Elizabeth’s black pumps left depressions in the Persian rug when she walked. She wore a black cocktail dress. Elizabeth’s hair fell messy down her bare back. Her young skin spread taut over her shoulder blades. The soft light accentuated her young skin. Her male suitor sat with anticipation in a black tuxedo. Elizabeth thought that he looked handsome tonight. Elizabeth moved her hips back and forth and raised her arms with a make believe difficulty, like she was under water reaching for the surface. Her suitor was a recurring client but he still enjoyed the anticipation of the moment. He wanted to be teased by a woman whom he already owned. Elizabeth didn’t have a problem dancing; her hourly rate had already been established.
She grabbed onto his knees and pushed his legs apart before she slid her hands up his thighs. Elizabeth looked into his wrinkled face. He didn’t catch her gaze as he was pre-occupied with her supple young figure. Elizabeth noticed every crevice that had engulfed his aging face; the crows feet, the hard horizontal lines across his forehead, the wrinkles that formed around his wry smirk. Elizabeth turned around to sit on his lap.
“Are you ready?” Elizabeth said
He nodded without a word. Elizabeth stood up and walked him into the bedroom slightly gripping his fragile hand. She crawled on the bed as he stood over her.
“Give me a few moments to prepare baby.” He said
He took a seat next to her on the bed. The sheets of the bed were Egyptian cotton. Elizabeth didn’t know why it mattered that the sheets were Egyptian cotton or that the painting hanging over them was a Caravaggio. She didn’t care that the Eames arm chair that faced out onto the skyline of the city was one of a kind. Elizabeth didn’t gain a particular felicity in the opulent interior or the haute aesthetic of the penthouse. Her client opened the drawer of the bedside table and grabbed a capsule containing a little blue pill. One side of the small container was foil; the other side was clear plastic in a diamond shape. Through the plastic you could see the little pressed pill with a capital V imprinted on the front of it. Elizabeth’s client groped the small pill wrapper. He pushed hard at the plastic part, trying to get the blue pill to breach the shiny foil. Elizabeth sat on the bed watching him, her heels still on, puncturing the high thread count sheets. She reached into her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Three remained; she lit one and inhaled deep before releasing a satiable cloud of smoke. Her client’s liver spotted hands were still trying to open the plastic container. He changed his technique and now he was trying to peel the wrapping by sticking his long yellow fingernails into the space between the foil and the plastic.
“Do you want me to help you?” Elizabeth asked.
“No I can do this myself” He replied
Yet again his hands turned over the plastic container pleading with it to come loose. The skin of his hands was loose like a turkey’s gobble yet you could see the bones of his hands protruding sharply as they worked over the small container. Now he pushed with both thumbs on the plastic to get the pill to puncture the foil but to no avail. Sweat began to collect on his brow. The anticipation of romance began to be replaced by embarrassment. Elizabeth put out her cigarette and reached into her clutch yet again, this time producing a small glass vial with a black lid. It contained a white powder. Elizabeth took the key to her apartment and used it to scoop a small amount which she lifted to her nose and sniffed with fervor. She repeated the motion to her other nostril.
“It’s ok baby just let me open it for you.” Said Elizabeth
No reply from the old man as he fumbled the plastic container and it fell to the floor. Elizabeth watched him slowly bend over and reach his lanky arm down to pick up the pill. The plastic of the wrapper was now mutilated with white spots but there was still no access to the medicine inside. Elizabeth’s client breathed heavily, his thin white hair went about in all directions like he had stuck his head out the window of a speeding car. She touched his back and his spine felt bony and abnormally curved like the wood of a bow. He didn’t notice her touch; he just went on trying to separate the foil from the plastic. Elizabeth reached for another cigarette, now she only had one left.
The problem with my stories is that they are short parts of longer stories I haven’t written yet. I’ve never written from the point of view of a woman before. Which is troublesome when trying to portray emotional depth in a character. I think the deeper issue is I don’t understand women.