?What you want? Blond, black girl, Mexican??
?Whatever you got. Just so she can get over here quick.?
Mike finished with the guy and went back to the bed. Lying flat helped only a little. He sat up and took his wallet out of his pants. He put an appropriate amount of cash on the nightstand and stuck the rest of his money and wallet under the mattress. If he fell asleep, the hooker wouldn?t be able to snatch his wallet without waking him. She might have been ?classy? according to the advertisement in the phone book, but she was still a hooker.
Mike flipped on the television, sped through the channels, his thumb on the remote. A guy with a bad haircut was firing someone. On another station, a snotty woman explained to some frumpy gal why her clothes were all wrong but never fear because they had a plan to find her a whole new wardrobe. Mike couldn?t quite understand what had happened to television. It seemed like all they did was follow people around with a camera, recording them making asses out of themselves. He finally settled on a black-and-white Otto Preminger movie, John Wayne in the navy with some desk job because a Jap submarine had blasted his ship out from under him.
Forty minutes later, a knock on the door.
Mike grunted as he got out of bed, opened the door.
She couldn?t have been more than eighteen. Platinum blond hair cut short and spiked out, too much green eye makeup contrasting with very white skin. She was tall and thin, slight and delicate features like an elf. Scandinavian. She wore a very conservative and elegant black dress and pumps. Mike stared a second too long, surprised by the dress.
?Something wrong?? she asked. Her voice was high and slightly childlike.
?No. Nothing. I just thought you?d be dressed differently.?
?We need to dress differently for the nicer hotels,? she said. ?A tube top and spandex would draw too much attention.? She looked him up and down. ?You seem eager to go.?
Mike remembered he wore only boxer shorts. He stepped aside to let her in and closed the door. He grabbed the tube of Bengay from his jacket pocket, and when he turned around again, she?d already dropped the dress. Black stockings. Black thong panties. No bra. Medium breasts standing up in youthful defiance of gravity. Pink nipples.
Mike liked what he saw. Liked it just fine, but said, ?I?m too old for you.?
She giggled. ?I?ve been with older men. What are you, fifty??
?More than that, but you?ve got the wrong idea.?
He handed her the tube of Bengay, then sprawled across the bed on his belly, facing the television. ?Start at the base of the spine and work your way up. Between my shoulders especially. Don?t be afraid to dig in with your thumbs.? He closed his eyes and waited.
Two seconds later, Mike opened his eyes again. She was still standing there with the Bengay in her delicate hand, a confused look on her face, looking now even younger, like she should have been on her way to the prom instead of offering herself to some old man at the Hilton.
?I?m not sure I get what you want,? she said.
?My back,? Mike said. ?I don?t have time to fool around looking for a chiropractor. Just do this for me, okay??
She still looked confused. ?And then after I rub your back, we?ll do it??
?What?s your name??
?Cricket.?
?What?s your real name??
?We?re not supposed to tell clients our real?? She shrugged. ?Patricia. My name is Patricia.?
?I don?t want to have sex.? This wasn?t completely true. Patricia was attractive, something demure and vulnerable in her eyes. And she smelled nice, like lemons. But Mike didn?t think he could manage it. Sex would wreck him. ?I just need help with the back, Patricia. Please.?
?I?ll have to charge you the same.? She looked embarrassed.
?It?s okay. The money?s near the lamp.? He motioned toward the nightstand.
