she was clearly having a panic attack as i drove up to her
flushed, pale cheeks glowing as the sunset. fearful i was going to drive off without her.
i just drove here to get you, why would i drive away? i said nicely
the last guy did, she said and collected herself slowly.
i offered to get her a bottle of water out of my trunk. she said no, im late, lets go.
cute. tomboyish. jeans. sneakers. not a lot of makeup.
but definately freaked out. still. i thought what sort of music would soothe her? turned on the tom petty station.
hey avril (her name was violet), we found each other. you can relax now, i said pulling into traffic gently.
southern accents was playing. turned it up.
i said you got the best uber driver in most of LA, the night has just begun, we’re young (taking off my cubs cap revealing a bald head with little gray hairs poking out), and there’s very few drugs hidden in the trunk.
she laughed and we talked and talked. it would be about 45 minutes to get to the beach. so i started off like i always do, i read off the address and asked,
so whats going on at 123 Speedway tonight?
you dont wanna know, she said.
intriguing because even in the short trips i’ll end up learning a lot about my chatty passengers and almost always what’s in front of us.
she was amped up and emotional. her stories were fantastic and sad.
within 10 minutes i had learned she was a hooker, had done a bunch of porn a decade ago, had a kid waiting for her back home where i got her, and was proud of being really good at screening her customers,
including this one who she had been “talking with” over the last two days
tonight she would spend an hour with him.
oh shit, she said out of nowhere, startling me a little. i forgot gum.
damn, i dont have any, i said, lets go to that liquor store there.
typically i would never have done this. gotta keep the wheels moving. but she was more than violet now, even though she looked 22 she was dominck’s mom.
clearly on edge, as we parked at the curb she asked me if i wanted a Gatorade or anything.
sure, some m&ms.
when she climbed out i was able to get a better look at her.
typical college look with tight intentionally torn jeans and a short leather jacket. not the uniform of a backpage escort. nothing she wore said sexy.
scattered, yes. bothered. rattled. testy.
gratefully she was in and out as promised but as she exited the liquor store, she looked like she had been crying.
she stopped at the parking meter and threw back a mini airplane sized bottle of vodka and then another one.
she littered, climbed back in the benz and called her dude.
he mumbled something and she said, remember i told you i get bad breath when i snort rails.
then, do you have an extra tooth brush? i totally forgot to get gum.
i never know whether to turn down the radio when people are on the phone back there so they could hear easier - or is it better to turn it up so they could have their privacy. either ways fine with me.
but in this case i turned it down and whattya know i could even hear his side of the call. he was being nice.
the same thing happens to me, he laughed nervously. oh yeah, i have a spare tooth brush.
i forget if i asked her or she told me.
jk i asked, hey how much do you charge a guy like him?
$900, she said with zero hesitation. im a high priced bitch.
my mouth agaped.
she was fine, as in average fine, as in person. but like… nine hundred dollars?
do i not know how much things cost?
instead of asking her that, i asked, do you ever worry the dude might be too rough on you?
never. i have nails. i'll scratch his eyes out and kick him in the nuts. i might seem all soft and cute but guess what, im a bitch.
we talked about drugs and traveled side streets across LA to avoid the traffic of god only knows what. she told me everything. too much. we even got into astrology.
when she realized we were the same signs she asked me if i ever met a virgo with body dysmorphia.
in LA? i laughed. doesn't half this town have that?
do you? she asked.
oh its not dismorphia, i know im a mess. ahahaha we laughed.
but whats nice is when someone kisses me, i know its not bc of my rock hard abs. i have things to do.
i have so many things to do she said, sighed, snapped to and giggled and told me about the love of her life who was obsessed with his body to the point he was spending hundreds on huge jars of wheat germ and powders at gnc
and it turned him crazy which turned her crazy and he left her because he didn't believe he deserved her.
did the wheat germ make him look hot?
he always looked hot she said.
about a mile from what i’d soon learn was a giant all-glass waterfront condo, she started saying, i need a vibe. i need a vibe.
what sort of vibe i asked
i need hip hop.
oh theres shade 45, i offered, naming the rap station on sirius satelite.
you aint got PWR? she asked, referring to one of the local FM stations i hadn’t thought about in years. is that 105? 106?
then she said, im not sure i want to do this.
i looked in my rearview, was she crying?
omg violet, look i can turn around if you want. i wont even charge you for the ride back bc you’re near me.
she grabbed her oversized cracked-screen phone and called her bff.
girl, i dont know.
BITCH YOU BETTER GET THAT MONEY, her Black friend yelled, pronouncing 900 in various ways.
Nine hunnnnnnnndid, nine humunuma hunima hunima, niiiiiiiiiiiine hundie before nine oclock. GET YOURS BEEEEEEE
violet started to laugh, hung up and was good. justlikethat
with the windows down sometimes when yr near the beach it does feel different. a little breezier. a little less aggravating.
while stopped at the red light a block from the towers i said this might sound crazy — im not asking for tip, but in an hour, or whenever it’s over, would you mind tipping me one dollar in the app so i know everything ended up ok? you’re a good girl and i wanna not worry tonight.
when we got to the swanky condo he was at the curb waiting for us. tall, maybe in his 30s. dress shirt tucked into jeans. combed hair. she handed me a $5 and some ones.
you really are the best
an hour later she tipped me another $20 in the app.
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