Scene: Ceasar’s Palace Spa Suite
Michael checked himself in the mirror and squirted a bit of gel into his palm. He was pleased with what he saw tonight. His hair had achieved that ‘not really trying at all,’ look. “Now all I need is a little motivation.” On the counter one of his many hand mirrors was laid out with a razor and a perfect line of white powder. He bent over and slowly inhaled making sure none was wasted. The shit was expensive after all. He felt an immediate erection growing in his pants. I’ll fuck her till she can’t walk straight!
Ryan wasn’t a pro and she wasn’t like one of the exotic Asian hookers who looked so dainty but always surprised you with their durability. With those Asian cunts you could never tell if they were moaning in pleasure or protesting your intrusion. It didn’t matter because either one was a turn on. There are some things I wouldn’t mind trying out on Ryan just for shits and giggles. Keiko, that crazy bitch, sure had known her stuff. Who would have known Japanese chicks were that bendable?
Keiko was responsible for his current fascination with coke. She had given him his first taste. He’d only done it because she said it would make sex better. She was right. It didn’t take long before Michael couldn’t separate the two things. He actually didn’t want sober sex anymore; it was boring.
He’d only been in town for one night and he was a little tired from the jet lag the first night. He hadn’t had his little pick me up because Ryan had been there. She had an idea of him as a modern day saint that a coke habit might spoil. He had given it to her good, but since she was still able to sit down afterward, he figured it hadn’t been good enough. He had big plans for tonight; he had to make up for that month long dry spell of hers.
“She won’t know what hit her.”
Scene: Back at Home (Ryan’s apartment)
Ryan woke from fitful sleep by the sound of a key turning in the lock. She’d given Michael a copy of the key to her apartment. She reluctantly raised her head and rubbed her temples as the memory started flooding in.
“Babe?” he called from the next room.
It was around 9:30 pm much too early for her to be in bed, but when she came home all Ryan wanted to do was sleep and shut out the world.
He was in the doorway to her room peering in at her. “Ryan? You okay?”
She took a deep breath preparing herself to ask the tough questions she already knew the answers too. He looked a little nervous.
“We need to talk,” she said.
“Uh oh sounds serious.” He came over to her and tried to put his arm around her shoulders but she shrugged him off.
“It is. Look, I don’t want to fuck around with this. Did you sleep with another woman while you were away?” she asked. Her directness startled him; he was clearly not ready for that question. He looked more than just startled, he looked guilty. And why is his for-head sweating?
“Ryan you know I’d never hurt you,” he reached out for her hand.
She snatched it away from him. “You didn’t answer the question.”
“Of course I didn’t sleep with anyone!” His eyes strayed to the floor as he made the statement.
She noticed he was nervously tapping his right foot on the floor. “You’re lying. I can’t believe you’re lying right to my face!” Ryan felt her sadness give way to anger, which was a more manageable emotion. She wanted to shout and punch something at the same time. “I have the fucking Black Syphillis Michael, whatever that is, and you’re the only man I’ve slept with in two years!” Now the look on his face was fear, she was sure of it. The idea of catching an incurable illness terrified him.
“I went to Dr. Schmidt today and he told me I have an incurable STD that is not found in the United States. I’ve never been out of the country Michael and you just got back from Osaka. I wanted to give you the opportunity to be man enough to admit it.”
Michael had the look of a cornered animal desperately seeking escape. There was no way he could talk or charm his way out of this one. His silence confirmed his guilt and she decided the sight of him was making her physically ill. “Get out,” she ordered.
“Ryan, I love you,” he began. “I don’t’ know what I would do without you-“
“You should have thought of that before you screwed a Japanese hooker and gave me crotch rot!” She walked toward him ushering him through her small apartment toward the entrance. “Out,” she said with as much menace as she could force into the word.
“Ryan, we can work through this. I’m sorry.” It seemed he was near tears and she felt a small cramp in her stomach. Then she reminded herself of Dr. Schmidt’s words This man may be able to make you more comfortable, no cure. It made her angry all over again.
“I love you,” he said again almost in a whisper.
“You don’t even know what that words means,” she said slamming the door in his face. She walked to the bathroom to get a tissue and caught her reflection in the mirror. Her face was a mask of smeared mascara and pain. Her hair was a tangled mass of unkempt curls falling around her face. She looked like a modern day Medusa. She was embarrassed that he’d seen her this way.
Ryan’s attention was diverted from her misery to something wet on her foot. She looked down and discovered a green substance running through her toes. The crotch of her jeans was frayed leaving a giant dripping hole. Her underwear was eaten away and there was a green stain around the edges of her pants.
The card with that German doctors name on it came to mind. She went to look for her phone.