Hello all! This update is relatively faster than my other ones. Yay! I hope you like it. And I hope it isn't going too slow...I just don't want it to seem corny and fake...I want it to be as real as possible...Hmmm...so, review and let me know what you think of this updation. :):)
Disclaimer: Nope, nothing...sigh.
Thanks for all the reviews! YAY! They are AwEsOmE. I think I'll do shout outs next time...yays.
A hard knock on the old decaying door caused Lottie to jump away from her mirror in which she was currently studying herself, making her heart race and her stomach drop. She was a classic mess. Outside, she looked the part of the cliché hooker she was supposed to play; long dark hair, black coal eyes, rouge glossy lips, her dress tight and fitting, black this time with blood red lace. But inside she was terrified. Terrified because she knew tonight was the night—she couldn't mess around anymore…she couldn't avoid what she came to do. Tonight she was ordered to go to Spot Conlon's room for the second time, but this time she needed money. If she didn't get her money, she wasn't going to last much longer. In order to get her money, Lottie knew what she had to do…and that absolutely horrified her.
How had she gotten in this mess? A question she had been asking herself an awful lot lately. The door rattled when the person knocked again. Lottie cringed and tentatively made her way over to the door, opening it reluctantly. She was surprised to see Miss Velvadine nowhere—instead she came eye to eye with Katie Rommely, the girl she'd met the previous morning. Katie was dressed the part as well…her long, dirty blonde hair was pulled away from her face in a long ponytail, her dress tight as well, her eyes lined as black as ever, painted up just the way the girls of the Widow's Rose were supposed to be. Her eyes were sad as she regarded Lottie, but she offered her a small smile.
"Hey," she said.
Lottie stepped aside, letting the girl in and closing the door gently behind her. Before she shut it, she glanced down the hall, relieved to see Miss Velvadine nowhere. Lottie turned to Katie, slightly surprised the girl had come. "Hi," she said, slowly returning to her dresser. She avoided her reflection, and instead played with the hairbrush in her hands.
"I see you're working tonight," Katie commented, taking a seat on the edge of Lottie's bed. "Where's she sending you now?"
Lottie sighed, remembering her destination and grimacing. "Spot Conlon's place. It's my second time there…well, the only place I've been actually…"
Katie's eyes widened. "She's sending you to Spot Conlon's?"
Lottie nodded, feeling uncomfortable and not liking Katie's tone. Katie just looked at her, slightly dumbfounded.
"Damn…Spice prolly wants tah kill ya," she commented. "That girl is practically obsessed with Spot…not to mention just about every other girl in New York…why in the hell would Miss Velvadine send you there? No offense, or anything…it's just…I mean, you've never done this before…"
Lottie shrugged, shaking her head. "I have no idea. I…last time I made a complete fool of myself! I feel like an idiot going back…he's expecting someone much, much more experienced."
Katie just shrugged, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "The best thing I can tell you is to just disconnect yaself. Don't think about it—don't get attached, don't feel. Your mind, your heart, they have to be completely somewhere else. Just…be numb to it all."
Lottie studied her hands, not sure if she could do what Katie said. It sounded so cold, and she felt foolish and sheltered. How could she make herself numb to something that was supposed to be a beautiful thing, it was supposed to be an act of love…not an occupation. She felt so dirty all the time and she hated that.
Katie sighed, seeing the frightened look in Lottie's eyes. She stood up and gently placed a hand on Lottie's shoulder. Lottie looked up to the older girl. Here was a girl that had been doing it for so long, and yet she still had kindness in her heart. What turned some people to stone, while others still managed to have a bit of humanity left in them?
"Why'd you come here?" Katie asked, raising an eyebrow curiously. "You're just a kid…and you'se obviously got an education, and you'se sure as hell ain't got no experience…what are ya doin' workin' in a whorehouse?"
Lottie hesitated, not sure if she could trust this girl and open up to her. The girl may have been painted up, looking the perfect part of a cheap whore, but her eyes were large and…still full of life, it seemed. They weren't dead like Miss Velvadine's eyes, or Lady's, or Spice for that matter. They were kind, and Lottie figured she had nothing to lose. She wanted a friend; she hated having to deal with everything on her own. Sometimes it was hard suffering without anyone by your side, and even if the girl was nothing more than an acquaintance, it was nice just talking to somebody.
"My mom past away," Lottie said simply. "It was just me and her for the longest time, my father left almost two years ago. It was hard having her sick all the time and I went to school, and there were the bills and my tuition. It was hard…eventually she died, and I just…was on my own I guess. I worked here and there, and Miss Velvadine found me working at a clothing store where I sewed and stuff like that. She offered me a job here sewing dresses for the girls…and one thing led to another, and I dunno. I need the money, I know that."
Katie shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry about your mother. I never knew mine. I wish I had though…were you and your mother close?"
Lottie smiled faintly at the memory of her mother, and wished she had something to remember her by. She used to have a locket her mother gave her a long time ago, but she'd lost it over the years. She'd do anything to find that locket, to have something of her mother with her. She didn't even have a photograph. She had no idea where they were.
"Yes," Lottie said quietly. "She was very loving. And so beautiful. She was Italian, straight from Italy. She was soft spoken and kind, but very stubborn. She was a hard worker. And she could play the piano better than anyone I'd ever heard."
Katie smiled. "She sounds lovely." She sighed, her smile flickering. "What I wouldn't do to meet my mother."
Lottie placed her brush down on her bureau and leaned against the drawers. "How…how did you end up here?"
"Eh, your basic orphan story I guess," Katie said unemotionally. "Never knew my mother, never knew my father. I have an older sister somewhere; we both just kind of lived on the streets. One day she left to get us some food and never came back. Anwyays, Miss Velvadine found me too one day wondering about and just offered me the job. I guess it's because of the money I stay with it…I'm savin' up…as soon as I get enough to buy a train ticket, I'm out of here and this godforsaken city."
"Yeah, me too," Lottie said softly. "I just want to earn money for college, I want to be a writer or something…as long as it's as far away from this city as possible. Kind of pathetic I have to resort to this I guess."
"Yeah." There was a beat of silence as the two just got lost in their own thoughts of everything about them, and wondering just if they were able to get out of New York City one day and leave behind the lives that no doubt were going to haunt them for years to come. Suddenly Katie stood up, remembering her reason for coming in the first place.
"I almost forgot!" She exclaimed, reaching behind her and grabbing a bottle and bandage from Lottie's bed where she had placed the articles. Lottie hadn't even noticed Katie had anything when she first came. "I brought this for your burn—it'll help, trust me. Cold water doesn't do the trick—this will help, it makes the scar fainter and makes it feel cool."
Lottie eyed the bottle. "Where'd you get it?"
Katie smirked. "Trust me, after years and years of Miss Velvadine, I've learned a thing or two to mend burns and scars, you know, all that good stuff that comes with living here."
Lottie grimaced. "Here, hold out your wrist," Katie instructed. Lottie did as told, curling her lip back in disgust at the repulsive scar on her inner wrist. Katie unscrewed the bottle top, a light, gooey liquid pouring out onto her fingertips. She gently rubbed her fingers along Lottie's tender burn, and instantly the ointment made Lottie's wrist feel cool and slightly tickle. Katie covered the entire burn, and placed the bottle behind her, turning back to bandage Lottie's wrist. When she finished, Lottie examined her work and grinned.
"Nicely done," she commented. She glanced at the clock on her bedroom wall and nearly choked from shock. "Oh no…I've got to go, Spot's expecting a hooker in twenty minutes…thanks," she added, holding up her wrist.
Katie gathered her materials and nodded soundly. "Sure. Good luck tonight—remember what I told you. I hope everything goes okay. Just…don't be afraid. You can never be afraid."
Lottie nodded, wishing she could stay here instead and talk with Katie some more. She didn't want to do what she was going to do. Katie could read this and sighed softly.
"It gets…easier," she said hastily. "You…kind of get used to it. Just think of the money and getting out of here—the sooner you just do it, the sooner you get the money and the sooner you can just, get out."
Lottie nodded. "I know."
Katie offered a friendly smile. "Well, I'm off. My client's all the way over in Queens…quite a hike. Hey Lottie, come by my room anytime, if you ever need anything. I'm only a few doors down—room twenty-four."
Lottie smiled gratefully. "Thank you Katie. I guess I'll be seeing you." With one last good bye, Lottie watched Katie ago and then sighed to herself. This is it. She thought bitterly. She had no choice. It was time to stop being afraid…it was time to become detached, become numb to it all.
Spot was getting antsy. And that was saying something, because Spot Conlon never got 'antsy.' He was always sure of everything; he always had confidence in everything he did. But lately, he'd been faltering and he didn't quite know why. But all he knew was that right now he was getting antsy, and this time he did know why. He was expecting someone. Someone from the Widow's Rose. And what bugged him was that he wasn't sure exactly who it was going to be. He prayed and prayed that it was Spice, that Spice was going to be visiting him again as frequently as she had before and whatever it was she was doing to keep her from him was over. And yet in the back of his mind he knew there was a possibility it wasn't going to be Spice and it'd be that other girl and whenever he thought of this 'other girl', it made him feel weird and all he could remember was that smile she'd given him in Tibby's the other day, and he felt unsure. Almost, apprehensive.
He didn't want a repeat of their first meeting if it did turn out it was her again. He wanted a woman's touch, not a woman's conversation. If he wanted to have a conversation, he had others for that. He wanted to just forget all of his problems, forget about everything for just a little while. When he was with a woman, it was almost like an escape for him. While he didn't necessarily care for the woman and the only thing he felt towards her was in his pants and not in his chest, he just forgot about everything around him. It wasn't making love—when he was with a hooker, a girl; it was pure, hard, cold sex. Not unpleasant—he always pleased his women, thus he was the most popular bachelor in all of New York and he earned himself the title of an absolute womanizer, it was just not really warm and soft. He didn't love the women he slept with. And he never told them he did. That was one thing—he respected women, he never told a girl he loved her to get her in bed. While he didn't always treat them great—they always felt slightly used and just another trophy with him—he would never hurt a woman physically. Some would call his doings an 'obsession.' He didn't care. Spot knew what everyone thought of him—they thought he was nothing but a cold, ruthless, womanizing, bitter leader. But he didn't care. The opinions of everyone didn't mean shit to him. So what if most of those things were true? Spot couldn't fucking care less. And that was just it; he didn't care. He never cared.
But now he was antsy. He sat on his bed, smoking the last of the cigarettes he had, trying to figure out what would happen if the hooker turned out to be the girl from before—would she resist Spot yet again and make his night worthless? Or would she comply with Spot, and satisfy him? He wasn't really sure which he'd rather she do—resist or comply. He didn't really want to be bothered with her, but that didn't mean he wouldn't mind having his way with her. Spot just hoped Spice would come—she was the best damn fuck he'd ever had, and he sorely missed that.
A knock sounded on his door and he jumped, taken aback. He was so into his thoughts he hadn't checked the time and with a jolting lurch in his stomach he realized the hooker was here—whether it was Spice or not, he had no idea and he wanted to eagerly find out. Crossing his bedroom, he put out the stub of his cigarette and took one last breath before opening the door, regarding his visitor.
His first reaction upon seeing who had knocked on his door was disappointment. Disappointment because the girl wasn't Spice, disappointment because he feared it would indeed be a repeat of the previous night. Disappointment because the girl was indeed the same prostitute from before, the same hooker he'd seen in Tibby's the same damn hooker that annoyed the hell out of him by being so nervous and inexperienced at their first encounter. Spot's second reaction, however, was different. His eyes flicked over the girl, and he realized she looked different than she had at the diner. She was fully done up, in a fitting and seductive black dress, her long dark hair loose and parted so that some covered part of her right eye mysteriously. She looked like she had the first time he'd seen her. While she was wearing a lot of makeup, she wasn't as bad as he thought and he really hoped she wouldn't talk all night. Spot also realized he wasn't as annoyed as he thought he'd be if she showed up at his room again. He was surprised at not being totally annoyed. Confused by everything that was going through his mind; he didn't say anything and just looked at her, not realizing how long he'd been looking.
The girl cleared her throat and raised her eyebrows, obviously waiting to be invited inside. He stepped aside immediately and saw that while she still looked nervous and uncomfortable, she, too, obviously didn't want a repeat of the first night. She seemed to be determined as she walked straight into his bedroom and faced him. He realized that this was her job, and she'd probably gotten in trouble for not bringing any money back before. Spot realized she didn't have a choice anymore, and she knew what she had to do and was willing to do it. He wasn't sure whether was happy about that or not, and that made him all the more confused.
He shut the door and turned to her, unsure of really what to say. He didn't have uch time to think of anything to say because the girl—he really wished he remembered her name—was walking toward him and in seconds she had pressed her body close to his. He looked down at her, his eyebrow quirked in surprise. Spot saw that she looked a bit uncomfortable and nervous, but she wasn't stopping. She must really need that money, Spot thought in the back of his mind. He shrugged off his thoughts and put his hands around her waist, waiting to see if she'd throw him off. She didn't. Instead, she put her hands—albeit hesitating for a split second and slightly shaky—on his chest and stood on her tiptoes, pressing her mouth against his. He tried to hide his surprise as she kissed him softly. It definitely wasn't the kiss of a prostitute—hard nd rough. No, her kiss was soft and innocent, the way a kiss probably should be. She wasn't aggressive, probably because she'd never really done it before Spot realized. He almost found himself enjoying her soft lips before he realized what she was doing. Something just wasn't right. He felt…almost, bad. He tried to fight off his conscious as he deepened the kiss, holding her tight. She slowly crept her arms around his neck, and this time she actually kissed him back. And yet, Spot just didn't feel right.
Not that he didn't mind kissing her. Given she seemed a little nervous and fumbled slightly; but she really did have such soft lips. Spot was so used to the girls he kissed being eager and rowdy, having rough lips with gallons and gallons of rouge pasted on them. It was different kissing her—she was tentative and shy. Spot knew she was new and she acted it, but she really was trying. He could tell she was trying so hard to not push him off; she was trying to keep going. He felt her stiffen, and just as she was about to push his hands off, she must have realized what she was doing and she just stayed in place, kissing him. They broke apart for need of air, and she looked at him, knowing what she had to do.
Spot really felt bad, and he hated that. He watched her small hands make their way to the first button of his shirt and she began to unbutton the flannel material, biting her lip and trying to kip her hands from shaking. She got down to his last button and pushed his shirt off. She took a breath, and Spot noticed she wouldn't meet his eyes. He almost wished she'd start talking and rambling like she had. He hated how she was so uncomfortable and obviously nervous—he liked his girls ready and willing and obviously experienced.
She kissed him again, her hands on his chest. At first when she placed her hands on his chest she recoiled slightly, surprised at the feeling of his bare skin. But she placed her hands back on him, and he vaguely wondered if all she was thinking about was the money and if that was what kept her going. She began to push him gently, causing him to back up and stop only when he felt the back of his legs hit his bed. She broke away and pushed him down, causing him to sit on the edge of his bed and she stood in front of him. Spot looked at her, wondering what she was going to do.
She hesitated, and for a moment he fully expected her to turn around and leave right then. But to his surprise she took his hand and gently guided it around her and placed it on the small of her back, where the buttons of her dress began. Spot tried to hide his surprise, and he turned her around gently. He didn't know why exactly he was being gentle—he never really was before. But in this case he felt he almost had to be gentle, or he'd scare her off or something. She stood in front of him, back toward him, and he began unbuttoning her dress. He was quick and swift—after years of practice, of course. When he reached the last button, he pushed the sides of her dress off and she let the dress fall to her ankles. She turned to face him, dressed only in her corset and knickers. He wanted to just go ahead now with it—he leaned his head down to kiss her and she let him. For about three seconds. Just as his hands were making their way to the strings of her corset to undo the deadly thing, she took a sharp intake of breath and pulled away. Her eyes were large and full of regret. And yet there was sadness and she looked like she wasn't sure if she should continue or not.
"I—I…I can't do this," she stammered, looking down shamefully. "I'm sorry…I—I can't."
Spot stood up, unsure of what to say. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He just watched her, standing there, looking ashamed and her face steadily flushing. She looked up and swallowed.
"I'm really sorry Spot," she said, just above a whisper. "I—I just can't…I'm really trying, I thought I could do it I swear I did…I tried taking Katie's advice! I tried being numb, but it wasn't working, all I kept thinking about was that this isn't how I wanted it to be, this wasn't right, I know I need the money but I don't know, I just couldn't do it I—"
Spot interrupted her ramble, which was not making any sense to his ears. "Whoah. Take a breath goil. Calm down." She looked up at him and shook her head, burying her face in her hands. Spot didn't know what to do—this was extremely awkward. He just stood there, watching the girl crumble.
She lowered her hands, peering up at Spot. "This isn't how I wanted it to be, I'm sorry."
Spot raised an eyebrow. "Wanted what tah be?"
The girl bit her lip, looking embarrassed. "Well…you know…my…oh never mind, it'll just sound childish."
Spot rolled his eyes inwardly, wanting to tell the girl she had long past childish. He was irritated that she'd suddenly stopped, but for some reason her rambling seemed to bring him back to his senses. He took a seat on his bed, studying her. What the hell. Why not talk to her? He could get rid of her right now; he could get another hooker who'd satisfy him. But she looked so embarrassed and she really needed the money that much was evident. He didn't know why he kept talking to her, but something inside just sparked his curiosity.
"I'se sure it won't sound childish," he told her, not really knowing why he was interested. The girl grimaced at him, biting her lip. He racked his brain for her name—he knew it started with an "L". He really wished he had remembered her name—it'd just make things easier in the end.
"Well," the girl started, wringing her hands nervously, something she'd done the first night as well. "I just…I didn't want…my…oh what the hell…this isn't how I wanted my first time to be."
She immediately blushed and winced, expecting Spot to either laugh or do something that humiliated her. He merely sat there, stunned by her explanation, trying to understand exactly what she meant. Sure, he new she was inexperienced, but he never thought of himself as the one to…take her 'innocence' away. He just raised his eyebrows, looking at her dumbfounded.
She seemed to be absolutely mortified. She stood before him; her hair tousled, her lipstick faded, there, in nothing but her corset and knickers, blushing something fierce. She felt like nothing short of an idiot. Spot coughed, unsure of really what to say.
"Um…well," he searched for words to say. She just shook her head and picked her dress up off the floor, obliviously giving Spot one hell of a view down her corset. He diverted his gaze, feeling wrong for looking at her like that without her knowing. She held her dress to her, covering herself.
"I just," the girl started softly. Her eyes were sad. "I wanted it to be special, you know? I didn't want it to be with someone who couldn't care less about me, who didn't know me, I didn't want it to be because I was getting paid…I…I wanted to be in love, I guess…I know that sounds stupid. I…I wanted it to be something special, something…beautiful…I dunno, I'm sorry…I…oh God I've made such a fool of myself." She looked down, looking like she wanted to disappear.
Spot rubbed the back of his neck, feeling like an idiot as well. The poor girl, he thought. She was so young and naïve. He remembered his first time and how none of those thoughts had even crossed his mind—he never thought of it as something like that…something beautiful? He looked at sex in a totally different light. He swallowed, wanting to just get rid of the girl. He really wished Miss Velvadine would just send him Spice or another hooker for that matter—this really was rather exhausting.
The girl tucked her hair behind her ears and something caught his eye. She had a bandage wrapped around her wrist. He frowned, looking at the bandage. Before he could think about it, he blurted out, "What happened?"
The girl looked up. She quirked an eyebrow, then looked at the bandage as well. "Nothing," she said, moving her wrist out of sight. Spot wasn't satisfied; he reached out and grabbed her wrist. She winced in pain and immediately he dropped her arm.
"I don't think 'nothin' would hoit ya," Spot commented smartly. She looked at him and gave him a questioning glance. He grabbed his shirt from the floor and put it on, buttoning the buttons up. "What happened?"
She hesitated, and then shrugged. "Cigarette burn." Spot raised an eyebrow.
"I didn't know ya smoked," he said, wanting to smirk. The girl gave him a look, and then rolled her eyes.
"I don't."
He didn't want to smirk anymore. He felt a sick feeling in his stomach as he realized where she had gotten that burn. He knew how, but he wanted to make sure anyway. "Did…did Miss Velvadine give ya that?"
The girl swallowed and stepped into her dress, not meeting his eyes. "Can you button this up for me?" She asked, ignoring his question. He obeyed, and when he was finished the girl took a breath and looked at him.
"Listen, I'm sorry again," she said, and she truly sounded sorry. "I…I'll make sure I don't come back to you. I don't know why Miss Velvadine keeps sending me…"
Spot hesitated, and he didn't know why but he reached into the back pocket of his pants and held out a roll of bills. The girl's eyes widened, but she shook her head. "Uhm, no, don't worry about it."
Spot continued to hold out the money. "Listen goil, I'se hate tah break it to you'se but if you'se don' bring back somethin' she's just gonna hoit ya again. Ya know if ya keep this up you'se ain't nevah gonna get paid."
She looked upset but nodded. "I know, I…I still can't take the money."
"What are ya gonna do when she sends ya to anotha client?" Spot asked, raising his eyebrows. "Are ya gonna refuse 'im too? What if he won't have it? What ya gonna do then?"
The girl narrowed her eyes. "I don't know! I…I don't know…"
Spot shook his head and thrust the money into her hands. "Take it, okay. Just…get yer act together goily." She took the money, and looked at him, thanking Spot with her eyes. Then, she gave him a crooked smile.
"I have a name, you know," she said, raising an eyebrow. Spot immediately regretted not remembering it. She laughed, obviously aware he had forgotten. "It's Lottie, just so you know."
She turned to leave, and Spot smiled softly to himself. He hadn't been too far off…he'd gotten the "L" right at least. Lottie turned around and sighed softly.
"Thank you," she said. He nodded, wishing she'd leave already. "And I'm sorry again…"
Spot just shrugged. "Forget it," he muttered, sitting on his bed and reaching under the mattress to pull out a new carton of cigarettes. He lit one, and gave the girl a questioning look. She hesitated, opened her mouth to say something, then deciding against it she closed her mouth, turned, and left.
Spot lay back on his bed, wondering why he had paid the girl and wondering if he'd ever see her again. He didn't really care, but there was just something about her that intrigued him. A hooker who was a virgin, who rather make love than have sex, who didn't want to sleep with Spot Conlon. It blew his mind.