My Second Piece of Ass Ch. 25

“Okay, when will that be?”

“Probably Monday, I have a lot to do to get Bea settled.” She was out of the car and running toward the back door of the brothel before I could say anything more.

When I returned to the house that Thursday morning I listened to the messages Ollie had left the night before. He was the only caller.

The first message was timed 9:25 P.M.: “Listen, gigolo, pick up the fucking phone. I’ve got something to say to you and I don’t want it recorded on a machine.”

10:05 P.M.: “I know what you’re up to. You’re hiding behind a recording machine, trying to get me to make a threat. Pick up asshole!”

10:35 P.M.: “If you really aren’t there call me when you get in.”

11:12 P.M.: “Julita as much as said she won’t see you anymore. Good girl, she’s come to her senses. You’re not to stalk her. Do you understand?”

11: 37 P.M.: “I’m at home. You have my number. Call me. I know my wife. I knoe nothing happened.”

12:05 A.M.: “Randy? Look Randy, can we talk about this? Come by my shop tomorrow. Let me know when you’re coming. I’ll be there.”

There was still the matter of Huley’s book which needed to be returned but I did not look for her. I spent most of the lunch hour in the library.

This was my first chance to record what I had heard the six girls in the brothel tell me about how they viewed their role in society. I transcribed what Brenda Sue had said, “We don’t get much chance to tell anyone how we feel. Our families don’t listen to us anymore and the John’s are only thinking of getting their rocks off. Sure, they might act interested but they don’t really care what’s behind what we’re telling them. That’s why we talk to each other. We’re the only ones that listen to us.”

I read the paragraph, wondering if I had remembered Brenda Sue’s statement correctly.

I turned the page in my notebook and made a new entry:

What I want from Ollie Pettersen.

1. Reimbursement for Laura’s hospital and doctor expenses.
2. The car tuned up and painted fire engine red.
3. A settlement for mental anguish and loss of wages.
4. A notarized apology from Ollie Pettersen to Laura T Stone.

What else? I looked up and caught the blond watching me. She ducked her head and then looked back and smiled, knowing that she had been caught. I smiled back.

“I wasn’t looking at you, really. I was looking through you. Did you think I was looking at you?” She had taken a seat across the table from me, speaking in a low muffled voice.

“I know how it is,” I laughed, having been caught by her for the same thing.

“I won’t keep you. I could see that you’re busy,” she was getting to her feet.

“It’s okay, I’m finished.”

She offered her hand, extending it across the table. “I’m Katherine Simmons.”

“Hi, Randy Tucker,” I said, releasing her hand as she lowered herself to the chair.

“You were concentrating. I was surprised when you caught me. I wasn’t watching, really.” The rumpled forehead and wide eyes said, “Believe me.”

“I know you weren’t. There’s a police chief named Simmons north of here, any relation?”

Katherine blushed, surprised that I would bring up the name. “He’s my uncle. Do you know him?”

“Not really, I only met him once.”

“Oh, I see. I pity you. The meeting was probably less than cordial.”

Why had I mentioned Chief Simmons? He had told me not to. How do I get out of this? I smiled, hoping to drop the subject.

“You were totally absorbed in something; I’ll leave so you can get back to it,” she offered again.

I turned the notebook page back to Brenda Sue’s quote and begin to read it, aloud. When I finished there was a dumb stare on Katherine Simmon’s face. “What’s that?”

I told her of my plan to incorporate statements from ladies of the evening into my paper to draw a parallel between modern day society and the elements that had contributed to the downfall of the Roman Empire.

She stared at me, aghast. “This isn’t for Sheila Henderson’s class?”

“No, I’m in Mrs. Davenport’s class,” I answered.

The one o’clock warning bell was ringing. We got up and walked from the library together.

“Look, if you have time tomorrow meet me here. I’ll give you twelve good reasons why you must not take that approach with Sheila Henderson Davenport.”

“I’ll have time. We’ll meet here unless you would prefer to meet in the cafeteria?”

She hesitated before saying she would meet me in the café. As we parted at the pay telephones I recalled that she had avoided asking me how I was able to secure quotations from prostitutes.

I would be late getting to my one o’clock class. I needed to call Ollie Pettersen to say I would stop by his shop about 3:15.

{To be continued}