Mannequin

I looked at the sign, which claimed loudly NO SMOKING.

I smiled and pulled out a cigarette, hoping for the doorman or someone to come by and tell me to put it out. I loved being a bastard to people sometimes, especially since I knew exactly how the conversation would go.

“Um…excuse me, sir?”

The young bellhop fidgeted violently and looked down when I looked up.

“Yes?”

“I-I’m sorry, but you need to put that out. There’s no smoking allowed in the lobby.”

I smirked and he flushed even more before stuttering out, “B-B-But there’s a casino and a bar…and you can smoke there!”

I grinned wider, “Oh, really? Well, what would you do if I told you I own this whole entire hotel?”

He went rigid, and I finally got a good look at his face.

‘Cute…’ I thought, enjoying the way his face looked when his freckles stood out against the pink of his cheeks.

“Mr. Way?”

I smiled and nodded, “Yup. And if you don’t believe me, ask anyone who’s been here for a while. They know me. I hired ‘em.”

I grinned at the recalled memory. The bellhop was a good fuck, too. Forgot the poor thing’s name…

I suddenly frowned as the one name I’d been trying to get out of my head flashed behind my eyes.

Frank…

I shivered, and decided I didn’t want to fuck with the new employees anymore. Smashing the butt against the wall, I walked towards the elevator.

I shuffled uncomfortably into the elevator, which was stuffed full and stunk of sweat and expensive perfume. Looking at the people’s faces, I brightened upon seeing a well-known patron of the hotel.

“Mr. Vincent Holston, could that possibly be you?”

The young man looked up and broke into a smile as well, “Ah, Mr. Way, how are you? It’s been a while since we’ve last spoken.”

We managed to shake hands, albeit uncomfortably and I nodded in agreement.

“It has, hasn’t it? I’ve been fine, and I heard you were doing very well in your sales, so I assume you’ve been well too.”

He smiled as the elevator pinged, “This is my floor. Why don’t you come in to my suite so we can catch up?”

I nodded eagerly, and maneuvered myself to get out. Vincent opened the door and welcomed me in.

“I see you picked the more expensive of rooms,” I observed with a smirk.

He laughed heartily and nodded, “I remember you told me that some cheaper rooms are actually neater, but I couldn’t help but buy big. I mean, it is you, after all.”

Vincent was a good friend of mine, which I thought was probably strange in the business world. We both had inherited businesses from our fathers, and it seemed like it was our niche.

We sat down and I took him in, “It’s been a year since I’ve last seen you, right? How are you enjoying New York?”

“It’s a bit different than I remembered, but I think it was all the time I was spending in foreign countries. It’s definitely louder here than anywhere else.”

I nodded, “Have you been hit on yet?”

Vincent chuckled, “No, but I’m pretty sure I got a prostitute’s number. He seemed pretty nice, actually.”

I raised an eyebrow. It was a bit surprising to find that the first person to bother him would be a man. The real reason I had brought it up was that it was a running gag that whenever Vincent came to New York, or really any where for that matter, he would be hit on repeatedly, but he had yet to be married or engaged.

Ignoring the notion, I looked at the man across from me, “But the real question is, was he attractive, and did he have a nice body?”

He only shook his head in mirth, “Honestly, there’s no point in me going after a prostitute. I’m looking for a serious relationship.”

I pouted, “You’re no fun! Tell me what he looks like, and then I’ll decide whether I want him or not since you’re not using him.”

If this guy is good, then maybe I can get that fucking Iero kid outta my head.

The businessman looked thoughtful, “He has dark brown hair…some real nice eyes, I think they were hazel, but they definitely had some green in ‘em. Oh! He had tattoos, and lots of them. Nice face, seemed fit, he was really short, though.”

I shivered a bit, thinking the description fit a certain prostitute I wanted to forget a bit too well.

“You said you got his card? How about you give it to me so I can call him, make a date sometime?”

Nodding, Vincent reached into his pocket, pulled out the card and handed it to me.

I took in a deep breath and close my eyes shut tightly.

The name on this card will not be Frank Iero. The names won’t even start with an ‘f’ or ‘i.’

I opened my eyes and looked down on the astonishingly neat, white card.

Frank Iero
Cell#: 240-482-7313
Courtesan to the wealthy,
Will provide service with a smile.

Upon reading the name, I gagged. Suddenly, it felt like my little brother had taken his bass and started playing it in my ear. A massive, roaring headache was tearing itself through my temples as I started to sweat and shiver.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck. This is it. This is the one. Even his goddamn business card is as snarky as he is, THIS HAS TO BE HIM.

Gripping the sofa roughly, I stood up.

“I-I’m really sorry Vincent, but I’m not feeling well, I should get going…”

His face was warped in confusion, but I had already stumbled out of the suite before he could ask what was wrong, really.

I didn’t even bother to take the elevator; instead I tore up the stairs to the top floor.

I had my own room, beautiful and immaculate as could be, but the luxurious rugs rumpled as I ran to the bathroom. The pristinely white toilet sat innocently in a room of gold-plated sinks and bathtubs. I reached for it and heaved.

In, a deep gasping breath; and out, a wave of nausea followed by a thick, clear liquid because I hadn’t had anything to eat in an hour or so. Soon I was dry-heaving, and tears streaked my face.

In and out, huh? Sort of like sex. In, gasps of pure delight; out, sighs of disappointment and want.

I softly pulled the lever and flushed the toilet. Instead of getting up to wash out the taste, I rested my heard against the cool, hard floor.

I remembered when I was young, and I would wake up early in the morning, feeling sick. But I would never really throw up. Instead, I’d sit there, feeling more and more sickened until I was so exhausted with disgust that I would lay on the floor.

By that time, my mother would have wakened up and started screaming at me for lying on the dirty floor. Too weak to protest, but too weak to get up, I would lie there, still.

I was a very sickly child back then, so my mother would ignore it, although she still grumbled about how filthy the floor was and that it was probably what caused me to be continually sick all the time.

I finally got up, rinsed my mouth and slumped down on my bed. I pawed for the phone, and then the card.

I bared my teeth and cried out in frustration.

I hate this. Why couldn’t he have been another one? Why did I have to fall for this arrogant ass of a callboy?

I reached for the phone, and started to dial.