Paulette Smalls - Come and get it!

"Lucky bitch," Bev said, then remembered again. Her mood changed from envy to compassion. "Val, are you sure you're doing the right thing? This is such a big step."

"I'm sure, Bev," Val said, standing and stretching. She walked over to the glass doors, put her face right up against the cool glass, and stared out at the silent beach down below. The wire from the telephone tugged at her ear, like a link with the past, trying to draw her back. "I feel very positive about this decision. It's the right one. I have to find out if I still love Doug. And, more important, I have to know if I still want to be married to him."

Beverly sighed. "Good luck, darlin'. I just have this terrible feeling you're gonna need it."

Val turned her back to the beach, walking back into the room, the twisted wire of the telephone curling across the shaggy orange rug. She stood in front of the night table, looking down at the telephone.

"Say, I'd better be hanging up," Val said, smiling wistfully. "I'm really not next door, you know. This is going to cost me a fortune."

"Yes?"

"Call me if you need me… please. It doesn't matter what time it is – just call."

"Thanks, Bev. I'll keep it in mind. I'd better hang up. Say hello to Ernie for me. And the kids."

Valerie hung up, and for two or three minutes she did nothing but stare down at the telephone. She was very aware of the silence filling up her room. It had a texture, and in her thoughts, in her imagination, she felt as if she could touch it, could feel it rubbing between her fingers. She picked up the telephone and dialed the Front Desk.

"Hello, this is Mrs. Barstow in room…" – from the bed, where she'd thrown it, she picked up the room key – "… 947. I just checked in a few moments ago, and I seem to have misplaced my room key. Would you send me up another, please… Thank you… oh, by the way, there was a very nice young man who helped me with my luggage – Luis is his name… Yes, that's him. If he's available, would you have him bring the key to me. I'd like to give him the rest of his tip… Yes. Thank you… I'll be waiting."

"I've never been to a massage parlor before," Doug said, closing the door behind him. "This is my first time ever."

She was young, in her early twenties, with short, platinum blonde hair, and high, full tits straining at the material of her negligee. Except for panties, which were clearly outlined under the loose, flowing transparent material, she was naked under the nightgown, her nipples fat and long and pink. Her tits swayed as she moved, like two huge, slow moving waves, and they had immediately caught his attention when he'd come in.

Doug had never thought of himself as a tit man, and could never understand why some men raved about big-breasted women. To him, a small, firm, shapely breast was infinitely more desirable and erotic. In fact, the only reason he'd given her a second look even was that she, in every way, was an almost complete physical opposite of Val. Flashy blonde hair, pale blue eyes, bright pink complexion, there was nothing about her to remind him of his wife. The last person in the world he wanted to be reminded of that night was his wife.

"Is it really?" she asked, her voice light and giggly. "Oh, I don't believe you. You're just saying that."

"No, it's true. This really is my first time."

The room they had entered was depressingly Spartan. The floor was bare and the walls were naked. Beside a chair, the bed was the only other piece of furniture in the room. From the ceiling, dangling on an electric cord, was a single light bulb, switched on, casting out a harsh naked light and stark, elongated shadows.

She sat on the edge of the thin, saggy mattress, appraising Doug with a detached coolness. "How come? Are you gay?"

Doug smiled at the unintended irony. "Hardly. Not in any sense of that word."

"So how come you're here?"

"My wife's on vacation," he said, smiling drunkenly. "We're taking separate vacations."

The young blonde woman grinned. "Oh, I see. While the cat's away…"

Doug shrugged indifferently. "Something like that. She's in Florida. Flew down this morning."

"Leaving you all by your lonesome. I know how it is, baby." She patted the side of the bed next to her. "Come over here and sit next to me. April knows how to cheer you up."

"Is that your real name?" Doug asked, weaving slightly as he navigated the swaying floor. He crossed the room and sat next to her on the bed, their knees touching. "April, I mean. Is that your real name?"

Her eyes grew small and hard. "Why do you want to know?"

"No reason." Doug, laughed to himself at her suspicions. He wondered if she thought he was a cop. "Just curious. You don't have to answer."

Her lips were full and pouty, and from the angle at which her head was tilted, he could tell she was thinking. Strands of her short blonde hair hung over her ear, and she tugged on them with her fingers, an unconscious nervous gesture, as if she were trying to make the hair longer. The tips of her fingernails were long and pointed, painted a bright, gaudy red.

"No, it's not," she said finally. Long dark lashes fluttered across her pale blue eyes. "It's a professional name. But you can call me April."

Doug laughed once, loudly. "All right, April."

"What's your name?" she countered.

"Douglas. But no one ever calls me that except my mother. And even then I hate it. Call me Doug."

"Is that your real name?" April asked, grinning playfully. "Most of the men who visit me are called John."

"Huh? What?" Doug ran his tongue around his dry, cracked lips. "Oh, I get it now. A joke. That's a joke." He thought about it for a moment. "You know, it's really not very funny."

"What can I tell you? That's the best I can do at three in the morning."

He blinked once, twice, as if the thought were dull and slow moving, sinking down into his consciousness. His eyebrows knitted together as his brow wrinkled, the tip of his tongue sticking up from the corner of his mouth.

"Three in the morning?" he echoed. He looked at his wristwatch, trying to focus his eyes. "Is it really that late?"

"Actually, it's after three; probably closer to three-thirty. Time really flies when you're having a good time."

"Three o'clock." Doug shook his head. "Say, what time does this place close up?"

"Relax. We're open twenty-four hours. All night long."

"Oh." He thought for a moment. "Do much business in the middle of the night?"

"If we did, do you think I'd be sitting here talking to you. I'd be hustling my ass off. You're only my second tonight. That's since midnight."

"Business always so slow?"

April shook her head. "Naw, it's this Goddamn economy. Believe me, the crunch is being felt all the way around. Christ, I think half of my regulars are staying home to fuck their wives."

Doug sighed. "My wife's in Florida. Miami Beach. Did I tell you we were taking separate vacations?"

"Yeah, yeah, you did. You don't look so thrilled by it, frankly. Most guys I meet would be tickled pink to be in your shoes. No fun to party alone, is it?"

"It's lonely."

"So's life."

Doug nodded in agreement. "It is, you know. It really is. I figured tonight would be a blast, you know what I mean? I'm staying in a hotel for a week, by myself, free to come and go as I choose: you'd think I'd be excited about it. I've got the whole city to prowl around in. I went to a couple of adult book stores, bought six or seven of those dirty newspapers, I even saw two porn films! I'm very drunk, I've smoked three joints, and I went to a topless bar. Christ, I even went to a swingers bar. So how come I'm feeling like this?"

"What can I tell you?"

Doug shook his head. "Do you know what all that stuff is? Masturbation."