Bourbon Street Blues

Just hurry up and get it over with.  Oh, God, don't kiss me again.  Yuk!  If I can just hold my breath long enough I won't have to taste your sour breath and saliva... Oh, not the tongue... I think I'm gonna gag... no, I can handle it.  Just think about something else, yeah something else... the money... the money... the cold hard cash.  If I can make it through this disgusting experience without throwing up, I'll have enough money to get a hotel room tonight.  It'll all be over shortly... I can do this... Yeah, yeah, that's it, keep going, you're almost there... hurry up...almost, almost... 

Done. Finally. A sigh of relief.  Now just give me my money so I can get the hell outa here you sick bastard!  

He puts his hairy arms around me and snuggles up closely, in-twining his bony legs around mine.  His eyes are closed, his hot putrid breath in my ear, his limp manhood exhausted.  He's snoring.  Jesus Christ!  There's no way in hell I'm gonna lay here all night with your sweaty cold body on top of me.  You smell so horrible... don't you ever shower?  No wonder you have to pay for sex... That's it, I'm gonna puke... I gotta get up...get off of me...

I run for refuge in the bathroom, locking the door behind me.  I lean over the toilet and let it all out... purging myself of his nasty toxins... the more I think about him the more I purge...the smell...the taste... the degradation...I puke until there's nothing left in me to come out... my stomach muscles continue to cramp as I dry heave into the bowel...

I stand up, lightheaded, dizzy... I turn on the faucet of the sink and rinse out my mouth... God I wish I had some Listerine... soap, yeah soap, that'll work... I dispense the liquid soap onto my tongue and swish it around, allowing it to bubble and foam.  I rinse it out until every last particle of him is gone...

I look up and witness my reflection in the mirror.  Oh God, bad idea!  Don't look at yourself...don't think about it... just go out there and get the money and go...

He's awake now, sitting up against the pillows, completely naked, smoking a cigarette...he stares blankly at the ceiling...he is silent.  A hundred dollar bill is lying on the nightstand... Thank God, at least I don't have to remind him... I snatch the hundred dollar bill and secure it safely in my bra.

So now what?  Am I supposed to say goodbye? I hope he's not expecting a goodnight kiss.  I casually walk over to the bureau and retrieve my purse.  I can feel his eyes watching me, but I don't dare look.   My black stilettos are lying somewhere on the other side of the bed... that means I'm gonna have to walk past him... oh hell with the shoes, I can walk barefoot!

With my purse clutched tightly against my bosom and my paycheck snugged securely in my bra, I gently turn the cold metal knob and open the door.  The bright florescent lighting of the hotel corridor startles me as I peer out into the hall... it's silent, lifeless...good, no one will see me.  I quickly close the door behind me and make my way  to the bright red exit sign down the hall.  The stairway is dark and cold, but I don't care.  I run down the steps, ignoring the sharp particles of dirt that pierce the soles of my naked feet... finally, the back exit door...I hope the fire alarm doesn't go off... it doesn't, thank God...

The cool night air feels good.  I take a deep breath, allowing the crisp fresh oxygen to fill my lungs.  I stroll along the cold pavement.  The night is unusually quiet, almost dead.  Strange for a Tuesday night in the Quarter.  I can hear faint whispers of Cajun music playing from somewhere off in the distance.  Someone's having a good time somewhere... somehow.  I continue to walk up Royal Steet, passing sleeping towne houses lined with black iron gates and hanging plants...  

Crossing over to Ursalines, I can now see my destination three blocks up the street... the Empress Hotel... twenty dollars a night... Oh how I can't wait to take a nice long hot bath...
and a bed, a real bed, all to myself... Oh yeah, tonight I'm living in style!  No sleeping on the park bench in Jackson Square tonight, no fighting off rats for leftover scraps of po'boys...Tomorrow I start my new job at the restaurant... eight bucks an hour plus tips...forty hours a week...in a month I can afford a deposit for an apartment... All I have to do is get through the next four weeks... I can do it... I'll figure out something... Soon this will all be over and everything will be okay... No one will ever have to know about tonight... It'll just be my dirty little secret...someday I'll forget about it, God-willing...