They were in the parking lot.
Doctor Ralph was looking at a spreadsheet on
his tablet computer perched on the steering wheel and Bethany was pouting.
“I thought you meant something nice,” she said. “Seriously, if you’re
just gonna buy me some greasy fast-food, you’re not getting any special
treatment from me.”
Doctor Ralph said “Oh, believe me, this is
going to be unlike anything else you’ve ever tasted.” She snorted, and he
continued “Just gimme a sec, I’m checking up on their secret menu.”
Bethany perked up a bit at this and said “Oh
yeah? This one of those places where they got weird shit that they don’t
advertise but you can order anyway like I read about on the Internet?”
Doctor Ralph said “Yeah, something like
that,” and went back to his spreadsheet. Bethany leaned over to read it, saying
“Like what? Lemme see.”
He pulled the tablet close to his chest and
angled it away from her, saying “Oh, no, I can’t let you see. I signed a
nondisclosure agreement when I worked there and if it ever got out, I’d get
sued or something.”
“Oh,” she said, sinking back into her seat.
It was a good lie, thought Doctor Ralph, because it was partially true. He
flicked his finger up the screen and fiddled with the columns for another
minute and asked, “I don’t suppose you know your blood type, do you?”
“B-negative,” she said, taking a file out of
her purse and working on her nails. “They always ask when I go to the clinic to
get checked, so I just memorized it.” Doctor Ralph paused in his work for a
moment, and she continued, “It’s cool, I’m clean. I got checked just last week,
so you know it’s good, baby…” She leaned over and kissed his cheek as she
finished her sentence and he had to stop himself from shooing her away. He was
happy to hear she was clean, but he had no intention of having sex with her.
He’d found the rest of the test subjects with B-negative blood-types, filtered
out all male subjects, and created a new slot for Bethany within the new
list.
Female – age ~35 – ~5’9” – approx. 140 lbs. –
Type B- - chx+guac+let+wheat
He left the seventh column empty for the
moment, as he figured he could simply record the details after the experiment
was complete. Then he folded the tablet closed and pulled into the drive-thru.
“So what am I getting?”
asked Bethany.
“It’s a new sandwich
they’re test-marketing in the Midwest, but they’ll make it anywhere if you
order it right,” he answered. In the drive-thru line they were greeted and
halfheartedly welcomed to the restaurant by a broken speaker and a cracked
screen that was supposed to display your order as you placed it, but right now
it read “404 ERROR – CONTACT WINDOWS ADMINISTRATOR.”
“Yeah, can I please get
the new signature chicken on whole wheat with just guacamole and lettuce?”
The screen didn’t even
blink but the response, while unintelligible, was positive sounding, so Doctor
Ralph assumed that meant that they got the order. After a brief pause the
speaker blurted something else in a mixture of static and muffled voice, and
Doctor Ralph said “No, thank you, that’ll be all.”
“Can I get a coke?”
asked Bethany.
“What?”
“A coke. I’m thirsty.”
“So I’ll get you some
water at the hotel.”
“Are you kidding? I
don’t even like showering at that place, I’m not going to drink the water
there.”
“Then let me get you a
bottle of water on the way, I…” he had to think about it for a second, but
finally said “…just want to make sure you get the full flavor. I don’t want to
ruin the sandwich for you, I just want to watch you eat it.”
It’s important to know
that Bethany had seen some weird shit.
She’d had men pay to
watch her shower with Fun Bubbles bath soap (nothing dirty with the cartoon
mascot bottle, mind you, just shower and use the extra-foamy cream). She’d had
men pay to watch her stimulate herself while watching television (everything
from South Park to Downton Abbey to the NBA Playoffs to congressional
hearings). She’d had plenty of sex as well, of course, but it was always the
guys who didn’t actually touch her that stood out in her mind. Something about
taking money from guys that, to her, she didn’t really do anything with always
bugged her.
In high school she was
raped, and almost her entire family didn’t believe her. Only her sister Jane,
who grew up to the family favorite because she was the county coroner now,
believed her story and demanded justice. Nothing came of it, of course, because
the word of two middle-class white girls against a middle-class white boy in a
small town that prided itself on how peaceful and safe it was didn’t mean shit.
But Bethany decided that
she would forever be in charge of her own body, her own sexuality. After she
ran away from home (helped by Jane), she started hooking. She enjoyed the power
of picking and choosing her clients herself, and any time she ever felt unsafe,
she left. More than a few men were abandoned, mid-stroke, when they said the
wrong thing or crossed the line, but Bethany didn’t care. She was in charge of
her life and her body, and fuck anybody who tried to say otherwise.
She kept a .22 pistol in
her purse, and had used it once. A client crossed the line, she got up to leave,
and he tried to stop her. He was so enraged and engrossed in stomping on her
that he didn’t notice her reaching into her purse and getting the gun out. When
he reared back for another kick, she swung around, planted the barrel firmly
against his dick, and pulled the trigger.
Such a small gun made
barely a POP when it went off, and the guy himself screamed even louder as he
fell backwards, clutching at his crotch. She stood up and tried to walk away,
but he lunged for her again.
The second time she pulled the trigger, the
gun was level with his face.
The bullet entered the corner of his eye and
never exited the skull.
He died instantly.
The owner of the hotel called the cops and
gave them a bullshit story about some midget hooker that he’d never seen before
with dark hair and huge tits that sent the cops on a wild goose chase well away
from Bethany.
Bethany never asked him about it, and he
never talked about it, but she knew that the hotel was a safe place for her, so
she nearly always ended up there with one of her clients.
Doctor Ralph was driving her there now.
But out of all the weird shit she’d seen and
done, she had never been paid by a client to watch her eat a sandwich.
“Okay,” she said. “But make sure it’s some of
the good bottled water. None of this generic, gas-station brand bullshit.”
They pulled through a gas station next to the
fast-food place and he bought her a liter bottle of fancy water that was
(according to the label) naturally filtered through a volcanic layer of
sediment from the French Alps, and Bethany was happy with it. Doctor Ralph knew
that it was actually pulled from a reservoir in Cleveland, Ohio, but he didn’t
say so. He wanted to get Bethany back to the hotel and fed.
He wanted to know what would happen when she
ate the sandwich.
They pulled in and she led him to the front
desk. The tired front desk clerk said “Evenin’ Beth,” when they walked in. “Got
a new friend, I see.”
“Yeah, we’re gonna need a room for a little while,
if you don’t mind.” She responded.
“Sure thing, you know the drill,” he said,
sliding a clipboard towards them. “Print your name and address, then sign next
to it. Rooms are $75 per hour or $150 for the whole night.”
Doctor Ralph balked at that. “Excuse me?” he
said. “That’s a little extravagant, don’t you think?”
Bethany slapped her face in her palm and the
man behind the counter tensed. “Sure thing, pal,” he said, pulling the clipboard
back. “Tell you what, why don’t you head down the street to the Holiday Inn,
where they’ll ask for a credit card and identification, and everything is
stored and saved and backed up and shared with corporate on a nightly basis.
You want cheap? Fuck off to Cheers where everybody knows your name. You wanna
get handsy with my friend here? You pay up and I don’t ask questions. You got
it?”
Doctor Ralph thought about it for a second
and realized how much of a deal this really was, and handed over two $100
bills. As he did, the man started to slide the clipboard back across the
counter and Doctor Ralph paused, saying “No. You get this, you keep the change,
and I don’t fill out a goddamned thing.”
The desk clerk looked at Bethany, who nodded,
and he slid the clipboard back under the desk. When Doctor Ralph put the two
bills on the counter he slid them straight into his pocket, then turned and
took an actual physical room key off a pegboard and tossed it on the counter. “Beth,
your usual room’s clean. Head on over.”
“Thanks,” she said, picking up the key.
She took Doctor Ralph’s hand and guided him
out the door, down the row of identical doors, and into room 110 at the end of
the hotel.
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