Frank! That prick bastard motherfucker! He left! I thought to myself while I was trying to pull my top out from my tangled yoga pants.
The air conditioning vent was right above my head and it was blasting cold air down my back. I was scared and cold and nervous. My hands were trembling as stood there fumbling with an arm full of gear; a sneaker slipped out of my fingers and bounced off the floor, I dropped my phone, and my yoga pants were inside out and tangled up with my tank top.
"You're not going to call the cops are you?" I said nervously as I searched the attendant's eyes, doing my best to measure his countenance.
He was a giant of a man. He looking somewhere between a retired football linebacker and a biker. He was more than a head taller than me and he had long, unkempt hair that draped either side of his face, down to his shoulders, that gave me the impression that he was peeping out from behind the curtains of a vaudeville show. He had a scruffy beard like he hadn't shaved in days and he was dressed in a lumberjack red plaid shirt and baggy jeans. I couldn't put my finger on the look that he was going for. He was kind of a hybrid hipster, hippie, biker dude I guess.
"What? No, no. Relax honey!" He said as he scoped out the store to see if anyone was watching and then looked me up and down, "But I can't have you standing naked in the store like that. I'm not a lawyer but I'm pretty sure that the authorities frown on that kind of thing. I'd lose my shop license for sure. Come this way sugar."
He took me by the elbow with his bear-sized paw as if he were escorting an invalid to the examining room and then motioned to the back of the building as he ushered me alone.
"You're shaking like a leaf! Calm down, honey. You can clean up in the back and get yourself dressed, out of sight." He droned as he glanced back over his shoulder to the front store as if he was a drug dealer checking for a tail.
He looked over at Gio, who stood there, with a stupid smile on his face all the while, as he watched the drama unfold like he was a playwright on opening night. The attendant cocked his head, gave a nod to Gio, and motioned with his eyes in the direction of the front as he escorted me to the back.
"It's not my fault," I added as if I were a felon getting hauled away by the police, trying to minimize my culpability, "I didn't do anything. I just came down here to look at toys! It's THAT guy's fault, your friend there..... what's his name, Gio!"
He gave a knowing nod with a furrowed brow but I don't think he was listening to me at all. It was a feigned attempt to look concerned and understanding. It was just an automatic response like a bobblehead doll sitting on the dashboard of a car reacting to a bump in the road than a man engaged in conversation. He keep glancing over his shoulder to make sure that we weren't being followed as we continued on our way.
"Yes, of course, honey." He said in the patronizing tone of a priest as we reached the doorway at the back of the theatre, " I know exactly what you mean. It's alright. Don't worry."
He poked his arm through the green iridescent beaded curtain that separated the theater from the back of the establishment, beside a sign that read; EMPLOYEES ONLY. He swept the beads to one side to make way for us to pass. The long green pendulums swung to and fro and made a dull clicking sound as they bumped into each other in the doorway like a gypsy's Newtonian Cradle. The scent in the air transitioned from the thick fruity scent of the theatre to the industrial odor of a janitor's room. It was a mixture of antiseptics and waxes or glass cleaners that overtook the fruity aroma behind us.
We continued down a gloomy corridor, passed a lunch room kind of arrangement with: a table, chairs, bar fridge, sink, and microwave on a countertop, to the last room on the right that was beside a big grey industrial door under an exit sign that leads to the alleyway I assumed. The attendant bumped the grungy door with his hip and then reached in. His fingers crawled up the wall fumbling for the light switch. There was a click and the fluorescent lights buzzed to life, flickered for a few seconds like old, tired electronics that have long passed their life expectancy. Light flashed against the walls illuminating the room like lightning from a distant thunderstorm. One tube refused to answer the call while the other was only half awake, the room was dimly lit.
It's just as well, I thought to myself, I'm not here to read a book and it's enough to light the way.
I took a step back as a wave of panic came over me. There was one well-used cot against the wall with a saggy mattress clocked by a gray flannel blanket with a pillow at the far end. The attendant seemed to be prepared for my apprehension as he'd planted one foot behind me and one hand on my lower back to stop my retreat.
"No, no! Relax honey." He sighed in a low tone. "It's alright. You'll be more comfortable back here. Have a seat on the bed. You can get dressed here. No one will disturb us and I'll get you a brush out of the locker so that you can fix your hair. Sit, sit."
My thoughts drifted from my surroundings to my appearance as soon as he made the comment. I tried to run my fingers through my hair with my free hand, then looked down at myself. I was a sticky mess, my hair was matted and I had my bundle of gear cradled in my arms like I was a runaway.
He nudged me forward into the room with his giant bear paw. I shuffled over to the bed with baby steps and sank down slowly onto the mattress after a brief deliberation. He left the door open so there was some reassurance in that. I put my laundry and my phone on the bed and then watched my runners fall as I dropped them to the floor. I heard the clanging of the metal door as the attendant opened a large warehouse kind of wardrobe locker to retrieve a small travel bag with personal grooming items inside: a brush, comb, lotions, cologne, and the like. He handed it my way in silence as if he was passing an offering plate in church. I could hear footsteps in the distance and the distinctive ticking sound of a walking stick on the tile floor as I reached for the travel kit.
Oh lord. That must be Gio. I thought to myself as I reflected on the cadence.
Sure enough, there he was. The pudgy little rat fink filled the doorway, well, the bottom half of the doorway anyway. I threw a scowl his way through squinted eyes just in case he hadn't noticed I was a little pissed with him for turning me in like that.
"Guys! Do you need something? Anything?" Gio said like a Greek offering an olive branch.
"Oh yeah, yeah! Get some towels for our guest." Replied the attendant.
Gio disappeared for a moment and returned with a couple of bar towels from the kitchen. I managed to pull my yoga pants through the armhole of my tank top by then. I tried swatting off the obvious dust and grit from my clothes and neatly arranged them on the bed beside me. I sat there nude, on the bed as Gio handed me the towels with something of a sheepish grin on his face; maybe it was apologetic, I don't know. I didn't ponder the meaning for long. I just snatched the towels from his hand and broke eye contact before I'd made up my mind on the meaning behind it all.
"Thank you," I said as I looked down, avoiding eye contact with either man.
I suddenly became aware that I was naked. I slowly dragged my bottoms across the bed with some stealth, into my lap as I sat there; knees together and feet kind of pigeon-toed, and then covered my breasts with the bar towels, trying not to make any sudden moves that would attract attention. I hunched forward a little, trying to make myself as small and insignificant as possible. I'm not sure why. I didn't think it through at the time. I suppose that it was some kind of subcortical response when one is presented with a subservient position like that.
"It's a bit late for that. " The attendant chuckled as he noticed my renewed timorous posture. "Don't be shy. Relax, let me help."
He pulled a brush out of the travel kit beside me, then put a knee on the bed, and started gently brushing my hair. He pulled it back into a ponytail and gave long strokes with the brush; from my scalp to the tips of my hair as if he were grooming the tail of a show pony. I could feel the mattress sag under his weight as he settled in behind me and I could hear the crackling of my hair under the brush as it snagged on every knot and then broke free like a Velcro Strip.
"You have beautiful red hair!" he said in the soft tone of a hairdresser.
I wasn't sure what he was doing. I felt a brush, brush on my hair and then the rock, rock of the bed. First, there was one foot on the floor and one knee on the bed; then there were no feet on the floor and two knees on the bed. The bed continued to rock under his weight as he crawled up behind me. One foot appeared to the left of me and then another one appeared to my right as he planted himself directly behind me while he continued brushing my hair for several strokes. He straddled me from behind and we sat there, my back to him and me between muscular thighs.