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Authors: Eric Bogosian
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kinds of things she’d be willing to do. But a massage is all Billy knows how to request. He’s been told that it’s safe to do that, because a “massage” is legal. On both sides. No law against him asking for one. No law against her giving him one. Any accidents that might happen during a vigorous rubdown are simply the results of human reflexes. He watches her expression as she manipulates his flesh. She’s intently serious until she catches his eye. Then she smiles again, as if suddenly remembering to.
“You want Diet Coke? Mango juice?”
“No. No. I’m OK.” Billy feels fat and helpless. “You’re very pretty.”
“Thank you very much. You also pretty, I mean, handsome. You handsome man. Big. Strong. Very big.”
“Maybe too big? Fat. Big fatso.”
“No!! You not fat. You strong. Muscle man.” She giggles and brings her hand to her mouth. “You good man. I know.”
But he is too big and he can’t deny it. That’s OK. Probably most of the guys who come here have something wrong with them. Probably a lot of assholes. She says I’m a good man. Probably doesn’t tell every Tom, Dick and Harry that. What does being a good man mean to a hooker? Does that mean she likes me?
Billy wishes he could take her in his arms and kiss her on the mouth, but he’s pretty sure that would cost extra. It’s important to stay within the budget. And this isn’t so bad, keeping things simple. He can watch her, get excited, get himself worked up. Only problem is, she has it down to a timetable, spending a specific amount of energy on his arms and legs and chest and then on to the inevitable.
Billy allows himself the luxury of thinking of this slim, dark-haired goddess as his girlfriend. Truth is, he’s begun to think of her that way even when he’s back at the farm. He’s told the guys at the filling station that he has been “seeing” a girl in the city. And in a way, it’s true. And it could be more true. I could take her out to dinner one night. Maybe see a movie. That’s entirely within the realm of possibility. I could pay her to do that, too.
Once the apple business takes off, I can come by here with a lot more money. Whatever the expense, it wouldn’t matter. I’d just pay it. Just tell the mama-san I’m taking her out for the night. Why would she say no? And then when she knows me better, she might get to like me. Really like me. By being so noble and pure and taking her out to a restaurant that’s really nice, maybe someplace in Chinatown. Bet if she is Chinese or whatever, she’d probably be impressed. Could order lobster in black bean sauce, bet she’d like that. Then we could stroll around for an hour or so, come back here and do this, too. She might even let me kiss her.
Does she feel what I feel? She probably doesn’t call every guy who comes in here a “good man.”
Next time I come by, I’ll bring her a sack of apples. She’d like that. Everyone likes fresh apples. She probably has an old grandma somewhere in the slums of Chinatown she has to take care of. She could bring the apples to the old Chinese grandma. Do Chinese ladies make pie?
The girl is getting down to the special part, what the black dirt onion farmer who had brought Billy by in the first place calls “happy ending.” She’s been taking her time. But now she’s pulling and stroking Billy with the finesse of a milkmaid. I’m so predictable. She knows something about me I don’t even know about myself. Wish I could hold back. Wish I could feel this way forever. But here it comes, that moment when the whole thing skids like a pickup truck on black ice, no way to control it.
Billy wants to grab her and press her warm skin against his. Hold her close and not let go. Feel her tiny heart in her tiny chest beating against his. Have that thing that everybody else in the world has, even for half a minute. “Happy ending.” Well, I’m not the happiest guy in the world, but it’s better than nothing.
BEER MAKES YOU
“You want Diet Coke? Mango juice?”
“No. No. I’m OK.” Billy feels fat and helpless. “You’re very pretty.”
“Thank you very much. You also pretty, I mean, handsome. You handsome man. Big. Strong. Very big.”
“Maybe too big? Fat. Big fatso.”
“No!! You not fat. You strong. Muscle man.” She giggles and brings her hand to her mouth. “You good man. I know.”
But he is too big and he can’t deny it. That’s OK. Probably most of the guys who come here have something wrong with them. Probably a lot of assholes. She says I’m a good man. Probably doesn’t tell every Tom, Dick and Harry that. What does being a good man mean to a hooker? Does that mean she likes me?
Billy wishes he could take her in his arms and kiss her on the mouth, but he’s pretty sure that would cost extra. It’s important to stay within the budget. And this isn’t so bad, keeping things simple. He can watch her, get excited, get himself worked up. Only problem is, she has it down to a timetable, spending a specific amount of energy on his arms and legs and chest and then on to the inevitable.
Billy allows himself the luxury of thinking of this slim, dark-haired goddess as his girlfriend. Truth is, he’s begun to think of her that way even when he’s back at the farm. He’s told the guys at the filling station that he has been “seeing” a girl in the city. And in a way, it’s true. And it could be more true. I could take her out to dinner one night. Maybe see a movie. That’s entirely within the realm of possibility. I could pay her to do that, too.
Once the apple business takes off, I can come by here with a lot more money. Whatever the expense, it wouldn’t matter. I’d just pay it. Just tell the mama-san I’m taking her out for the night. Why would she say no? And then when she knows me better, she might get to like me. Really like me. By being so noble and pure and taking her out to a restaurant that’s really nice, maybe someplace in Chinatown. Bet if she is Chinese or whatever, she’d probably be impressed. Could order lobster in black bean sauce, bet she’d like that. Then we could stroll around for an hour or so, come back here and do this, too. She might even let me kiss her.
Does she feel what I feel? She probably doesn’t call every guy who comes in here a “good man.”
Next time I come by, I’ll bring her a sack of apples. She’d like that. Everyone likes fresh apples. She probably has an old grandma somewhere in the slums of Chinatown she has to take care of. She could bring the apples to the old Chinese grandma. Do Chinese ladies make pie?
The girl is getting down to the special part, what the black dirt onion farmer who had brought Billy by in the first place calls “happy ending.” She’s been taking her time. But now she’s pulling and stroking Billy with the finesse of a milkmaid. I’m so predictable. She knows something about me I don’t even know about myself. Wish I could hold back. Wish I could feel this way forever. But here it comes, that moment when the whole thing skids like a pickup truck on black ice, no way to control it.
Billy wants to grab her and press her warm skin against his. Hold her close and not let go. Feel her tiny heart in her tiny chest beating against his. Have that thing that everybody else in the world has, even for half a minute. “Happy ending.” Well, I’m not the happiest guy in the world, but it’s better than nothing.
BEER MAKES YOU
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