Anaideia 16

It was a frenzied evening of gratuitous sex in the Madam’s garish and glittering quarters. Sure I came. A lot, in fact, and perhaps prematurely. But the whole time I was distracted by my innermost concerns, specifically my monetary situation. When we finished, I laid there naked and sweaty on the soft pink and silk sheets waiting for the shoe to drop.

“So do I pay you?” I ask. “I’m not sure how this works.”

She sits up in bed, also naked, with her large bosoms exposed and she lights a cigarette. “This one’s on the house,” she explains. “Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve had sex for pleasure. I just wish it lasted longer.”

“Sorry about that,” I said. “So anyways, do I sleep here?”

She aggressively shakes her head. “Fuck no. You have a room downstairs.”

“With the rest of the whores? Won’t it get a little loud at night?”

“First off, they’re not whores. They’re paid companions. And secondly, you get used to it.”

“Alright,” I shrugged. “Do I at least get free booze at the bar?”

“No. That comes out of your paycheck.”

“What the hell?!” I exclaimed. “This is bullshit. Randy said…”

“Randy might own the place but this is my show,” the Madam interjected. “He’s barely here anyway. So I’m the ultimate authority at this joint! You got that BUSTER?!”

“Yeah yeah, I got that,” I said. I climbed out of bed, found my pants, and put them on.

“Are you going to your room?” she asks.

“Hell no,” I said as I buttoned up my ragged denim shirt. “This wasn’t the deal I made with Randy. I’m walking out of here, going to the nearest town, and I’m heading home.”

The Madam sat up in bed and grabbed my hand. “Don’t do that!” she said. “Penelope will get you!”

“Shit,” I said dismissively. “A naked woman wondering the desert? I might as well be in Palm Springs.”

“She’ll eat you!” the Madam shouted.

“Yeah okay,”’ I said and finished putting on my boots. I checked myself in the mirror one last time before departing the Madam’s quarters. “Thanks for the fuck,” I said, “thank god I didn’t cry this time,” and I slam the door shut.

I walk out to the creaky wooden balcony and downstairs into the saloon where the night’s revelry was dying down. Old Jim was still shuffling his cards when I approached. “Hey Jim,” I said, “mind if I have your Smith & Wesson?”

“What for?” he asks.

“I’m headed out of here,” I say. “I figured I’d follow the light pollution to find the nearest town but I might need some protection from the coyotes and whatnot. I’ll give the gun to Randy when I see him in LA.”

“Coyotes?” Jim said. “There ain’t no coyotes out there. Penelope is the only creature roaming that desert this time of night.”

“Whatever. I’m still gonna need some protection.”

Old Jim shakes his head and lays the pistol on the table. “You can have my Smith & Wesson,” he says, “but it ain’t gonna do you no good.”

I pick up the pistol and check the cylinder. “Thanks for the advice,” I tell him. I stuff the gun into the back of my pants and tip my hat. “Been nice knowing ya Jim.” I proceed to the front of the saloon and push open the door into the silent darkness.

The dirt road leading to the Candyland compound extended beyond the dry basin and into the mountain range beyond. It was plain to see in daylight but near invisible at night. I had to rely on the glow of city lights from the other side of the range for guidance. The moon was nowhere in sight and the stars glittered like pixie dust on a black canvas. The land, I thought, possessed a serenity of a surreal dream but the uneasiness of a concealed graveyard. I proceed a few miles down the dirt road. What little wildlife remained in these parts cried out like ghosts in the night. Intellectually I knew the legend of Penelope was false, but walking into this dark chasm I understood the fear.

It was maybe five miles into the trek that I reached a valley in this unnamed range. The light flutter on the horizon no longer guided me and the darkness swarmed me like a minacious cloud. Not even the sounds of critters would accompany me into this miscreated canyon. Here nature seemingly stopped; the laws of sense and possibility broke down. Only the rules of an accursed imagination seemed germane to these parts.

TO BE CONTINUED…