In the Belly of the Beast

3

Ruby hated the bitter cold and gusting winds that blasted her body. She silently cursed Geoffrey for forcing her out into such weather. Phlegm gathered in the back of her throat, and she hawked up an enormous wad and spat it on the sidewalk.

She approached the small store located three blocks away. Glowing neon signs in its window filled the street with a splash of gaudy color. The shop had a worn out look, a greasy feel, a bone-tired weariness that mirrored the neighborhood.

The door banged with a hollow thud behind her.

"Hi-yah, doll," said the man behind the counter. "What can I do you for today?"

Act One.

It was a very bad play, and Ruby knew his lines before he opened his mouth to say them. Every single one. She repeated this scene as smoothly as if they'd rehearsed for a thousand nights.

And maybe they had. Who knew?

She would have preferred silence, but he seemed to need the chatter, so she played her part.

Act Two.

"Same's always," Ruby said, her toothless gums and rubbery lips forming the words wet and mushy, like marsh bottoms in rainy seasons.

"O.K., doll," he said and began to gather the half dozen dirty magazines from behind the register.

He was obese, balding, and unkempt. His stale, wrinkled shirt seemed to bear the stains of many past meals. He wore his trousers low and loosely belted beneath an overhanging belly. 

When he bent over to retrieve the magazines, Ruby was blessed with a view of angry red pimples disappearing into the dark crevasse that split in half the rounded acres of butt cheeks.

He should display them on racks.

She smiled at the thought. The magazines or the butt mounds, either would be appropriate.

At least the man behind the counter knew Geoffrey's taste, and he bagged the order quickly.

She remembered that Geoffrey had phoned ahead on her first visit. That had been a long time ago, but from then on, her routine had never varied. Come down, pick up the smut, and trudge back home.

At least, she never had to pay the man. That was one less worry for her, and Geoffrey probably liked keeping her in the dark about how much he paid for this trash.

He must have made arrangements with the storekeeper to keep a running tab. That would be convenient for him. Not pay as you go but pay by the month.

Heaven only knew, it would be more convenient for her if he would also have them delivered to the house, as well. But Ruby's convenience never entered Geoffrey's mind.

He liked making her do his little errands. He got off on it. She could tell. Not that she was surprised.

Geoffrey couldn't get off for real, Ruby thought, and she gathered up the bag and held it tightly against her chest.

Poor Geoffrey had to make do with paper women, gloss and fantasy, the cheap imitation of true flash and heat. She could show that fat slob some real sizzle, she mused, tricks he would never find printed upon the pages of his precious porn.

Fat chance, she thought, and she turned to leave.

Act Three. . .Exit.

"Give Mr. Channing my regards, doll," he said.

"You bet," she responded.

Like she would. 

She let the door bang behind her and started back home.