Bromfield's Temptations Ch. 09

"What's that?"

"How do you work up a fee schedule? In my case, the Bar Association publishes a recommended schedule. Do you girls do that too?"

She giggled. "Not exactly," she said. "You find out what the other girls are getting and set your prices accordingly. Or if you're working out of an escort service, which is good because they do some client screening for you, they set the rates and the girl basically works for tips. If this job had been booked through an escort service, I would have gotten $300 of the $500 fee."

We began caressing each other, but nothing worked. I was as dead as the proverbial doornail. After ten fruitless minutes -- I was becoming very embarrassed -- she hopped out of bed. "I know how to fix this," she said. "I'll be right back."

She was gone about five minutes, and when she returned, she had a consultant in tow. Jacky followed her into the room. Jacky apparently hadn't gotten into the spirit of things, because, quite possibly, she was the only woman in the building still clothed.

"What have we here?" she asked loudly, "an attack of the dreaded softs?"

I fail to find much humor in impotence, especially mine. "Look, girls," I said, "I'm not impotent. I'm just tired; I already came once tonight."

This time, June shook her head. "With the kind of stimulation I see around here, a man your age ought to come at least four, maybe five times in a night."

"OK," I said. "Make it happen."

Jacky reached behind her and lowered her zipper. Her dress slipped off her shoulders and she gracefully stepped out of it.

She was wearing a matching bra/panty set over a garter belt and hose. She unhooked her bra; the clasp was in front between the cups, then she lifted the cups away from her breasts.

"How do you like these, big boy?" she said, lifting each nipple to her mouth. A cure for what ailed me seemed to be in the offing. I thought it was erotic and exciting watching that young woman lick and suck her own nipples. Then she came over to the bed, and putting her knee on the mattress, leaned so her breasts were dangling like huge melons above my mouth.

"Chew on one of these for a while," she said.

June, meanwhile, had taken my poor tired cock into her mouth and was trying to breathe life into it. Between Jacky's somewhat crude, but good-natured efforts, and her unabashed sexuality, I began recovering.

I would hope so. It wasn't every day that I had $1,000 worth of working girls trying to get me up. Yet, I knew the real problem was my new assignment. I just could not imagine myself becoming a pimp.

June stopped her efforts and leaned over the bed. "I give up," she said. "There's something going on in your head that's preventing nature from taking its course. See if you can figure it out. In the meantime, we're going to let you take a little nap."

June opened the door, and after Jacky scooped up her clothes, the girls left. I closed my eyes, and dozed off. Sometime during the night I had company.

I woke out of a deep sleep filled with weird dreams, and opened my eyes. The darkness was absolute. Someone was on the bed with me, gently nursing on my flaccid member. There wasn't a word spoken. Just that silent, steady mouth tenderly, wetly, teasing and stimulating my cock into an erection. I put my hands on the person's face. No whiskers. It was a woman.

When I was fully erect, the woman straddled my waist and impaled herself on me. Not a word broke the quiet. The only sound was the gentle creaking of the bed as she rocked back and forth, up and down, obviously savoring that root buried in her belly. I felt her breasts. Heavy, fluid, but no clues there.

The juices that had stubbornly resisted the best efforts of the two working girls now boiled up and spurted into my silent assailant. She continued to move for another minute or so, but I rapidly became flaccid and ignominiously fell out of her.

My silent partner quickly leaned forward. I felt the tips of her nipples on my chest. She gave me a quick kiss, slipped off the bed, and was gone.

To this day, I have no idea who she was.

Bette came into the room the next morning and woke me. "Hey, you going to sleep all day?"

"What time is it?"

"Time you were up, kiddo."

"No, seriously, what time is it?"

"Around 8:00 o'clock, I guess. People are leaving. Steve asked me to see if I could roust you out."

"Did you come in here last night?"

"No, I was busy all night. Same old threesome."

"I might have dreamed it, but I don't think so. A woman came in here last night, screwed me, and left without a word. I have no idea who she was."

"Well, I'm beginning to think this whole place is a little weird," Bette said. "I want to sleep in our own bed tonight. Let's go home."

I was glad to leave, but a little concerned that she might be having second thoughts about the studio. Still, I knew she must have been as tired as I, and I was having trouble waking up. I also knew we should wait until we were rested before tackling the big problem.

I found Jeff with Bridget out by the pool, and told him that we were going to leave. I suggested we might get together in the middle of the week.

Then I found Steve out in the studio, and told him we were leaving.

"OK," he said. "Just don't forget our deal."

"I won't," I said. "You have my word on it."

He nodded. "I've got big plans for all of us," he said. "But I'm relying on you to hold up your end."

I nodded. We shook hands, and I left.

The drive back to town was uneventful.

My mood was pensive as we pulled into our parking slot in the garage under the apartment. We let ourselves inside. I took some comfort in the familiar walls of our home. I carried our bag into the bedroom while Bette began filling the bathtub. By the time I had mixed two stiff drinks, she was in the tub, soaking.

I carried our highballs into the bathroom, and put hers in her hand. Then I put the lid of the toilet down and sat on it, watching her unwind.

Bette was lying back, eyes closed. "Jim, it's strange how far we have come since Louise left."

I agreed. "I should say."

"Do you ever wonder what's going to happen to us? Whether Louise will ever come back?"

"Sometimes," I said. "But the longer things keep going the way they are, the more likely it is they will continue," I said. "Don't you agree?"

"You mean you've given up on Louise?"

"Not entirely," I said. "But remember, the Louise who walked out probably no longer exists. She's bound to be a different person now than she was. Whether the new Louise and I would fit together the same as we did before she left is an open and perhaps doubtful question. How do you feel about Phil?"

"I gave up on him long ago," she said. "I should never have married him. Thank God there are no kids to worry about. As far as I'm concerned, he can keep right on going." Bette drained her glass and handed it to me. "Now, I'm going to flop into bed and sleep for about a week. Don't wake me unless the building's on fire."

I handed her a towel, and watched her scrub her exquisite little body until her skin glowed.

"Goodnight," she yawned, and she went into the bedroom, closing the door.

Bette slept until late afternoon. I was working on a brief in a fairly complicated probate matter when she came padding into the den, wearing a short nightie and a pair of badly scuffed slippers.

"What time is it?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.

"Your week's not up yet, if that's what you mean," I said. "It's about 4:30 of the same day you went to bed. How about some scrambled eggs and toast?"

"Sounds good," she said.

I went into the kitchen and made some coffee. Then I put the eggs on a burner and bread in the toaster. When Bette came out of the bathroom, her breakfast was on the kitchen table.

"I like it when you wait on me," she said.

I sat across from her and sipped my coffee while I watched her eat. "It looks like we're going to be waiting on each other a whole lot more in the future than we have in the past," I said.

Her eyebrows went up and she looked at me quizzically. "What do you mean?" she asked.

I took a deep breath, and told her about Carol's ultimatum. First, however, in careful lawyerly fashion, I laid a foundation, beginning with her arguments to me the previous week about the morality of accepting Steve's offer. Then I told her what June had said, which led to my confrontation with Steve and Carol in Steve's office, the incriminating tape, reinforced by the implied threat of gangster violence because of Carmine's tape.

I salvaged some honor by making it clear that what followed was entirely my voluntary act. I explained that Steve had offered to let me off the hook, if I wanted out, even to the point of warning me that this was my last chance. Ignorant of the consequences, and blinded by the promise of an exciting new life, I had plunged recklessly ahead, and now I was about to begin paying the price. Then I told her about Carol's ultimatum.

Bette sat, lost in thought, for a full minute or more, while I anxiously held my breath. Then she looked at me. "So now, you're putting it all on me," she said quietly. "Well, it looks as if you put your foot in it now. Of course, I know it's partly my fault. And I suppose June was right. The only difference between fucking for fun and fucking for money is motive."

She was silent for another extended period. I waited patiently. She looked at me again. "I'm busy rationalizing what should be a simple, uncomplicated deal. After all, recreational fucking pays off in excitement, and physical sensations. The physical sensations would be the same, and it might be very exciting to get paid for fucking strangers." She nodded, "I'll do it on one condition."

My relief must have been obvious. I can't imagine what would have happened if I had failed to recruit her. My career, probably. Possibly a broken knee cap, although as that thought crossed my mind, I knew I was being ridiculously melodramatic. "What's the condition?"

"That you put in writing what you want me to do, and sign it before a notary public."

Despite myself, I looked at her with new-found admiration. I knew it would be pointless to argue with her. This girl knew how to take care of herself. I wish I did. No matter which way I turned, it seemed I was digging myself deeper and deeper into a moral, if not an ethical, morass from which there could be no escape. But what were my choices?

"OK," I said. "I'll do it on Monday."

"In the meanwhile, let's go see what the tarts are wearing these days," Bette said.

"Really?"

"Sure. I've got to dress the part; otherwise I won't get any customers -- or are they clients? Which do they prefer to be called?"

Bette looked at me thoughtfully. "Another thing," she said, "I need to learn how much to charge for each service and when to collect the money. Those are things a girl has every right to expect her pimp to teach her. I've heard that the girls usually wash off the client's equipment and inspect it for disease before taking off their clothes. But suppose the client says `no.' What then?"

I flinched when she mentioned pimps, but I had no right to. After all, that was the deal. If I was to turn her out, prostitute her to serve my interest, than I was her pimp, plain and simple. Unfortunately for her, however, I knew nothing about the business.

"Look, when I talked to June about her tricking, she said that the escort service route was the way to go, because the service did some client screening, but more importantly, kept track of the girls."

"If I wanted to make whoring a life's work," Bette replied, "the escort service would make sense. But I don't intend to make a career of this. Just remember that as far as I'm concerned, I'm in this only to save your foolish neck. I think once you're irrevocably compro- mised, they'll back off. They don't care about me. But they want you by the balls."

I was sure Bette was right, but that didn't help us now. If we were going to go through with it, it looked as if we had to do some research.

We drove downtown for dinner, and then spent an hour cruising the streets populated by streetwalkers. We parked and watched the garishly dressed, long legged young whores approach cruising cars, speak briefly to the occupant, then either get in the car or back away and wait for the next slowly prowling car to come along. Gradually, we began to see a pattern in the way the girls worked, how they cooperated with each other by spreading out along the sidewalk.

We also spotted several pimps in the shadows. Sometimes they spoke to their girls; but mostly they stayed in the background. When a girl got into a car, however, I noticed that her man almost always jotted down the car's tag number. I was sure that if things in the car got rough for her; if the john turned out to be dangerous, for example, she might be able to hold him off by telling him his license number had been noted.

"I don't think I want to do this," Bette said with a slight shudder. "This is too rough for me."

I thought so, too. We drove uptown and went into the bar of the Ambassador Hotel, a seedy sort of place that had barely escaped the wrecker's ball when the new freeway was built. We sat at a table in the back of the room and watched the action.

There were half dozen men and two women seated along the bar. One of the women sat next to a man. The other woman, an Asian girl, was alone, sitting at the end of the bar. The bartender kept returning to chat with her when he wasn't serving a customer.

"I'll bet she's a working girl," I whispered to Bette.

"Maybe she's the bartender's wife," Bette said.

I looked more closely at the woman. Her hairstyle was like June's had been, a long pageboy. She wore a single string of fake pearls around her neck, dangling earrings that glinted in the dimly lit bar when she moved her head, and a dark cocktail dress that was conservative and only moderately revealing.

"Bartender's wives don't hang around bars wearing pearls," I said. "Girl friends, maybe. But not wives."

The woman said something to the bartender, and stood up, picking up her purse. He left her glass alone when she left the room.

"I'm going to get a better look at her," Bette hissed, as she tucked her bag under her arm and followed the woman to the ladies room. While she was gone, I studied another woman seated at a nearby table.

I had noticed her when we entered the room, but had assumed her escort was making a phone call or was in the head or something.

By then, we had been there for fifteen minutes. Since no escort had put in an appearance, I concluded there wasn't one.

Unlike the woman at the bar, this woman was wearing a hat; a feminine version of a classic fedora over one eye. She wore a cocktail dress and necklace. Her back was to me so I couldn't see her face or legs. However, judging by those parts of her trim body that I could see, I felt it was likely that her legs were also attractive.

Bette returned to the table with a glint of triumph in her eye. The cocktail waitress was right behind her. She set a drink down before the lady in the hat and motioned to one of the men sitting at the bar who waved his glass in salute.

As Bette sat, I saw the man approach the lady and sit across the table from her. Soon, they rose and he tossed some money on the table. She took his arm. Carrying her bag over her shoulder and her hat in hand, they left the bar together. I was right. She had neat legs.

"Well, what did you find out?" I asked.

"You were right," Bette said. "Su Lin is definitely a working girl."

"`Su Lin'?" I said.

"You don't think girls go to the Ladies just to pee and powder their noses, do you?"

"What else did you find out?"

"I told her I was thinking of tricking, and asked her the best way to break into the trade."

"Good for you. What'd she say?"

"She was in a hurry. She had a date waiting for her upstairs, but she gave me her telephone number, and told me to call tomorrow after 11."

"That's wonderful," I said. "It looks like we're on the right track." Bette looked suddenly doubtful. "What's the matter?" I asked, anxiously. After such a good start, I didn't want something gumming up the works.

"Well, it's just that, you know, can we trust her?"

"We need to find out," I said slowly. "She doesn't know me. Suppose I register and ask the bellboy to send Su Lin up? She'll think I'm just another john, but I'm a lawyer, and I know how to ask questions.

"She'll be suspicious at first, of course, but I can give her another $100 and tell her I'm a writer gathering material for a book or something. She may not believe me, but she'll believe the $100."

"Let's get you out of sight. You take the car home or take a cab, whatever you prefer. I'll go ahead and register, and see what I can find out. Then, tomorrow, you'll have something to go on when you talk to her."

"That sounds cool. I'll take a cab," Bette said.

I paid the bar tab, put Bette in a cab, and registered without luggage. The bellboy who let me into my room rolled his eyes knowingly when I handed him a $20 bill and asked for Su Lin.

"I'll see if she's around," he said. "But if she isn't, I know another girl . . ."

I shook my head. "No, Su Lin comes highly recommended," I said, "and I really want to meet her."

"I get it," the bellboy said. "I'll try to find her."

"There's another $20 in it if you can," I said. "Also, if you know what she drinks, have room service send a drink up for her and a bourbon rocks for me. OK?"

"I'll bring it myself," the lad replied.

I turned on the TV, took off my shoes, jacket, and tie, and sat back to watch the evening news. In five minutes, there was a tap at the door. It was the bellboy with a drink tray. I opened the door, and he came in.

"I found her. She'll be up soon." he said. "You're a cash customer; I'll have to collect for the drinks now."

I gave him a $50 bill. "Bring another round in an hour," I said. His eyes widened when he realized I didn't expect change.

About 15 minutes later, I heard a soft tapping at the door. I opened it to the tall, slender Asian girl we had seen in the bar.

"Hi," she said, "I'm Su Lin. The bellboy said you wanted to see me?"

"Sure do," I said. "Come in, sit down."

She warily stepped into the room and glanced around. I knew she was thinking vice when she failed to see luggage.

"I know what you're thinking," I said, "but this date is on the level."

"Do you have a business card?"

I reached for my wallet, and extracted a card. She took the telephone book out of the desk and opened it to attorneys in the yellow pages.

"Can I see your driver's license?"

"Sure," I said, as I handed it over. She looked at the picture and then at me. Satisfied, she handed it back.

"OK," she said, "you're a lawyer who is listed in the yellow pages, but that doesn't tell me who sent you or why. Bob, the bellman, said I was recommended. What's happening?"

"Well, you were recommended by a man who doesn't want his name used, but he spoke very highly of you. He says you're a bright girl and good people." I handed her the drink I had ordered for her. "I don't know what it is, but the bellman brought it for you. He brought this for me." I lifted my bourbon glass.

While she sipped her drink, I studied my visitor's face. Her dark eyes, slightly almond shaped, her high cheek bones, and her honey colored complexion, gave her an exotic Asian appearance. Her lips were full, sensuously and invitingly rounded, while her tiny nose was a mere punctuation mark on a face that was at once friendly, open, and beautiful. Her softly modulated voice carried no trace of a foreign accent.

She frowned slightly. "Is this a date or a conference?" she asked, looking impatiently at her watch.

"It's both. What's your fee for an hour?"