Some Dummy To Love

"Hey!" he shouted, his brow furrowed, "Hey, what are you; on third

shift, or somethin'? You want a coffee break? Ya' see, I was headin' to Dunk"

Sal stifled himself at the sight of the young woman approaching his car.

"Are you a cop?" she asked, staring directly into his eyes.

"No. No, I ain't no cop. Are you, are you what I I I think you are?"

"You looking for a date?" she inquired, her eyes accusing him.

Salvatore rubbed his chin, glanced at the traffic, and then met her eyes.

"I I I don't know yet." he answered.

"The young woman started to move away.

"Hey, hey, hey wait a minute. Look, I'M I'm trying to do this right; know what I mean? Okay look. You see that house back there, behind the fence, opposite the gazebo? That's my place. I'll go get the coffee, and and and I'll meet you by the gate. How's that?"

The hooker cast her eyes toward the asphalt, and then turned her gaze westbound, then eastbound. She felt stupid, just standing there, knowing what she'd become, what she looked like, what they together looked like. She knew it could be worse, much, much worse. So far, he wasn't ugly. She definitely liked his Tony Danza puppy eyes. Besides: a man's own apartment -after all- was as good a holy ground as any, a place of mutual trust, and of course it was way more comfortable than a bucket seat.

"Okay." she agreed, "Okay. And I don't want a coffee. Get me one of those fruit cooladas instead; the orange mango."

Sal didn't plan on telling her about his time on the inside, although he believed the young prostitute was herself a prisoner. He pulled into the D and D parking lot, and then thought twice. Entering a space, he threw the Monte Carlo in reverse, and pulled into the drive through line. Sal pondered over his near future as he waited, ordered the beverages, and a dozen doughnuts, and waited. He thought he could build a relationship of convenience; one hand washes the other, you wash my back, and I'll wash yours, cleanliness is godliness, curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought him back. He didn't want anything interfering with the relationship. For Salvatore, it would a twice or thrice weekly servicing. For her, it would another forty dollars a pop, thirty-five of which went to the pimp he knew was somewhere out there. So Sal thought she'd appreciate her own tip jar by the toaster. It could be, Sal thought, where she keeps her pennies saved up for the day she's set free. Then he knew he was getting way ahead of himself.

Eight or so minutes had passed between Sal's departure, and return. The prostitute was seated at the foot of the gate; her big blue duffel bag by her side. She looked away as Sal's headlights crossed her face. Slowly she rose to her feet, as Salvatore exited his car. He pushed open the gate, and she followed. Together they stood beneath the porch light while Sal unlocked his door, and he could see that she was no older than nineteen or twenty. Any younger, and he'd have to forget the whole thing. Salvatore, now forty, knew when to draw the line.

"You can put your bag on that chair by the stove." Sal said as he tucked his keys into his pocket, placing the doughnuts onto the counter by the sink.

"Where's my money?" she said, holding out a cupped palm.

"Uh, uh, how much?"

"Depends on what you're lookin' for."

"Well I don't know." Sal answered; holding out her fruit coolada, "You're really pretty, so I was thinkin' of...you know."

"Straight fuck is sixty dollars."

"Okay. Uh, how much is a little fellatio."

"Fellatio? What; are you tryin' to impress me with your broad vocabulary? Blowjobs are thirty bucks.

She wouldn't take the drink sweating in Sal's hand. He cocked an eyebrow, as he placed it on the counter, and then reached into his pocket. She looked at the twenty and two fives, before stuffing them into her pocket. For a second time, Sal offered her the drink. She took it, and followed him into the living room. Salvatore took his usual spot on the couch, and was about to invite the prostitute to make herself comfortable; when she proceeded to part his knees, and kneel there. She then tugged the blouse from her shoulders, and lowered the tube top to around her waist. Her breasts exposed, Salvatore's ardor responded accordingly, the prostitute opened his fly. Sal took over the task of easing himself out, while she unwrapped the condom she'd pulled out of her left pocket.

"What's your name anyway, kid?"

She shot an icy glance, paused, and then proceeded to apply the condom to where it would do most good.

"Lady Liberty." she replied.

"you're funny." Salvatore smiled.

"Yeah." she said; making herself more comfortable, "I'm funny all right.

Salvatore and Liberty's date was going well enough. That is, until Sal started to deflate -as it were- while still inside Liberty's mouth. You must be on something, she said. Now, the feeling of not being up to par was one thing. But being accused of being high, struck just a little too deep. With that, Lady Liberty hit the road. Yet, Salvatore wasn't ready to burn the bridge yet. Ten minutes, and four Boston creams later; Sal fished through his library of cheap staple- bound pornography. He turned to page fourteen of a two-month-old Penthouse, and proceeded to re-evaluate himself to the images of Clariece and Brigette laid out before him. That time, he passed.

"Ya' know:" said Sal; laying naked beside Ms. Liberty, during the post resolution period of her second visit, "I haven't had sex in about three and a half years."

"Oh yeah? Well now you can say that you haven't had sex for the last ten minutes" Liberty chose to say.

What she reserved for just thought was: Gee, I wish I hadn't had any sex for the last three and a half years.

"Hey, you really are a funny girl." said Sal; leaning over her, and smiling.

"Yeah, whatever." said Liberty, easing her way off the bed, and into her clothes. "Hey, how about you get us some Chinese food, and if you still have an appetite after that, I'll let ya do me for fifty?"

"Well, do ya' have to say it like that?"

"How else do you want me to say it Sal; I'm a hooker, for Christ's sake!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Sal said; as he threw on his clothes, "Ya' know, There's this old Buddhist guy living upstairs, and and and he says" If you messed up your old life, you can start right up with a new one. What do ya' think of that?"

"I want shrimp toast. I love shrimp toast. A small order of ribs, and...get an order of sweet and sour chicken." Liberty replied.

Salvatore called Number One's Take Out, and they delivered. Sal hated Chinese food, but munched on an egg roll just the same, while he and Liberty watched Titanic on pay-per-view. Halfway through the film, Liberty handed Sal a fortune cookie. He cracked it open. Chewing the one half, he tugged the fortune out of the other. The light from Titanic wasn't bright enough to read by, so he reached to the standing lamp behind the sofa, and turned it on. To his dismay, he read: The greatest danger could be your stupidity. Sal's next thought was that perhaps he'd mistakenly chosen the fortune fate meant to fall into Liberty's hands. Then he realized that he truly had made the choice he was fated to make. Suddenly, Salvatore's head began to ache; dully at first, then more intense.

"Hey uh...Libby?" Sal called from his place under the lamp.

Liberty giggled at the new alias her latest John had come up with.

"What kind of fortune you got in that cookie there?"

Gloria Pompano -aliases now including Lady Liberty, and now Libby- broke her cookie, and placed the fortune's shell onto the coffee table. She read by television light, then guffawed.

"Yesterday's reflections are the hope of tomorrow. What the hell does that mean? Wow, that's a load of crap. Hey Sal? Is there any chicken left?"

Salvatore never dated Liberty again. In fact, half way through the following week, the streetwalker finally chose to seek out new clients along some other thoroughfare. Salvatore Petrucelli resumed his schedualized routine: wake up, shower, dress, Dunkin' Donuts, off to work, out of work, back to Dunkin' Donuts, day in, and day out. To Sal, predictability ultimately meant safety; no surprises, calm seas. He still envied Joe, and his just a little bolder than the girl next door girlfriend. But now, he understood that couples needed constant compromise to maintain a steady course. That was too unpredictable for Sal. In fact, any woman -at least the variety of woman that the phenomenon called God sent his way- was predictably unsuitable to his... needs.

Sure, Sal had enough in the bank for a Bella Donna 2000, but he wasn't crazy enough to buy it. Instead, he settled for something a little less expensive, and a great deal more inconspicuous. This model -smaller than a bread box- didn't even need a name. It was the absolutely stripped down human female substitute, a workaholic's sexual pit stop. It was the field of search, narrowed down to the barest minimum: no personality, no problems, and no extraneous working parts. However, even with the reduced model, the same initializing procedures were in order. So Salvatore reflected on warmer thoughts of his ex-wife Sylvia, and of Liberty. But someday, he thought. Maybe someday.