Six Degrees Of Separation Between Fame And Creepiness
The seventh call was an actor on 100 S. Sycamore. I know he was an actor because Chloie returned from that call laughing.
“He sink I should, ‘ow you say, recognize him from zee tv. ‘e say, ‘don’t you know me?’ and I say no. You know, Shames, zey all looking zee same with zee pants down.”
This was the first time Chloie actually talked much about a customer. The sudden openness took me by surprise.
“Zey all saying ’I’ll bet you’re glad you’re getting me and not some creepiness guy’ and I sink, ’You ‘aven’t, ‘ow you say, zee proof you are not zee creepy guy,” Chloie continued.
“They say there are only six degrees of separation between any one random person and someone famous,” I told Chloie. “One of your friends knows someone who knows someone who knows someone, etcetera, etcetera who knows this guy’s mother. I’ll bet she can tell you whether that guy was a creep or not.”
Chloie laughed, then she turned serious. Her sudden openness had a point:
“Shames, I am sorree I cannot pay you zee full $120 tonight. Zee tips were not good. Too many regular customers. Do not worree. We will do better zee next time.” Chloie handed me $80.
By my count, Chloie owed me 20 times seven plus 20 for the gas: $160. Now she didn’t even want to pay me $120? What a cheap bitch.
At $150 each to walk in the door, she collected $1,050 before tips. $350 goes to the Dragon Lady. Her minimum take for tonight had to be $700.
The slurp, slurp guy in Hermosa and the ‘lets do it in the window’ guy in Santa Monica probably gave her at least $300 in tips. She makes over $1,000 a night and she’s trying to stiff me $80? What a lowlife, I thought. I decided to get whatever scraps I could.
“I spent a couple of dollars on the payphones tonight.”
“Yes?”
“Jennifer told me the girls cover the payphone expenses.”
“Jennifer talks too much. Zis is your expense, Shames. I do not pay zee phone monee. What I pay you is enough, no?”
It was early in the morning and I was too tired to haggle. Paperboys were already delivering the Times and people were walking by with their dogs. I just wanted to go home and sleep off the weird night, but what would one of those Disney pirates who got canned for chasing the wenches around the table in the Pirates Cove do? They’d make this cheap bitch walk the plank, that’s what they’d do. Arrr arrr.
I spotted a dark alley behind Circus Circus and whipped portside into it. I pulled up to a dumpster and parked inches from it on the passenger side so Chloie couldn’t get out. I shut off the engine and sat there in the dark with Chloie, wordless. Someone coughed through their open bedroom window a few houses away, otherwise it was silent. The dark and silence covered the car like a giant blanket.
Chloie sat motionless. I lit a cigarette, slowly, with a match, letting the flickering flame lowlight my face like some old Humphrey Bogart movie.
“My money,” is all I said. Chloie looked at my pirate face and counted out another $80. I took it without another word and started the car.
Dropping Chloie off at her Park LaBrea apartment as the sun was coming up, I pocketed the additional $80 and decided all in all it wasn’t a bad night: two sex shows, a tour of Holiday Inns and two successful face offs against this vampire woman. And I thought about getting those quarters up front next time, if there was a next time.
“How was it?” my son asked when I got home.
“A real creepshow,” I answered, “Except for all the money haggling and talking to the girl’s evil boss on the phone, I liked it.”
“He sink I should, ‘ow you say, recognize him from zee tv. ‘e say, ‘don’t you know me?’ and I say no. You know, Shames, zey all looking zee same with zee pants down.”
This was the first time Chloie actually talked much about a customer. The sudden openness took me by surprise.
“Zey all saying ’I’ll bet you’re glad you’re getting me and not some creepiness guy’ and I sink, ’You ‘aven’t, ‘ow you say, zee proof you are not zee creepy guy,” Chloie continued.
“They say there are only six degrees of separation between any one random person and someone famous,” I told Chloie. “One of your friends knows someone who knows someone who knows someone, etcetera, etcetera who knows this guy’s mother. I’ll bet she can tell you whether that guy was a creep or not.”
Chloie laughed, then she turned serious. Her sudden openness had a point:
“Shames, I am sorree I cannot pay you zee full $120 tonight. Zee tips were not good. Too many regular customers. Do not worree. We will do better zee next time.” Chloie handed me $80.
By my count, Chloie owed me 20 times seven plus 20 for the gas: $160. Now she didn’t even want to pay me $120? What a cheap bitch.
At $150 each to walk in the door, she collected $1,050 before tips. $350 goes to the Dragon Lady. Her minimum take for tonight had to be $700.
The slurp, slurp guy in Hermosa and the ‘lets do it in the window’ guy in Santa Monica probably gave her at least $300 in tips. She makes over $1,000 a night and she’s trying to stiff me $80? What a lowlife, I thought. I decided to get whatever scraps I could.
“I spent a couple of dollars on the payphones tonight.”
“Yes?”
“Jennifer told me the girls cover the payphone expenses.”
“Jennifer talks too much. Zis is your expense, Shames. I do not pay zee phone monee. What I pay you is enough, no?”
It was early in the morning and I was too tired to haggle. Paperboys were already delivering the Times and people were walking by with their dogs. I just wanted to go home and sleep off the weird night, but what would one of those Disney pirates who got canned for chasing the wenches around the table in the Pirates Cove do? They’d make this cheap bitch walk the plank, that’s what they’d do. Arrr arrr.
I spotted a dark alley behind Circus Circus and whipped portside into it. I pulled up to a dumpster and parked inches from it on the passenger side so Chloie couldn’t get out. I shut off the engine and sat there in the dark with Chloie, wordless. Someone coughed through their open bedroom window a few houses away, otherwise it was silent. The dark and silence covered the car like a giant blanket.
Chloie sat motionless. I lit a cigarette, slowly, with a match, letting the flickering flame lowlight my face like some old Humphrey Bogart movie.
“My money,” is all I said. Chloie looked at my pirate face and counted out another $80. I took it without another word and started the car.
Dropping Chloie off at her Park LaBrea apartment as the sun was coming up, I pocketed the additional $80 and decided all in all it wasn’t a bad night: two sex shows, a tour of Holiday Inns and two successful face offs against this vampire woman. And I thought about getting those quarters up front next time, if there was a next time.
“How was it?” my son asked when I got home.
“A real creepshow,” I answered, “Except for all the money haggling and talking to the girl’s evil boss on the phone, I liked it.”
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