The Protocol of Ahab Ch. 04

It was a dreary overcast day with a threat of snow or freezing rain. The weather affected everything. I suspected it would depress me if I had the opportunity to stare out at the leaden clouds, but I did not. My office was not near a window.

My phone rang with an internal number. I answer it. Without an introduction, Rachel's voice announced in hushed tone, "I got a call. Are you interested?" The 'call' was a code work for her buccaneer activity. Since her confession, I had not asked if she was on call. I presumed she was at times but nothing she said or did confirm her activity. This was the first she mentioned it since then.

"I need to know more" I stuttered slightly as I tried to reply and collect my thoughts at the same time. "Do you have any details? What do I need to do?"

Rachel laughed over the phone. "You know what you need to do! But I can fill you in on the details this evening. Should I say no or maybe? You can always back out later."

My Nebraska upbringing wanted to say emphatically "No", but my new-found sense of adventure, which was inexorably tied to Rachel, demanded a "Yes". I demurred. "Can I think about it?"

"Sure. We can talk tonight. Then need an answer by tomorrow morning at the latest. Talk to you before quitting time." With that she hung up. As abruptly as it began, it concluded. I drifted through the rest of the day constantly turning over the question in my mind hoping for an obvious answer or some revelation to occur. Nothing did.

At quitting time, I made my way to the front door. The sky was low and foreboding. A slight freezing drizzle was beginning to varnish the grass, bushes, and colder surfaces. "This will be a terrible night" I thought. Rachel's car was still on the lot. I had not seen her all afternoon and assumed she was working late.

So, rather than delay the inevitable discomfort, I decided the sooner I started walking the sooner I made it to my apartment. So, I cautiously trudged across the parking lot. The sleet became more intense as I crossed the train tracks, my psychological 'halfway there' checkpoint, and began the slog up the slippery hill. I kept my head down and a scarf pulled up over my ears and listened to the cars crunch across the freezing slush.

"Hey! Get in." I turned. It was Rachel. The line of cars behind her slowed to a halt as I jumped in the passenger seat and scrunched down low. Before we got moving a car blared its horn in disapproval, much to Rachel's complete lack of concern.

"Don't you have any heat in this thing?" I complained as she accelerated with a fishtail up the hill. "It doesn't have much traction, either" she retorted. "And whatever the heater puts out disappears through the tears in the roof and the gaps in the doors and floor." Rachel laughed as she pointed to the duct tape on the canvas top and a bent piece of metal pop riveted to the floorboards to cover a rusted-out spot. I just smiled. Her general lack of concern for the minor annoyances of day-to-day life always amused me.

Rather than turn down the side street to my apartment, she continued up the hill to the main street. The wheels spun on the slick street as she veered to the left and accelerated into traffic. "Shit! I can't park here it is a snow route." With that she took the first turn off and wandered into the neighborhood on the opposite side of the main street. Silently, she prowled along looking for an appropriate parking spot. Preferably one that would not be plowed in, if the city decided to plow, and on the downside of a hill, so the need for traction to exit was minimized. She located the ideal spot on a pothole ridden alley, slanting directly into the main road about three blocks from my apartment.

"We are walking from here?" I asked rhetorically, expressing my fill of walking in the freezing rain for the day.

Rachel pointed to a neighborhood bar with a large oval sign hanging over the sidewalk. "I thought we could stop there for something to eat. It is about halfway from here to your place. Think of it as a compromise." In the eight months I lived down the street, I never paid attention to it. It was a small cozy looking neighborhood pub directly across the street from the bar with the unpronounceable Russian and the unsavory characters hanging about the door. "The company had a few social hours here. It is a bit small for that many folks but otherwise quite nice." Rachel declared.

It was small; the bar ran along the right, perpendicular to the front wall. There was a row of stools and enough room to crowdedly accommodate a row of standers. To the left beyond a parting wall, was a dining area; about the same footage as the bar area with small tables distributed evenly across the floor. Rachel peered into the dining room and shrugged. "Is the bar OK?" I shrugged, "Sure." We grabbed two remaining stools at the bar.

The foul weather seemed to draw a crowd to the bar and in a few minutes all the stools were occupied. Any chance at a private conversation vanished as the regulars called for service and engaged in loud conversations with whomever was nearby. All the while, Rachel humorously interjected herself into the random conversations. Shifting gears between sports, current events, politics, as if she had been a regular for years. Seamlessly, she gregariously moved among the conversationalists. My reserve, taciturn Midwestern nature prevented me from effortlessly engaging in a stranger's conversation.

I watched and mused at her confident manner. I also was privy to Rachel's other side when she was vulnerable and weak. Those times when I felt a reaction from me could hurt her or drive her completely from my life. At the bar she was not vulnerable; she was invincible; up to any challenge, capable of deflecting any criticism, steadfast in her bearing. As I watched her, I thought back to a college course on Plato's. I did not recall the exact writing, but it was concerned with love. The professor explained that Plato's definition of love involved searching for something we lacked. Love was that which made one complete; perhaps that explained Rachel and me. Rachel was a full complement to my personality. Jealously, I admired her confidence, certitude and lack of inhibitions when dealing with strangers; something I did not do very well. I consciously wondered what she saw in me. The persons who would gladly share her bed must be legion. Why did she reserve that coveted spot for me?

A middle-aged couple entered the bar and surveyed the crowd looking for an available seat. In a flash, Rachel stood and offered the lady her seat at the bar. The woman politely declined but Rachel insisted. "We are just leaving. So, make yourselves comfortable." She looked at me for approval and winked when I nodded.

The snow and slush covered the sidewalks. The roads were passable but showed signs of freezing over. The wind picked up. "It is a good thing I parked my car where I did. If I parked it on your street, I would not get out until the spring thaw."

We clung to each other as we made our way down the slippery hill. There was nobody on the streets to eavesdrop. If someone was watching from a window there was nothing so unusual to make them suspicious of two women embracing to maintain balance.

"Tell me about the call." I asked between lurches on the ice.

"I have not done anything since I mentioned it" she began, referring to her confession of a few weeks ago, "In fact I turned down a couple offers since then." She paused and with a sincere sense of gravity added, "I did that for you."

I felt a twinge of guilt as she continued, "But I got the distinct feeling you would like to chance it." I had felt that way at the time but since then I decided I was only rebelling against my conservative roots. "So, I thought I would ask you how you felt." I could not decide if I was being tested or not. Was this a trial to see if I was tough enough to survive in her world? Or was it an honest concern on her part to share an unexplored segment of her life; to let me be part of her dark side. I was undecided.

We clumsily climbed the treacherous, icy steps with plodding flat-footed paces "It is a Vegas night." She started between slips and grabs of the railing. "This club does it a few times each year; a stag event, supposedly for the men to get together and gamble. We would be hostesses. I have worked this event before. It is about 90 miles from here at a private hall. The chances of seeing a familiar face are slim if that is a concern."

We reached the door and shook the snow from our coats and scraped our shoes over the mat and entered.

"So, it would be both of us?"

"Sure, and another half-dozen or so depending on the expected crowd. It is mostly blue-collar working-class guys with an occasional professional thrown in. Nothing wrong with them. They are just looking for a night away from the wife and family."

I tried to act pensive as if mulling over a momentous decision, although I did not really know what to think about. This was new to me. I also could not shake the nagging notion that this was a test. I needed more details and maybe even more time.

"Give me a hint what it's like." I asked, not quite knowing what to expect, but I knew Rachel would be explicit and direct.

"The stated job is to serve drinks to the gamblers. Of course, you must look alluring if not seductive. This may invite a feel but that is part of being a hostess. They also like it if you gradually lose your clothes. There will be a back room. Some of the men may invite you back there. If you are agreeable, go ahead; if not they have bouncers to make sure you are not forced. But that is where you make your money. Sometimes a hostess puts on a show for the crowd. If you participate it is usually very lucrative. I never asked about your night with Visnow but I had one myself so I can make an educated guess. If you can handle giving head and don't mind being groped it can be a good time. Oh yeah! Be sure to carry a few spare condoms."

Without being more specific, Rachel painted vivid picture of what to expect. I was not a prude or inexperienced but again my Nebraska conservatism gave me pause.

"When do you need an answer?"

"As soon as possible but no later than tomorrow afternoon. Pam needs to get back to the owner of the club to make arrangements."

"What if I decline?"

"I am leaving the choice up to you. I don't want to make you feel like you have to. "

I heard what she was saying but felt a subtle pressure to accept. Perhaps I was just paranoid. She never railroaded me into doing anything, although I was always compliant. I was indecisive. Rachel went to the kitchenette to put on a kettle of water for tea. I followed and stood behind her at the sink leaning against the wall.

"If I say 'no', who will you get to replace me?"

Rachel turned to give me a quizzical look. "Nobody. That is Pam's problem. And I suspect Visnow's indirectly."

I hesitated. 'Why Visnow' I thought. Visnow and Pam must somehow be in cahoots, but I wasn't sure how or why I should care. The idea nagged me though.

"So, you will go by yourself?"

Rachel laughed. "No. I will not go at all. I am not doing this without you."

"Why not?"

Rachel paused for an inordinately long time before replying and when she did, she did not look at me.

"Because I promised myself I wouldn't. Ever since we talked about this I promised not to be 'on call' again. This offer was a little different and you seemed intrigued. So, I thought I would make the offer. If you are not agreeable, neither am I."

"I thought you were doing this to reach your goals or dreams."

"I was but for the last few months, those dreams have been not so important. They have been replaced by other dreams."

She turned. Again, she was vulnerable. She was flushed and her eyes swelled. She was in my power at this moment. With a word, an action, a touch I could satisfy her or destroy her. She knew it and I knew it.

"I've made up my mind." I stated authoritatively. "I want to try it, as long as you do."

She turned back to the sink. "OK. I'll call Pam."

As she filled the kettle, I lifted the hem of her sweater and placed my hand on the small of her back. She turned off the spigot and set the kettle in the sink. I eased the palm of my hand inside her slacks to the base of her spine.

"You know what that does to me?"

I stepped closer. "I do" and ran my other hand beneath her sweater, around her waist and up over her breast. A firm nipple greeted my touch through her bra. I kissed the back of her neck. She turned and met my mouth with hers. This was no longer shocking to me. I experienced the sensation of utter completeness. Plato was right, this is what I was missing and now I am whole.

We decided on what clothes to wear for the event. Rachel had a usual outfit for Vegas nights, a denim mini skirt with a fringe hem, high heel boots and a halter top with a push-up bra. "The bra goes first." she commented. I did not have a clue about my wardrobe for the occasion. Rachel suggested a long filmy cotton print skirt and a camisole, no bra, and no slip. "It is totally erotic to watch a woman with a sheer skirt and no slip. It provides just enough modesty to arouse the imagination. And the camisole will accent your firm nipples. They all will hit on you."

I did not sleep well that night. Every twitch from Rachel awoke me and once awake I fretted about Friday night. I thought of Rachel and me whoring together. Her confidence, attitude, self-assuredness convinced me I made the proper decision. With this decided, I slipped back to sleep.

Our game plan was to maintain the charade at work. I would leave at lunch, take off the afternoon and get our things together. Rachel would leave her regular time, unhurried. The club was a 90-mile drive. Getting out of town in rush hour would take some time, but the highway would let us cruise at 70. Given all the potential delays Rachel reckoned 2 hours. She made a reservation at a trucker motel on the highway about 5 miles from the hall. A quick change, a brief rehearsal and be at the club by 8. The stated starting time was 9 but Rachel expected the 'early-birds' and friends of the owners to begin drifting in earlier. That was our plan.

The mid-week snow had melted but the streets remained slushy and slick. I packed two small overnight bags and watched from the window. Rachel arrived promptly and we wended our way out of the city via back streets and through questionable neighborhoods. In a neighborhood, I was not familiar with at all, Rachel turned onto a street which immediately merged with the interstate. I glanced at my watch, I gauged we were a bit ahead of schedule. After a few miles of dealing with suburban commuters, the landscape became very rural. Eight months previously at dusk, I recalled driving this same road in the opposite direction in a decrepit Honda making my way from Nebraska. Perhaps because of the time of year or the circumstances of my travel; but the appearance is completely different.

I slouched in my seat and watched the occasional highway sign, calling out the exit for an obscure town, silently pass my window. I reached across the console and ran my hand across Rachel's thigh and between her legs and captured a smile as I did. I let my hand idly lay there, tempting her, as she navigated the ribbon of concrete.

Twilight had vanished when we pulled into a trucker motel off the highway. The woman at the desk suspiciously asked for identification and we proffered our drivers licenses. "A long way from home" she snorted as she recorded 'Nebraska' in the registry. "We are driving back to see Mom" Rachel volunteered, "she is not doing well and may not last the week."

This personal tidbit mollified her, and she did not quiz us further. Again, I was amazed at Rachel's agility and confidence. She was not taken back or put off balance by the prying woman. Instead, she presented a perfectly plausible lie and carried on without any outward sense of embarrassment. I brought this up as we drove around back to the room and she countered, "That woman was not entitled to the truth, and I was not obliged to present her with the truth." Another aspect of Rachel revealed itself and another reason to harbor doubts.

We changed quickly. Rachel wore a plaid halter top knotted above her waist, the denim skirt and high heel cowboy boots. We were in the rustic part of the state, and she looked the part. My camisole had enough give to it so when I bent forward it presented a tantalizing view. I checked out my long skirt in the mirror. Rachel was right. Without a slip the background light revealed an ample tease. In a display of false modesty, I added a cotton vest that would offer no resistance.

The last item Rachel donned was a pair of thin, black, spandex briefs. The legs extended about three inches down her thigh and the waist was almost to her navel. It was their thinness and clinginess that amazed me. In a shadowy light you would not distinguish this from her skin. Any blemish or mole would expose itself to the surface accurately as her skin.

The owner let us in by a back door. A half- dozen girls were milling about while workmen arranged tables. Some of the girls knew each other and huddled in a small group. Rachel walked over and joined them. One girl asked, "Got a cigarette?" Without hesitation she replied, "Naw. Been tryin to quit." Her diction was street smart perfect and the fact that I doubt if she ever smoked cigarette gave me another glimpse into her dark side.

"OK! Listen up." The organizer convened the group in the center of the floor. "There are lockers in the ladies room. Pick one out if you want. You are the hostesses for tonight. Your job is to serve the drinks and keep the gamers happy. The more they drink, the more they like to be entertained." He broke off and pulled an envelope of bills from his pocket and began to count them. "The deal is half now half at closing." He walked among the group giving each girl a small purse with a string strap. On the side was a plastic sleeve with a name tag. He wrote your name for the evening on a piece of cardboard and slid it into the sleeve. Then deliberately counted the bills and pressed them into our hands. Tonight, I was Inga and Rachel was Lisa. He continued, "If you split before closing, you don't get the rest. Any other business you conduct is you're doing. I know nothing about it. If you do need a break or some privacy," he paused to give a wry knowing smile, "there are a couple of partitions in the back you can use." He held up a large piece of tag board. "Here are the tables. They are numbered and I have assigned each of you tables. Check out the numbers. Your first job is to take care of your tables. Any questions?"

With that we were oriented. Rachel walked directly to the lady's room and claimed a locker for us. "If you acquire any cash, put it here every chance you get. Don't turn down poker chips. The house rules prohibit playing with cash in case they are raided. The bank will cash them in for us. How you feel?"

I had not thought about 'feeling' at all. I had intentionally dismissed thinking about this. I shrugged as a response. "Well, just don't fall in love!" she admonished. I smiled. "No. I already am." Rachel was taken aback. I recognized her vulnerability; her eyes gave her away. They took on a dark somber tone. "Don't fret about me" I added, "I am happy with what I have found." Rachel lit up. A smile spread across her face and the eyes returned to their normal, happy go lucky glow.

"It's show time! Give them their money's worth." It was an endorsement from Rachel, and it imparted some of her self-assuredness to me. Rachel grabbed a bar towel entered the hall and began to vigorously wipe down her tables leaning far over as she did to give an enticing view of her cleavage. I moved to my area and tried to appear as casual and familiar as possible. The gamblers milled in slowly. Most got food from the buffet at the end of the bar. They coalesced into groups at tables and decided on the game. This was no different than the waitress job I once had as a teenager in Nebraska. Bring pitchers of beer, take away dirty plates and act nice.