He turned off the shower, thinking about Monday. How would he react when he found out what kind of man Kohler was and what he had planned for his wife? He’d probably kill the son of a bitch, but he was probably going to kill him anyway, Washington thought, as he wrapped himself in a towel.
He left the bathroom and went to the bed, where he picked up and shook out the camouflaged clothes, trying to rid himself of any little creepy crawlies that might be left over from his stint in the woods. Satisfied, he folded them and stored them in the closet. Then he dropped the towel and put on his street clothes. He wanted to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. After he was dressed he remembered that nobody knew where he was.
He drew the curtains, hooked the DVD player to the TV, popped in the disc and lay back on the bed to watch.
She stared out at him, from the screen, as striking as he’d remembered her. She was sitting on the edge of that king-sized bed. The one in the room with the cameras and the lights. She turned and looked over her shoulder at the camera and smiled. She thrust out her lower lip and blew the hair out of her eyes, the way he’d seen his daughter do countless times.
It looked like she was cold, the way she was shivering, and his heart went out to her. She turned away from the camera and stretched. The camera followed her shaking hand to the center of the bed, where it locked around her purse. A small leather handbag. She pulled the purse to herself, then opened it.
She withdrew a small mirror, then a tiny glass jar, a vial. She unscrewed the lid. His heart ached as she dumped the white powder onto the mirror, trying to hold it without shaking. She took a credit card out of the purse and started chopping up the small chunks of cocaine into a fine white powder. Finished, she used the card to build the powder into two lines, two inches long. It took a few minutes. She was methodical. He noticed her hands were no longer shaking as she rolled up a crisp hundred dollar bill.
She turned toward the camera, smiled a million dollar smile, winked, pursed her lips and threw a kiss. The camera moved in for a close up as she turned back toward the white powder. She put the bill to her nose, leaned over the cocaine and inhaled, making one of the small white snakes vanish. She repeated the motion with the other nostril, killing the other line.
She sat for a moment, eyes closed. She rolled her head and sighed. Then she turned toward the camera, cupped her breasts, squeezed, and sighed again. He had never seen anything like this. He wanted to take out the disc, but couldn’t. He was frozen, mesmerized. He had forgotten about why he was here, there was only him and the seventeen inch color screen. The rest of the world didn’t exist.
She scooted off the bed, stood and faced the camera. She had a little girl pout on her lips and she batted her eyes like a whore.
“ Get on with it,” the doctor ordered, his voice coming from off camera.
“ Play some music,” she said.
Washington was shocked, but couldn’t stop watching.
“ What do you want to hear?” another male voice out of camera range said.
“ Light My Fire. Play, Light My Fire.” In a few seconds the music of The Doors played in the background and she started to sway when Jim Morrison started to sing. The combination of the cocaine and music seemed to put her into a trance.
“ I’m going to be oh so good. You’ll see,” she said. “I’m going to fuck and suck you till you’re sore and dry and then I’ll make you beg for more.” She spread her legs and ran her hands between them. “Oh it feels so good, can’t you see,” she said in a sultry voice as she masturbated through her silk skirt. Then she moved her hands up to her breasts and massaged them.
“ Soon you’ll each have one of these in your mouth. Think about it.” She continued the upward motion of her hands till the fingers found the button at her collar. She unbuttoned it. “One down, four to go.” She swayed with the rhythm and found the second button, her hands were shaking again as she slipped it out of the button hole. “Three to go,” she said, then she looked at the camera and pleaded. “Do we have to do this?”
“ Just take it off and make it look good. We don’t have all day.” Kohler’s voice from off camera again.
Her hands, shaking now, found the third button, then the fourth, then the fifth. She closed her eyes, like she was shutting out the world, and took off her blouse, dropping it at her feet. Her hands went behind her back, for the clasp, but then she dropped them to her sides and let the music rule her as she slow danced with the rhythm. She started masturbating again, moving her right hand with a frantic cadence, undulating her hips with the beat of the music.
She continued like that till the pleasure chased away the shame. She opened her eyes, winked, reached behind her back and said. “I’ll bet you boys want to see my titties.” Then she undid the clasp and the skimpy bra sprang free. She curved her shoulders forward, shucking it off, and the bra joined the blouse on the floor at her feet. She cupped her breasts in her hands, pointing them at the camera.
“ One for each of you.” She squeezed the nipples. “Oh, I hope your lips can make them feel this wonderful.” She tweaked the buds, pinching herself. She moaned and Washington wondered if she was hurting herself on purpose.
She ran her hands from her breasts down to her skirt, hooked a thumb in each side, slid it down and stepped out of it. She resumed her dance clad only in sheer white panties.
“ Come take them off me,” she said toward the camera.
“ No. Take them off yourself. Then stand and face me and make yourself come,” the doctor ordered.
Washington thought he saw her flush a little as she dropped the panties, but he couldn’t be sure if she was humiliated or excited. He gasped as she faced him on the screen, legs spread like she was riding a horse, masturbating. Her screams of pleasure filled the room. She wasn’t faking.
Without realizing what he was doing, Washington slipped open the buttons on his Levi’s and stuffed his hand in his pants, stroking himself. Soft and slow, keeping perfect rhythm with the woman on the screen. And to his amazement when she screamed, “Oh my God, I’m coming,” he came, shooting hot sticky fluid over the inside of his underwear.
“ Shit! Shit, shit!” He was immediately ashamed.
He pulled his hand out, trying his best to keep the sticky stuff away from his Levi’s. He wiped his hand on the bed cover, unbuckled his belt and carefully eased the pants off. Then he got up and went back to the bathroom, pulling his sweatshirt off on the way. He took his soiled underwear off in the shower and scrubbed them with soap. Once he was convinced all of the telltale evidence was off the shorts, he opened the shower door and tossed them into the plastic covered wastebasket. Something else to buy tomorrow, he thought. He spent another five minutes letting the heat and steam wash away the shame and guilt he felt.
When he finished with his second shower of the evening, he toweled off, then went naked out of the bathroom. He bent over to pick up his Levi’s as she moaned in ecstasy. He turned his head to the screen.
Julia Monday was on her hands and knees. The Weasel on his knees behind her, fucking her from the rear. Stupid was standing at the edge of the bed. Her mouth was wrapped around his cock. Kohler must have been working the camera. The Weasel was pumping furiously and Stupid’s face was flushed red. Stupid looked like he was going to explode as she worked on him. It looked she was enjoying herself.
Washington felt disgusted, he jabbed his right arm out, index finger extended, and turned the set off. Then he ejected the disc and got dressed. He didn’t trust himself to sleep naked tonight. He sat down on the bed and pulled on his shoes and socks. The canned beef stew hadn’t dented his appetite. His stomach was growling as he walked out the door. It was only 10:00, something should be open.
Something was, the diner across the road. He rubbed his arms against the cold night and crossed the empty street. He didn’t notice the gray Mercedes in the parking lot. The hostess smiled shyly and asked him if he wanted smoking or nonsmoking. He said he didn’t care. Something by the window.
It was smoking. He inhaled the tobacco fumes from the booth behind and wished he had a cigarette. He was about to raise his hand and call the waitress, when he heard the clipped German accent that followed the tobacco smoke. He hadn’t been paying attention. He wondered if they had seen him and if they had, if Kohler had recognized him.
He saw the waitress approaching. He wished her away, but she kept coming. He wished harder. She kept coming. He buried his face in the menu, wishing she would walk on by.
She did.
“ Here’s the damage, thirty-four fifty,” he heard her say to Kohler’s party in the next booth. She was a middle aged woman who had probably worked the night shift for twenty years. When she saw Kohler was going to stiff her
