A Little Pulp Non-Fiction, Anyone?

As promised, here is a little clarification. Happy Monday, kids!

Imagine all of humanity’s sensuality, lust, raw sexuality, rage, passion and power funneled into a single source and made manifest in one female form.

Our paths crossed on the valet deck as she floated into the hotel on the afternoon breeze and then converged in an elevator bound for the top floor of the tower catering to the needs of the elite traveler. Fate has bestowed many riches upon me, my friends; true, passionate love, lasting and fulfilling. Fatherhood, enlightening, never boring and ultimately, enriching. Employment in a place between places, a temporary haven for all manner of beings, whether they be goddesses or dregs.

Let it be stated for the record – such as it is – she was definitely the former.

 Her lips were as red and vital as freshly-spilled blood, dangerously dark but enchanting. Their moist hue evoked images of morning dew in the Amazon. Her skin, in spite of the ravages of time and dangerous living, appeared fresh and untouched. Eyes that contained the raw intensity of a million suns remained resolute, never wavering to take stock of her surroundings. Sculpted cheek bones, a delicate chin and a nose that appeared too perfect to be natural – but clearly was – were accentuated by hair as black and endless as the night sky, tied tight with nary a strand unaccounted for.

Indeed, her regimented locks were indicative of the overall look of her product, namely, herself. An upscale, icy blue blouse had been grafted to a chest that appeared to have been chiseled from cold stone rather than formed naturally into warm flesh. An ashen skirt tastefully walked the line between business and pleasure, revealing toned, powerful legs that were the result of a dedicated fitness routine. Ebony stilettos completed the package.

To the assembled horde in the lobby she was a woman dressed for a sticky, lustful rendezvous or a businesswoman looking to climb the corporate ladder in the oldest manner possible. But my years of experience made the truth clear as day. If the public was privy to that actuality they would pass a harsh judgement upon her.

They would call her a hooker.

They would call her a whore.

They would call her a concubine.

(I know what you’re thinking but don’t assume; some people still read books.)

But here’s the naked truth: While it was true that this woman charged others for the pleasure of laying with her, she was no hooker. Referring to her as a prostitute would be akin to calling Kim Kardashian an actor. Or well-adjusted.

Nearly two decades of observing travelers has left me with the sort of skills referenced in The 40-Year-Old Virgin (“Use your peripherals, dawg!’), and so my subject was unaware of my observations – but not my presence. Turning to face me, she opened her delicate yet powerful hands and revealed a scrap of paper.

“Can you tell me, honey, am I heading for the right floor for this room?”

 My ears have received messages/queries from millions of voices over the years but none of them compared. The words dripped from her mouth like honey on an August day. I rolled with the punches and nodded quickly while choking out a “You’re on the right track, miss.” She smiled ever-so-slightly and turned away again.

Time and a lack of blood to the brain tend to play tricks on a man; what felt like the longest elevator ride of my life was actually less than ninety seconds (men always exaggerate the passage of time, don’t they, ladies?). We arrived at our destination and, for no reason in particular – that I could fathom, at least – my new “friend” turned to me as I began to roll my cart out of the elevator and made a very oddly-timed declaration.

“What I offer is never overpriced and its value definitely exceeds the charge. Now, if you’ll excuse me, its way past my head-time.”

I can only assume the femme fatale in question was as evolved as she appeared to be, and was toying with me while simultaneously validating the role she has chosen to play in this little drama we call life in the so-called civilized world.

Either way, she made her point. I moved onto my destination and she did the same. I didn’t see her gain, but it was better that way; nothing could top that encounter for its surreal nature. I have to wonder if David Lynch isn’t the puppet master behind my life at the hotel. Best not to ponder such possibilities, I suppose.

That’s all I have for you today, my friends. See you in the lobby…


About The Hook

Husband. Father. Bellman. Author of The Bellman Chronicles. Reader of comic books and observer and chronicler of the human condition. And to my wife's eternal dismay, a mere mortal and non-vampire. I'm often told I look like your uncle, cousin, etc. If I wore a hat, I'd hang it on a hat rack in my home in Niagara Falls, Canada. You can call me The Hook, everyone else does.
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32 Responses to A Little Pulp Non-Fiction, Anyone?

  1. oceanswater says:

    I love the way you write!! So fascinating…

  2. Love your style, Hook. It’s almost like I can hear your baritone voice doing telling me the story. Your writing flows off the tongue like warm caramel–car-o-mel.

  3. There is something to be said for a woman who can bring The Hook to near speechless. Really? Through the whole encounter all you said was, “You’re on the right track, Miss”?

  4. The Cutter says:

    And then when you reviewed the security cameras you found that there WAS NO WOMAN! You had only imagined her! Or had you…?

  5. Paul says:

    Awesome story Hook. i have found that in every job there are a very very few who comprise the best of the best. You don’t run nto them often but when you do, you are instantly aware that you are in the presence of perfection. Your lady sounds like such a person – albeit in a job that is less than socially appreciated.

    Great Post Hook.

  6. Marian Green says:

    Love your descriptions. I can see the whole thing. 🙂

  7. Such a meticulous description and I knew s.o.m.e.thing was different with this ‘creature.’ 😉

  8. bfg666 says:

    …And now I’ll always hear that lounge jazz tune whenever I read one of your posts!

    BTW, seems like you’re bent on the sensual side since you’re back, Hook. Feeling a little horny these days?

  9. bfg666 says:

    Speaking of Mr. Lynch, have you heard that he’s planning a 3rd season of Twin Peaks? I hope David Bowie returns.

  10. I…uhm…and then there was….uhm….did you? I mean was there….*shivers* No words Hook, I have no words!!!! Sometimes I would so love to be a fly on your sleeve for a day! I don’t swing that way, but even I would love to see her!! 😉

  11. List of X says:

    It’s not like your services are overpriced either, the Hook 🙂

  12. This unlocked a memory. Many, many years ago I was in a casino in Atlantic City. I was about to walk into the bar and I was approached by a young, pretty girl. She looked me in the eye and asked if I wanted a “date.” I didn’t realize what was happening at first and thought she was interested in me. What luck! I was going to invite her into the bar for a drink but before I could humiliate myself, I suddenly realized what was happening. I stood there like a dear in the headlights. I think I actually stammered a ‘no thank you.’ What a man I was.

  13. jlheuer says:

    Nice writing but I thought you were going to hit me with something like she was really a he. Maybe next time.

  14. PsiFiGal says:

    Thank you for following-up with us, it was better than I expected, and that’s saying a lot! I look forward to your next post, as always.

  15. orples says:

    My three year old grandson is into Batman big time, so when I keep him, and batman (the original version with Adam West) is on, I always think of you for some silly reason. Hmmm, I wonder why? I know, it’s a little off topic, but I just really wanted to say ‘Hello’ since I’m back on the radar, now.

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