Windowshades of The Wild Orchid
101 California is at the intersection of California and Ocean across the street from the Sheraton Mirimar on the south and the Santa Monica Beach to the west.A long, narrow park snakes along the cliffs overlooking the beach there. It’s a good place for a driver to park, get out and stretch his legs. Payphones are plentiful and there’s even an open public rest room.
It was the place where Leopard girl, high as a kite on who knows what, would climb a low branch on the gnarly trees in the park and growl at passing pedestrians, but that was a year yet into my future of driving crazy L.A. callgirls.
I settled in across the street from 101 California at a quarter til midnight, collecting my thoughts on the evening.
Lynnie had told me that I got $20 per call plus $20 a night for gas. I’d lose money for sure on the gas part with my guzzler, but we had been on four calls already, working on number five now. If this was the last call, I’d made my $120 and still get home in plenty of time to catch my favorite middle-of-the-night television preacher at 2 o’clock.
Not a bad way to pick up some extra grocery money, I thought.
I got out of my car and sat on its spacious trunk. It was a pleasant night, a little chilly. Couples were walking by, holding hands. Bums were sleeping peacefully under the trees in the park and the lights from the Santa Monica Pier glittered on the rolling waves of the Pacific Ocean like dancing fireflies. It was a romantic spot.
Glancing up to the ninth floor of 101 California across the street where I knew Chloie was, I saw the light from one large picture window on the otherwise dark side of the building.
The windowshades were open and Chloie was naked in the window, her palms against the glass, her head and breasts bouncing back and forth up against the window.
A naked man was standing behind her with his hands around her waist, his pelvis thrusting against hers. It reminded me very much of a scene from the movie ‘Wild Orchid’.
“Jeezus,” I thought, “Right here in front of God and everybody. Can they do that?”
I hadn’t really thought about what was going on inside the places I was taking Chloie to tonight. Chloie always got back into my car like she’d just taken chicken soup to a sick friend, but now it dawned on me: they’re having sex in there! That’s not right.
The peep show was interrupted by the beeping of Chloie’s pager in my pocket. It was 8899. Reluctantly I raced to the park payphones 100 feet away. My first live sex show interrupted by the pager. I would come to hate and fear the sound of pagers.
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