Synopsis: Jim has been forced to push Bette into prostitution. She goes reluctantly, but quickly discovers there's real money in sex. She's just made her first really big score, and has brought another prostitute home with her -- who turns out to be Louise!
Working Girls
I whirled. It was Louise! I saw at once that she had changed. She was heavier, had another line or two in her face, and she sported one hell of a black eye. But the real change was in her eyes and the shape of her mouth.
Choking on a sudden rush of emotion, I leaped up and seized her in a firm, loving embrace. In turn, she wrapped her arms tightly around me. We stood, locked in a silent welcome, seemingly for several minutes. Then I released her and stepped back.
"My God," she said shakily, her face working and eyes wet and bright with unshed tears, "and to think I wasn't sure you'd let me in the house or maybe even want to talk to me!"
I felt tears burning behind my eyes, too. I looked at Bette. Her eyes were also brimming. "What a bunch of sentimental fools we are," I said hoarsely, folding Louise into my arms again, this time motioning Bette to join us.
The three of us held each other, hugging and rocking, each of us experiencing floods of silent personal memories and charged emotions.
The initial shock faded. The women sat on the couch, and I slumped in my chair after pulling it close to the couch so the three of us were knee to knee.
I extended my left hand to Louise and my right hand to Bette. I was relieved when Bette, somewhat hesitantly, offered her hand to Louise. We were linked. The women I loved and I were reunited.
When I felt I could trust my voice, I said to Louise, "First, I want you to tell me who smacked you. I'm going to kill him."
She looked at me and smiled sadly. "You haven't changed at all, have you, Jim? You still think you can solve everyone's problems for them."
"I've changed all right," I said. "And I'm afraid not altogether for the better." I wanted to tell Louise about Steve and Carol and the studio -- and, of course, I had a lot of questions to ask her, but I realized that during these first precious moments I had to be very careful. Things said could have a lasting impact on our future.
"How've you been?" I asked as casually as possible.
"Well, not good," Louise answered. "For one thing, as Bette told you, I'm turning tricks for a living these days, doing what I do best, I suppose," she added with a sad little smile.
"So I understand," I said, dryly.
"Don't get me wrong," Louise added quickly. "I don't mind the work so much; it's kind of fun. But I don't appreciate the looks I get in hotel lobbies. That bothers me. If you haven't already guessed, I'm edgy right now wondering what you two might be thinking of me."
"I don't know what Bette's told you, but believe me, dear, I'm in no position to be making judgments about anyone else."
"Bette said that you had loosened up a lot." She turned to Bette. "Isn't that how you put it, dear?"
Talk about an understatement! Still, I wasn't ready to let my full weight down.
"What's this `Marta' business?" I asked.
Louise sighed, and looked from me to Bette. "I don't know about you, Bette; maybe you haven't been tricking long enough. But most hookers I know try to keep something about themselves secret. Some lie about their home towns; others hide their families and kids.
"I kept `Louise' away from the pimps and the players and the johns. My name is mine, and I'm not going to share it with anyone except those I love, and those who love me. `Marta' is the party girl. Louise may be a swinger, but she's no whore. Marta is the whore."
That worried me. I'm no psychologist, but I'd had enough flaky clients to realize that Louise's rationalization seemed dangerously similar to a multiple personality disorder. I hoped I was mistaken. It was time to change the subject.
"Look, kids. It's been a long day. I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. Suppose we put some steaks on and pop some potatoes in the micro. And maybe toss a salad?"
Louise and Bette went into the kitchen to prepare our meal. Then I went into the kitchen to fix a drink. But I didn't get very far. Bette and Louise were standing in the middle of the room, locked together, sobbing and crying, patting and comforting each other.
This was no place for me. I quickly poured a drink and returned to the living room. A few minutes later, I went back into the kitchen for another drink.
Louise was now leaning against the sink, sipping a highball. Bette had slipped into one of my shirts, and was seated at the table drinking a glass of rosé. The girls were still red-eyed, but it seemed as if the storm was over for the moment. The brittleness I had felt earlier was gone; Louise seemed more relaxed.
"Do you still like your steak rare?" Louise asked me.
I smiled and nodded. Bette was squeamish about red meat and always wanted the pink cooked out of it. I mixed my drink, and went back to the living room. I thought they might still want some privacy.
Louise had been gone for nearly six months by that time, but I assumed, nevertheless, that she intended to reclaim her position as wife and head of the household. Thus, I was surprised and mildly shocked when, as we were relaxing in the living room after dinner, she said, "Jim, would you mind if I camped in the back bedroom for a week or so until this shiner disappears? It's awfully hard for a hooker with a black eye to get work. And I don't want to go back to Carl. I'm finished with that asshole!"
I didn't know what to say. I opened my mouth, but luckily, Bette guessed what I was about to say, and gave me a quick, preemptory, shake of her head.
So instead of protesting, I merely said, "Mi casa est su casa." Louise smiled, remembering our futile attempt to learn a few Spanish phrases before taking a vacation in Puerto Rico years earlier.
"You still don't have it right," she said, "but I get the general idea. Thank you, Jim -- and you, too, Bette, especially for taking me under your wing last night."
We watched a little television and then we went to bed. Bette curled up way over on her side of the bed. I rolled over next to her, and whispered, "You could have warned me, you little rat," digging my fingers into the ticklish spot on her ribs.
"Hush," she said, "and get over on your own side. We have company in the other room."
"Christ, is it possible that she's never heard anyone fuck before?"
"Oh, you're impossible," Bette said. "Come here, you big lummox, I love you."
I luxuriated in her verdant body. She began reciting the things she had done with those college men in a coarse whisper, while running her tantalizing fingers up and down my spine. I contented myself with sucking on one of her remarkable nipples. Then I kissed her stomach and pushed my face between her thighs.
"I want to see if they broke anything," I said, as I pulled gently on her labia with my lips.
"It all seems to be here," I said.
Although her thighs were clamped tightly against my ears, I still heard her giggle. "Let's see how it tastes," I said. "Is that chocolate I taste? Was one of those dudes a black guy?"
"Three of them were black," she said.
"That's what it is, then," I said. "Let's see if they stretched it all out of shape."
I crawled up between her legs and, as usual, she guided the head of my tool into her secret nest. I pushed, but the portals remained closed. I pushed a little harder.
"Ouch," she said, "that hurts. It looks like I'm out of action for a while." She put her hand on me. "Mama has some little tricks she can play. How does my little fellow like this?"
My little fellow disappeared into Bette's mouth. Powerful, suctioning forces were at work, and so was her hand, frantically pumping up and down. I felt a familiar pressure begin to build in my loins, demanding to be released. The pressure had started building when she had met me at the door, wearing nothing but her garter belt and stockings. It had continued to build while she had described her maiden voyage into the world of college boys and sin.
I forgot about Louise for the moment, and tried to picture Bette, crazy in heat, surrounded by massive young erections. I pictured the boys doing a circle jerk on her squirming body.
My seed boiled up my urethra and before she could jerk her head away, it filled her mouth.
She tried to swallow, but she gagged. She jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom. I could hear her retching into the toilet. Then I heard her rinse her mouth, and felt her crawl back into bed.
"You know what we're going to have to do?" she asked seriously.
I confessed I didn't.
"Well, if I'm going to get this sore every time I have a gang bang, and I can't suck you off without heaving, then we're going to have to break in my back door."
I love a woman who thinks like that.
The next few days passed swiftly. As her bruises faded, Louise gradually began telling us more about her life with Phil. Then, after dinner on her third evening with us, she told us about her brief movie career.
Louise hadn't known about Phil and Steve's college friendship until Bette told her the previous day. Instead, Phil, that lying bastard, had told her that he had gotten in touch with the studio through a newspaper ad.
"Frankly," she said, "I wasn't at all keen on becoming a porno star -- imagine what our friends would say if they knew -- but what choice did I have? Sure, I know. I could have left him, but I couldn't. Not then. I was still too infatuated with his cock."
She shuddered and scrunched her eyes shut while she gritted her teeth. "You can be sure that's where my affection began and ended. So we went out to the studio, and moved into one of the rooms in the new wing. Phil had quit his job (or had been fired, I was never sure which) and we spent a solid month out there making that flick.
"I might as well tell you the rest of it," she added, more to herself than to us. "Bette knows that Phil can be a real pain in the ass in more ways than one. We had moved back into town by then. One day, he came home early and caught me screwing the meter man."
