Chapter Text
Hustler
Chapter 1
:::
“Didn’t you speak to my secretary?” Cyril asks his girlfriend over the phone while he overlooks a party that was thrown for him.
“I speak to her more than I speak to you. It’s like we’re dating!”
“Please, Jane, just come to L.A. This is a very important week for me.”
“I have my own life, Cyril! I can’t be your beck and call girl.”
“I don’t think you’re a beck and call girl.”
“Well, that’s how you make me feel. Look, this isn’t working, Cyril, I’m… I’m done. I’m moving out.”
“That’s fine by me.” He doesn’t have the energy to deal with her, anymore.
“Fine. Goodbye, Cyril.” She hangs up.
“Goodbye, Jane.” Cyril says anyway, hanging up, too. “Good-freaking-bye.”
“Cyril?” Lana comes into the office. “The party’s down there. Sterling’s looking for you.”
“Lana…” Cyril turns to her. “When we were dating, did you talk to my secretary more than me?”
“She was one of my bridesmaids. Does that answer your question?” She replies.
“It does.” Cyril sighs.
“Another one bites the dust?” She purses her lips.
“Yeah.” He says.
“Well, the only advice I can give you is the same as before…”
“Yeah, yeah, loosen up.” He shakes his head. “Take chances, stop planning so much.”
“And also maybe go back to guys.” Lana whispers.
“I never should have told you that while drunk off my ass.” He whispers back. “Is your husband loose enough for you?”
“Yeah…” She looks down at Sterling, who is a very entertaining host. “Maybe too loose.”
“Look, I’m going to leave.” Cyril picks up his coat.
“This party’s for you, Cyril!” Lana tells him.
“I know, and I’m grateful, but I have work to do.” He walks by her and heads down the stairs and out the back door. She follows but turns at the bottom of the staircase to her husband, informing him that his guest of honor was leaving. Sterling heads outside to find Cyril talking to the valets.
“Hey, buddy, where are you going?” Sterling says, a drink in his hand.
“Could I have the keys to your car, please?” Cyril asks, exasperated.
“Why, what’s wrong with the limo?” Sterling asks.
“It’s buried all the way in the back.” Cyril says. “I don’t have the patience to wait for them to undo it. Just give me the keys, I’ll take good care of it.”
“Um, well…” Sterling reaches into his pocket and pulls out the keys, but doesn’t exactly give them to him. “Do you know how to drive a stick?”
“I’ll figure it out.” Cyril takes the keys and gets in the car, throwing his coat in the passenger’s seat. “Thanks.”
“Okay, let’s not get hasty, here, we all know your sense of direction is…” Sterling watches Cyril fumble his way out of the driveway. “Shit, Cyril, come on! It’s getting dark and you’re gonna get lost!”
“No, I’m not!” Cyril refuses to hear it, sputtering down the street toward Beverly Hills… he thinks.
:::
The sun sets in Los Angeles, and it’s time for wake up. Ray gets out of bed, showers, and puts on a white crop top, short ripped-up denim shorts, and worn-out high-heeled boots that needed a safety pin to zip up the right one. He puts on some eyeliner, mascara and barely noticeable lipstick. He throws on some cheap jewelry, grabs his fanny pack and starts to leave, until he hears the landlord yelling to somebody about rent. “Dukes.” He says, checking the back of the toilet bowl for their rent stash, and it was gone. Pam. “Double dukes!” He leaves out the fire escape and heads to the queer club on Hollywood Boulevard, looking for his roommate. Before he gets to the club, he sees cops have made a barrier around an alley. He takes a peek to see a fellow sex worker dead in a dumpster. “Triple dukes.” He shakes his head, quickly walking to the club, finding Pam sitting next to some nasty drug dealer. “Where’s the money, Pam?” He asks, getting right to the point.
“What, no ‘hello’, dick-nuts?” Pam asks, combing her bangs.
“Hello, where’s the money?”
“Ramon sold me good shit, and then we had a little party.”
“I cannot believe you bought drugs with our rent money.” Ray glares at her.
“It’s part of my weight-loss regimen.” Pam stands.
“You’ll be losin’ a lot more weight when we got nothin’ to eat and we don’t have a roof over our heads!” Ray yells.
“Relax, chico.” Ramon gets up, too. “Pam owes me $200 more, but maybe you could do some work for me, eh?” He looks Ray up and down.
“How ‘bout I give you the turd I shit out last night, you sleaze?” Ray snarls.
“Alright, alright, come on.” Pam takes Ray’s arm and leads him to the bar. “Fruit snacks.” Pam puts a bunch of fruits meant for drinks in a napkin to eat as a snack.
“You are unbelievable.” Ray sits at the bar, exhausted and the night hasn’t even started.
“Hey, is this any way to treat someone who let you live in her apartment, and taught you everything you know about trickin’?”
“Yes, and I appreciate that, but I’d appreciate you bein’ more responsible! God, our money, that Ramon freak… bitch, I saw Katya dead in a dumpster on the way here!”
“Oh shit, really?” Pam sulks, eating a maraschino cherry. “Her pimp was trying to straighten her out for months. Guess it didn’t work out.”
“We could end up like her.” Ray says, depressed. “Don’t you wanna get outta here?”
“Outta here? L.A.?” Pam asks, opening her arms. “There ain’t no place else, Ray. Come on, let’s get to work.” They head out of the bar and across the street, finding a cross-dressing hooker standing on their stars. “Hey, Babs, Bob Hope is ours, all the way down to Ella Fitzgerald! Get off our corner!”
“Jesus, I was just resting, Oscar the Grouch.” Babs says.
“Well, when Oscar the Grouch gets a star, you can rest on it!” Pam shoos them and they click their tongue and leave.
“It looks like a slow night, anyway.” Ray stretches.
“Maybe we should get a pimp.” Pam thinks out loud. “Ramon really likes us.”
“He’d take 70 percent of our profits, Pam.” Ray says. “And then he’ll get us addicted to crack, and then we’ll be dead in a trash can.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Pam says. “Holy shit-snacks, look!” He points to a very expensive car that just screeched to a halt on the side of the road next to Fred Astaire.
“Ooo, that’s a Lotus Esprit! Do you know how expensive that car is?” Ray asks.
“Do you know how much money that guy could pay for an hour?” Pam asks. “You should go for it. You’re looking hot, and it’ll be my way of making the money thing up to you.”
“What if he doesn’t like guys?” Ray asks.
“Then call me over.” Pam fixes Ray’s hair. “Make sure you get at least $100. Call me when you’re through, take care of you.”
“Take care of you.” Ray kisses Pam on the cheek before taking a deep breath and getting his game face on, beginning his strut.
“Yes, baby, yes, work it!” Pam slaps Ray’s ass for good luck. Ray walks up to the open car window, finding a handsome man with glasses inside with a nice suit and fiddling with the gear shift.
“Hey, honey, you lookin’ for a date?” Ray asks sensually.
“No, I’m…” Cyril looks at the man in his window, and is blown away by his beauty. His T-shirt is cut in half so he could see his well-toned body and beautiful skin. The pretty man is wearing makeup and cheap jewelry, too, and did he just ask him to take him on a date? Oh, this man is a… “N-No, I’m looking for directions.”
“Directions?” Ray repeats.
“Yes, I’m looking for the Regent Beverly Wilshire in Beverly Hills. Could you help me?”
“Sure.” Ray smirks. “For five bucks.”
“What?” Cyril says incredulously.
“Ah-ah, just went up to ten.” Ray scolds him.
“You can’t charge me for directions.”
“Listen, I’m a workin’ boy.” Ray begins. “And my services, whether they be big or small, must be compensated.”
“Very well said.” Cyril is mildly impressed. He thinks about his conversation with Lana, about how he should take more chances in life. He wonders if that applies to letting male prostitutes in his car. “Fine, you win.” He unlocks the car to let him in, and he sits on his coat with his extremely short shorts. “What’s your name?”
“Whatever you want it to be, honey.” Ray says, but Cyril’s not buying into the fake flirting, now that he’s realized he’s a prostitute. “Ray.”
“Oh, like a ray of sunshine.” Cyril smiles.
“That’s me, white, hot and makin’ you feel the burn.” He smiles back, crossing his legs. Cyril does like the legs, but notices the safety pin on his boot. “You’re gonna take a right at the light.” Ray says, and Cyril fiddles more with the stick before stuttering away. “This is a nice car.”
“It’s not mine.” Cyril makes a right like he’s told.
“Did you steal it?”
“No, I borrowed it from my friend.” He thinks about that. “Actually, I did kind of… take the keys from his hand without permission.”
“I see.” Ray smirks. “No wonder you can’t drive it.”
“Excuse me?” Cyril looks at him.
“This is a Lotus. It’s got a 4-cylinder engine which means you gotta be gentle with the stick…” Ray gently touches Cyril’s hand. “And rough on the gas.”
“You know a lot about cars.” Cyril’s impressed again, trying to ignore Ray’s touch.
“My brother and I worked at a body shop for a while.” Ray says.
“A body shop or a chop shop?” Cyril raises an eyebrow.
“A body shop, totally legit.” Ray smirks. “You don’t seem to know a lot about cars.”
“My first car was a limo.” Cyril stops to a red light. “Do you know how to drive this thing?”
“I could probably figure it out.”
“Well, do it fast.” Cyril puts it in park. “You’re driving.”
“You’re joking.” Ray says, facing him. “You’d let me, a total stranger, drive this car with you in it? I could steal it and hold you for ransom.”
“I’ll give you twenty more dollars.”
“Done.” Ray smiles, opening the car door. “Chinese red light!”
“Chinese what?” Cyril asks but gets out of the car anyway, and they both run to the opposite sides of the car.
“Alright, I’m gonna show you what this baby can do.” Ray gently moves the stick and presses on the gas, and they peel off onto the road. “Whoo!”
“Y-Yeah, whoo.” Cyril hadn’t finished buckling his seatbelt. Ray is driving with ease, knowing exactly what he’s doing, even with those old, worn out heels. Ray feels him staring. “So, how much money do ‘working boys’ like yourself make these days?”
“Can’t ask for less than $100.” Ray answers.
“$100 a night?”
“An hour.”
“You make a $100 an hour but you have a safety pin as a zipper?” Cyril asks. “You have got to be joking.”
“I don’t joke about money.” Ray narrows his eyes.
“Neither do I.” Cyril shakes his head. “That’s pretty stiff.”
“Hmm…” Ray looks down at his crotch. “Not yet, honey.”
“Jeezy Peats.” Cyril crosses his legs. They finally arrive at the hotel in Beverly Hills, and Ray hands Cyril the keys as the valet comes up to them, taking the car for him. “Here’s your thirty dollars.”
“Thank you~.” Ray takes it gingerly. They look at each other awkwardly.
“Will you be alright?” Cyril asks.
“Oh yeah, I’ll hop on the bus.” Ray gestures to the bus stop.
“Back to your office?” He jokes.
“Heh, yeah, back to my cubicle on Bob Hope’s star.” Ray smiles.
“Yeah.” Cyril says. “Goodbye.”
“See ya.” Ray turns around and sits on the bench incorrectly, looking down the road for a bus. Lana’s words run through Cyril’s brain again, plus it was a rough day and maybe… he could use some company. And this man was interesting, and extremely good-looking. Under normal circumstances, this man would be out of his league, but since it’s his profession…
“Excuse me, Mr. Ray…” Cyril speaks up, and Ray turns to him. “Did you really say $100 an hour?”
“I did.” Ray purses his lips. “And worth every dollar.”
“Well, since you’re such a convincing salesperson…” He smirks, his dimples prominent. “I would be honored if you’d accompany me to my hotel room.”
“Well, I’d be delighted.” Ray grins, jumping off the bus bench. “What’s your name, honey?”
“Cyril.”
“Cyril? That’s such a beautiful name!” Ray says. “What is that, Irish?”
“It’s Greek, actually, even though I’m not Greek.” He explains. “I’m English and German.”
“Where I’m from, you don’t know what part of Europe your family’s from. We’re just white. Shit, my family tree is a circle.”
“And where exactly are you from?” Cyril holds back a laugh.
“West Virginnie.” Ray answers. “I’m a hillbilly hooker.”
“Heh, right.” Cyril looks at the doorman, who’s giving Ray a funny look. “Uh, here, put this on.” He holds his coat up for Ray to put on.
“Why?” He asks, but does it anyway.
“This isn’t a hotel where you pay by the hour.”
“Ah.” Ray understands. “Well then, lead the way, Cyril.”