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Tammy’s Trick
Tammy had been a hooker for three years before a man took her home. Afterward, when she told him how much he owed her, he threw her out of his double-wide trailer. Her heels gave way on his gravel driveway, and she fell hard, scraping both her knees. He threw her shirt and skirt out after her and slammed the door. The film of her sheer tank top stuck to her face.
As she limped the four miles back to her car, she decided that next time she’d announce her price first.
It came as she lifted the bottle of Budweiser to her lips.
“Hey.”
The voice startled her. Beer ran down her chin and between her breasts, pooling in her bra. Tammy swiped at her face, flicking the liquid off her fingers and onto the floor. She set the bottle on the table with a clatter, and it wobbled for a second before settling. Beer soaked into her tank top, a satin-and-lace number she had found on the clearance rack at Wal-Mart. She thought it looked like lingerie, and it went well with her jean skirt and boots.
Tammy looked up.
A man smiled apologetically down at her. “I’m sorry. Can I buy you a new one?”
“Shirt or beer?” she asked, pulling a handful of napkins from the dented metal dispenser. She pressed the wad to her chest and glared up at him.
His smile widened. “I don’t think they sell shirts like that at the gas station. You might have to settle for a t-shirt of a howling wolf. Just as classy.”
He winked, and Tammy laughed.
“Or maybe I’ll just get you another beer.”
Her stomach twisted on itself as he turned and made his way back to the bar. He was big. A trucker, she thought. Most of the men here were, which was why she came to the Serenade. Less chance of meeting someone she knew.
She stuffed the napkins down the front of her shirt, trying to sop up whatever beer hadn’t soaked into the fabric of her bra and top, then dropped the whole mess onto the floor and gave it a kick. She ran her hands over her hair, smoothing it, and hoped her makeup still looked all right.
“Okay, okay, okay,” she whispered to herself. “Don’t screw this up.”
She turned in her chair and crossed her legs, then noticed her pudgy knees and changed her mind. She faced the table squarely and leaned forward on her elbows. Her cleavage had always been her best feature — even her mother said so. She kept her legs crossed under the table. Easier to swing a flirty foot that way.
The trucker returned, two frosted bottles of beer in hand.
Tammy smiled and tilted her head.
“So,” she said, “what’s your name?”
They dashed across the highway and then across the parking lot of the truck stop, and Tammy couldn’t stop giggling.
Trevor stopped in front of a blue semi truck, its trailer gleaming in the moonlight. Tammy’s giggle crept up an octave.
The trucker let go of her hand and leaned toward her, frowning. “Are you okay?”
“Ye—“ She coughed. “Yes. I’m fine.” She pretended to admire the truck.
Trevor unlocked the door and swung it open, gesturing for her to enter. She placed her boot on the first step and hoisted herself up so she could see into the cab. Behind the two front seats, she could see the bunk, half covered with a curtain.
She looked down at Trevor. “In there?”
He nodded. “It’s easier to get into than it looks.”
She’d have to climb between the seats, over the console, and then up into the sleeper. Interpreting her hesitation as a need for help, Trevor put both hands on her rump and shoved. Tammy scrambled into the truck cab, embarrassed that she’d probably flashed him several times before remembering that she wasn’t going to be wearing her clothes much longer anyway.
Her boot caught on the seatbelt on her way over the seat, and she barely caught herself before her face hit the wall of the sleeper. Cursing her boots, her tight skirt, and semi cab bunks, she twisted until she could get a hand down to the zipper of the offending boot. She worked it down to her ankle and yanked her foot out, then twisted around so she could unzip the other one.
“Here,” she said, shoving her foot in Trevor’s face. “Pull.”
He obligingly held onto the boot so she could pull her foot from it. With a smile, he tossed it onto the passenger seat. “Better?” he asked.
Tammy nodded and turned back toward the sleeper. She wiggled into the bunk, then realized she’d positioned herself the wrong way. Trying to keep her feet off Trevor’s pillow, she contorted, bending neck, back, and limbs at odd angles in order to turn so she lay the correct direction. Her pulse pounded in her ears from the exertion.
“How on earth do you manage this every night?” she panted.
Trevor stuck his head through the curtain and grinned. “You get used to it.”
He glided smoothly into the sleeper, and Tammy pressed herself against the back wall, trying to give him room. The bunk was made for one person, though, and to fit, he had to press the entire length of his body against her. The sudden closeness made her skin flush with heat, and she tried not to hyperventilate. It really was a very small space.
She bit her lip and smiled, and he leaned toward her.
When it was over, he slid out of the sleeper and beckoned for her to follow. Tammy put her clothing back in order and inched her way out, feet first. She bumped her head in her final hop out of the bunk, but otherwise made it to the front of the cab with relative ease.
Trevor sat in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel out of habit. Tammy eased into the passenger seat and gathered her boots. As she pulled them back on, Trevor took his wallet from his back pocket, removed a few bills, and handed them to her. Tammy stuffed them in the top of her boot without counting them, fighting elation. She didn’t want to give herself away by giggling like a child.
“You’re nothing like the girls in St. Louis,” Trevor said, studying her.
“Girls in St. Louis?”
“You know.” He plucked at the fabric of his shirt. “There’s always girls at the truck stops, waiting for the guys who stop for the night.”
“Oh.” She wanted to ask if he’d ever taken one of them to his truck, what they were like — what they charged.
She looked out at the endless pastures that made up the view from the highway. In the moonlight, she could see dark shapes scattered in the field across from them, hay bales waiting to be picked up and sold for cattle feed.
“I suppose they’re all sophisticated,” she said, wishing for the millionth time that she’d been born somewhere else.
When Trevor didn’t answer right away, she turned to see him shaking his head.
“No,” he said. “They’re…worn out. Pale and desperate. Most of the boys take ‘em to bed because they feel sorry for them more than because of…other reasons.”
Tammy frowned and chewed on her bottom lip.
“Why are you a hooker, Tammy?” Trevor asked.
She stared at him, not sure how to answer. She didn’t need the money. Her job as a receptionist at a farm equipment dealer kept her clothed and fed and even allowed her to buy the expensive food for her cat, Julia.
Did she tell him how many times she’d watched Pretty Woman since she was thirteen? Did she explain the mind-numbing boredom of her job, her town, her life? It had always seemed such a romantic notion to her. Words like courtesan and paramour rolled around her head and over her tongue, giving her shivers. The excitement, the desirability, the utter difference from anything and everything she knew.
Trevor studied her, waiting for her answer.
She shrugged.
He sighed. “Well, I’d hate to see you end up like them.”
He pushed a button, and the cab doors unlocked with a thunk.
“Come on,” Trevor said. “I’ll walk you back to your car.”
At least she knew what to do about the money —JC Penney’s had a sale that weekend.
end
