Julie buttoned up the bolero top, furious again that the man she had lived with for two years had mistreated her. Roy, the man she had helped finance cameras, taken messages for, and played secretary for while he ran around… Oh God, there she went again… But she couldn't help wondering if he had been cheating on her all that time, too. Probably so, she decided, the thought twisting like a sharp knife in her stomach.
She emerged from the bathroom to see Ertha coming out of her bedroom, hairbrush in hand. The sultry black-haired woman stopped in her tracks and gave a low wolf-call whistle. "Whow, you're a knock out, Julie! Damn!" She watched carefully as Julie walked ahead of her. Boy, if only that girl would set herself in the right direction, she could make a lot of money. Hell, she could share my business with me.
"Julie, there's one thing I forgot to mention. I know you're hard up for money, is that right!"
Julie turned in time to see Ertha stroke a hairbrush through her wealth of thick wavy black hair. She nodded. "Yes, I am, and I feel really bad about that, too. But I'll sell my car to help you pay the rent… really I will. I don't expect for you to let me stay here for nothing."
"Now don't you go talking like that, Julie," Ertha was talking to Julie's reflection in the mirror. "I about to offer my help in finding you a gig… you know, something you can make some money at. Real money, not $3.50 an hour. We'll talk about it at lunch, okay?"
Excited, but a bit confused, Julie gathered up her handbag and opened the door, Ertha right behind her. Now for the first time in two days, Julie walked into the sunlight. It felt good.
"Massage? So that's how you've been making your money?" Julie poked at her salad, playing with a slice of tomato. After two days of fasting, her stomach couldn't hold much. She padded her abdomen, happy to feel the weight had shed in the right spots.
"Yes, massage… and don't stick up your nose at it because it's an age-old ritual. Man, people have been getting off on massage since…"
"Since harems…"
"Come on off it." Ertha shot a weary wince at her friend, then wiped her mouth free of ravioli sauce. It was not out of habit for her to talk with her mouth full of food, so Julie had to listen carefully. "… Good for healing… relaxing and it brings people together… know what I mean?"
"That's what you do? You give people massages… for money?"
Ertha nodded. She'd just taken another healthy bite.
"You mean like those girls in massage parlors?"
Ertha swallowed fast. "Not like that… don't make it sound like something cheap and dirty, Julie. Man," she shook her head and tutted, "Roy really kept you in the closet, didn't he?"
Julie shrugged and poked at a half-eaten square of ravioli. "I'd never thought of it that way before."
"Well, think it over. It's good money and if you're coy about it, you don't have to ball the guy. Just rub his back and slap some oil on. Half of 'em fall asleep," she giggled, then picked up the check. "Come on, let's go. You're not hungry and you're only eating to keep me from feeling bad… I've got an appointment."
"And walk home alone. Here, take this money and go have a glass of wine somewhere… just get out there and meet people," she encouraged, stuffing a five dollar bill in her friend's clenched hand. "Go out there and do it!" Ertha hissed in Julie's ear.
His name was Don Sanderson, and Julie had met him at the liquor store where she had gone to pick up a bottle of wine to take home to help while away the night before the movie of the evening came on. He'd said he was buying champagne and orange juice to celebrate his new apartment, and wouldn't she like to join him…?
He wasn't too bad looking, in fact, he was very handsome with refined features and short, kinky hair like her own. He'd made a joke of it, and she'd like that.
Walking up the hills of North Beach's Telegraph Hill, Julie couldn't help but muse that meeting men was going to be easier than she'd dared hope. The wine she'd had for lunch was just the thing for her nerves, just as Ertha had said. Now this walk, being escorted by a good looking man like Don was lifting her spirits. She'd noticed that he'd stared at her low-cut dress with admiration, and although it made her blush, she was rather pleased.
On the way, Don had been discussing politics with her… of all things! Roy wouldn't even deign to discuss anything that heavy with her, and she found it wonderful to have a man listening to her thoughts and ideas. She had never realized she had so many!
He ushered her to his apartment building and pointed, needlessly, to the breathtaking view of the Golden Gate Bridge where a steam ship was coming through the four o'clock fog now. Although his apartment was literally without furniture, she felt comfortable sitting on the over-sized pillows. The gentlemen that he was, he brought her a glass of wine, and she learned that he was a waiter. Don told her about the aging of wine, the difference between French wines and American wines… things Roy's beer tastes would find hard put to compete with. He'd traveled extensively, he told her, though that was as personal as he let the conversation become. Instead, he talked of luxury and day dreams. He flicked on the radio to a classical music station and appreciated Beethoven's Ninth Symphony was just the right words, toasting the conductor now and then with a glass of champagne.
The champagne bottle slowly lowered, and before she knew it, Don was holding her hand. Well, there wasn't really anything wrong in that, she told herself. She was having a better time than she'd had in ages. The ethereal music seemed to vibrate deep inside her making her feel warm and secure and beautiful. She only wished she hadn't drunk so much wine; perhaps, then, her mind would run more fluidly and match Don's witty refinement.
When the symphony had ended, Don lay back on the floor, a broad smile on his face. Julie tucked her knees tightly under her, hugging them to her chest, watching Don's pet bird flutter its wing in its bamboo cage. It, like everything else in the sparsely furnished apartment, had a degree of quality to it, reassuring Julie that not all men were porno freak weirdoes like Roy.
The clutch at her hand tightened, and he tried to pull down beside him on the floor. It was a move graciously executed, but taken off-guard by the bewildered Julie. Certainly this man couldn't be making advances toward her after an hour's conversation. "I… I'd like a glass of water," she blurted out, suddenly pulling to her feet.
"Oh, let me get it for you…"
"No, that's okay. I'll get it." Hastily, she rose to her feet, pulled down her dress and strolled toward the kitchen, the cool floor warmed in square golden patches by the late afternoon sun felt good on her bare feet.
In the kitchen, she washed out her champagne glass and in turn filled it with water, the rushing of the faucet hiding any other sound in the apartment momentarily.
"Find what you wanted?" Don asked, standing close enough behind her for Julie to smell his aftershave lotion. It pleased her. Don wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to his tall, thin body.
For a second, Julie was a little put off by his holding her so close. After all, she hardly knew him. But then, it felt so nice to float about in time to the soft operatic sounds wafting from the unfurnished living room that she let herself fit against him snugly. God, it felt good to be having fun and not be stuck in the house all the time, or at one of those stupid, silly music parties where Roy always managed to find the cocaine and the loosest women around. 'Don't think about that,' her inner voice told her. 'Don't think about Roy.' Don tightened his hold on Julie until both his arms were around her waist, pulling her body in toward his as their feet barely moved in time to the classical music.
But other parts of him were moving. He was slowly undulating his hips and thighs against her loins in time to the music and she was beginning to feel every ridge and inch of him pressing tightly against her. His penis expanded against the flatness of her belly, pushing as he rubbed and rubbed himself slowly up against her.