Shareware Supreme Volume 6 #1/swsii.zip/swsii/201/RUBYV22.ZIP/RUBY22-3

Text File | 1993-05-28 | 6KB | 105 lines

Copyright 1992(c)

                              SARAH
                     By William J. Slattery

     Sarah had been dozing. She was always tired lately. She
remembered waking up that morning in Harold's bed on West 77th
Street. She'd seen a lot of beds in her time, but this one was a
new one to her. Not only was it circular, she'd seen those before,
but this one trembled when you pushed a switch on a small console
built into its side. It also could make rocking movements like
ocean waves.
     She thought for a moment that she had awakened in a circular
water bed. She had been in one of those once with her mother and
some other people. But this bed this morning was a regular
rectangular bed except it was circular and it could tremble or
surge on demand.
     She lay on her back with her eyes open for a moment or so
getting her bearings. She was in a strange room in a strange bed.
That was quite usual. Sarah was a hooker.
     The ceiling, she noticed, was a mirror. That was not unusual
either. In the center of the mirror was a little red light like
the light on  tape recorders, the light that indicated that the
tape recorder was on and operating properly. What was on and
operating properly, she wondered.
     A high, nasal voice close to her ear said, "The light means
the ceiling videocam is on and we're being recorded."
     Sarah turned her head in the direction of the unpleasant voice
and saw Harold for the first time that she could remember. He was
in his mid fifties, pale and fat. She studied him for a moment,
trying to remember if she remembered him. He looked familiar sort
of. Maybe not. They all looked pretty much alike to her.
     She turned back and looked at the ceiling again. Harold moved
in the bed beside her. She expected him to roll on top of her or
pull her head down between his legs, or roll her over, but he did
none of these things. He moved away from her. She heard a small
click. The mirror on the ceiling started opening up from the
center, the mirrored glass panels pulling away from the middle in
a smooth, electric motion revealing a large flat television screen
imbedded in the ceiling up beyond the mirror. The screen faced
down. Obviously it was meant to be watched by people in the bed
who were lying on their backs.
     The screen was blank but as she watched it, it came to life
and she saw herself and Harold scuffling in the bed. Sometimes
Sarah was on top, sometimes Harold was on top. Sometimes they were
on their sides, sometimes Sarah lay half on the bed with her feet
on the floor while Harold flailed away at her from sometimes the
bed, sometimes the floor and there was Didi, Sarah's mother,
crawling in from the other side of the bed, and there was Mark
Baker, good old Mark, coming up into the camera's view.
     Another click and Sarah could hear the sounds the four people
in the bed had been making. Sarah giggled. They sounded like
animals, she thought, grunting and moaning.
     The scene on the ceiling speeded up. Apparently the tape
machine had a fast forward feature. The four figures on the screen
now looked ridiculous, like an old timey movie, the Keystone Kops
and Charlie Chaplin and Ben Turpin.
     Sarah closed her eyes. She'd seen tapes of herself before.
She'd seen them speeded up before but she'd never seen them on a
television set in the ceiling before.
     "Would you like some breakfast?" Harold of the nasal voice
asked.
     Was his name Harold? How did she know that?
     She thought about it for a minute. Was this a dodge of some
kind? A way to get out of paying her? She thought about breakfast.
Was she hungry? No. She was never hungry. She never ate breakfast.
     "Well," Harold demanded, the nasal voice increasing in
loudness. "Do you want some breakfast or don't you?"
     She opened an eye and turned it toward the sound of Harold's
voice. He was kneeling beside her face now, his stubby erection
inches away. He grabbed her roughly by the hair and lunged at her,
pelvis pumping.
     Oh, well, Sarah thought. Oh, well.
     The business about breakfast was some kind of joke, she
guessed. This was Harold's idea of breakfast. On the bright side
was the money. She's seen her mother on the tape. That meant her
mother had made the money arrangements. Since she and Mark were no
longer here, they had been paid and had left. So everything was
okay.
     Not long afterward, Sarah awakened again. Harold was dressed
now and holding a telephone out to her. "It's your mother," he
said, gesturing with the phone.
     "Good morning, Mom."
     "Good morning, Honey. Did you have breakfast? Have you brushed
your teeth?"
     "Yes, Mom. Is this guy's name Harold?"
     "No, Dear, his name is Arnold and he's taking you out of town
for the weekend. He'll have you back Monday. He's taking you to
New England."
     "He's awfully old, Mom. Do you think he'll last the weekend?"
     "Can he hear you, Dear?"
     "Sure. He's right here by the bed. I think he's creepy. His
bed is like a Coney Island ride. Did you know about the TV set in
the ceiling?"
     "Never mind about that dear. He's paid for the tapes, too.
He's in advertising or something. He's strange, but he pays for
it. Have a nice time, Honey. Don't forget to brush your teeth.
Don't steal from him. Remember what your parole officer said about
that. See you Sunday or Monday. Mark sends his love."
     "Fuck Mark, Mama. He's a wimp."
     "Watch the language, Dear. People don't like it when little
girls swear. Bye."
     "Bye, Mama."
     She handed the telephone to Harold. Arnold. Whatever.
                               END