell Huley.’ But it was Laura and she really did hate to ask me to run an errand. She didn’t know she was asking me to break a date. How many girlfriends, sisters, wives, lovers, all rolled into one ask you to pick up a couple of whores to make her life better?

Wanda Waite was ready to go. She accepted my arm and assistance getting into the car. The black Lincoln Continental her husband drove was not in sight but the house was well lit as we drove away.

“I hope this didn’t take you away from anything important,” Wanda said when we were under way.

Should I tell her what it was taking me away from? Should I describe what Huley had in mind for us to do? Would she be interested in hearing the barrage of four letter words Huley had unloaded on me as soon as I said I was not going to be able to keep our date?

“No, I wasn’t doing anything important,” I said, sparing Wanda the burden of feeling responsible for the break up which was sure to result from Huley being stood up twice in the past few days.

But I was not meeting two whores at the airport for Wanda Waite. I was doing it for Laura. And since Laura would never be told what she had cost me, there was no reason for Wanda to know either.

When we were comfortably seated near gate 16 where the two girls were expected to enter, Wanda produced color photographs for me to study. “We want to get a look at them before we introduce ourselves,” Wanda said, making me wonder what would happen if the girls did not meet her expectations. Would we walk away and let them fend for themselves?

The tall girl was dressed in riding attire although the photo had been taken in a studio. There was nothing in the shot that suggested she was about to mount a horse, no open barn door, no bale of hay and no rider’s crop. Were those spurs on her boots? A typed label at the bottom of the photo gave her name as Ruby Mae.

The second photograph was also professionally done but with a more believable costume. Brenda Sue was dressed in whore’s wardrobe. Much shorter than Ruby Mae, Brenda Sue’s uniform revealed stubby but well proportioned legs, ample breasts and dark hair with bangs above a somber expression.

“There they are,” I announced to Wanda, handing the photos back to her. Ruby Mae was in front of the other passengers, thick layered blond hair, lipstick that did not quite match the red blazer and short black skirt above long thin legs. They were her best asset. She searched the waiting crowd for a hint of recognition.

Having done my part, pointing out the tall girl at the head of the line, I waited for Wanda to make the first move. Brenda Sue had caught up with Ruby Mae and had joined in the survey, looking, so it seemed, for a sign reading “Welcome to Harold Waite’s Brothel.”

Still Wanda stalled. I looked her way and watched her turn the decision over in her mind. Should we take these two birds into the nest?

“Go fetch them dear,” Wanda said, touching my arm with her gloved hand.

That was a relief. At least she was going to accept them and we could bring them home with us, rather, to their new home at the brothel. The two girls would never know how near they came to being orphaned at gate 16, stranded in a strange city. Something told me they would have gotten by.

Ruby Sue looked at me with disdain as I approached. In heels, she stood three inches above me. I decided to appeal to her traveling companion who I could talk down to.

“Brenda Mae, I’m Randy. I’m here to pick you up,” I said, faking as much enthusiasm as I could manage.

The shorter girl smiled, letting anxiety drain from her face.

“Who sent you?” The taller girl’s voice was harsh but high pitched which took the edge off of her hostility.

I wasn’t sure if any names had been exchanged. Reluctant to say that Harold Waite, the principle owner of the brothel, had sent me I directed their attention to the grey haired lady seated some twenty feet away. Wanda Waite waived her gloved hand and gave us a reassuring smile.

“Ruby Mae, please step this way,” I said, hoping they would follow me to the seating area.

“How did he know my name?” I heard Ruby Mae ask Brenda Sue as we approached Wanda.

In short time Wanda had them convinced that they were to go with us. With another wave and the use of her grandmotherly smile she offered my services to collect their luggage. After arranging and rearranging four medium sized bags in the trunk of my car we were on our way.

Ruby Mae wanted to know which direction we were headed and how long it would take to get to our destination. She asked the names of the girls and who the madam was.

I was able to give the details about where the brothel was located and when we would arrive. I gave the first names of the four girls working at the brothel but stopped short of giving the madam’s name.

Wanda, seeing my reluctance to say that Laura was filling in as madam because Mollie was recuperating from a heart attack spoke up. “A young lady by the name of Tess handles the front door. You’ll be reporting to her.”

The two prostitutes talked between themselves, deciding that they did not know any of the names mentioned.

“Doesn’t matter as long as I can do my thing,” Ruby Mae decided.

Brenda Sue spoke up for the first time. “Does this place stay open all night? I need to make some money.”

“You won’t be able to work tonight. The doctor will come by and see you tomorrow morning,” Wanda said as if she had been waiting for the question.

“That sucks!” Ruby Mae was beside herself. “We’re clean. I got checked out last week. That just shows me the place is not very busy. It’s Friday night. Are you saying those four girls can handle the business?”

“It’s busy. The four girls will be overloaded tonight but we have our standards. We’re not going to take risks,” Wanda said, sounding like she had the speech prepared in advance. I wondered if Harold had rehearsed the responses with her.

We had traveled half the distance to the brothel. Wanda urged the girls to tell us about themselves. Brenda Sue was quiet but Ruby Mae didn’t mind telling an anecdote from her past.

“A boy named Freddie Ferguson took my cherry out back of the barn. My step-daddy caught us and started cuffing Freddie around the ears,” Ruby Mae began.

“Shit for brains, she’s got manure all over her backside. Why didn’t you go up in the loft?”

“Freddie said it was too hot in the loft. Daddy told us to go down to the creek and scrub the smell off of me. If we didn’t get it out I couldn’t come in the house. We took off all our clothes and washed in the creek water as best we could. While our clothes were drying we did it again. After that we stayed away from that manure pile, I can tell you that.”

“That was a delightful story,” Wanda purred, dismissing the girls from further explanation of how they got to where they were in life. Instead, she drew me into the conversation, asking how school was going.

With time on my side, we were fifteen minutes away from our destination, I gave Wanda an overview of the paper I writing on the Fall of Rome. In the darkened car I rambled on, giving examples of the various possibilities of what had contributed to the downfall. The paper was complete, except for the end. I had not settled on a conclusion, what I considered the main factor.

While speaking I had directed my reasoning toward Wanda who had nodded from time to time when I emphasized a point. Upon hearing snoring coming from the back seat I kept my voice low and spoke in monotones. But I kept talking, not to entertain Wanda but to see for myself if I had sound reasoning behind each argument I was setting forth.

As I turned into the alley that would take us to the back of the brothel Ruby Mae spoke, “I guess they’ll blame that on us too.”

“What’s that my dear?” Wanda asked, turning in her seat.

“That fall of Rome. Whores get blamed for everything else. They’ll stick us with that too.”

I felt Wanda’s hand grip my forearm, surprisingly strong but shaking. The shaking stemmed from her convulsing body which was seized in a quiet shudder.

It was nine o’clock on a Friday night when we stepped through the back door. If not for the errand I would be leaving the Pettersen home to avoid being there when Ollie came home. It was hard to decide which was more exciting. The place was jumping.

Neither Laura nor Ralph had time to greet the new girls. We carried the four suitcases up the narrow stairs and found that they had been assigned rooms. They looked around their new living quarters appraisingly without voicing an opinion.

“Can we get something to eat?” Ruby Mae wanted to know.

“Sure, come down stairs after you get settled,” I said, hoping they would change into jeans or something more comfortable than their traveling clothes. I wanted some time to make sure it was okay with Ralph for us to use his kitchen.

Wanda and I made stacks of pancakes for the two new arrivals. Rachel came in and introduced herself and from time to time the others joined us for a cup of coffee. Even with the turmoil that was going on at the front of the building the atmosphere was casual in the kitchen.

I was beginning to feel at home in the mist of the company and I could see that Wanda was enjoying herself. She spoke kindly to the girls, searching for individual traits that made them special. She went out of her way to make Ruby Mae and Brenda Sue feel comfortable in their new workplace.

The noise from the kitchen must have attracted Laura’s attention. When she appeared she was surprised to see Wanda and me still there, listening to the girls tell stories, each raunchier than the last. With merriment in her eyes she looked at us and pointed to the door.

“My, my, I never thought I would be kicked out of a brothel,” Wanda purred to the delight of the girls sitting around the table.

Laura spread her arms for me to come to her. “Thank you for going with Wanda,” she said, kissing me on the cheek then pulling my head down for a long smooch that made everything seem simple and perfect. For a short time the squalor of the surroundings was submerged. Floating above was the unmistakable aroma of Laura.

The girls cheered. Even Ralph who was watching from his station made a sound that shook the floor. As Laura released me from her clutches I saw that it was a club that he had banged on the floor.

“I want to visit Mollie in the hospital on Sunday. If you come early we can sleep together first. Can we do that?” Laura had spoken to me but she didn’t attempt to hide her request from the girls, two of whom she hadn’t met yet.

“I’ll be here real early,” I assured her, hearing a rustle at the table.

Wanda was waiting for me at the door, watching Laura say goodbye to me. As I caught up with her we paused to hear an exchange between Kelly and Laura.

“Are you really going to sleep with him?”

“Yes, we’ll sleep some. It’s a wife’s right to spend a day in bed with her husband,” Laura answered Kelly before turning to introduce herself to the new girls.

When we reached the Waite house Harold came outside to greet us. He thanked me for running the errand and for bringing his wife home. As I walked to my car I heard Wanda tell her husband that we had been kicked out of a brothel.

As I fell asleep Ruby Mae’s comment about the fall of Rome came to mind, “We whores get blamed for everything.”

~*~

“I haven’t been on a ladder in a month,” I said, more to myself than to Jimmy as we pulled away from the house the guys were working on.

He gave me a strange look. “That’s not what we pay you for. Keep getting the jobs, we’ll do the ladder work.”

Jimmy, Charles and I met Mr. Husky at the big house that Mr. Waite wanted us to inspect and report on. The flaws were so noticeable that even I could point them out. Charles and Jimmy kept me busy writing for an hour. Poor Mr. Husky followed with a painful expression on his face.

“Did you notice the woodwork?” Mr. Husky asked as we made our exit. We answered in unison, assuring him that we had noted the carpenter’s fine workmanship from long past.

~*~

That night I walked from room to room in our small house as if I was in a stupor. It was Saturday night and I was alone. I was excited and wanted to call someone to tell them the news. I had told Jimmy and Charles that we were in the wreaking business and I’m sure they had told the others but I wanted to spread the news further.

Who would I call? Laura naturally but I still did not have the number for the Brothel. Anyway, it was Saturday night. She would be too busy to talk. My family? There would be too much to explain. They did not even know I was in business. Huley? She was in California with her father. Anyway, she was mad at me

I sat back down at my desk and went over the numbers for the eleventh time. I could not concentrate. The doorbell rang.

“I like your bell,” Sylvia said as I let her in.

“The electrician picked it out. Laura hasn’t heard it yet but the chime can be changed,” I explained.

We stood in the center of the new room, careful to stand on the brown paper that had been put down to protect the floor finish Jimmy had applied. Sylvia admired the windows and the cathedral ceiling. Being empty, the room looked huge. We had not had time to shop for furniture.

“I haven’t bought the washer and dryer yet and the laundry was the reason we had the room built in the first place,” I said. I was glad to have company.

“You’ll have to check out the color of my paint when you see me home,” Sylvia said as if it was expected that I would walk her to her door.

“Come on, let’s have a drink,” I said, shoving her toward the kitchen and stripping her of her jacket in one motion. She had closed the library at 9 P.M., I decided, and changed clothes before ringing our new doorbell. She was wearing slacks and a sweater, both tight fitting and new, at least I had not seen her wear the outfit before.

We took seats across from one another at the kitchen table. I placed the scotch bottle and two glasses on the table and waited for her to pour her own drink.

“Why are you looking at me that way?” Sylvia questioned me as she poured a liberal amount of whiskey in one glass and dashed a small amount of the amber liquid in the other.

She had caught me staring but I did not adjust my gaze. “Just admiring your sweater,” I answered without mentioning that I had noticed her eyes had a touch of mascara and the librarian’s single braid had been combed out. I had anticipated a blush and was not disappointed.

She took a sip of the drink and coughed. I got up with the intention of patting her back but she held up her hand. “Get the crackers. They’re in that cabinet, up top,” she ordered.

I automatically reached into the refrigerator for the cheese and while I was up I poured her a glass of water. I had to tell someone the news and did not want more distractions.

“Silly,” she said. Sylvia jumped to her feet, got a knife from a drawer and came to stand in front of me. Knife in hand, she smiled down at me, unaware that I was tempted to raise her sweater and bite her tummy or at least make a sound that would send her fleeing.

“Thank you,” I said grinning, taking the knife. I wanted her to take a seat so I could tell her about the meeting with Harold Waite but she did not move. Damn it, I thought, how do I get her to sit down?

I stood up. Sylvia did not budge. We were standing face to face, inches apart. I knew that if I took a step forward and nudged her I could walk her backwards to her chair.

“Do you like it?”

“Like what?” I asked, thinking she must mean her new sweater and how her breasts strained the thin material. I needed clarification. She may have meant the way her hair was touching her shoulders and hanging next to her cheeks. She could have been speaking of the light application of lip gloss that changed color when she opened her mouth. Was it the way her dark eyes had been highlighted to make the pupils appear deeper? Whatever it was I liked it.

She closed her mouth to swallow. I had forgotten why I had stood up. I had forgotten what I was so anxious to tell her. The telephone rang.

Sylvia picked up the knife and walked around the table to her seat. The phone rang again.

“The machine will get it,” I managed to say. But the spell was broken.

Sylvia was removing the wrapper from the cheese when we heard my voice urge the caller to leave a message followed by an offer to call them back. She drained her glass and looked at me.

“Randy, Randy, please call me, it’s Rosita. There’s been a break-in and I don’t know who else to call.”

“Rosita,” I had made it to the kitchen wall phone. “What happened?”

“Want to go for a ride?” I asked Sylvia when I hung up the phone. Someone had broken into the show room at the used car lot. I was the first friend or relative that Rosita had found at home. She did not want to bother her father. Naturally I agreed to take her to the lot and assess the damage. Sylvia declined my offer to ride along.

Leaving the glass of scotch sitting on the kitchen table we locked up the house and I walked Sylvia to her door. “This has been the story of my life,” she said as she turned to wish me a good night. The anguish in her voice made me feel guilty for having to leave her.

Rosita had been upset when she called. It had taken several minutes to calm her down before she could tell me what had happened. Ollie and the girls had left her alone in the house and now she had the break-in to contend with.

When Sylvia had arrived I was happy to see her but I got the impression she had not come to hear about my meeting with Mr. Waite. From the way she was dressed and made up she had other things on her mind. While driving to the Pettersen home I wondered how our evening would have turned out had the phone not rung.

Would I have gotten the chance to tell Sylvia about my good fortune?

The Waites had welcomed me to their home that afternoon. Wanda was still excited about the evening she and I had spent picking up the new girls and bringing them to their new home. She was almost boasting that we had been kicked out of the brothel by Laura. Mr. Waite, I was still not calling him Harold, took me into his study and closed the door, commenting that he had heard the brothel story four times since I had delivered Wanda home the night before.

We were soon interrupted by Wanda who was announcing the arrival of another guest. A white haired gentleman entered the room. Mr. Waite greeted the man warmly and introduced Sid Parker to me as the owner of Parker Property Management. It was explained that Sid was had been invited to hear my presentation.

They listened to my description of the defects we had found with the spacious old house. They showed no emotion when I told them the roof, plumbing and heating system would need to be replaced and the floors rippled so badly they were beyond leveling. Sid simply nodded when I said the wiring was suspect. Not even when I dropped the bomb, we were almost certain that termites were ingesting chunks of the floor joists did either of the gentlemen do more than raise an eyebrows.

Mr. Waite took one last look at the estimate sheet I had prepared. “Can your company handle this work at these prices?”

Sid Parker caught me before I answered. Actually, he rescued me because I was not prepared to answer the question with confidence.

“How much would it take to knock it down?”

“I was going to get to that Sid,” Mr. Waite said.

I didn’t know. I did recall what Jimmy had said, “The land would be worth more if this place wasn’t here.”

The two gentlemen told me what they meant by knocking the house down. It would have to be done carefully without anyone getting injured. Anything that could be sold would need to be salvaged, even if it cost more to save than the item was worth. When finished, the ground where the house had been would be level and seeded with grass.