“Good night.”
“Good night?” I sputter. This is unexpected. My ego may be overinflated from webcam chats with fifty-year-old men and confused transvestites, but I’m used to being sought after, ten hours of my day spent virtually between the sheets with strangers. Now, with a flesh-and-blood man in front of me… I get a kiss and a “good night.”
He glances at his watch. “You told me to have you inside by seven.”
The elevator picks that time to groan, a loud rumble that will turn into a screech, the laborious journey just noisy enough to make its occupants wonder if this will be the trip that doesn’t take, if this will be the moment that it settles into place and says “Fuck you, I’m not moving another foot.” It does make the climb, and I tense as I watch the doors open. Another view I have never seen. This long hall, and the motion of the doors. I’ve heard them a thousand times, always envisioned the bodies that step off, the looks on their faces, the scent of their skin. A figure shuffles off, and I feel a moment of recognition at the scrawny build, previous sightings distorted by my peephole. A pale hand swipes at short dark hair, the man shifting the backpack higher as he glances at us from down the hall.
“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” he calls out, his voice bouncing off filthy walls as he moves closer. “She won’t open that door.”
I smile at the voice, non-muffled without the door between us, and glance at Jeremy to see if he understands the man’s comment. His face surprises me. Tense, his back leaving the wall, his posture stiff as he straightens. I have forgotten that he knows Simon, that they have bitched countless times over the package of pills that he delivers monthly.
Simon pauses, a hitch in his step, when he is ten feet away, his eyes warily recognizing Jeremy. “Oh. Hey, man.”
Jeremy says nothing, nodding at him in acknowledgment of the greeting.
The druggie’s gaze jumps left, and stares me up and down, his eyes taking their time. “What—delivery boy bring you to see the freak show?” he cackles. “I’ve got stuff a lot more exciting in my place. If you want…” He steps closer, smiling, and I see Jeremy’s fists clench.
I smile brightly, using the young innocent smile, the one that my clients love, the one that dissolves all tension and puts them all at ease. He moves closer and I jump into action, bringing my knee up quickly, into the soft flesh between his sweatpanted legs, the hard impact causing his eyes to tightly close, his torso doubling over as all air leaves his chest in one brittle exhale. He wheezes and I bring my forearm up, under his chin, and press hard, pushing him back against the wall, my four-inch heels putting us at eye level with each other. “Hi Simon,” I drawl, watching his eyes jump to mine, a hesitant recognition at my voice in their red-rimmed depths. “Welcome to the freak show.”
CHAPTER 4
JEREMY PULLS ME off. Not that it is really necessary. I have no weapon on me. My knee-to-the-crotch move is pretty much the only move I have—and it’s been in my repertoire since middle school, back when a properly timed middle finger was just as argumentatively effective. Had Simon not been surprised, not still been overcome from the assault on his nuts, I wouldn’t have been able to push him back, to get my forearm under his chin and hard against his throat. He was already recovering when Jeremy pulled me off, already gaining his wits and understanding the situation before him. A few seconds later, he would have pushed me off. So I’m glad Jeremy stepped in. Saved my credibility while still letting me feel like a badass.
Jeremy moves before me, glancing at my face. “Are you okay?”
Are you okay? An outside observer would think he was being protective, was asking if I was hurt, or offended, or any other manner of state that would send a knight in shining armor rushing to my aid. But I know what he is asking. He is asking if I am under control. If that show of violence was a spark that will lead to a full-blown forest fire. I feel a buzz of warmth that he understands. That he appreciates what is possible.
I look at Simon, whose expression sits somewhere between incredulity and admiration, most likely in relation to my looks over my barely there ass-kicking abilities. “Nine o’clock?”
He nods, looking down. “Yeah. Sorry about the… Yeah. Nine. I’ll be here.” He stumbles sideways, avoiding the glowering stare of Jeremy, and hurries down the hall, the jingle of keys announcing his arrival at his apartment door.
Jeremy swears under his breath and reaches for my hand, grabs the key ring I loosely hold, and jams the aluminum piece into the lock, twisting and pushing until the knob gives way. Then he pushes open the door and steps inside.