Chapter 3
As I walked into the office, slamming the door behind me, I glanced over to see Melanie wince at the noise. She was lying on the dilapidated couch, an old army blanket pulled partially over her nude form, her voluptuous milk white breasts peeking sexily over the edge of the cover. Her pretty green eyes, now bloodshot and running, followed my moves woefully. She spotted the small paper bag I put down on the old desk. She sniffed loudly, and sneezed into a damp wadded up hankie.
"Hi, pretty girl," I tried to sound cheerful.
Melanie frowned.
"Here's some goodies for your cold, honey. You'll be back on your back in no time," I promised, trying to be funny as I pulled several small bottles from the bag and shook some pills out into the palm of my hand.
Melanie answered in a babyish voice, just looking for pity. "It's bad news this fuckin' flu!"
"It's only the twenty-four hour virus that's running around, honey," I sympathized. I trotted over to the tiny washroom, rinsed a dusty drinking glass in the washbowl, and filled it with water. "Here, boobie, drink this and rest," I ordered, handing her the glass and the tablets.
"Stupid ass cold!" Melanie scolded herself as she took the pills and glass from my extended hands. "What are these anyway? Sleeping pills, to make sure I'm konked out long enough for you and your two-bit chippie to make time together?"
"What are you rapping about?" I snapped in irritation, trying to hold my temper. "Don't forget, baby, you're the one who's pushing this money-making routine. In fact, I think you'd better check out what's up your ass, sweetie, because Dorothy Hotze was good enough to volunteer to take your place tonight at this convention. Otherwise, I wouldn't have a partner, plus we'd be minus a C-note."
"What dya mean?" Melanie sneered grudgingly and sniffed again. "Don't give me any mumbo-jumbo about that cheap floozy. If she sells her body for one hundred and fifty bucks a throw, why is she stooping so low to do my job? Not for the money, of course, if she's top dog, or bitch, as the case may be."
I rolled my eyes in exasperation, sighed, and walked over to an old desk, pulling out drawers and pawing through the clutter. "Where are my posing briefs?" I tried to change the subject.
"Third drawer down in the back," Melanie replied in a choked voice, as she let out another gigantic sneeze and reached over the side of the couch to yank several sheets of Kleenex out of a container on the floor. I caught a glimpse of one fleshy tit as it popped out from beneath the soiled blanket. One round pink nipple jutted upward enticingly.
"That's it come on, gimme a hard time," I continued our waspish conversation, stuffing the trunks inside the right pocket of my tight fitting jeans. "Listen, pumpkinhead, I'm going to give you the low-down just one more frigging time. Dr. Prickett called to tell us he needed a male and female to model and demonstrate up-to-date sexual intercourse techniques for a seminar class he's holding at the National Society of Obstetrics and Gynecology Convention in town tonight. Dorothy, a long-time friend of the doc, is substituting for you as a favor to him, more than for the moola. A hundred smackeroos is nothing to sneer at either, young lady, after some of the chickenfeed nudity jobs we've had to stomach lately. Didn't I tell you he'd be our contact into the big time?"
"Yeah, sure, I've heard that story before, kiddo, so don't start pulling that kinda shit," Melanie answered sarcastically. "I can't forget that 'top drawer affair' with the hoity toity Mrs. Rigsby. Boy, what a bummer that turned out to be! Fifty lousy bucks!" she needled me with malevolence.
"One, two, three...." I counted to myself and kept pawing through the messy drawer.
"What the hell are you looking for now?" Melanie asked, and then honked once again into her dripping handkerchief.
"Where's that damn silly coin purse of yours? I need cab fare."
Melanie pointed toward the beat-up file cabinet in the corner.
I walked over, pulled out the top drawer, and grabbed a brown testicle shaped pouch. Melanie's famous kangaroo scrotum purse was very big in Australia, but so what? Unzipping the flap at the top, I reached for the loose coins inside. "I haven't got time to hassle, babe, so cool it, huh? Must I remind you about the smoker you walked out on for the Amputees Sans Partners Fraternal Club," I needled her for emphasis as I tossed the scrotum-like purse back into the drawer.
"You no good bastard!" Melanie yelled, her red face a match for her cute red nose. "How would you like to be battered and rammed black-and-blue by a roomful of wheeling armless sex-starved cripples, for God's sake? That was a heavy scene, believe you me!"
I had to laugh as I walked over to her side and ran my hand soothingly across her feverish forehead. "Well, anyway, those are the breaks in this dizzy racket, doll," I shrugged my shoulders, leaning over, and kissing Melanie's exposed warm breast affectionately. "Now take good care of mommie while daddy's gone," I kidded, talking directly to the quivering blue veined orb. Melanie frowned. I gave her a wink and headed for the door.
"Oh, Kenneth," Melanie cried after me in a sickeningly sweet voice. "I forgot to tell you, the answering service called again while you were at the drugstore. I've booked you for a job later on after the convention with that dingy broad who wants a three-way sex thing with you and her four-legged mutt. Who knows, maybe Dorothy might want to make it a foursome just for kicks," she cooed slyly.
I glared at Melanie in disgust as I opened the door. "You know, for once you were right. Dorothy is top dog and you're the bitch!"
With that, I slammed the door hard behind me.