2/3
"Are you all right?" she asked.
"Fine."
He sank down onto the bed, and shied away from her hand on his shoulder. She let it drop, and sat near but not touching him.
"You want to talk?"
"Not really."
"You ain't even asked my name."
"It don't matter."
"You okay?"
"Fine."
It was like walking around in circles. There was no point. She sighed. "Here," she offered, "let me give you a backrub. You ain't been a fight, have you?"
"'Course I have. I'm me."
"You didn't lose, did you?"
"I never lose."
"Then what's the matter, Spot?"
"You wouldn't understand. You don't know anything about me." But he let her fingers begin to find the knots in his shoulders and work them out.
"So tell me."
"Tell me your name first," he said quietly. "I can't trust you if I don't know you."
And the silent part of the sentence was, And I need someone to trust right now. But he wouldn't have said that aloud. She didn't know him outside the context of her room, but she knew him well enough to know that. He was arrogant, and never would have admitted needing anyone.
"Caroline," she said finally, quietly. "Caroline Jonas."
He turned around and looked at her. If he'd been in a good mood, he'd have grinned at finally winning that battle, but barely could muster up a smile. "Was that so hard, Caroline?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered, straight-faced. "What's troubling you, Spot?"
He looked down at the floor. "My best friend got a knife in the throat tonight. I wasn't there to watch his back, I coulda helped… An' instead he's dead an' I'm spending the night in a cathouse." He shook his head. "It ain't fair. It shouldn't have been him, damn it, they wanted me."
"Spot…"
"I have to find them now. I have to kill them now. I don't like killing people. It ain't… It ain't right."
"Then why do you do it?"
"'Cause I got to." He looked so angry all of a sudden. "'Cause my boys need someone to take care of 'em, an' the only way to do that in Brooklyn is to kill whoever gets in your way. If you just hurt 'em, you're weak, you get attacked. You gotta kill or be killed, an' I can't let my boys die." He looked up at her. "You hate me now, you know I'm killer?"
"No," she said quietly. "I don't hate you, Spot."
"Sometimes I hate myself."
"Everyone does, sometiems."
"But not everyone oughtta. You shouldn'."
She shook her head. "I'm a cheap prostitute, Conlon. You think I can look myself in the mirror all the time?"
"You ain't," he told her. "You… It's just your job. You do what you have to, right?"
"So do you."
"But it's different. I hurt people. You help 'em."
"No, I don't," she said firmly. "I give them what they pay for."
He looked her in the eye. "Then why do you bother with me? You telling me I'm just another john to you?"
She answered yes, but she hesitated long enough that he knew it was a lie. He turned around to face her, placed a hand on hers, and threaded his fingers in between hers. "Sometimes, I wish you wasn't just my whore," he said. "I wish you was my girl."
"I ain't, though."
"I know." He let her hand go. "But I paid for ya, an' tonight you is. For a little while, anyway, Caroline."
--
He watched her get dressed. Sunlight was beginning to leak in under the thick curtains, but it was a watery sort of light. Dawn light. He yawned; he'd never been so late in the brothel before. Usually, he went on the early side, and wandered home when he was done; he'd been late that night, and so now it was morning.
"Why ain't you kicked me out yet?" he asked. She tossed him his pants from across the room where he'd abandoned them. "My time's been up for almos' half an hour."
"'Cause I'm done for the night," she answered. "You was my last john for the night. So I didn't need to kick you out."
"So why'd you let me stay? You don't seem like you'd let people stay extra just 'cause. You wouldn' even tell me your name for a month."
She rolled her eyes. "I let you stay 'cause you fell asleep an' looked like it was the first sleep you'd had in a week. Couldn't bring myself to wake you."
"Too sweet. You want breakfast?"
"What?"
"It's morning, right? You want to go get breakfast?"
"It's dinner for me," she answered.
"So? I can do dinner for breakfast. My meals is weird enough usually anyway."
"Yeah, but… I shouldn't."
"Why not?"
"'Cause you're a john, an' I don't socialize with customers."
"Too good for us?" he asked, trying to sound amused instead of hurt.
"Yeah, I am," she said loftily, though not seriously.
"So what, you'll take our money but wouldn't be seen with us?"
"Hey, you give me your money and I do exactly what I was asked to." She wanted to stop now; this had been a joke, but it sounded like it was becoming a real argument.
"Ya know, usually it's the guy who should be embarrassed to be seen with a whore. You'd be grateful to be seen with me, for people to think you was my girl, if you knew who I was."
"If you're so embarrassed because you come to a cathouse every week, why the hell do you do it?" she demanded. "I ain't ashamed of what I am."
"Sure you are. You told me you was last time."
"I think you'd better go."
"What if I ain't ready yet?"
"Your time is up."
"You ain't got no one waiting."
"Your time is up," she said again. "Get out, Spot."
"All right," he said. "But don't expect me to be so nice to you no more."
"I don't." She narrowed her eyes. "I don't expect to see you again."
"What?"
"You don't like what I am, don't come see me. It's that simple."
"Fine. I won't."
"Good."
"Good." He finished pulling on his clothes in silence, and walked to the door. "G'bye, Caroline. I shouldn't have bothered with your name." He slammed it after him.
--
He didn't look sheepish; he was too arrogant to be sheepish. But he did sort of look down at the floor instead of up at her, and she shied away from catching his eyes, too. "Caroline?" he asked finally. "I didn' mean nothin' by it. I jus' wanted to take you out is all. I wouldn' be embarrassed for people to know I was datin' a hooker."
"You ain't datin' a hooker," she reminded him, but she said it gently. "You an' me is just…"
"Don' tell me I'm just another john to ya, 'cause I know you ain't just another whore to me."
She looked up at him, and smiled. "We'se just friends," she said. "An' you should be flattered. I ain't never been friends with a customer b'fore."
"Am I really that good, then?" he asked, smirking.
She rolled her eyes, but in her sauciest voice murmured, "You're the greatest, Spot."
"But you still won' let me take you to dinner?"
"'Fraid not."
"But, why not? 'Cause I know you like me." He sat down next to her and caught her hand. "I like you too. So why not?"
"'Cause," she answered, shrugging a tiny bit. "Things would get too… Complicated… If we really got ta know each other outside a' here. Every whore knows that; you don' get involved with anyone who ever paid for you."
"Oh." He sounded crestfallen.
She reached for his hand. "But we ain't outside a' here now. We'se inside an' you paid for the next hour. So whaddaya say I cheer you up?"
He nodded, maybe a bit disappointed, but it was what he'd expected. And Caroline always knew how to cheer him up.
--
"Caroline, I shouldn' be here," he said, watching her undress. "I don' know what the hell's wrong with me."
"Whaddaya mean?"
"I mean, I got a girl now. You musta noticed I ain't been aroun' in awhile."
"Yeah, I noticed."
"I got a girl, now. She's real nice. I shouldn' do this to her, I shouldn' cheat on her."
"You ain't cheated yet," Caroline reminded him. "You can still leave." She smirked. "You ain't gettin' your money back, but you can leave."
He leant back in the bed, against the pillows. "You know, I didn' even want ta sleep with you tonight. I jus' wanted to see you. I got a girl, an' I still wanted to come visit a whore, an' didn't want to fuck her. What's the matter with me, Caroline?"
"Nothin's the matter, Spot. Do you really trust me?"
"What?"
"When I told you my name, that night, you said it was so you could trust me. Do you?" She sat down next to him, naked save for her underclothes.
"Yeah," he said.
"I mean it. I get the feelin' you don't trust no one, everythin' you've said about Brooklyn an' all those fights you're always in… Do you really trust me?"
"I do."
She smiled and put a hand over his. "Good," she said. "That's all it is. You just want a friend to talk to, who ain't gonna tell no one about it. We don't gotta sleep together, we can just talk, if you want."
He stared at her. "I…" He faltered. "I think I'd like that."
And that night, they just talked.
--
"We broke up," he said flatly.
"I'm real sorry to hear that."
"Don't be. She was a tramp anyway."
"You got somethin' against tramps?" Caroline asked, posing jauntily.
"At least tramps like you is honest about things." He kicked the bed angrily. "The bitch cheated on me. I was loyal to her an' she…" he trailed off, making a strangled noise, then, "My foot hurts."
"Well, you shouldn't a' kicked my bed."
"Shut up. I jus' can't believe…"
"She done you wrong, Spot, she really did."
"I didn' love her anyway. I liked her, but she wasn'… She wasn' the one for me." He leant against the wall and banged a fist against it. "Damn it, why'd she have to do it?"
"She didn' know what a good thing she had."
"She must not a' thought it was such a good thing. Christ, I can't believe it. She broke things off with me. I ain't never been dumped b'fore, never! Do you know who I am?"
"You'se Spot Conlon. You never lose," Caroline answered.
"Exactly. Stupid bitch." He crossed his arms, annoyed.
"You want me to take your mind off things?"
"That's why I'm here," he answered. "None a' your talkin' shit tonight, neither. I jus' want—"
"I know exactly what you want." Moments later, they collapsed onto the bed together, limbs intertwined.
(Thanks to The Girl That Never Was, Brunette, Lil Ms KP, Dakki, Spotnmushlover246, and StormShadow21 for reviewing.
To clarify, CC means constructive criticism... or in other words, tell me what I'm doing wrong so I can become a better writer. :) )