"You mean you'd encourage other girls to make it with your boyfriend?" Lisa asked finding the whole thing a bit puzzling.
"Boyfriends," she said putting a heavy emphasis on the plural. "Sure why not, honey. Maybe you could do me a favor some time. This guy's real good in the sack otherwise I wouldn't palm him off on you." Lisa took a drag on her cigarette and looked blankly at Arlene.
"Are you sure you wouldn't want to make it with that guy Lisa?" she asked chewing vigorously on her gum.
"Look, all I saw was a cock, not even a face. I mean what kind of a blind date is that? Besides what makes you so sure your friend would want to make it with me?"
Arlene looked her up and down very slowly, moving her gum in time to her eyeballs, "Lisa darling, I don't think there's anyone who wouldn't want to make it with you."
"The answer is still no." The intro sounded and through sheer reflex of habit all the girls pulled at the crotch of their g-strings and fiddled one last time with their bras.
Just before Lisa stepped onstage she realized Mario wasn't around for his last minute check on them. She thought it a bit odd because he had never missed a single performance. He always liked to look them over and fuss and fume about their costumes and make up like a mother hen- that was Mario and that was part of what made his show THE show of the season. "Maybe he's out in the audience tonight," she thought as the curtain parted and Connie LaBruin, the lead dancer, moved into the spotlight, eleven luscious girls trailing behind her.
She was really exhausted that night and went straight home to a hot tub, a light snack and a little television. It happened that way sometimes; the fatigue just caught up with you. Lisa had taken a one bedroom apartment ten minutes from the hotel and hadn't gotten around to furnishing it yet except for her bed, a shaky kitchen table, a bar stool, some pots and pans and one overstaffed but comfortable and very worn armchair. In a way it didn't bother her.
The telephone rang at 4am. She knew it was 4am because the hands of the clock seemed to glower at her in their luminous rage as she groped sleepily for the receiver. "What? she rasped.
"Lisa… " It was Arlene.
"Christ," Lisa thought, "she's going to ask me about that cock again, fucking dumb
broad." "Lisa?"
"Yeah, what is it Arlene? It's four o'clock in the morning."
"Mario's dead."
"What!" Lisa screamed, ice cold goosebumps pulling at every inch of her body.
"Mario's dead," Arlene repeated. "His car broke down, had a flat I think, he got out to see what the trouble was and he was hit by a truck, a big fucking ice truck. He was thrown three hundred feet in the air straight into a light pole. I made the identification, what little there was left to identify." And then she hung up, Lisa kept the dead receiver at her ear for several seconds-her own heart beating into the hollow infinity of the cold, black lump of plastic. And then she broke into a thousand brittle, choking and hysterical pieces as the full meaning of Arlene's message sunk in, Mario was gone. Died in Las Vegas. On his way to the show. Mario was gone.
Mario's Revue played out the six weeks remaining in the contract and then all his girls were absorbed into other shows or just left town. Lisa hung around not doing much of anything, feeling too shattered from Mario's death to consider the next step in her career. She moved out of her sparsely furnished apartment into a motel and spent the two weeks after the closing of the show slouching about the pool and riding horses through the desert. She was listless and lost weight. She made an effort to pull herself together to go in search of work but never could seem to get out of bed or out of a wet bikini.
So late one Wednesday afternoon when she was approached by a dapper looking man who resembled Fred Astaire and answered to the name of Gregory Ashton asked if she would be interested in joining a revue that was opening at a major hotel in town she replied in a voice that the man had to strain to hear, "Yeah sure why
not."
"Hey are you having a good time out there all by yourself?" Lisa shouted from die kitchen at Toni who was down by the water.
"Of course," Toni yelled back and waved, the melted ice in her glass sloshing down her arm.
"Something interesting just checked in-come have a look," Lisa gestured.
The viewing screen was on in the bedroom and Lisa had laid out two glasses of lemonade, a handful of joints and the silver container with the neatly on a small
table.
"What's up doc?" Toni asked.
"This guy just went into room, five with his so called 'daughter'. Looks like some good fun and games."
A blonde girl with the face of a fourteen year old was standing in front of the dresser mirror brushing her hair. She was petite in much the same way Toni was and her vague expression conveyed little or no thought at all. "She's cute and awfully young. Is she hooking?" Toni asked lighting a joint and settling comfortably into her chair.
"No I don't think so. This looks like a relationship of sorts." The half closed bathroom door opened and a thin, middle aged man with black hair that looked dyed walked with a towel wrapped around his waist and asked, "Is everything all right darling?"
The girl didn't bother to look in his direction, she continued brushing her hair and muttered softly to the mirror, "Yeah everything's OK but» that air conditioning is up too high."
The man walked over to the window and adjusted the air flow. "Is that better?" he asked with fatherly concern. She bobbed her head and continued with her brushwork.
"He's supposed to be her father?" Toni asked. "That's how they signed in."
"The dirty old bastard."
"We haven't had one like this for awhile. Actually the last one we had was a 'mother and son' combination. That was interesting."
"How old do you think she is?"
"Looks about twelve but I'd say she's at least sixteen."
"Christ."
The man walked over to the girl and gave her a kiss on the cheek and then reached for his comb and began adjusting the waves on his head with as much concentration as the girl was putting into her grooming. He looked vaguely athletic but his eyes betrayed a dissipation that had nothing to do with clean living and the good life. He put down his comb and pulled at the girl's tight fitting blue jeans. "Would you like a drink?" he asked, his voice suddenly becoming very intimate and smoky.
"Uh huh," she nodded at him her eyes moving back to the mirror, her hands creating a side part through her blonde locks.
He pulled a large silver flask from his opened suitcase on the floor and retrieved two wax paper tumblers from the bathroom. He filled the bottom quarter of the glasses with a brownish liquid. He handed the girl hers, raised his and said "cheers," his mouth splitting open to reveal a line of capped teeth with a tinge of yellow.
"Cheers and bottoms up," she replied tilting her head back and taking a long pull. She tossed her head of brushed and fluffy blonde hair like a colt and swiveled her nonexistent hips and went over to the suitcase where she fished around for several seconds before finding the carton of cigarettes.
"Nice motel, eh darling?" he said to her rolling the Bourbon in his glass in small circles.
"It's ok. I liked the one in Tahoe better though. This place doesn't have the vibrating beds."
"Ah well," he said raising his shoulders.
"I'm not complaining, just making a statement,"
"Did you see the swimming pool outside?"
"Could you miss it?"
"Pretty big for a motel, surprised me."
"Maybe we'll have a swim later. I want to wear my new bikini."
The girl popped the snaps on her clinging jeans and worked them down her thin legs. Her underpants were bright red with yellow flowers. The man reached over and squeezed at her hidden pubic patch. A smile broke the mask of his face, quickly turning into a leer. The girl's face remained impassive. As she hopped from leg to leg in an effort to get the pants off he dropped to the floor and made a gesture at helping her.