Chapter 2: Working Girl’s Advice

The next day she awoke to singing birds, pale late winter sunlight and the sound of traffic outside Colleen’s window. The rain had stopped, leaving the sky clear and refreshingly clean – a pleasant change for a city renowned for its choking, eye-stinging, daily smog.

Stretching her body under the cover felt good, and the young woman had no desire to leave the warmth of the bed or even to open her eyes. But a glance at the bedside clock rudely informed her that duty required her arise and get ready for work. So she let the sting of the cold air strike her naked body as she slipped out from the covers and quickly made her way to the window to close it. She was one of those types who had to have fresh air while she slumbered, no matter how cold it became. A quick shower in wonderfully hot water, picking out what color panties to wear was her only choice. A blue uniform and practical, flat shoes were required for her job. Donning those took only a few minutes, and then she was ready to face another day.

Not that Colleen wanted to face another work day – not a day of the same horrid job of putting food down on tables, evading the hands of rough men, and counting her meager waitress tips at the end. Then there would be her second job; her night job. Pushing down the thoughts of being part of the world’s oldest profession, she braved herself to face another nine hours at Bert’s Diner. She hated the job, hated the poor pay, hated herself for not being able to do better. But what can a young woman do with only a high school diploma and no training?

Noting the time, she bypassed breakfast. She could snack at Bert’s where the food was eatable even if greasy and often tasteless. Hurrying to her car, she noted for the hundredth time that the right front tire was low and the rust spots along the window shield were growing. But at least the older car usually started and got her around town.

The apron was barely tied around her waist when the boss, Bert himself, was chewing her out for something – she was not sure what he was pissed off about, and probably it was something some other waitress had done anyway. She nodded, and waited until he had run out of words so she could get on with smiling at strangers and trying to be nice to argumentative and dumb customers. When she took her lunch break, she was so tired of looking at the same food that she walked a block away to a fast-food place with a grinning clown outside and where the hamburgers tasted like cardboard but were cheap.

By the end of the day, her feet hurt, her hand hurt where some hot coffee spilled on it, and her feelings were once again hurt by a rude boss and bitchy, stab you in the back, sister waitresses. This, she told herself, is not the way to spend your life.

At her apartment, she discarded her shoes and flopped down on the bed. The morning birds had long since ceased their singing and the only sounds coming through the window were the growling and hissing of cars and trucks, punctuated by occasional honking. Eventually, she reached over for the phone and made the call she dreaded.

It was a short conversation, not because the person at the other end wished it so, but because Colleen found it hard to be polite and caring and sympathetic to the woman who had given her birth and now suffered from the injustice of time and malicious fate. But her mother lived alone and needed the daily call from her offspring. It was a duty. When she finally begged off the line, she felt badly that she had cut the conversation short. Her mother had very few friends to talk with, and she wanted so much to connect with her only child. Colleen loved her mother, but she often found the repeated complaints about the pain and how terrible life was wearing on her mind. But mostly it depressed her that she could do nothing to help with the basic problem: her mother was sick. Not flu type sick but more serious – much more serious. The terrible part was that there was a cure possible, but at a price far beyond her means. She sent what money she could home to Mom, but that was almost nothing. Her mother had almost nothing after the death of her husband, and to provide for the needed procedure was far beyond Colleen’s means.

Clenching her hands into fists and burying her face in the pillow, she shed tears and sobbed in helpless anger at the terrible things life does to people. She knew that her mother was in real pain. And it would get worse. And there was nothing she could do about it.

Eventually the tears dried and the sobs quieted. A woman has to do what a woman has to do. A quick shower and a simple meal cooked in her tiny kitchen prepared her for the night. This time, she put on her best pair of black panties before donning the tight dress and high heels. The previous night she had felt ashamed to be out in public with no underwear. She was certain that every man and woman around her knew, and they could probably even see some of the golden hairs surrounding her sex, so short was that dress. And she had to keep pulling it down. It was almost as if the garment wanted to expose her.

The sun had retired and the very last hint of twilight was fading in the west as she walked out to her car. Tonight she would try a little higher class of place to meet customers, having a strong desire to not repeat the horrid experience of the prior night. She picked Michael’s, a bar inside an upper class hotel. Walking into the lobby of the hotel, the click-clack of her high heels on the tiles made her cringe. It was as if the sound were calling out, “Look! Here’s a whore! Come and get her!” She was glad that inside Michael’s there was carpet. Trying her best to look casual and as if she were just there to meet a friend, she sat at the bar and ordered a glass of white wine. Without trying to be obvious, she began perused the patrons, wondering which one might make a move towards her. She crossed her legs provocatively and sipped at her wine.

It was not long before she was approached, but it was not by a single man. The person who deliberately sat on the next stool was a good looking young woman, mid-twenties perhaps, dressed in a skirt as short as Colleen’s dress and a damned near see-through blouse with not even a hint of bra. The shoes sported stiletto heels coming to a wicked point.

As Colleen was concluding that this woman looked like a hooker, she spoke.

“You looking for trouble, honey?” she said.

“What? No.” Colleen was confused. If this was another hooker, should she not be sitting away and not speaking to another woman.

“Well, honey, you’re about to find yourself in a whole shit-pot of trouble.” The accent was southern and the words were spoken quietly but seriously.

“What do you mean?” asked Colleen.

“This is Matt’s territory, honey. And you ain’t one of Matt’s girls. Matt don’t like no one but his girls working his ground, dig?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The brunette stared at Colleen for a long moment, and then asked, “You’re a beginner, ain’t you?”

Not sure what to say, Colleen could only respond with the truth. “Yes.”

“Figured. Listen, honey, you’re a pretty girl, and if I weren’t working tonight we might have some fun together. But if one of Matt’s men sees you, you ain’t gonna be so pretty any more. Understand?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Christ, a real amateur!”

The bartender came over, gave a look that undressed the two of them, and asked what the new one would like to drink.

“Scotch. Straight up,” the pro said. Colleen elected for a white wine.

As the bartender turned to get the drink, the new girl whispered to Colleen, “Look, I like you, so I’m going to help you. Get your drink and come with me to a corner table so we can talk.”