Girl in the Picture

Tommy sat on a log in his campsite on the highway into Las Vegas. Should he go into town? He budgeted himself $30 per day, and the campsite and gas $25 of that, so he had a cool $5 extra to spend, but what kind of cross-country trip wouldn’t have a stop in Vegas?  So he took $75 out of his stash and said fuck it, though he had to get to Steve in Cali to talk about the guy they killed. What was their plan? The cops were interviewing everybody Tommy knew. Had they gotten to Steve?

But then Tommy thought about the things he’d heard about Vegas. Free food and the chance to win some money, which he sorely lacked, so he decided to go without thinking any more about it.

Should he leave his tent at the campsite? He didn’t feel like packing up his tent, stove, and sleeping bag since he would be back tonight, so screw it. Hopefully, no one would steal his stuff.

He drove into Las Vegas without a plan. Then he saw there were really cheap hotels. Should he stop? Why not? He’d slept in a tent all the way from New Jersey, and he suddenly wanted a break. So he checked into a hotel that ate $40 of his reserves. Nuts. Even as a college graduate last year, he didn’t have a credit card, just the cash that had to be strung out for the rest of the trip, or he would be stranded somewhere in the middle of the country.

The hotel was near a casino, but first he went to his room.  It had a table and a bed, and that’s it.  The door to the outside wouldn’t fully shut, so he resigned himself to listening to the huge trucks idling directly outside his door in the parking lot.

On the table, he found a magazine full of escorts. Tons and tons of pictures and descriptions of hookers. Is that legal here? Should he spend more of his reserves? Of course. Why not? He was perpetually horny, so he called one that looked young and pretty and promised “the girlfriend experience,” which sounded cool. Tommy had never hired a hooker before.

About an hour later, the door opened, and a huge guy was standing there with a gun fastened to his hip. Tommy jumped off the bed and ran for the bathroom, but didn’t make it.

“You called for some company,” the man said.

“I guess,” Tommy grimaced, scared shitless and regretting what he had done.

“What do you want? ½ or all the way? top, bottom, what? You want a blowjob? That’s $50.”

Christ, Tommy thought. I don’t want anything.

But the man glared at him, and a woman stood behind him and smoked a cigarette.

“C’mon, baby,” she said, walking into the room beside the mangy guy. “What do you want?” she asked as she walked up to Tommy and ran her long pink nails across his chest, leaving lines on his t-shirt. Tommy felt nervous as hell.  This was not the girl in the picture; not even close. She was ugly as sin with dark teeth and a huge, fat ass that showed from the front. 

He wanted to get out of there immediately, but it was his room.  Still, should he try to make a break for it and go back to his campground?  But how would he get past the guy with the gun?  Holy shit, there was a guy with a gun in his room. 

“Make up your mind,” the man said, and Tommy felt very small and innocent. Fuck sakes, who wants a blow job from this skank with that big hairy dude standing there?

Tommy’s mind exploded with options, but there were very few available.  Run, fight, or do something with this lady in a tight gray dress, big hooker heels, and the remains of her blond hair in a ponytail,  so he could see the gray roots near her visible scalp.  He shrank from her and felt like he was going to cry. 

She seemed to sense this and said softly, “C’mon, honey, c’mon over here, and her fingertips gripped his, and she guided him toward the bed, where he abruptly sat and looked up at her.  She set her hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eyes. 

“What are we going to do tonight, honey?” She asked as she pushed him back onto the bed.  Tommy crabwalked backward until he was up against the headrest. 

“Aww, he’s square,” she said to the hairy guy with the gun.

Tommy resisted as she gently pulled and pushed him until her pushing got harder, and he abruptly stood up beside the bed.  “I’ve got to get out of here, “ he said in a high voice.

He was wearing a t-shirt and gym shorts, and she suddenly pulled down on the hem of his shorts, and they were around his ankles with his soft penis hanging there.  The man at the door said, “Aren’t we forgetting about something?”  Tommy shrank again.  What? What does he want?  Isn’t this bad enough? What could make it worse? 

“$50,” the man said, still by the doorway.  Oh fuck Tommy thought, panicked.  He reached into his sock where he had his money rolled up, and he pulled it out.  He didn’t want a blow job, a fuck or anything.  He just wanted them away.  He had the wad of cash in his hand, and the man quickly stepped forward and closed his giant fist over Tommy’s hand, and the cash was gone, and so was the woman, who walked briskly out of the room.  The man stood there and watched Tommy for a few moments, and then turned and followed the woman out the door.

Tommy pulled his pants up and went to close and lock the door, but it wouldn’t close or lock, so he ran across the lot to his car to leave and immediately saw that the driver’s side window wasn’t there, and there were glass shards all over his seat.  Panicked, he opened the door and sat inside on the glass.  He had to get out of there.  And then he noticed his car’s radio and his CB radio were both gone. No more tunes. No more talking with lonely truckers. The hours of his drive just got far longer.

He sat in the broken glass and drove back to his campsite beside the highway.  His stuff was still there, but his mind raced–he didn’t know what he’d do for gas money with what was left in the glove compartment.  Tommy ached for a drink, but that was out of the question now because he had no money.  Maybe that’s a blessing in a way, he thought sadly, as he cursed himself.