Exercise 5, Kevin Eib

It was just past midnight, her shift would be starting soon. I'd been sitting on the couch watching the Home Shopping Network, televangilists, workout ads; anything to pass the time which wasn't so much about precise minutes, seconds, the ticks counting down to an exact time (she was never on time) but the more general idea of passing time between the interminable stretch I'd spent alone on the couch--with one hand shoved under the unbuttoned beltline of my pants, the other digging into a bag of Cheetos like a bulldozer determined to get to the bottom of the bag--and the moment I would find myself beside her again. It was past midnight. It was time, or close enough (she was never on time). I smacked my hands together and brushed the remainder of the orange dust into my pant legs, buttoned up, and trudged myself the two blocks down the road to her work. Two blocks along a dirty sidewalk littered with the plain white carryout sacks from Yumi's burgers and Mediterranean food, an abandoned condom, and shards of broken glass. Two blocks further than my legs, still heavy from their respite on the couch, wanted to lumber; it was imperative I see her tonight. I breathed a sigh of relief at being a little closer to my girl, pushing through the conspicuously lit door under a marquee that still read L VE G RLS. If it hadn't been for the flashing lights around the door, it would have been easy to pass by without realizing just what treasure lie beyond its threshold. I didn't mind if business was slow, it meant more time for myself. There was a new kid at the counter, a skinny boy with dark greasy hair covering his eyes, concealing the better portion of his pimple ridden face. "Ten tokens," I said, handing over the bills. "Is Miranda in yet?" "Oh I don't know, the shift just changed at midnight." His voice was high, whiny. I was not eager to hear his voice grate away with any more explanations; I quickly swallowed the remainder of my questions. The kid obviously didn't know the girls or how they worked yet. I'd have to take my chances for tonight. There was nothing more in the shop's front end to occupy my time, I'd already thumbed the magazines earlier in the week. How much more time could I expect to throw away before I would see her again? I walked to the back of the shop, pulled back the black curtain and entered the darkened corridor filled with rows of doors. Number 5. That's where we met, Miranda and I. I pulled the door to and latched it behind me. Put the first of my tokens into the box to my left and waited for the window to open before me. Waited to see her long, sinewy legs working the chair on the other side. I could tell by her boots, the ones I bought for her at Pleasure Chest, how their laces worked up the length of her calf in tight red cords, it was Miranda, that we were only a few more bills beyond our being together. I slid them under the window in my signature configuration. Her approach stopped short and veered to another window and I knew he was there, the man she was leaving me for. She told me herself she was seeing someone else, how this wasn't going to work out between us. She told me herself, but how could I not already know. I could see the flowers sprouting from her eyes, flowers I had not given. Could see the blooming of another man's world in her eyes. It was all there, in her eyes. He had picked her up before her shift began. Brought her bleeding hearts, a memory of the childhood she spent yardening with her grandparents. Put them in a spaghetti sauce jar for a vase and made his way into the private space of her studio, a small but warm cozy of country girl knickknacks--mason jars filled with potpourri, mock antique lunch pails--bursting in a bouquet of nostalgia in the sweltering gray of the city. They went for coffee at a local bistro not far from her place. Ate crepes filled with buttery sauteed apples in cinnamon. She laughed at the way the filling stuck to the bottom of his lip and he thought about her lips pressed against his, the sweetness he would taste later between the two of them. They would let the time while away looking into each other's eyes with not much to say, knowing the closeness of their bodies was enough. He took her home before work where she let him shower with her, rubbing down her body with the perfumed gel, giving her skin the sugary scent of bubblegum. Lotioned her body with Love Spell, giving her skin a lavender scent that would follow her throughout the night. He wanted to devour all of her in that moment but she gave him just enough of her to make him want more. She was in a hurry now, had to put herself together for work. He would have to wait (she was running late.) Perhaps tomorrow, or the next night, they could spend an afternoon at home when she would have more time. It was this space of time that allowed me to claim her as my own, to keep her for myself. But I needed to know that her lips were not still burning with another man's memory. I would have to see her, talk to her, and convince her that I am her one and only. The window closed and she remained a silent absence, away from me, just outside my view with this other man, number six. I didn't bother with the tokens but erupted into the hallway and began pounding on the door marked Number Six. "I know you're in there, motherfucker. Think I don't know what's going on? Huh? Think I don't know?" It was Rafael, the bouncer who pulled me from behind, locking my arms and pushing me out the back door to the alleyway. "I need to talk to Miranda," I pleaded. "Just let me talk to Miranda." His face looked back at me with a puzzled expression. "Man, Miranda ain't even in tonight. Why don't you cool off and go home. Big Ray sees you making all this fuss you're gonna get the boot and for good this time." But I know what I saw. He's not fooling me. "I just saw her. You better not be shitting me." "Or what?" He stares at me long, hard. "Go home, man." I walk toward the lights of the main street and wait to hear the door close behind me. I will wait. I still have time. I have to talk to her.