Getting Paid
Foreman waited at the curb at the Philadelphia Airport. He leaned against his car waiting for her to emerge from baggage claim. Other impatient drivers waited for their passengers to arrive as well. The guy with the beat up Camaro had smoked five cigarettes before his girl had shown up. She slithered up to him with a large, leopard print rolling bag trailing behind her. Her pants were tucked into her boots and her hair had been sculptured into a solid mass standing at least twelve inches above her scalp, falling in ringlets to her shoulders. She chewed her gum scientifically, "Yo! Joey Bagadonuts! Whadda waiting for? Come help me with this thing. It weighs a friggin ton!" He scooped her up in an embrace that belonged in a hotel room rather than the loading zone of the airport. When he came up for air, he popped the trunk and heaved the bag in, next to some wrenches, four cans of motor oil and what might have been a partially decomposing body, or perhaps his dry cleaning in a large, black garbage bag. "Don't get nothin' on that, it's new!" She let herself into the passenger side of the car and they drove off in a cloud of blue smoke.
Foreman checked his watch. Her flight had landed twenty minutes earlier so she should be waiting for her bag. It was so much easier when you could still meet passengers at the gate. His phone rang, "Foreman. Hey! Finally! I'm outside at the loading zone, across from the US Airways sign. I know there are fifteen US Airways signs. Look for the black guy with the blue car. Wait, I see you." He groaned and rolled his eyes, there was no missing her. He waved and she saw him. She too had a large rolling bag. Her hair was also sculptured in an intricate design on top of her head. She wore a very short, pink, ruffled skirt and a tank top emblazoned with 'Juicy' in glitter. At least it didn't say 'Bootylicous'. As she got closer, he saw the tattoo on her arm, 'Precious'. Her long legs were accentuated by her high-heeled Candies in a matching pink. She gave him a big hug, "Eric! It's so good to see you!"
He hugged her back, "Daphne, it's good to see you too. We've got to haul if we want to beat traffic."
A series of gold bracelets jingled as she handed him her bag. He popped the trunk and nearly got a hernia putting it in for her. She went to get in, but he beat her to the door and opened it for her, "What have I told you about that? You let the man get the door for you."
She stepped back so that he could open the door, "I like your ride. Got a good system in here?"
He got in and pulled away from the curb, and headed towards I-95. As they crossed over the Schuylkill River Daphne changed the radio station from 105 FM, Classic Soul and R&B to Power 99, a hip-hop station. Foreman rolled his eyes and turned down the volume.
"So tonight we're meeting some friends of mine for drinks and dinner. Is that okay?" He maneuvered into another lane to avoid being stuck behind a truck.
"Sure, are we going to the club? I'm in the mood to dance." She popped her fingers and bobbed her head in time with 50-Cent.
"We'll see." He said vaguely, embarrassed to admit that he didn't know a club in his neighborhood.
For the rest of the ride they talked about friends and family back in California. As they got close to their destination, Daphne touched up her lip-gloss. When they pulled up to the restaurant, she arranged herself and slung her small, Louis Viutton bag over her shoulder, waiting for Foreman to open the door.
He noticed, "Nice bag."
She brightened, "Thanks, Hector gave it to me."
"Hector?" He'd not heard about this one.
"He owns the jewelry store near my job. Whenever I got some overtime, I'd go in there and put things on layaway. We got to talking and now we're talking." She explained.
"So you're talking to a guy named Hector? How's Aunt Leona taking that?" He held the door open for her as she entered the restaurant.
She shrugged, "He treats me well, and he has a job. Besides, she doesn't get a vote. She doesn't pay my rent."
"And Hector does?" He had spotted Chase and Cameron and walked back towards them.
"No. I pay my rent. I'm not a hoochie." She slid into the booth and smiled at her new friends. "Hi, I'm Daphne."
Chase reached over to shake her hand, "And you're not a hoochie."
She laughed, "Right. You're cute."
Cameron extended her hand, "I'm Allison, and this is Robert although if you prefer you can call him Pervert, Idiot or Stop That."
"Pleased to meet you." She opened a menu and scanned it, "So what's good? I'm starving."
Cameron was about to recommend her favorite salad, when Foreman added, "But you are getting paid." He indicated Daphne's handbag.
"This was a birthday present. Hector is a nice man. He does spoil me a little, but I am not getting paid!" She said emphatically.
Foreman laughed, "What is the difference between being spoiled and getting paid?"
Cameron interrupted, "What is getting paid?"
Daphne stopped, "Oh my God, you don't know about getting paid?"
Foreman shook his head, "Sheltered."
Daphne nodded her understanding and shifted in the booth thinking about how to put it delicately to what appeared to be virgin ears. Cameron leaned in for the explanation. "Okay, some girls, not me, think that if they're giving it to their man, that he has certain, financial obligations."
There was a pause, much like at the UN, when the Russian ambassador had to wait for the translation, "So let me get this straight. They're prostitutes?"
"Yes." "No." Foreman and Daphne answered simultaneously.
"No," Daphne asserted, "They might have a job themselves, but they expect their man to help out. One of my friends has a basket where she keeps her bills. When her man leaves, in the morning," she said meaningfully, "he takes one of the bills with him."
"And he pays it?" Cameron said, like a slow child trying to understand the internal combustion engine.
"Right. She gets paid." Daphne concluded, "How are the burgers here? Big?"
It was still early when they finished dinner and Daphne again brought up the idea of going out to a club to dance. Foreman finally admitted it, "I have no idea where there's a club around here."
Daphne gave him an incredulous look, "Aren't there like, five colleges around here? There's NO club?"
Chase cleared his throat, "Well, there's a small student place called Blackbox, but you never know what's going on there. It's a very young crowd and they don't serve alcohol."
Daphne wrinkled her nose, "Is that it?"
"Well. I do know of a place, but it's not really a club…"
Foreman drove around the warehouse in Trenton one more time, "Chase, are you sure it's here?"
Chase fumbled around in his pocket for the paper. "Oh wait, it's not 5679 It's 6679."
They went back on the access road. When they got to their destination there were dozens of cars parked in front of what looked like an abandoned factory. "This is it."
When they go to the door, a kid had set up a makeshift admission booth on the stoop. "Twenty bucks a piece." He informed them with his hand out.
Foreman and Chase went for their wallets. Cameron stepped forward, "Sweetie," she addressed the kid, "We don't pay to get in."
He grew confused, "no?"
"No. Trust me, you want us to be in there. We'll make this party." She flipped her hair at him.
Daphne stepped up and bent over, "I just flew in from California, and I heard that this was the bangingest party on the East Coast." She adjusted something on her shoe, very nearly giving him a full shot of her thong, but not quite. Then she stood up. "Stamp my hand." He did as he was told.
When they got inside the massive space was illuminated with hundreds of candles, it was the fire marshal's nightmare. Foreman walked over to the 'bar', another kid stood behind an ironing board, mixing drinks from a very limited selection of cheap liquor. He bought everyone a Bud, the only thing offered in a can, and went over to the group.
The DJ, who appeared to be stealing power directly from the pole, was doing a great job of mixing. There were a throng of people dancing, both on the main level and on what were probably condemned catwalks and service stairs held onto the building by rust and hope.
Cameron grabbed Foreman and started dancing. Chase danced with Daphne. It was hot, smoky and dangerous, but that made it even more fun. The DJ put on 'Milkshake' and Daphne squealed, "This is my JAM!" Cameron was intrigued with her moves and made her way over to her, trying to imitate her. Daphne realized that Cameron wanted to learn her dance so she showed her. My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard…
It was nearly dawn when they got home. Daphne and Cameron had made plans to hit the mall the next day. Foreman dropped Daphne off at Cameron's apartment, and Cameron, having slept through her alarm, made her wait while she got dressed. Daphne took the opportunity to review Cameron's wardrobe. "Some of your stuff is cute, but some of it is so…"
"Boring?" Cameron pulled on a pair of low-rider jeans.
"Yeah. Like those are cute. Are you going to wear them with that top?" She pointed at the peasant blouse that Cameron thought of as her 'reserve Saturday outfit'.
"What's wrong with it?"
"Look, I've got long legs, a big butt and cute little titties. And I work all of it. No one's missing any of my attributes. You. You're little and tiny, but you wear stuff that makes you look bigger, or," she held up a hanger with a vest on it, shaking her head, "mannish. Why? Is it your job? You've got to dress a certain way?"
"Well, I've got to be professional." Cameron was intrigued.
"I have to dress professionally too. I have suits, I have hose. Work is work. You still don't have to dress like a man. Take that off." She went through Cameron's dresser and came up with a lace camisole. "Wear this."
"But that's underwear." Cameron said.
"Try it. It's cute." Daphne watched as Cameron pulled it over her head. "Yes. That's what you want. You've got a nice figure, why are you hiding it?" She shoved Cameron towards a mirror. "Now get out some high-heeled sandals and let's hit the mall."
Once at the mall, Daphne encouraged Cameron to go for a total wardrobe overhaul. In the back of her mind Cameron thought it was cosmic retribution for what they had done to Chase a couple of months back.
In the store and Daphne was trying to convince Cameron to buy nearly a thousand dollars worth of clothes, every stitch of which looked amazing on her.
"What's your theme song?" She asked.
Cameron again, felt like she was three feet underwater, "Theme song?"
"You know, what song plays in your head while you walk down the street? Mine is Beyonce's Crazy in Love." She walked down the aisle and back to the soundtrack in her head.
Cameron smiled, "My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard." She strolled up and back and realized that she had a completely different type of movement when she walked.
"There you go! Now let's lay down some plastic and get to Victoria's Secret. I suspect that most of your gear is tired."
Cameron had filled the trunk of her car with her purchases. She had channeled her inner diva and discovered that inside of her regular, milquetoast persona, that a fierce dominatrix was fighting to get out. Chase would have a field day with that. In the very back of her mind, she thought House might notice it too. The two women went back to Cameron's apartment and the first thing they did was bag up everything that didn't play into her new image and put it in the Goodwill Collection box.
Cameron had bought the Kelis CD and put it on to play while they both got ready for another night out. At long last, Chase was taking them to an "event".
Cameron drove Daphne back to Foreman's place, where he and Chase were drinking beer waiting for them to arrive. They both did a double take as they came through the door. Daphne had bought a white leather skirt that cupped her ass and stopped just shy of the top of her thigh. She paired it with a sheer, pink, lace top and her pink Candies. She was outdone by Cameron who had purchased a satin corset with fat ribbons for laces, both up the front and the back. Her tight, black jeans left just enough room to see that she was tottering around on stiletto high, black leather Candies with silver studs in them. She had bought herself a gold name plate with her name, Allison, spelled out in script. It nestled in the hollow of her throat, drawing attention to her full breasts spilling out over the top of her corset. Foreman swallowed and Chase paled. "Oh my God."
Foreman pulled Daphne into the kitchen, "What did you do to her?"
"Me? Why are you blaming me? She bought it. I just showed her where to find it." Daphne grabbed a soda out of the fridge.
"You turned her out." Foreman accused.
"Honey, she was already there, she just got a wardrobe adjustment, that's all." She walked back into the living room, "So are we going or are we just going to show off our new clothes to each other?"
Chase gave directions to a business park on the edge of town. They entered Command Performance, the men paid twenty dollars and the women were admitted free. There was a demonstration for newcomers.
Throughout the introduction Daphne continued to say, "freaky," under her breath. Cameron sat up and paid rapt attention. She especially enjoyed the information on leather goods.
Chase looked bored and swirled the ice cubes around in his drink. It was a BYOB place, so they were sharing a bottle of rum. Foreman tried hard not to look too interested.
At the end of the demonstration the assembled crowd was offered an opportunity to explore and play with the various tools and apparatus around the 'dungeon.'
A man in a wheelchair approached Daphne, "Pardon me, would you like to whip me?"
"Excuse me?" Daphne stared at him as though he were a roach in a restaurant.
He lowered his eyes, "May I kiss your feet?"
Daphne grabbed a cat o'nine tails off the wall. "Get over there," she pointed to a spot in the other part of the room, "I'ma beat on this freak." The man in the wheelchair looked grateful.
Chase laughed, "Damn, I'd have asked her if I'd have known she would have said yes."
Foreman glared at him, "That's my cousin."
Chase backed off, "Okay. No disrespect."
The two sat in stony silence. Cameron had been checking out leather paddles with a guy who was deceptively dressed in jeans and a T-Shirt. It seemed pretty innocent until she turned around and he spanked her with it.
"Oh shit." Chase said, suddenly feeling faint.
"Dude," Foreman agreed. "I so didn't need to see that."
"I so did." Chase said, "I wonder…"
Foreman grabbed his arm and shook his head, "Don't even. We have to work with her."
"So it's better for her to be with some random guy, than with someone who knows and cares about her?"
"Absolutely." I think it's time we cut out of here, it looks like things are going to get wild." I'll get Daphne, you get Cameron.
Chase went over to let Cameron know that they were leaving. Unfortunately there was a small retail store and it was another half-hour before they were on the road back home. Each of the women had a large bag and the car was permeated with the smell of leather.
On Monday, House entered his office, an hour late, as usual. Cameron was sitting at his desk and some rap song was blasting out of the speakers of his PC. There was something different about her. Her hair was down, and clipped back in a way that gave her a pouf on top. Instead of her usual pant suit, she had taken a page out of the Dr. Cuddy handbook and was wearing a pale pink form fitting top with a short skirt. Her lab coat keeping her modest, and in a way, making her seem even hotter for covering her up.
"Hey!" House yelled, indicting that it might be a good idea to turn down the sound.
I could teach you, but I'd have to charge.
She reached over and adjusted the volume, "Sorry." She piled his correspondence on his desk.
When she stood, he noticed her shoes, black, pointed toe, with buckles and a low, slender heel. Sexy and comfortable.
If you want it…the thing that freaks these boys.
She walked past him, and he saw the glint around her neck. A nameplate necklace. He wondered which boyfriend bought it for her. "Allison?"
She turned, knitting her brows at his using her given name, "yes?"
"Just reading your jewelry." He sat down behind the desk and shrugged off the case that carried his laptop.
Watch if you're smart.
"Oh, can I ask you a favor?" She stood close enough to whisper. He nodded, "I need a mild topical anesthetic, can you write me a 'scrip?" She rubbed her rear for emphasis.
"Get another tattoo?" He asked as he took his pad out of the desk.
"No."
La, la, la, la, la…the boys are waiting.