Playback Read Free Page B

against the need, rushed into it head-on. The electricity in his groin spun and grew, driving sparks into his brain from behind his eyes. He grunted and rose up on his knees. He grabbed for the hand that held him, found the arm attached to the hand and flipped the hooker onto her front. From her weight he knew it was the brunette.
    “Oh, now we’re ready, are we?” she squealed.
    He felt for her again, found her open and waiting, kneed her legs apart and drove himself forward.
    “That’s the way!” she laughed. “Oh, honey, that’s the way!”
    He thrust into her again, again, still not opening his eyes, not wanting to see where he was or who they were but wanting only to feel, to hold this magnificent, overwhelming, and glorious sensation as long as he could.
    The electricity expanded, coiling and growing, focusing at a pinpoint, a white hot pinpoint that was in command, that would not be denied.
    He felt a second pair of hands gently slide up his leg, cupping and kneading. That unlocked the gate and it all rushed forward. He exploded with a wail, throwing himself as hard as he could forward and into the brunette. She squawked, “You knocked me off the coat!” The waves came, crashing, over and over, and he rode with them over and over until the surf settled and the moon came out behind his eyes and he slipped away from the hooker and rolled onto his side, breathing heavily.
    “You’s a big ’en, you is,” said the blonde. “You’d put most the men down here on the streets of Bandits Roost to shame, they ever catch a glimpse of what you got there.”
    Andrew didn’t know if they were telling the truth or were just trying to please him for more pay, but he didn’t care. He’d had his moment of release, and now his moment of peace.
    Peace.
    His breathing eased. His heart slowed.
    Then, “So what is in that leather case you brought?” It was the blonde.
    Andrew opened his eyes, wiped his mouth, and then staggered to his feet. “It’s something to shoot you with,” he said.
    “Oh! Holy Mother of God!” shrieked the brunette.
    “No, you misunderstand,” said Andrew. “It’s a camera. It makes moving pictures.” He opened the large black leather case and went about attaching the heavy camera to the tripod.
    The brunette, now sitting straight with the blonde beside her, said. “Moving pictures? Really? Can you do that?”
    Andrew nodded. He adjusted the tripod legs, peered through the lens to find a disappointing lack of light. Everything through the camera appeared darkened and slightly distorted. He wished for some bright April sunlight rather than grayed January gloom.
    “I seen Sarah Bernhardt in a couple of them little movin’ pictures down in Luna Park,” said the brunette. “She’s beautiful. She make good money doing that, you think?”
    “I wouldn’t know,” said Andrew. “Would you turn up the lamp?” The brunette scrambled to her feet and trotted to the wall to adjust the lamp’s valve. With a
whoosh
of gas the flame flared then held steady, sending a bit more of the anemic light across the room.
    “So you gonna film us?” asked the blonde. She stood now and struck a pose beside the brunette.
    “Yes.”
    They giggled and hopped back onto the bed. He imagined the bedbugs regrouping and planning their attack.
    “You gonna pay us for filmin’ us?” asked the blonde.
    “Yes,” said Andrew. “I’ll pay you fairly.” He had fifty dollars in his pocket, and was sure the girls hadn’t seen that much money at once in their lifetimes. They would be able to feed themselves and any babies they might have back in their own flats.
    Andrew took three minutes of film. The hookers embracing. The hookers kissing one another. The hookers standing by the window, staring out at the world as if they were unaware of their nakedness or their lots in life. The hookers curled up on the bed as if asleep. He thought,
Someday, there might truly be a market for such films. Films of naked women.