Miss Polite

Copyright©2005 by Cocomo Rock, from the memoir and poetry collection, Predators, Healers, Nurturers & Prey©2005 by Cocomo Rock

 

           Her mind wobbled reluctantly toward consciousness.  Along the way, it joined forces with her grainy vision and, together, they scanned the surroundings, looking for a hint that would tell them what motel room she was in.  She hoped, too, that the clues would add up to her remembering the events that had brought her here.

            Except for her wristwatch, whose persistent beeping had finally awakened her, Miss Polite was naked and uncovered.  Squinting at the watches face, she could see that it was 3:11 PM.  That was enough information to let her know one thing; she had to work tonight.  She always set her alarm for 3:00 P.M. on workdays. A glance to her left revealed that she was not alone in the circular, king-sized bed that both her wobbly mind and her gritty eyes finally recognized as being her own.

            The trade lying next to her was naked and uncovered just as she was.  The supple contours of his body and the softness of the hair that covered it whispered his youthfulness—hardly more than nineteen—twenty tops, she thought.  Breathing evenly and deeply, the boy continued to sleep, his back towards her, curled in a gentle semi-fetal position.

            Miss Polite eased slowly up and off the bed and began to backtrack down a mixed trail of clothing that wound across the room.  Piece by piece, the trail began to tell her the story of the previous night’s happenings.

            She stooped and picked up a shaggy, honey-blond wig from the floor and hooked it high on a corner of the marquee-style dressing mirror.  The little ping-pong ball like bulbs around it gave off a soft, white light.  The doubling effect of the big mirror made the already burgeoning array of foundations, glitters, false eyelashes, and other make-up marvels on her vanity appear even more sprawling than they actually were.  Her hand drifted absentmindedly to her cheek as she realized that she had failed to cleanse her face of last night’s pancake.  Shades of red, bronze, and brown would be all over the bed linens and all over “Junior” as well.  Flashback to Junior: enthralled in running his fingers through the blonde tresses, over and over, as though it had been her natural hair.  She could feel her nipples stiffening even now, as though a small, cool breeze was sweeping twisters around them.

In a shimmering pool at her feet lay the gold sequined sheath…