“Oh, babe. Oh, God! Yes Jen… Yes!” He was gasping for air as if he was drowning, but with a smile on his face.
The girl looked up from the end of the bed, her forehead slightly sweaty and she frowned in disgust.
“What’s wrong babe? Come on,” he asked her; concerned not of the girl’s feelings but of his curtailed pleasure.
“It’s Jess for fuck’s sake.” She got up, her slim figure and curvaceous legs were in the man’s full view. He wanted more of her, and bit his lip in desire.
“Come on Jess, my fucking time isn’t up yet,” he said desperately, as he could taste the saltiness of the drip of blood from his lips.
“It was up half an hour ago, when I took the handcuffs off.” Jess went into the dim-lit bathroom, cluttered with crack, empty bottles, razors and pills. She reapplied her eyeliner after clasping the clip of her black lacy bra. She gathered her hair into a clumsy ponytail, strands falling to the sides.
“I’ll pay the damn money! Just get the fuck over here!” he exclaimed, face now red with irritation.
“You’re fucking high on crack. Just give me my two fifty, and I’ll go.”
Jess shut the door now and locked it. She sighed in anger, and rubbed her temples. Her phone read 10:38, and there were two missed calls from her “boss”, Drew.
Had she defied other clients’ wishes, she knew she would get a cut from Drew – however, the man lying on the bed naked always came back. He didn’t give a damn about which one; he just wanted it. Bad. All the girls knew they could treat him how they liked, as long as they gave him his fair share of guilty pleasure.
She could hear murmurs of his voice through the door, but ignored them and messaged Teri to accompany her for drinks. Teri gave a prompt reply, and the two agreed to meet at ‘Friedman’s Parlor’ in twenty minutes.
Then, all of a sudden, she heard loud gasps and strenuous coughs from outside. They came to her like a storm, unlike the sudden breeze that a scream invoked. Then finally, an agonizing groan. Jess ran out the door in hysterics, and she saw him lying there, naked and different. The phone fell to the carpeted floor with barely a sound.
Narrator: Juliet Flanagan
The phone was vibrating, and no one was around. I couldn’t recognize that particular model of the Sony Ericsson, although it looked rather new and expensive.
The caller ID stated ‘Mom’, and it was gradually getting closer to me, as it slid laboriously down the leather sofa. I thought I could feel it tugging at me, almost, as though it had small hands. I was ever so tempted to press the green button; this electronic device, of wires and circuits was calling for me.
“Oh, fuck it.” I picked it up and hit the answer button.
“Juliet Flanagan speaking, AKA Queen Frog. How can I help you?” I said enthusiastically.
“Uh, Wh—Where is Brent?” A high-pitched voice asked through the phone. She seemed rather unsettled by something, and I got the impression she might have been running to catch a cab or something as she said this.
“He’s not around, I’m afraid… Oh, are you Mrs. Rowan?” Caller ID: Mom. I had only just linked the two together. I’d never met his mother before, although I’ve heard rumors of her cheating on the Mister, and vice versa. I guess the playboy facet runs in the family. There’s no stronger bind than blood after all.
“Yes, yes. Listen, could you take a message for me?” She was definitely in a hurry.
“Of course, Mrs. Rowan. Could you just wait a moment; I’ll get a pen and paper.”
To be honest, I didn’t need one. I was sure I could rely on my memory, but it was rather entertaining to make her wait. I took a floating around candy wrapper off the coffee table and scrunched it against the phone to give the impression I was scrambling around. I could hear her sigh in annoyance and impatience. Adults are much too easy to piss off.
“Right, here we are. Sorry for the long wait, truly sorry. Read now, Mrs. Rowan.”
“Tell Brent that no one could reach Leslie, and that the hospital called in response to an emergency. Have you got that?” Can’t reach Leslie, hospital, emergency.
“Yes, Mrs. Rowan. Is that all?” I asked politely, a little too politely, to the point of disrespect I suppose. Oh well, when was I ever to meet Brent’s dear mother anyhow?
“No, no. Leslie’s stepfather, Lawrence, is in the hospital. He’s had a heart attack and in critical condition. Leslie needs to get to St. Paul’s Hospital as soon as she can. Tell her to call the number she missed, on her phone. Alright?”
I didn’t know if Mrs. Rowan’s angry tone was from my rudeness or from the frenzy of the emergency. What I did know, was that what she was telling me, angry tone or not, was shitty. And Leslie was in the shit.
“Okay, thank you.” I couldn’t be bothered with a long response, and hung up without another word.
“Leslie!” I shouted her name as I went out to the pool, the front hall, and the kitchen.
“Who’s looking for her?” I heard a voice from upstairs, and got to the bottom of the steps and looked up. It was Brent.
“Your mom just called. Lawrence is in the hospital, and she’s got to get there – now! It sounds really bad. Do you know where she is?” I responded, both of us still a staircase apart. Others heard and began to crowd around.
“Shit. Jesus, we'd better look for her then. Hurry!”
We all went off into a scramble, the missing girl’s name resonating in the air. He was in critical condition, and she was at a fucking party. He could die.
“Leslie! Where the fuck are you?!” There was, yet again, the Queen gets no response, “How dare you defy the queen, Leslie! Show yourself!” I was shouting at the top of my lungs, trying to catch her attention by being as funny as I could in this predicament. That came to no avail.
Oh, forget the fucking queen. “Leslie?!”