Chapter Two: Lawrence
Lawrence St. James reached over and decreased the volume to the radio as he slowed to a stop at the red traffic signal. Waiting for the light, he surveyed the intersection. Smiling he stared at the clean streets and wholesome looking couples and families entering the surrounding restaurants. It has only been a couple of weeks since his last conquest but his hunger was becoming insatiable. He definitely wouldn't find what he needed here.
Twenty minutes later, Lawrence traveled along Jackson Avenue, the stained brick walls of the bordering vacant buildings and old factories standing guard over the dark shadows of the narrow alleyways. Yes he thought, much better.
He neared the intersection at 32nd Street and drifted alongside the front curb of a grungy motel. He stopped the car and shut off the engine. Well, let's see what turns up, he mused, watching the street. Sitting there, Lawrence took the time to scrutinize the immediate area finding the environment perfect for what he needed. The street lamps barely lit the street, casting a dim pallor over the old tattered posters and graffiti adorning the adjoining buildings.
"Bingo!" There she was, strolling across the parking lot of that cheap motel. Oh yes... just the thing. God, he thought, she was the embodiment of the ideal Trollope, an American hooker, a prostitute. She exuded confidence as she sauntered over the refuse that littered the asphalt lot. Dressed in a red and white tube top and a scant black mini-skirt accented by black fishnet stockings, she stomped away in lethal looking black four or five inch heels. Her hair was a spiked blond and her make-up, well, a beautifully garish manifestation. He liked this one, hell...he loved this one. And, there was something about her...something familiar.
She glanced at the car and hesitated. He feared she would return to the motel but she resumed walking toward the street. Evidently, she didn't see me, he thought. He watched her make the sidewalk and start for the intersection, probably to sell her wares. Lawrence waited until she reached the corner before he started up the car to follow the woman. Those stockings beckoned him, calling for his special attention. As she stood at the corner, he noted she carried a small bag. Hmmm, he thought...tools of the trade?
Slowly, he drew up next to her and stopped. The gaudy female looked down into the car, peeking at him. Lawrence leaned toward the open passenger window and said, "How much to give you a lift somewhere?
Lawrence eyes widened as he saw the hooker's mouth fall open and stare at him. Surprised by her reaction and obvious disgust toward him he thought, Christ, maybe he was mistaken, this was her normal attire...she likes to dress like a whore.
"What did you say?" She spoke each syllable in a dramatic Southern accent.
"Uh, my mistake...I apologize. I mean, well...it was just the way you look, Miss. Let's face it, you are rather colorful."
"Oh, well since you put it that way," and reached over and opened the passenger door. Lawrence stared as she gracefully slid across the seat and closed the door. Now concerned, he wondered if she was a nutcase. She carefully smoothed out her mini, her hands gliding over two lovely thighs leisurely caressing the smooth flesh exposed above the stockings. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the subtle movements of those slender fingers, the fingernail of her forefinger gently scraping across the silken skin.
"Uh...where would you like to go?" asked Lawrence, his face glistening from sweat.
"Why home dear, where else would you take me?" The voice lost its Southern Belle accent. He gasped in shock as he stared at the face scowling at him.
"Stevie? My God, is that you?"
"Yes my sweet?" This said in a soft mocking tone.
"But...ah...what are you..."
Lawrence never finished his sentence, his wife glaring at him from the passenger seat of a car she's never been in, let alone seen. "Darling, I'm rather tired and would like to go home. Can you please take me home now? We will chat about our discoveries after we have had time to...umm...relax? Okay?"
Lawrence St. James could not think straight. Now, he needed to ditch the car and retrieve his regular one. And, she would see it all. Fuck, he thought, how was he going to explain all this?
The ride to his hidden car only took ten minutes. She never broached a word as they switched into his Jag. Nor did she say anything during the drive home. Thirty minutes later, he watched from the driver's seat as Stevie entered the house from the garage. She was still attired in the clothing of a street walker. He sat there contemplating what he was going to tell her, how he was going to tell her. He whispered, "Shit, the goddamn cats out of the bag now, might as well tell her everything." Lawrence thought, if she does not want to accept my little idiosyncrasy, well...we will just have to see.
Lawrence entered their home and swiftly walked into the game room aiming for the bar. He reached over the railing and grabbed a bottle of Southern Comfort, filling a shot of the golden elixir. After his third shot, he ambled into the bedroom where he could hear his wife slosh about in the tub. His mind still reeling over finding his wife dressed as a whore strutting about in the sleazy side of town, he changed into more comfortable wear and waited for his wife to emerge. On her side of the bed, he saw the bag she had been carrying. Seizing the bag, he examined the contents finding his wife's normal outfit within.
"What the fuck!" he exclaimed.
"What the fuck, indeed Lawrence." The steel in her voice decried the more genteel timbre he was accustomed too. "Now, will you be kind enough to explain why you were trolling along 32nd Street...not the finest part of town to be cruising, I must say."
His head hung down, his eyes closed, he resolved himself to tell her of his unique appetite. "Stefania, I have something I must tell you, to come clean as some would say." He looked at her, staring into her eyes. "I am not sure how you will receive this. I can only hope you will understand; but, it will not be appealing. Most others would...uh...find my distinctive craving foul, evil and devoid of humanity."
Lawrence could see her eyes widen with concern.
"Stefania...Stevie, please allow me to speak without interruption. Afterwards, you may do as you like. I will not stop you. Please understand I love you more than my own life. I would never harm you nor would I ever intentionally leave you.
I...I have what others would call a disease, a disease of the mind, an illness of the heart. I have endured this disorder long before I met you and afterwards was able to resist for several years. But, the need slowly crept back into my psyche, the hunger grew. Yet, what others would deem a sickness, I consider a cure. I rid society of disease. I eliminate the filth that permeates our very existence."
I paused and inhaled, drawing in a deep breath before releasing in a deep sigh. This...this thing I do began long ago, when I was a young man of twenty. I can't answer why. All I can tell you is...it began when my father...when I was forced to become a man with a local prostitute. It was disastrous. Both the offending woman and my father ridiculed me, laughed at my inadequacies. I guess I had never recovered from that incident.
Now I view all women of this sundry livelihood as nothing more that infestations.
Stevie, I was deliberately seeking a woman of the same ill repute, a prostitute."
Stevie's eyebrows arched, alarm displayed within those beautiful emerald eyes.
"Stevie, when I saw you in that parking lot, I found my objective for the evening. But, not for what you may be thinking right now. Yes, I would have had sex with her; I would have fucked her viciously. And, I always wear protection...for several reasons. The obvious one is protection for me from the apparent diseases she carries and secondly, safety for you. The other purpose, to hide the evidence. Yes Stevie, to hide any evidence that might link her death to me.
Now do you understand my love? If they allow me to buy their services and fuck them, they have proven their deviant and diseased life and defined their will for me to cure them. And I do this by releasing them from the world that created their unclean existence.
In a sense, I consider myself much like a surgeon. I surgically remove the infectious tumors of humanity."
Stevie sat on the chair of her vanity. I studied her face looking for the shock, the terror of what she heard. But I didn't see what I expected, I didn't observe that face of horror I have seen so many times before. Surprisingly, she appeared fascinated by what I had just told her.
After several minutes, she spoke those words that would change our lives forever. "Lawrence...baby, I am at a loss as what to say. Honey, I need to tell you something about myself, something that may startle you, uh...maybe not so much after what you just confessed.
Actually, it will explain why you found me where you did and why I was dressed as a...well, as a hooker.
My love, I too harbor a dark secret. I go out on evenings when you are away. By design, I seek companionship of someone, a man who harbors no fear of seducing married women.
I have a past, a past of betrayal and...death. When I was seventeen, my father left my mother and me. I never discovered why until many years later, after...after my mother's death. I had returned home from school and found her lying in bed. At first, I thought she was sleeping but after I was unable to wake her, I feared the worst. I tried to check for a pulse, a breath anything that would indicate she was only sleeping. I dialed 911 but I suspected my mother was beyond help. Once the paramedics announced she was dead, they notified the police. They had located an empty bottle of prescription sleeping pills.
The police talked to me in length, asking all sorts of questions to which I had no answers. Why would she want to kill herself? Was she under a doctor's care? Where was my father? Finally, after the arrival of my Aunt Lydia...you've met her...she took me in.
Two years later, when my aunt and I were going through my mother's things, I found the note. She had hidden a two page letter in one of the photo albums. The letter read of why she did what she did, she couldn't go on living with the guilt she had kept hidden within.
