Flash Fiction: Paying For It

This story inspired by the Monday Picture Prompt:  Is the glass half full or half empty? on Flashy Fiction, March 12, 2012.

Monday Picture Prompt:  Glass Half Full Or Half Empty

Paying For It

Opening his eyes, Allen had difficulty focusing at first, the oddly shaped glass directly in front of him splitting and distorting the face of the young lady. “She’s pretty,” he thought. “Looks like one of those highfalutin models from the bar…but this isn’t the bar I was at last night.”

Trying to speak, he asked the lady “Who are you and where am I?”

“I’m sorry, Allen. What are you trying to ask me? You’re still speaking gibberish.”

Allen wiggled his tongue around in his mouth trying to work up some moisture, licked his lips a couple of times, then repeated his questions.

“My name’s, uh, Madison, and I’d have thought you’d recognize your own coffee table.”

Pushing himself up to a sitting position on the couch, Allen looked around, saw his shirt and pants and shoes strewn around the floor, then realized he only had on his boxers and one sock. And his head hurt. Badly. He rubbed where it hurt and cringed at the sharp pain. Looking at his fingers, he saw bits of crusty, dried blood. Fortunately, the pain helped to focus his mind.

Madison was still looking at him from across the coffee table where she’d been sitting on the floor.

“Why are you here, Madison?” he asked.

“Because you paid me to be, Allen. Well, actually, you haven’t yet paid me for my time here, which is much more than my usual amount of time. Hours more.”

“So what kept you then?”

“Like I said, you haven’t paid me yet. You passed out. I found a glass in your kitchen and poured you some water.”

“I can’t believe this,” Allen mumbled. “Did we do anything?”

“We were going to, but you’d had quite a few drinks. When we got back here, you started doing your own strip show before you lost your balance, cracked your head on the coffee table, and passed out.”

“So you stayed all night to get paid?”

“While my job isn’t technically legal, Allen, I’m not a criminal…and I certainly wasn’t going to run out of here, have you die, and end up in jail for murder. I watch TV. It happens. But, yes, I’d like my money so I can go now.”

“What do I owe you?”

“Two grand.”

“Two grand?”

“I’ve been here over five hours. That’s actually a discount because I didn’t have to do anything.”

“Well, if I’m going to pay for it, I might as well get my monies worth, pretty lady. Come on over here and let’s finish what we started,” Allen said, pulling off his remaining sock.

Madison rose and stalked around the coffee table, knelt down in front of Allen, facing away, and asked for help with her zipper. As he slowly unzipped the back of her dress, he nuzzled her neck, and whispered in her ear “I love you, baby. You play such a good call girl.”

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