TVA BABY and Other Stories (5 page)

I clicked on the next Free Still.

She had just closed the door after seeing me out. I clicked again and she was starting to pull her slip off over her head. I happened to know she wasn’t wearing a bra.

Or was it wearing no bra?

I clicked again, a little too eagerly, and a new screen came up: End User Licensing Agreement. EULA.

I scrolled through it. All I wanted was to see her nipples. All it wanted was my credit card number, and my scout’s honor that I was Over 18.

I almost clicked on
I Agree
.

Almost. Then I thought of the five thousand other guys and went to the movie instead. I saw Meg Ryan’s nipples along with a hundred other guys.

I went to bed feeling lonely for the first time in months.

On Tuesday Lou brought two wines without asking, white and red. I tapped out two Camels.

“Eula,” I said. “End User Licensing Agreement. I’m a little slow but I got it. What’s your real name?”

“I’m not allowed to say,” she said. “Protocols.”

“Am I allowed to extrapolate?”

“Isn’t that your specialty?” She leaned forward to get a light. The Burberry fell open and there was that dear little strap. But tight, not loose, and pink, not black. “But why extrapolate when you can see everything on the Web?”

“With five thousand other guys?” I lit her Camel for her. “I prefer the intimacy of a private conversation.”

“Even when it ruins your business?” She pointed at my Fauxlex. It was down to twenty-one.

“It’s not a business,” I said. “It’s a part-time job.”

“I suppose I should be flattered,” she said, picking up my cigarettes.

It was 2:55. “I suppose you should,” I said. I beeped the bill strip and followed.

I sat down on the rug and watched while she spread her Burberry carefully over the back of its chair.

She wore a black half-slip and a little pink brassiere. Cups edged with lace.

I checked the TV. The green light was on and the counter under it read 06564.

“So why are they here?” I asked.

“Who?”

“Your clients. Why are they even logged on when I am here? A visitor. They must know your Protocols.”

“You seem to resent them,” she said.

“The Protocols?”

“The clients.”

I did but said I didn’t. She was working, after all, just like me.

“Maybe they’re romantics,” she said. “It must be the suspense. Protocols are all about suspense.”

“So are bras,” I said. Her pink cups were not so little after all.

“Extrapolating again?” She sat on the couch, pulling the slip down between her thighs. “What is it with you guys and bras, anyway?”

“The brassiere,” I said, pouring us both a glass of Pinot Grigio, “is the most romantic invention of western civilization.”

“Next to the Web.”

“Better. The brassiere is itself a kind of web. It traps guys. It’s a kind of Protocol. It restricts, restrains. It shapes and displays that which it conceals. It focuses the regard. It presents.”

“Well said,” she said, adjusting her cups, first one and then the other. “Plus it keeps the green light on.”

We both looked at the TV. 07865.

“Were it to come off,” she said, “the light would go red and they would all be gone.” She reached out for a cigarette.

“I wouldn’t miss them,” I said. I gave her one and lit it, being careful not to touch her fingers with my own.

“I might,” she said. “They’re paying for my XLinteL99.”

We talked of sports and sonnets and she saw me out at five.

I felt my clients departing, all eighteen of them. I still could feel the glow.

Eula-Cam
.

I scrolled through her Free Stills until I was gone. She was on the couch, alone, in bra and panties, putting on lipstick. The label said Deep Rose.

I clicked. She was reaching behind her back with long fingers to unhook her bra.

I clicked again and I was at the end of the Free Stills. END USER LICENSE AGREEMENT.

I almost clicked on I AGREE. Then I thought of the seven thousand other guys. She was taking it off for them.

I was beginning to hate them, every one. * * *

The next day she was late, for the first time. “Where you been?”

“A girl likes to shop,” she said.

“On the house,” said Lou, setting down two glasses, one white, one red.

“Down to seven,” she said, checking out my Fauxlex as I lit her Camel. “They’re jumping ship. And yet, you’re back.”

“They’re a fickle bunch,” I said. “They like excitement. Nudity. Nipples at least.”

“And you don’t?”

“I’m a romantic, remember? Intimacy’s my thing.”

“Hard candy’s mine,” she said, puckering her lips. “That’s what I was shopping for.”

I followed her upstairs. She folded her Burberry over the chair and let me watch her walk across the room in bra and panties. It was a different bra. I could see her nipples through it.

Round little shadows. “Doesn’t count,” she said, looking down approvingly. “As long as they’re covered.”

“Protocols,” I said. Her panties were sheer too, except for the little triangle that barely covered her pubic hair. Even with just eight clients—no, nine—I was glowing like a stove.

“Now they’re back,” she said, leaning over me to glance at my Fauxlex. “What is it with you guys and panties, anyway?” She sat down on the couch with her feet pulled up underneath her and her knees just slightly apart.

“Honey, do you have to ask?” I thought that was clever.

Instead of answering, she closed her eyes and leaned way back.

“It’s the little triangle,” I said. White silk, or something very like it, pulled tight between her thighs. “It’s like the pubic hair I’m not allowed to see. It says,
Here.”

“Well said,” she said, lifting one leg and hugging her knee to her breast. The triangle narrowed to a soft white lane that led down out of sight. The silk road.

Her eyes were closed. Mine were wide. I felt a glow.

“They present. Like the brassiere, they display what they conceal,” I said. “There’s a certain intimacy in the presentation.”

“And in the regard as well,” she said, her eyes still closed.

I supposed I should be flattered.

“Indeed, you should,” she said. She opened her eyes and reached out for a Camel, carefully, and we shared the wine and talked of cabbages and kings.

The silk road faded in the failing light.

At five she showed me out, and I felt my clients fleeing. All but one. He stayed with me till six, and so did the glow.

Eula Cam
.

I clicked through Free Stills, and there she was in bra and panties, seeing me out. Closing the door with the fingertips I had never touched.

I could almost hear her saying, “Tomorrow, then?”

Tomorrow, then.

I clicked again and those same fingertips were inside the waistband of her panties, about to slip them down.

I clicked again and the EULA filled the screen.

I wasn’t even tempted to click on
I Agree
. It wasn’t what I wanted.

I clicked BACK until I found her putting on her lipstick.

Deep Rose.

I left it there. What I wanted was to read her lips with mine. * * *

“What’s with the hard candy,” I said. “Are you trying to quit smoking?”

“Hardly.” She reached for my Camels, tapping the pack on the bar. “A girl likes to have something to suck.”

“Sorry, guys,” said Lou. “I got a complaint. You’ll have to take the cigarettes outside.”

“We have to talk,” I said, outside. “I’m thinking of quitting my job.”

“I’ve been thinking too,” she said, in the elevator, looking up at me. I leaned over to kiss her but she stepped back, just one step.

The elevator door opened.

“Don’t do anything rash,” she said, glancing at my Fauxlex. “You still have one client left.”

I was feeling rash. “I’m feeling rash,” I said.

“It’s a sort of new feeling, isn’t it,” she said, hanging the Burberry carefully over its chair. “For such as us.”

I nodded. She was wearing little pink panties, and the not-so-little pink bra. The original again. I sat down on the rug and checked the TV. 9865.

“You could make them go away,” I said.

“Too soon,” she said. She pointed at the TV: 9904. “My XLinteL99 is not quite paid for.”

“I can help,” I said. “How much do you owe?”

“You’re already helping,” she said, sitting down on the couch across from me. She opened her thighs to show me her little silk road.

“I want to be alone with you,” I said. “Is that too much to ask?”

“What about your cyberhosting job? You still have one client left.”

“I know how get rid of him,” I said. I reached for her hand but she pulled it back. Teasing me?

“Not so fast,” she said. “Look.”

We both looked. 10007.

“Now we can talk alone.”

She reached behind her back to unhook her bra, the most intimate of moves. It would be ungentlemanly to say just what she showed me; and more ungentlemanly still to deny the glow they gave me.

The light on the TV was green at 10011, 10012, then suddenly red. 00000.

“Alone at last,” she said. “My XLinteL99 is finally paid off. Now, what was it you wanted to talk about?”

“Read my lips,” I said, getting up from the rug. “I still have one client to get rid of. And I know how to do it.”

I reached for her hand but she pulled it back. “Not so fast,” she said. “I have something to show your last client. A little farewell gift. I want you to feel the glow.”

She slipped her fingertips under the waistband of her panties, just like in the still, and pulled them off. She lay back on the couch with her eyes closed. “You always said you were sort of a looker.”

I sat back down. Her very white thighs were opened, very wide.

“You’re something of a looker too,” I said. It was only one client, but the glow was strong.

“I suppose I am,” she said. She reached out to take my hand and the glow was gone as my last client was bounced. Replaced by a stronger, more intimate glow.

“I like this glow better,” I said, and I kissed her.

And she kissed me. Our tongues played chase in her mouth and then in mine, and then—

“What’s this?” I said. Mumbled.

She spit it out, delicately, into her hand.

It was a chip. Why was I not surprised?

“Double the pleasure,” she said, tossing it onto the rug. “And double the fun. Now come here.”

I came there.