03.04.2002
The rent in my office hadn't been paid in so long my land lord was leaving packing boxes next to my door as a hint to his intentions. I let them pile up outside as my own way of saying that I wasn't leaving and so the battle continued. I'd just poured myself a large glass of scotch when the only woman who could get me to do anything walked through my door.
I'd never seen a girl like her before except in magazines and some drawings and before then I was okay with that, knowing that a guy like me and a girl like her just weren't meant to be together. She looked like the type that would be the mistress of some doctor or lawyer and who would never have to work a day in her life. All I did was work. Well, drink and work.
She didn't even knock, the frosted glass door opened and closed silently as she carried herself in as if on a cloud. The first thing I noticed was her red hair when I looked up from the newspaper's crime page. It was a bright red that gradated from ruby to orange in color from her head to where it ended, somewhere near her chin. The next thing I noticed was her red dress. It was hard not to. I'd never seen so much woman fit into so little cloth. I had visions of comfort as I watched her chest bounce over to the chair in front of my desk. It was a well padded chair, comfortable enough for anyone to feel at home in order to tell their sob story, but she didn't need it. I wanted to offer up my lap but I'd only just met her so I held back in a rare moment of restraint.
"You're a Dick," she said slowly as she produced a cigarette seemingly out of nowhere.
"That's what my last girlfriend told me," I said watching the freckles on her chest and wondering where more might exist.
"Well," she continued as though I hadn't said anything. "I'm in need of a Dick."
For the first time, I actually looked at her face and attempted to discern the nature of the dick needed. Her eyes were dark with eyeliner and her red lips seemed to hold a perpetual pout but her nose was all serious. She wasn't wearing a hat which at first didn't mean much to me until I noticed that she didn't have gloves, a bag, or even a coat. There were only two types of women who showed up in only a dress and heels: Trouble. Did I say there were two?
"Like I said, I'm a dick. What can I help you with," I asked, leaning back in my chair for a better look at her legs. She crossed them slowly, and though I couldn't see anything worthy of telling my mother about, I had to pour another drink at the sight of her garters. As I drained it and filled up another, I glanced at the red head across from me and shook the bottle as an offer. She dragged deeply on her smoke and exhaled as though she had all the time in the world to wait until I was done acting like a teenager. When I had settled back into my chair at a precarious angle, she began to speak.
"I think the man I'm seeing is also seeing someone else," she said plainly as she wiped a loose strand of hair out of her eye.
"Is this man married," I asked.
"Of course he is, but I'm not concerned with her," she said. I could tell that she was questioning my credentials and that I needed to wisen up quickly if I ever wanted to see this bird again. "I think he has another woman and I don't like any competition."
"The wife ain't much to look at, huh," I asked, playing with my glass.
"I told you," she said as near exasperated as a woman like her ever got. "I'm not interested in the wife..."
"I know," I said. "I'm just saying..."
"I understand what you're saying," she said as she snubbed out one cigarette and lit another. I figured that I would join the party and had one myself, using the lighter that looked like a golfing trophy on my desk. "What I'm saying is that I don't like the competition and want to know who it is to better get rid of it."
"You know, they've got laws about that kind of thing," I remarked as I placed the lighter back on the desk on top of an inch thick pile of old papers. I used to be a cop once and learned how to organize while on the force.
"I'm not talking about murder," she said.
"Well, they've got anti-trust laws too."
"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head in frustration. "I don't follow."
I watched her breasts move in circles as she shook her head and found myself lost in their movement until they suddenly stopped. I looked up and found her staring into my eyes. "Anti-trust," I said trying to recover my composure. "You know, like anti-competitive laws, illegal elimination of competition?"
She just stared back at me blankly.
"Never mind," I mumbled. "Please continue."
"If you are trying to be disarming with this idiot act," she said tersely in a way I hadn't heard since my high school history teacher flatly told me she wouldn't help me lose my virginity. "You can stop."
"Never fear," I said. "This isn't an act. I am an idiot."
"That doesn't instill me with much confidence," she said stubbing out her second butt and lighting her third. I looked at my own cigarette and couldn't help but to notice that I was less than a third of the way through it. I glanced back at her and saw that she was already half way through her new one. I'd seen fires with less smoke then that woman.
"I'm no rocket scientist, this we both know," I said calmly. "But it doesn't take much brainpower to find these kinds of things out."
She stroked her garter line absently with a stray finger for a moment then took a drag from her cigarette and said, "Maybe not. Maybe you're right." I noticed that the room was beginning to fill with smoke and began to wonder what the threshold for the fire alarm was if it still wasn't going off. I thought about my landlord and the kind of guy he was, figured that he was probably too cheap to keep it in any working order, then promptly forgot about it as I watched her trace her finger back and forth across her leg. It was mesmerizing. She could have robbed the place and I wouldn't have noticed as long as she didn't stop.
"Okay," she said after another long pause and another cigarette. "What do you need to know?"
"Whatever you know," I said in return, pushing papers aside in a vain effort to find a notepad and pen. I couldn't find either and settled back into my chair hoping my memory was better than I thought it was.
"Some men might call her attractive," she began.
"What kind of men," I asked.
"Men like you," she said with a scowl.
"Okay," I said and motioned for her to continue. The woman she described was essentially herself but blond and apparently didn't believe there was honor among thieves. Her competitor was laid out for me down to the specifics of where she had tattoos in places that would even make my mother blush. Finally I held up a finger to pause her vitriolic stream of metaphors so as to clarify a point.
"So you know what she looks like," I asked.
"Haven't you been listening to me," she asked with a hiss. It was so mean I poured myself another drink to cope.
"Yeah," I said with a grimace from the alcohol. "I'm just trying to figure out what you need me to do. It seems to me you've done my job for me. If you're willing to pay me to recite it back to you," I said. "I'd be more than willing."
"I want to know her name," she said, regaining her composure again. "I want to know where she lives and I want to know her shoe size."
"Shoe size, huh," I asked. "I have to tell you, that's some creepy shit."
"Are you going to take it or not," she asked. I hated that question. The only reason I felt sorry for my landlord was that the entire building was rented to P.I.'s just like me who were always late with their payments. It had a good location, was constantly dark, and cheap, things that people in my profession tended to look for in an office. I was the third from the elevator which gave me something of an edge over the guys all the way down the hall but being on the fourth floor didn't help much. I hated that question because I knew that if I said no, she would just walk down the hall to the next Joe and sweet talk him into finding out some girl's shoe size. Knowing who was on my floor, I knew that there were some who would gladly do it and would probably enjoy it a little too much.
"Yeah," I said. "I'll do it, but I want to let you know one thing before hand."
Her elegantly shaped eyebrow arched in curiosity as she watched me actually show some backbone.
"I just want to tell you that I think this is sick but that I'm doing it because, since I'm the only Dick on this floor without a foot fetish, it's probably safer for the poor girl you're going to have me spy on," I said as I reached for the bottle of scotch to replenish the energy I just expended.
The pout on her face slowly became a sly little smile as she said, "That's fine. Her safety isn't exactly a concern of mine, but that's fine." She raised one of her legs and arched it over my desk as it stretched and I almost died from lust. "Now, how much do you charge for your services," she asked still smiling.
I pulled my handkerchief from my back pocket and wiped away the sweat that had suddenly formed on my face. By the time I was done the thing needed to be wrung out like a beach towel that accidentally blew into the pool. I knew that there was only one thing that I wanted. "How about an evening with you," I said with a slight tremble in my voice. I felt like I did as a teenager when I asked the girl next door to take off her pants.
The smile never faded on her face but the emotion behind it changed from amusement to pure pleasure. She took enjoyment from my obvious desire for her. Slowly, she stood up, letting the dress drift naturally back down to its place on her thigh. My heart leapt into my throat and my chest locked up for a moment as I watched her glide back towards the door, opening it, again silently, then lingering there for a moment before saying, "Why don't we see what we can't work out after the job is done." The door then shut behind her and I poured myself another drink. I needed a tall one but somehow the bottle had emptied during her visit so I drank what I had before rummaging through my desk for my gun and car keys.