Add them up

Part of an as yet unfinished novel.

Once again he entered the hallowed shrine of jobs. Cardboard artefacts
from industries past and present (but no future) huddled together on a
wall as if for support or protection from the endless line of
contemptuous, bored stares. Tired eyes looked but didn't see the usual
collection of rubbish (trainee hair-stylist, barista, security guard,
potato-checker...barista?) and tried not to see the rare glimmer of
hope on the game of life board.
A half hour weekly worship shared with never-haves, don't-wants,
fuck-yous and so-whats.
He scanned the vacancies, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes at this
ungodly hour of ten o'clock, every now and then stretching his neck
around to catch a glimpse of the only nymph he'd ever known work at a
jobcentre. He doubted that she remembered him from his bi-weekly
visits, though he fancied that she looked his way every now and then.
Her slight, delicate frame equipped with full breasts and a great arse
gave her an enviable figure, much needed on mornings like this (like
catching the vicars wife throwing open the bedroom curtains to the
waiting choirboys). This heavenly vision of the Madonna, or Mary
Magdalene, he preferred, was topped off with a friendly enough face and
blonde hair.
Her features and their arrangement were certainly above average but he
was a little disappointed that her nose and chin reminded him ever so
slightly of the wicked witch of the north from Oz (he clicked his
trainers together three times and wished himself back in bed).
Her tinkling voice, marred only by an overly-strong local accent, was
warm, and not a little flirty; supplicant and feminine yet combined
with a hint of firmness that he liked. Much easier to listen to than
the harsh, accusatory sounds that emanated from the High-Priestess
Harridens that usually attended to him, occassionally spitting their
acrid venom at him from across the altar.
She still quizzed him in the same way the others did..."And how many
jobs have applied for this week Mr...?" but somehow she made the
patronising just that little bit more bearable.
Still, in an office populated by middle-aged, power-mad battle-axes and
younger but considerably more homely sorts, Beverley stood T&;A
above the rest. Beverley, Beverley, Bev, Bev. He desperately tried to
banish unwanted thoughts of Brian Bevan, a dead Rugby player of old, in
order to keep his little fantasy just this side of respectable (though
he probably had a tattoo on his upper right arm as well).
Every time he came in to worship he had the sound of church bells
clanging through his head, "Dole-Day, Dole-Day...Dole-Day,
Dole-Day...", his imagination trying to set an appropriate mood and
make a joke at his expense at one and the same time.

PACKER - ?3.75 ph
MACHINIST - ?4.35 ph
SECURITY GUARD - ?4.10 ph

He suddenly noticed a vacancy-card that really spoke to him. It spoke
in almost religious tones, making visible the thoughts that had been
raging through his head all morning, and he realised, long before. He
reached up to touch the parchment, to feel its authenticity and make
sure he wasn't seeing things. He popped it out of its holder (not
allowed said a sign...yeah, yeah this is important) and it
read...

HORIZONTAL BORER

He had no idea what one was, well not what the job really entailed
anyway, but the connotations spoke volumes to his unhealthy
imagination. Desperate times call for desperate measures and this
morning he felt particulary desperate. Easily enough to consider the
implications, monetary benefits, embarrassments, income, immoral nature
and financial rewards of a job as a gigolo, a male escort, a rent-boy,
a prostitute. These last two, however, brought a seediness to the
profession which he wasn't altogether sure about, but still, it would
take more than Midnight Cowboy and the status of 'never to be trusted
by real women' to put him off this venture. His mind reeled at the
thought of getting paid a lot of money for doing something that most
women wouldn't tolerate his presence long enough for him to suggest,
something that he had failed at in almost every attempt. But now the
stakes were infinitely higher, not only would he have the chance to
share the company, warmth and hopefully the bed of various women, but
they would give him money to do it. Do it. It. To them.

"He entered the bar casually, feeling the women turn to look. He
glanced around the room, taking in the whole scene before homing in on
his prey for the evening, a cool, stunning brunette sitting at the bar,
slowly and seductively sipping her drink. Before he had the chance to
catch her eye another man approached her, sliding up nonchalantly,
placing a hand on her arm and simultaneously trying to attract the
barman's attention. She turned to look at this unexpected admirer, then
down at his hand which was skilfully working its way around her waist.
She leaned over to him and whispered something in his ear. The effect
was immediate. His fingers suddenly stiffened and drew away from her
body, he rose from his seat, collected his drink and slid away in the
manner of his arrival.
'Ha!', our man laughed inside. 'She's mine tonight!', and taking no
more chances began to walk towards her.
She turned as though sensing him approach, and despite herself found
her mouth parting slightly and her eyes widening.
Conversation came easily to him, as did compliments and subtle flattery
that charmed the women he entertained, allowing them to relax in his
company.
A few more drinks and the time was right to suggest the next part of
the evening. He leaned forward brushing her neck and ear lightly with
his lips and asked her if they should go somewhere else. She nodded
slowly and, once again despite herself, smiled a warm and excited
smile.
The hotel room was warm and dimly lit, no signs of life except a bottle
of champagne and two glasses on the table.
'How thoughtful', she said.
'Yes', he replied, 'I am', before gently turning her towards him,
taking her in his arms and kissing her delicately on the lips.
She melted under his expert tuition and they sank slowly to the waiting
bed.
Early next morning, while she lay soundly sleeping, he stood naked by
the window gazing through the blind and reflecting on the nights
success. As well as taking with him fond memories of the previous
evening; it's warmth and easy atmosphere, the seduction and
love-making, he couldn't help but think how good this present scene
would look to an observer.
A beautiful, naked women lay half-covered and content close by him,
partially lit by a new days light streaming in through the obscured
window. And he, stood with his back to the room, as though unconcerned
for the beauty of either the scene or the girl. His firm and not
unattractive buttocks in half-shadow, his torso and profile outlined
displaying their finely honed structure and innate beauty.
In his hopelessly romantic, and hopeless in general mind, the whole
thing was exactly like the scene in 'American Gigolo' where Richard
Gere stands by the window and Lauren Hutton plays the part of the
beautiful woman. Poetry. Poetry to those with a romantic idealist mind
at any rate.

The split second fantasy left him feeling a little dizzy suddenly and
he reached out blindly and held onto the wall for support. He also
noticed that he felt very warm, to the point that he had broken out in
an all over sweat, making him feel like the Ready-Brek man, glowing
visibly. A million thoughts were racing through his now activated mind,
the darker, dingier recesses of it anyway - wierd and wonderful
opportunities, more spending money, self-confidence, flash cars,
endless types of women to entertain...
He noticed his wallet had suddenly stiffened in his pocket.

His stupidly implusive mind caused him to make a split decision about
his future career. He marched purposefully over to the available
assisstant; Beverley, plonked himself down on the seat opposite her and
without waiting for her regular spiel demanded to be signed-off
immediately. This clearly took her by surprise in two ways as he had
been claiming his governments ransom for about a year now with
seemingly no attempt at finding work, and also he had done it without
causing any fuss whatsoever. He had never complained about waiting
times, reviews or staff treatment. In fact his manner up to now had
been almost pathetic, to the point where she had trouble remembering
his name each time. But now after this sudden outburst of energy and
forcefullness she looked at him in a new light. After refusing the
advantages of Don Murray in 'Bus Stop', Marylin Monroe finally concedes
when he finally lets his guard down and she sees a different side of
him, to which she almost cries:
"I'll go anywhere in the world with you now!". The scene flashed
through Beverley's head conjuring emotions and sensations that were
wholly inappropriate for the situation, this then merged with a
spontaneous fantasy that welled up inside her...

She found herself in a bar, nervously sipping a drink. As soon as she
had entered the place she had been fending off the unwanted advances of
men. The last had got as far as sliding his bloody arm round her waist
before she'd managed to tell him to quietly 'fuck off'. She wasn't
normally one for swearing but he was about the tenth in as many minutes
and it seemed the best way to get rid of him, plus her date would be
here soon and she wanted to look right. Suddenly she felt a warmth race
through her body and slowly turned to look at it's source.
A man. Not any man. The man. Her man. He smiled warmly and she tried to
smile back, but her mouth just opened slightly, a clumsy mixture of
silent allure and dumb wonder. She noticed that he looked very
familliar, before realising that she had unconsciously placed the face
of the mouse that sat before her onto the body of her fantasy...

She started slightly as she returned, noticing that the mouse was
eyeing her with a force and intention that was not only predatory and a
little dangerous but she also realised that she liked being looked at
this way, especially by him. Her mouth opened as though to say
something but only silence sounded. She too was a mouse really and only
this job gave her any degree of power to wield, yet against her better
nature and judgement she felt that she had to say what she was feeling
to this virtual stranger. He meanwhile sat opposite, stern and
resolute, nodding imperceptibly as though he had made a cosmic decision
that would stand for all time. He had let his intentions be known and
nothing was going to get in the way of his chosen path of money and a
variety of women, not even Beverley who had intentions of her own to
state. Despite his object of lust before him, wilting under his very
gaze, he, thinking that simply telling them that he wanted to sign-off
was enough, rose from the swivel chair and gracefully left the office,
leaving unrequieted words of emotion and admission on her lips.