A Question of Morals

on of Morals

  S.M. Welles

  Copyright 2013

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fan fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  An hour after leaving his apartment on a fine New York evening, Greg crossed paths with someone in need of his help. The sidewalks were moderately busy in this part of the projects--not quite dinnertime yet, but getting there. A block away stood a blonde woman of no more than twenty, wearing a denim half-jacket and matching skirt, a red shirt and white lace tank underneath. Nice figure, pretty curls in her shoulder-length hair, and, of course, heels to show off her legs. Her aura was putting out wave after wave of discontent and yearning for change. Exactly the combination was looking for. He could help this person.

  Hands pocketed in his leather jacket, Greg angled his approach so he was hugging the building edge of the sidewalk; not too close to make people worry he was looking for a garbage to rifle through, and not too close to the other edge so the young woman wouldn’t easily catch him in her peripheral. Once he got close enough, he veered towards her, grabbed a modest handful of one glute, and kept walking without breaking stride. He braced himself for a fist to the back of his head but instead flinched at the sound of her sharp voice.

  “Hey! Fondling isn’t free, mister!” She lacked a New York accent.

  Greg stopped. The girl half sounded, half didn’t sound like the hooker she was. It made sense from what he’d picked up... He turned around and raised an eyebrow.

  “If you’re gonna solicit me, show me some cash. I ain’t cheap.”

  He decided to play dumb since no woman in her right mind would believe he’d grabbed her, a stranger, just to get her attention. “Oh, you’re a prostitute. I’m sorry. I don’t give involved with that kind of crowd.” He resume walking. This girl was the type that wouldn’t let him get away like this. He had to make it her decision to keep him around.

  As expected, the girl grabbed his jacket sleeve. “But you just did! Why’d you grab my ass?” She glared at him with hard hazel eyes that’d seen so few happy days.

  Greg popped her a dorky smile and shrugged. “Take the compliment?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “That’s harassment.”

  “Then call the cops,” he said smoothly.

  She stiffened. “No.”

  “Then punch me or something and I’ll accept the punishment and move on with my day.” Again, he braced for the fist he knew he deserved. The lady instead scrunched her brows as she unconsciously backed up a step.

  “You’re a strange man.”

  Greg popped her a friendly smile. She was beginning to warm up to him. “I’m Greg. What’s your name?”

  “What do you care? Unless you’re gonna make it worth my time, I’m not telling you.” She folded her arms, squishing up and showcasing her breasts.

  Greg forced himself to make eye contact again. “Even if I was into prostitutes, you’re too young for me. I have to be almost twice your age.” He avoided using the term “hooker.” The woman didn’t want to hear that word.

  She shifted her weight to one leg. “What are you talking about? I’m twenty-seven years old. I know more things than most women twice my age. I’ll take you where I normally do business, charge you double, and forgive you for fondling me after.”

  “Twenty seven? There’s no way you’re that old.”

  She raised her chin. “You heard me!”

  A woman in dire enough straits to insist she was older than she truly was? She really needed his help. He was getting closer to being able to. His strangeness had thrown her off-kilter and now she was trying to figure what to make of him. It’d been such a long time since men had treated her as something than a thing with a hole--not that he’d started off any better, but that’d been necessary.

  The woman lost her hardened exterior and frowned. “I’m twenty, alright? And I am good at what I do. How old are you, mister?”

  “Too old for you. And please: call me Greg." He gave her another friendly smile. “So what’s your name?”

  She sighed through her nose. “Harriet. So am I gonna get some business from you or what? I still have to make a living.”

  “I have a better idea. Why don’t I treat you to dinner? You look like you could use some quality food in you.” Harriet gave him an incredulous stare but he ignored it. “We’ll go to Finnigan’s. It’s got a nice bar and a TV. And if we hurry, we can catch a Yankees-Sox game. Whadda you say?”

  She perked at the mention of free food, but hid back under her hardened exterior. “I don’t watch baseball.”

  “You have no idea what you’re missing, sweet cheeks.”

  “Yeah, my next paycheck.”

  “Relax! I said I’d take care of dinner for you. And after that we’ll talk about getting you a better job. Something with a more reliable income.” He held out a hand. “Sound like a deal?”

  Harriet eyed the hand suspiciously. “Why would you want to help me?”

  “Because it goes against my morals not to try and help someone like you. I can tell you’re dying for someone to throw you a lifeline.”

  Again, she showed a chink in her armor, tears that wanted out at the mention of someone offering her help. From what Greg had read into her, prostitution was never where Harriet expected to end up, and someplace she desperately wanted out of, but had no clue how to get out of her discomfort zone. All that insecurity snuck back under her hard gaze. “But it’s not against your morals to grab a woman’s ass and keep on walking?”

  “How’d you end up in your field anyway?”

  “My friends pulled me into it. Said it was good quick money.”

  “What kind of friends talk another friend into…?” He gestured at her with both arms. “That. Where were your parents at when all this happened?”

  “Nowhere. Been on my own since I was sixteen.”

  “I’m sorry to hear.” Greg genuinely was. He just hoped Harriet was open enough to see that.

  “Don’t be.” Her hard eyes softened.

  “Okay then. Let’s catch the bus and get some food. It’s almost dinnertime. Do you trust me enough for that?”

  Harriet thought a moment. “I shouldn’t,” she said, sounding unsure.

  “That’s an odd answer.”

  “You’re too... strange... to trust or not trust.”

  “Well, that clarifies things,” he said sarcastically. “Anyway, I’ll be escorting you via public transportation to a public restaurant. If at any time you don’t feel comfortable, I’ll leave you be. No strings attached, unlike your double rate deal for me.”

  Her mouth struggled between a smile and a frown, and the frown won out. “Fine. I’ll punch you too for good measure if the moment calls for it.”

  “Deal.” He held out his hand again, and this time Harriet shook it. When they let go she looked at him like she was expecting him to do more than shake hands. When he did nothing, not only did it bring relief, it also made her more guarded against him. She didn’t understand him. But on the upside she welcomed the change of pace.

  Together they headed to the bus station in silence. Greg wanted to make small talk but Harriet’s aura said her brain needed to sort this strange situation out. When they reached the stop a few blocks down and stood near the tall blue sign, a door nearby slammed open. A tall man in a business suit and carrying a briefcase stormed down the porch steps and marched up to the stop, but kept a respectable distance between them. He checked his cell phone.

  Now, Greg could pass for belonging in this neighborhood, but this
man looked far too wealthy to be doing business in the projects. “You haven’t been robbed yet?” The words slipped out before he could stop himself.

  The businessman--no lawyer--gave him an incredulous stare. “What kind of question is that?”

  How to politely back away from his verbal blunder? “Well, you look… out of place. I mean... what is a person like you doing in a place like this?” He gestured to the abused and neglected buildings.

  “None of your business,” the lawyer snapped.

  “Someone’s grumpy,” Harriet said.

  The lawyer flipped them both off and stormed away.

  Greg glanced in the direction opposite the lawyer and spotted the blue face of a distant bus.

  “Hey, sir! The bus is coming. You might wanna turn around.”

  “Like hell I’m getting on the same bus as you!” he said over a shoulder.

  “But aren’t you trying to beat the clock all the time?”

  The lawyer stopped and pulled out his phone again. “Shit!” He marched back to the bust stop with a look of death on his Italian face.

  “I just saved you from being late,” Greg said.

  “And you were almost the cause of my lateness.”

  “So does that make me a good or a bad person?” he said with a smile.

  The lawyer opened his mouth to say something but no words came out. He thought a moment, then closed his mouth and turned his attention to the approaching bus. An awkward silence ensued.

  Harriet said, “So. What kind of job were you thinking of getting me?”

  Greg fished out a lighter and cigarette and put the cigarette in one corner of his mouth. “A strip club,” he said casually.

  “A strip club? Why would I want to work there?”

  “Do you want to stay where you are now?”

  Harriet frowned and looked away. “No.”

  Greg struggled to get his lighter to work, then took a deep drag and exhaled the smoke. “Anyway, my sister has a friend who’s paying her own way through college via stripping. Most of that’s tips, so the government--” He glanced at the lawyer, who had his back to them. “The government doesn’t know how much she makes, which should appeal to you. You could be taking off your clothes for men for a lot more money than what you’re making now. And you could make some good friends while you’re at it.”

  Harriet stared at the cigarette like it was some loathsome object. “Smoking’s bad for you. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t while I was around.”

  Greg blinked and, with a shrug, humored her and chucked the unfinished cigarette in a gutter.

  “And the same with littering.”

  He laughed. “Where do you get your morals?”

  “I could ask the same of you.”

  “Touché.” The bus squeaked to a stop before them. The lawyer slipped past and hurried aboard. “Anyway… shall we?” He gestured to the bus. Harriet nodded and boarded the bus like she owned it. Greg followed and sat next to her but made sure to give her a respectable amount of space, along with keep his hands in his coat pockets. The bus took off with a lurch.

  “So. What else can you tell me about your sister’s friend’s strip club? I still haven’t said yes to it, by the way.” Harriet watched the city pass by.

  He gazed out the window with her. “Well, it’s a very popular place, so you’ll never have to worry about a slow night.”

  “Would I ever get to take a night off here and there?”

  “Of course. And it’s gotta be more reliable than hanging out on some rotten street corner. Every day of the week is a special day. You got Manly Monday, Titty Tuesday, Wang Wednes—”

  “I get the picture.”

  He sat facing forward. “Sure thing. But anyway, it’ll be great. You’ll love it there. And everyone’s gonna love you.”

  “And how would you know?”

  “I know all the ladies personally, and they all know me. I frequent the place on a semi-regular basis.” And that probably didn’t come out the way he intended.

  “They all know you personally?”

  “Yeah. I helped most of them like I’m helping you right now.” Yeah, this wasn’t heading in the direction he’d intended.

  “And not because you’re a regular customer?”

  Yeah, not at all. “Oh, I love looking at gorgeous women. Not gonna lie. Still, nowadays I’m usually there before or after business hours. I usually am at work when the club’s open.”

  Harriet raised an eyebrow. “You expect me to believe all that?”

  “Not really but I hope you do.” He returned to looking out the window. “So tell me more about yourself.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like… your bra size.” He deliberately stared at her chest.

  She covered herself, even though no cleavage was showing. “I thought you said you weren’t into that kind of thing!” She made a fist but didn’t swing.

  Greg winked. “I was just playing. Loosen up, will ya? You’re awfully high-strung for a prostitute.”

  “It’s your strangeness.”

  “Relax. I said I was helping you. And speaking of help, here’s our stop. Time for probably the best meal you’ve had in years. Your mom was—was your mom a good cook?” That was a close one. He’d almost said something so many people would think strange. Sometimes it was hard talking to people without revealing his extra perceptiveness, especially when he was with someone he was trying to help. The bus squeaked to a halt.

  Harriet spoke as if she’d missed his slip. “She was too drunk to cook half the time.”

  “I’m sorry to hear.”

  “Don’t worry about it. That was a long time ago.”

  “Well let’s make it a longer time.” Greg stood and held out a hand. Harriet took it. He looked at the back of the bus, where the lawyer was wallowing in his bad mood. “Sir, don’t forget to wish your mother a happy birthday!”

  The lawyer scowled at him, then thought a moment. His eyes widened. “Crap!”

  Greg smiled and followed Harriet off the bus, thus commencing the start of a better life for one more person.