Horizontal Lives

True Tales of the Infamous Courtesan: Persephone N. Hades and her Horizontal Life underground. How she got there, her mis-adventures and her struggle to re-surface.

Wednesday, November 10, 2004

Losing the Ring up Grandma Petunia's Butt

My client, the one who looks frighteningly, exactly like Abraham Lincoln, asks me:
"You know what you need in your life, kid?"
"A man."
My 11 a.m. champagne (a whore’s breakfast) zips down the wrong pipe. When I finish choking, hacking, and coughing (very daintily, of course) I say,
"A man? I have a man. I have men. I have many, many men-z. Maybe too many men. What do you mean?"
"One good, solid man. You deserve it kid. I don’t understand why someone hasn’t scooped you up by now."
"Are you joking?"
He’s serious.
"Why don’t you fix me up with someone."
"I thought about it. All the guys in my office are schmucks."
"I can’t date!"
"Why not?"
"Have you forgotten what I do?"
"So what. You just need someone whose a grown-up."
"Oh my Abee-baby. You are so sweet to think of me that way. It’s hard."
"I’m tellin’ ya kid, (he always calls me kid, even in bed,) you’d make some lucky guy a great wife."
I hug him tight and kiss him on the cheek.
"I can’t go on a date. You know what would happen? Let’s say we go out. He asks me what I do for a living. Boom. I have to lie. If we make it to the third date when I might actually confess the truth, I’ve just spent the past month lying to him. So either he hates me for lying or hates me for what I do, or both.
"When was the last time you had a boyfriend?"
"A boyfriend or a date?"
"Either, now that you mention it."
"I was engaged three times you know. Though I never quite made it all the way down the aisle."
He raises his eyebrows.
"My first fiancé died. Oh no. Don’t look sad. It was a long time ago. He was a wonderful man. And my second one, well, that’s too long a story. And the last one, well, when the engagement ring got lost up Grandma Petunia’s butt, that was pretty much it."
"What happened to the ring?"
"It went up Grandma Petunia’s butt."
"How did it get there?"
"My boyfriend Steve, who used to be a client, that’s how come I could date him. He already knew what I did. He gave me an engagement ring on the day of my cousin’s wedding, just the night before actually. And it wasn’t sized yet, but obviously everyone in my family, who were all going to be at the wedding, wanted to see it. So I wore it. At the reception, before all the festivities began, I was walking around from table to table, dropping my wrist, showing everyone my left hand while they all ooohed and aaahed."
"A nice big rock, eh?"
"Not really. But very pretty."
"I would have thought you would only go for a rich guy."
"Why do you say that? He was actually my poorest client. The first time I saw him, he paid me in singles and some change. He did! But he was so funny. He had a terrific sense of humor and we were just really good in bed together."
"So that’s all it takes?"
"Well, I mean, yes. A marriage begins and ends in the bedroom. I think. Of course I’ve never been married. But I can get intellectual stimulation elsewhere. I want a great horizontal life at home. Is that so wrong?"
I jump on him, kissing his neck.
"Tell me. Is it? Kiss me and tell me."
He pins me down on the sofa, pulls the top of my dress down with my bra, exposing my breasts. He sucks my nipples until the point to the ceiling, then takes his champagne and casually leans back again.
"Nothing you could ever want is ‘wrong’ for me, kid."
"I love when you say things like that. Why can’t the whole world say that? You want to go to the other room?" (I notice the time is ticking by.)
"I want to know how that darn ring got up Grandma Petunia’s butt."
"If you don’t tell me, I won’t be able to think about anything else all day."
"Do you have to go to work later?"
"I almost didn’t make it here this morning. I was stuck in a meeting that it looked like I couldn’t get out of."
"God. I would have had to kill you if you cancelled. What did you say to get out?"
"I have a good friend who is in deep legal trouble."
"You do? Have you mentioned him to me before?"
"No. That’s what I said."
"Oh! Good. And here you are."
"Here I am. Best place to be."
"You know, I’m sure 80% of the guys you work with would understand if you just said you had an appointment with a Courtesan. They would. They’d probably be relieved because they probably have appointments too. They should just institute an official Courtesan break in the middle of the day. Like a coffee break, but better."
"You’re funny kid. Tell me about this ring."
"The ring. Okay. (I put my breasts away for the moment.) So I’m flipping my hand down like a drama queen when it just zip!--flies off my finger. At first we all think it’s funny and everyone at the table gets down and looks on the ground. The reception was outside and the floor was made of these un-level bricks. So we’re all searching around the table and no ring. Now I’m starting to panic a little but I’m sure it has to be right around that area. All the men look in their pant’s cuffs. No ring."
"Where was Steve?"
"Oh. Steve was out by the bathrooms having a cigarette thank god because I didn’t want him to know I lost it, even for a second. But now the band has started playing and they are announcing the bride and groom and there’s like twelve of us, on our hands and knees, in evening gowns and tuxes, combing the bricks. Soon we become more conspicuous than what’s going on, on the dance floor."
"Remind me to invite you to my next wedding."
"Hey now! It was an accident. Now my mother comes over which is the worst thing that could have happened because my mother gets hysterical—fast. Which makes me hysterical—fast. Then my two aunts come over who only help to raise the hysteria-bar. Then my father, whose efforts to calm everyone down, only makes things worse. Then Steve comes. And the whole thing explodes. Instead of hugging me and telling me it’ll be alright, he starts swearing and hollering that I lost it on purpose; that I didn’t really want to marry him in the first place. That he knew it all along."
"Nice guy."
"No. He was. He was just a bit dramatic and insecure, is all. But it didn’t help. After a while, every single person has helped to search and we’ve combed every inch of brick, even on the opposite end of the arena. So people are dancing and Steve and I are sitting on the side of the road, away from the group, smoking a cigarette and arguing over my motivations. Then we decide it must have been stolen. We call for the manager and ask him if any of his staff has found it. The entire staff is questioned and no ring. Finally, I go off to the ladies room to fix my make-up that’s been smeared from crying and Steve goes to the men’s. And suddenly, from inside the washroom I hear a building roar of voices. Steve hears it too, because we peek out of the bathrooms at the same time to see, what looks like a scene from the movie Frankenstein, when the villagers were coming en mass, running with torches above their heads, looking for Frankenstein? Remember that movie? So here they’re all coming, almost the entire wedding, and getting louder as they get closer. My Uncle Ron is leading the pack. His hand is above is head and he is brandishing something, waving it triumphantly in the air and yelling: ‘It was in Grandma Petunia’s butt! It was in Grandma Petunia’s butt!’
"Yes. They had found the ring."
"But how did it get up her butt?"
"Okay, well, Grandma Petunia can’t walk very well. She uses a walker. So when everyone got up to dance, she was the only one that remained seated. And when it was time to go, her son, my Uncle Ron, came to help her up, and noticed her dress was caught between her butt cheeks. So he tried to pull it out and it was stuck up there. So he pulled harder and the ring popped out and hit him in the cheek. Apparently, the ring must have bounced off the ground onto her chair and she just, well, settled back on to it. And her knickers are those loose old lady kind and I’m afraid so was her flesh, so the ring sort of got swallowed up."
"Quite a story. Hard to marry a guy after that."
"It was a bad omen. I guess."
"Poor Steve."
"Well, he didn’t handle the crisis too well."
"Do we still have time to play?"
"Of course my love. Come with me."
I scoop up the glasses and take his hand, leading him to the other room.
"So what happened with the other guys?"
My eyes pop open. I stare at him.
"Never mind." He says.
We begin to kiss. He breaks from my lips and holds my shoulders straight in front of him.
"Hey kid. Do me a favor?"
I nod.
"Next time I call, remind me to book three hours?"
"You want to hear about the rest."
"I want to hear about the rest."
"You’re a strange man, Abee."
"You got some good sagas kid. Better than TV."
"Real life is funny that way."
"Hey, I don’t just like you for this. (He points to my vagina). I love what’s up here. (Pointing to my head.)
I hug him.
"Thank you for that. You know what I always say:

"There’s nothing like a brain in a g-string."


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