Lowballin'



The woman looked to be in her fifties.

I watched her as I filled my water bottle in the drinking fountain at the end of the hallway. She was a rather large woman and her flesh strained the seams of her jeans. I'd seen her a lot lately, hanging around and talking to the customers near the video booths and workin' the guys on their way toward the theater. She was a lowly old woman, lookin' down on her luck. She wore a pair of cheap rubber sandals and her feet were horribly neglected--dirty and calloused with thick, yellowed nails which twisted and curled over the tip of each toe. She had frizzy orange hair, which matched the color of her sweater, and had the ruddy complexion of a drinker. Her face was heavily made up-- fake lashes, frosted blue lids, lips wearing a pink-coral sheen.

She checked her watch and looked down the hallway toward the exit to the theatre. My water bottle was full but I felt rooted, as if something was about to happen, something big, so I dumped the water and started filling it again, like some kind of autistic village watergirl. Right then, one of the theatre whores exited the theatre and started down the hallway toward us. He was a tall, skinny black guy with round, silver-rimmed glasses. He wore khaki slacks and a light blue, button up shirt with brown loafers and a beeper that clipped at the hip. When the woman spied him, she pushed off the wall and started toward him. When he saw her, he lowered his head and quickened his pace, trying to get past her.

She stopped right in front of him. "You thought you could hide from me in the theater, huh?" she said.

He slipped by her and kept walking.

"You owe me twenty dollars! And I'm not leavin' till I get it, ya hear me!" she yelled after him.

The customer caught me lookin' and shot back at her, "I don't know what you're talking about, lady. I think you got the wrong guy."

He walked past me and bellied up to the front counter to pick up his bag. The clerk working the counter was on the phone, talking to a friend. The guy started to get anxious as the woman approached him. I noodled with my water bottle like it was broke, still watching.

When the woman got right up to him, the guy lost his patience. "Hey man, sorry to bother you, but I'm in a hurry. Can you grab my bag for me? It's the black duffel bag over there," he said, pointing toward the bag.

The clerk smiled and nodded. "It will just be a second, dude." He spoke again into the phone, "I don't know. They blow their wad and suddenly they got a plane to catch."

The woman leaned over and jabbed her finger into the black guy's arm. "I want my twenty, and I'm not leaving until I get it!"

The guy turned away from the clerk and leaned over toward the woman. "Shut up and I'll give it to you tomorrow," he whispered.

"You fucking cheap bastard! You said you'd gimme twenty, now hand it over ya lyin' motherfucker!" she yelled.

His eyes widened behind his glasses and he held his hands up, palms facing her. "I thought I had it, I must have lost it or something," he said.

"Well, you had enough to buy a ticket to get into the theatre," she said. "You can at least give me your change."

He started going through his pockets, patting down his shirt and slacks. "I don't have any change, either."

"There's an ATM over there," she said. "Surely you got some cards on ya?"

"Ah, nah, honey." He looked over at the machine and his mouth formed a nervous smile. "I left my cards at home . . . left 'em in a pair of pants I wore out last night."

She grabbed his arm and squeezed real hard and raised her voice. "You better fuckin' give me that money, asshole! Or I'm gonna follow you home and tell your wife how you like to suck off fat guys in the theatre and pay us whores to watch you gargle their cum!"

The clerk finally made do with his call. The woman turned to the clerk and pleaded with him. "This guy stole my money," she said--her eyes batting to an unsteady beat.

The clerk looked at the guy and said, "You stole her money?"

"No way, man" the guy said with a big smile on his face. "She's got me confused with someone else. I've seen her hanging around this place lately, hittin' up guys right and left. I think she might be crazy."

"Liar!" she screamed, jumping up in the air, a rigid surfboard of fury.

The clerk handed the guy his bag. He took it wordlessly, turned around and walked away, heading for the stairs. The woman started to get desperate, like the twenty was all she had. She yelled after the man. "I suck your cock and you think you can get away without paying?"

The guy paused at the top of the stairs.

The woman turned back to the clerk. "I can prove it," she said--her eyes big as plates. "He shaves his thighs and balls like a faggot and he's got these two ugly moles on the bottom of his left nut sack."

The clerk pointed to the staircase. "Get out!" he yelled, "Or I'm callin' the men in blue."

The guy's head disappeared down the stairs and the woman ran after him. She stopped at the top, yelling down. "You know, you could at least buy me a burger at the Hurricane, asshole! I was gonna buy somethin' to eat with that money!"

Another customer appeared then, reaching the top of the staircase and walked past the bereaved whore like she didn't exist. The clerk picked up the phone and started to dial. "I'm callin' the cops right now, lady!" he yelled.

She smiled a crazy smile like a woman under the influence. "Well can I at least go out the back way?" she asked.

"Yeah, but just hustle, OK?" he said.

The woman caught sight of me as she headed toward the hall.

"What are ya lookin' at?" she growled "You ain't ever seen a real lady before?"

I said nothing.

"You think you're better than me with all your fancy outfits and your fancy hair and makeup? You feel real special cuz all these losers come in and pay you to watch them play with their cocks? Well let me tell you, honey . . . when I was your age, I looked way better than you, and I never spread 'em in a dive like this. I did the real thing . . . I was a real woman."

I bit down hard on my tongue.

The clerk shook the phone receiver at the woman

"Aw, fuck you all! Fuck this place!" she yelled and then she disappeared down the hall toward the back stairs.

The clerk put down the phone and I headed back to the dressing room, water bottle mission accomplished. I was reaching for the dressing room doorknob when I heard someone call my way: "Hey!" I looked over my shoulder and saw the old woman sitting down on the top of the back stairs. "I'm really sorry for what I said. I'm just having a really bad day, " she said. "Honestly, I didn't mean to take it out on you."

"That's OK," I said. "

I turned back around and opened the door.

"Hey," she started again.

I turned around, hand still on the knob. "Yeah?"

"I hate to ask, but do you have an extra five bucks so I can get a hamburger at the Hurricane? I promise I'll stop by tomorrow and pay you back." She immediately looked down, like she was about to cry. "Ah forget about it," she said in disgust.

"Just a sec," I said, "I think I have something in my pocket."

I fished around in my pocket and pulled out a wad of crusty ones, which I had just made on stage. I unwadded the bills and started counting them out. "I think there's ten. Here, take it."

I walked toward her and handed her the crinkled bills. She smiled weakly and grabbed the bills, stuffing them greedily into her pockets. I started to walk away.

"Hey," she said, "you don't happen to have an extra smoke, do you?"

"Nope," I said, "but I can get you one."

I stepped into the dressing room and the girl I was working with was doing a show. I spied her pack sitting on the counter and plucked out a couple. I walked back out and handed the woman the smokes.

"Thanks," she said, "you're a real doll." She headed down the stairs, mood suddenly changed.

I went back to my booth and sucked at my water.