INTERVIEW WITH A HOOKER (3)

“Honey, I wasn’t thinking of ending our conversation; I’m really enjoying it. However, every time I make the slightest move, the bartender has to pick his tongue up off the counter and I can just imagine, from the expressions on the men’s faces behind me that I see in the mirror, what’s going through their little minds. I like you; you’re somewhat like Cool Hands—not your looks—the way you come across—I feel I can trust you. Since the night is still young, if you don’t mind, I thought we could go someplace more private.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, “some place more private” with this drop-dead, gorgeous, beautiful woman. Like a big shot, I immediately picked up the Shirley Temple drink tab and as we started heading towards the door, Talulah suddenly put her arm through mine. I don’t know why but I suddenly felt like a celebrity because everyone in the lounge turned in unison and watched us as we wove our way between the evenly spaced tables and chairs. Upon reaching the door, like a gentleman, I opened it wide and said, “After you madam,” then, looking back over my shoulder, I grinned at everyone, a phony smile but a smile just the same.

As we started walking down the sidewalk, I asked her where she wanted to go and told her my car was parked just around the corner.

Talulah said, “I think we should keep the interview in context honey; let's go to one of the places I receive my clients. That should give you a much better idea of how we operate and why our fees are enormous. We’ll take my car,” and pointing across the street added, “It’s just over there in the parking lot.”

I figured Talulah would be driving the latest model, some high-end convertible, but when she stopped beside a candy apple Lamborghini and started rooting around in her tiny purse for the car keys, my mouth dropped open and damned near bounced off my feet. I don’t know what year it was, but it looked brand new to me. She pressed a button on a tiny black box connected to her key chain and the doors, instead of opening out towards us, quietly slid upwards. The automobile was so low to the ground; it almost felt as if I should crawl in rather than just slide in and sit down. As the doors hissed shut and I adjusted my seatbelt, even though she’d barely put her foot on the gas pedal, I could feel the power of the engine pressing my back into the cushy pig skin seat. Heading towards the exit I asked unbelievably, “Is this yours Talulah?”

Looking at me sideways, she raised one of her immaculate, thinly drawn eyebrows and answered, “Of course. It’s one of several cars I own. The other ones aren’t as high class but that’s why I chose it; I wanted to impress upon you that I’m not just your average hooker.”

As she steered the Lamborghini effortlessly through the parking lot, then made a sharp right turn into the traffic, being an inquisitive reporter and always aware of my surroundings, I noticed the headlights of a car parked just down the street came on and it swerved quickly behind two cars that were in the same lane as us.

Talulah looked great behind the steering wheel, her long shapely legs rather distracting. Actually, it didn’t seem to matter where I looked; she was so beautiful, everything about her was distracting. As I looked ahead at the traffic and an upcoming green light I asked, “How far away is your place?”

Glancing at her rearview mirror she said, “Just a few more blocks.”

When Talulah slowed the Lamborghini and turned off the street into a driveway leading towards a massive, barred gate, she pressed a button on the dashboard and waited for the underground parking lot gate to lift. When the car that had been following us pulled off the road and parked about a half a block away, I couldn’t help wondering if it was Cool Hands keeping an eye on her.

The underground car park was very cool and quiet, the only sounds I could hear once we got out of the car, were Talulah’s yellow high heels clicking on the pavement and a slight dripping noise. As we walked towards the elevator and waited for it to arrive, Talulah asked, “I’m curious. Have you ever been with a prostitute before.”

“I’ve known a few but if you mean, have I ever been to bed with one; the answer is no. I’ve never paid for sex, but I have thought about it occasionally, especially when there’s been a long stretch between girlfriends.”

“Do you have a girlfriend now?”

“Well…sort of. We have an odd relationship but it’s more complicated than I would like. She designs clothes and runs her own business, so she’s very busy all through the week and sometimes, even weekends. Although we have feelings for one another, we mostly just see each other on weekends; have dinner, drink a little wine and then jump into the sack. I think our getting together is more for relieving our sexual urges rather than working towards a long-time companionship or making a commitment. Although our relationship is very comfortable and the sex is great, I doubt that it will last very long; sort of an interlude before one of us finds that special person.”

When the elevator arrived and the doors slid open, I asked Talulah, “How about you; do you have anyone special in your life?”

Pushing the elevator button for the top floor she smiled and answered, “Honey, you’ve got to be joking. I need a clear head for the business I’m in—there’s no room for any real love feelings. I know a few other hookers that had boyfriends and were even married but the relationships never worked out; seems like sooner or later jealousy comes creeping in and they breakup, and the breakups are always traumatic and very emotional. Like I mentioned earlier honey, when the time comes for me to retire, which incidentally isn’t going to be that much longer, that’s when I’ll consider settling down with just one man.”

When the elevator shuddered to a stop at the 40th floor with a ding, the door slid aside, revealing a small open area furnished with a small sofa and two padded chairs. The large wooden door contained a small peep hole and an ornate brass doorknob. Reaching into her purse, Talulah sorted through her keys for the proper one and then unlocked the door, which opened into a tastefully decorated foyer, where, if we had had any outerwear, it could have been hung up in a closet. Gazing at an original oil painting of a naked man and a woman lounging on a very green, well-manicured lawn under a shady tree I asked, “How many rooms do you have?”

She said, “Besides this, there are two bathrooms, a living room, kitchen and master bedroom.”

The foyer alone was furnished better than my whole apartment and as I took off my shoes, impatient to see the rest of the suite, Talulah kicked hers off as well. Following her like a little puppy dog lapping at her heels into the living room, dining area and connecting kitchen, I took in all the lavish surroundings; lots of chrome and glass. I whistled and said, “Very nice?”

The carpet was white and very thick and felt really cushy on my feet and while taking in the floor-to-ceiling red-velvet drapes, two narrow, white stripes running along the bottom edge, I almost tripped over the polar bear rug lying in front of a stone fireplace. The pig-skin covered couches, chairs, and chaise longue chair looked very comfortable and inviting. I couldn’t help admiring the large original sculptures and oil paintings interspersed throughout the rooms, which tastefully depicted men and women in various states of dress and amorous activities. The dining area and kitchen were separated from the large outdoor patio by a wall of full-length windows. When I saw the Jacuzzi, deluxe barbeque setup and small swimming pool, I knew I could easily live here. I’m not sure how I could afford the bills, but I could definitely live here.

“From the expression on your face honey, I can tell you really like this place,” and as she opened the bedroom door Talulah continued, “Come and take a look at this; this is where I work.”

If my eyes hadn’t been securely screwed into my sockets, they would have popped right out of my head. Talk about an extravagant room of sexual delight. The bed was massive, and the mattresses were deep; the covers and pillows deluxe; I could almost imagine Talulah stretched out wearing nothing but her birthday suit; the unfortunate part being, I couldn’t see myself in the picture. Mirrors in gilded gold frames were hung everywhere and the ceiling, too, had more mirrors. The carpet was plusher than in the living room and I could see her lying seductively on the floor too. As a matter of fact, it didn’t seem to matter where I looked, I could see a naked Talulah lying everywhere.

I don’t know if she could read my mind because when she looked at me and said, “Try the bed out,” and then, because I must have turned bright red she continued, “I like a man that blushes,” which made me blush even more.

“No, I better not Talulah. I’m sure the bed is comfy, but I’d better get on with the interview if you don’t mind.”

“Are you sure? I don’t think I’ve ever asked a man who was more than happier to test the bed,” she winked.

“I expect if a man pays the big bucks, then he deserves to try out the bed. But being here with someone as sexy as you, stretching out on the big bed, no way. I don’t feel like tormenting myself.”

Talulah laughed and then said, “I guess you’re right. Let’s go back into the living room and I’ll fix a couple of drinks. What’s your poison honey?”

“I’m a little hot under the collar; I’d love a cold beer.”

After we were comfortably seated in two big easy chairs facing each other; a small glass coffee table with chrome legs separating us, I pulled out the tape recorder, set it on the table and pressed the record button.

Me: (After swallowing a big gulp of beer) If you don’t mind Talulah, I’d like to backtrack a little on our previous discussion and ask what your parents thought about you becoming a hooker. They must know; don’t they?

Talulah: You would have to ask about my mother and father; wouldn’t you? At first, I thought I could do both; go to university and hook on the side but it became rather complicated, especially when the dean found out.”

Me: The dean found out! How did that happen? Wait, don’t tell me: you went to bed with the dean?

Talulah: Well honey, that’s pretty much what happened.

Me: Please tell me you didn’t bed him to get through university.

Talulah: (Laughs) No, nothing like that. It was actually by accident. It seems that one of my clients was the dean’s best friend and he made an appointment for him as a birthday gift; it was the dean’s big five- O. Apparently, he hadn’t recognized Cool Hand, but he recognized me. I guess he wasn’t any different than any of the younger guys at university, with these double-G’s (lifts her breasts) and tiny waist; he must have looked me over on more than one occasion. (Laughs again) You should have seen his eyes bug out and mine too when I walked into his hotel room that his friend had rented just for the occasion; it was a package deal; quite the birthday gift!

Me: So, what happened?

Talulah: At first, we just sort of stood looking at each other; neither one of us knew what to say or what to do. When the dean started to look really worried, I asked him what was wrong. For a while he thought the room was bugged and had hidden cameras; he’d been set up and was going to get blackmailed. Not only was he the dean of the university—he was a married man with a family. It took a bit of convincing, but he eventually came around, believed I was an actual birthday gift from his friend.

Me: So, what did you do then? It must have been very awkward.

Talulah: Oh, it was honey. I was about to ask him if I should leave but when I saw the bulge in his pants getting larger, I told him it would be our secret; just between us; I didn’t want anyone else to know I was a hooker either. The dean was starting to tell me that he’d never done anything like this before and how much he loved his wife, but I told him, just like I told you, “What happens in the bedroom honey; stays in the bedroom.”

Me: I don’t want to hear any of the details, but what happened after you had sex with the dean. Did you ask for better marks? (Laughs loudly)

Talulah: (Laughs) You’re so funny. (Shakes her head) The dean was very overweight, and I guess I must have rode him a little too hard; poor man was sweating, moaning and gasping for air like he’d just ran a 25-mile marathon race on a hot day. I thought he was about to have his happy moment, when he suddenly stopped squeezing my breasts and grabbed hold of his chest. When his face turned crimson, then suddenly white and he grimaced with intense pain, I grabbed the phone that was sitting on a bedside table and dialed 911. When the woman on the other side of the phone started asking me a lot of questions, I pretty much told her to shut the fuck up, a man was having a heart attack and gave her the name of the hotel and the room number.

Me: What? And then you just left him there to die?

Talulah: No. Luckily, I didn’t have many clothes to put on and as soon as the paramedics arrived, which seemed almost immediately, he was still alive and breathing easier. I had left the door open and when they rushed in carrying a stretcher, I ducked around the corner and left by the stairway. Fortunately, the dean survived and although there wasn’t any publicity regarding where he’d had his heart attack.

Me: I hope he didn’t ask for a refund.

Talulah: (Giggles) No refund and no repeat performance honey. I don’t think either one of us wanted to be reminded of what happened that night.

Me: You’d said that the reason you quit going to university was because of the large amount money you and Cool Hands were earning. But did going to bed with the dean have anything to do with it as well?

Talulah: It was strictly money, honey? Of course, I was shaken up about the dean almost dying under me, but everything was cool with him and me. However, about a year later, he had a fatal heart attack. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you all this, I mean you’re planning to write an article about my life as a hooker.

Glen: Don’t worry Talulah; I’ll make sure no one will be able to recognize any of the characters. Now, about your father and mother, what excuse did you give concerning dropping out of university; I take it you didn’t tell them you had become a prostitute?

Talulah: (Slight noise in the foyer) "What the hell!"

Glen: (Switches off recorder) CLICK

Hearing muffled footsteps slowly edging their way towards the living room, I placed my finger on my lips and motioned Talulah to be quiet and switched off the lamp beside her chair. Then, quietly and quickly, I raced across the room and just as I reached the wall, two burly men rushed into the room. Now you gotta love self-survival—as hard as it is to believe—it even beats out sex. Most likely just a reflex but I couldn’t help myself, I stuck out my foot, and the one closest to me went ass over tea kettle sprawling onto the floor. Before he could recover, I’d grabbed hold of a brass sculpture of a naked woman riding a large duck or a duck riding a woman and bashed the other intruder soundly along the side of the head. As he staggered backwards from the blow, but before I could do any more damage, the guy on the floor grabbed my foot and pulled me on top of him and then punched me hard on the left side of my head; the blow feeling like it damned near crushed my cheek bone. While bright stars and shooting comets whirled around inside my head and he was about to throw another punch, I heard a thud. Talulah had launched a lamp at the thug, and it knocked the gun out of his hand. Jerking my foot loose, I heard a loud explosion and saw a flash of light. Apparently, the guy I’d whacked had recovered and fired a shot at Talulah. Although my vision was still blurry from the punch to the head, I saw her shadow (only she could cast such a sexy shadow on a wall) dashing towards the patio. Realizing I still held the sculpture I thought, this is no time for Glen to be a nice guy and hammered the thug’s head lying on the floor with all my might. I not only heard his head crack wide open but felt the sculpture smash through the skull into his mushy brain. Still dazed, I watched the other assailant step out into the patio searching for Talulah. Although I wasn’t thinking too clearly (a well-directed punch can do that) like I said, self-survival is a wonderful instinct because even though I’d just had my brain addled big time, I still had enough sense to grab the dead thug’s revolver.

Swaying somewhat like a drunk, trying not to bump into anything and make a noise, I slowly made my way towards the patio. I could hear voices as I crept outside, the patio slightly lit by the city lights. The thug, his back turned towards me, had a gun pointed at her head. I don’t know if she inadvertently gave me away, or if I made a sound because he suddenly whirled and fired his gun at me; the bullet whizzing past my ear; it was that close. You'd have thought that I would have fired back instinctively but I knew Talulah was standing against the railing on the edge of the patio and I didn’t want to shoot her by mistake, especially since I’d never fired a gun before.

I’d never played football before either but as I ran towards him, ducking and weaving like a mad man, I felt like an all-star quarterback. He fired two more shots, and they both missed, although I did feel one bullet tug at my jacket just under the arm pit. Luckily for me, when he fired another shot, I stumbled, stubbing my big toe real hard. Crying out in pain, as I fell forward, I caught a glimpse of a smile on his face; I guess he figured he’d plugged me. But you should have seen the surprise on his face, when I somehow miraculously recovered and aiming the gun directly at his left eyeball, pulled the trigger, at that range; how could I miss.

Talulah and I must have been in shock because we just stood there looking at the dead man crumpled at our feet, his brains spread out like a red fan on the clear Lexan panel railing behind him. Hearing wailing sirens weaving down the streets towards Talulah’s building, triggered my survival instincts once again. I don’t know why, maybe I wasn’t thinking clearly but as I dropped the gun on the dead man’s chest, all I could think about was getting the hell out of that penthouse suite. Grabbing Talulah’s hand I said, “Let’s go!” We were almost out the door when I suddenly remembered the tape recorder and said, “Wait here a moment. Be right back.”

Fortunately, the elevator was still waiting and since the lobby was most likely full of cops, I asked Talulah if there was a stairway. When she said yes, I stopped the elevator on the 28th floor and followed her to the exit sign at the end of the hall. By the time we reached the lobby, my legs felt like two limp noodles; at age 42, I just wasn't as spry as I used to be. Talulah was about to open the door when I said, “Wait a sec.” Reaching inside my jacket pocket, I pulled out a plastic-coated label, which stated in big bold red capital letters, PRESS and DAILY TRIBUNAL and clipped it to my lapel.

Talulah said, “Honey, I didn’t know you were a reporter.”

“I’m not but this little tag comes in handy now and then. Let’s hope it does the trick now. After rubbing a few specks of blood off her face and checking out her clothes I said, “You look good.” How about me; any blood?”

“No, just slightly mussed up a bit but there’s a big red mark on the side of your face and wouldn’t be surprised if you get a whopper of a black eye honey. Other than that, you look OK too.”

Grinning wryly, I said, “Now follow my lead once we go through this door.”

The lobby was just as I suspected, teeming with cops. As soon as we opened the door, a cop came towards us. Before he could say a word, I said, “I’m Rex Martin and this is my assistant Emily Klassen; we’re from the Daily Tribunal, just managed to get in through the back entrance (hoping the cop hadn’t checked that the stairs behind us only led to the floors above). Our van and a photographer should be arriving at any moment, so we were on our way to the front entrance to wait for it.”

Although Talulah was modestly dressed for her, her outfit still emphasized an overly abundance of cleavage, the cop’s eyes riveted to her huge bosom. I continued, “Any chance you could wait by the door because we might have some difficulty getting back inside?

“Sure,” he stammered as he tore his eyes away from Talulah’s cleavage, “Follow me.”

A large crowd of jostling people had gathered outside the building and two police officers were trying to keep them from entering. As Talulah and I merged into the crowd, I yelled back to the cop, “I see the van just down the street!” Taking Talulah’s hand in mine, weaving our way through the spectators I yelled back over my shoulder, “We’re going to help the photographer with his gear; we’ll be right back! Don’t go away.”

Before the cop could open his mouth to reply, we were lost amongst the people gathered around the building’s entrance. Ripping the label off my jacket, I quickly stuffed it back inside my breast pocket and said, “I hope you have money because I don’t. We should hit an ATM and grab a bunch of cash; I don’t know how long it’ll take before the cops clue in that it’s your workplace and start looking for you and most likely tie me into the picture as well—and then again—I doubt that the cop we left standing at the door with his mouth wide open, hardly noticed me. Do you have that effect on all men? Don’t bother answering; of course you do.”