NOT YOUR KIND OF PEOPLE: THE SCUM OF BEAUTY

Chapter 5: Isabel[sexually explicit material]

I.                   Isabel

 

I managed to get back to the Plaza Hotel at 11:30. I got there through a combination of flying when I had the chance and walking when I didn’t. I changed my appearance back to where I had it upon arrival to the hotel. The hotel lobby was now a calm and complacent area. I sat down on one of the fancy sofas, closed my eyes, and thought about my fun-filled day. I heard footsteps tip-toeing along towards the sofa and felt the plop of somebody sitting their rump down next to me.

‘Well, well, well,’ a voice whispered, with a British accent. ‘If it isn’t Vel, looks like you been through hell, mate.’

‘Hey, that kind if rhymed,’ I turned my head and whispered back. ‘Did you just come up with that?’ 

‘C’mon, up you go now,’ Isabel pushed my shoulder playfully. ‘Let’s go to the bar, I crave something strong.’

I stood up and dragged my feet to the hotel bar. Isabel attempted to follow but was interrupted by a homeless man who had just entered the hotel to solicit for money.

‘Please, ma’am, could you spare some change?’ the rugged man said, shaking a cup. ‘I’m a Cold War vet, and I never received federal aid after the war.’

‘You’re a Cold War vet?’ Isabel scoffed. ‘Did you fight in the Battle of the Raging Bullshit?’

‘Yes,’ the homeless said, rubbing his arm vigorously. ‘My arm was hit with shrapnel during the battle.’

‘Well, it looks your arm has been hit with a fair amount of smack based on those bandages.’

‘Yes, my arm has been smacked around plenty during the war.’

‘Tell you what, mate,’ Isabel stuffed a crumpled dollar bill into his hand. ‘Why don’t you go fetch yourself a soft-shell taco from Taco Bell?’

‘Oh, thank you kindly,’ the homeless man said, shaking her hand. ‘God bless you.’

The homeless man hobbled out of the hotel and hid behind an alleyway. He waited five minutes for the sidewalk to clear in front of him and took off his hobo garb. He walked back onto the sidewalk and took out a key to a Porsche, then popped open the hood of the car. He stuffed the dollar bill into a large jar containing hundreds of dollars, closed the hood, and went inside the car, then peeled off into the night. Back in the hotel, Isabel found Vel sitting at a booth in the bar, sipping a Cosmopolitan and joined her.

‘Sorry about that,’ Isabel scooted next to me. ‘A hobo interrupted me, claiming to be a Cold War vet.’

‘He was probably a communist,’ I said, chuckling.

‘Goddamn commies,’ Isabel looked at her hands. ‘The filthy fuck shook my hand too. I’m going to have to sterilize them.’

‘You aren’t the kindest to the homeless are you?’

‘Not communist hobos.’

‘What do you have against communist?’

‘Nothing, I have something against communist hobos,’ Isabel declared.

‘And what might that be?’

‘They don’t differentiate themselves from other hobos,’ Isabel went off on a hobo tantrum. ‘There aren’t different classes of hobos, no wealthy hobos, or lower-middle class hobos. All their money goes into the same indivisible hobo pot.’