Read Florida Straits for Free Online Page B

under a plant. Leaves
trailed down and tickled Joey's neck.
    A waiter came over and the hooker ordered a
Kir Royale. Joey asked for a scotch.
    "You have great-color eyes," she said to
him, clinking glasses. "Almost like Liz Taylor. I've always thought
bedroom eyes should be dark brown. But that dreamy violet—I'll have
to reconsider." She lapped her drink. "So what would you like to
talk about?"
    "I wanna talk about what you do."
    She scanned his face for a moment, and then
a look of deep concern crossed her features. Poor puppy , the
look said. Can't function? Just want to hear? Then the kind
look was replaced by a mock scolding one and accompanied by a wag
of the finger. "I never tell tales on other clients," she said.
    "No, no, no," said Joey. "You don't
understand. I don't mean what you do, I mean how you do
it."
    The hooker giggled, rounded her shoulders to
show off her collarbones, and managed a serpentine squirm in her
chair. "That's an art, baby. That's not something that can be
explained over one drink."
    Joey took the hand that was cold from
holding his glass and ran it through his hair. "Look. . .what's
your name?"
    "Vicki," said the hooker, managing to make
the word sound like some forbidden body part.
    "Look, Vicki, we don't seem to be connecting
here. What I'm talking about is the business side. You see?"
    Vicki's mouth came out of its bowed smile,
collapsed for a moment into a confused pout, then hardened to a
thin line; her tweezed eyebrows fell from their inquisitive arc to
parallel the narrowed lips. "No," she said, "I don't see."
    At that moment there came an unfortunate ebb
in the noise level of the bar, and when Joey spoke again it seemed
as if he was addressing the room at large.
    "What I'm asking," he said, "to put it
simply, is, well, do you have, you know, a pimp?"
    "A pimp?" said Vicki, not softly.
    The pool players put down their cues. Guys
at the bar pricked up their ears.
    "A pimp? What're you, crazy? You little
piece of shit, what do you think I am? You think I'm a common
whore, you little limp-dick shitass?"
    Joey reached a conciliatory hand toward
Vicki's wrist, but she yanked her arm away. Then she stood up,
knocking over her chair and spilling the remains of her Kir. "I'm
an artist, you little scumbag. You heartless, gutless, sexless. .
.oh sweet Jesus, how I hate people like you."
    A thick blue vein was standing out on
Vicki's neck, and her lips were quivering in the effort to shape
more words. None came, only a ferocious exhalation that seemed to
rattle her teeth. Finally, with a green flame of loathing in her
eyes, she reached into her blouse, pulled out a tit, and threw it
at Joey. It was made of hard rubber, and it hurt his ribs as it
bounced off them. The tit landed on the table, wobbled a moment
like a twirled coin, and came to rest nipple side up. The
red-tinted nub stared at Joey like a blind but accusing eye.
    " Marrone ," he said.
    The bouncer had arrived. He had a shaved
head that was a smaller outcropping of his neck, a single sapphire
earring, and he cleaved to the notion that the regular customer was
always right and the first- time visitor always wrong. He lifted
Joey out of his chair with such deftness that Joey almost didn't
notice he'd been levitated.
    "Hey, bubba," he said, casting a sad glance
at the ersatz bosom on the table, "can't you see you're upsetting
the lady?" His face was close to Joey's and his breath smelled of
nachos.
    "Little misunderstanding is all," said Joey.
His arms were pinned to his sides.
    "It happens," said the bouncer, and he gave
Joey a sympathetic squeeze that made him burp up some scotch. "So
why don't you just apologize, then go away and never come
back."
    Joey looked across the table at Vicki, half
of whose bosom was still heaving with rage. Apologize? Apologize in
public? Apologize in public to a transvestite whore? He, the son,
albeit illegitimate, of Vincente Delgatto? In New York this would
never happen. But this was not New York, and it