Dottie and Bree: Episode 12- Philly in the Elevator

Dottie and Bree: Episode 12- Philly in the Elevator

Bree was having a horrible weekend. She’d been paid with fake chips twice, a threesome with two frat boys ended in ass-fucking and tears (neither were Bree’s), and an old man in a red suit asked her have sex with a goat for six hundred and sixty-six dollars. She hoped Dottie fared better; they were down to their last sixteen bucks, and no matter how lucky she felt, the roulette wheel at “The Orleans” had been a cruel mistress for the last 6 days.

Also, they were out of coke.

In sports news, the Eagles had lost another game; bookies were laughing and pointing with their mouths open as Philly accents despondently dragged drunken douche-bags back to the bar for buck-fifty Pabst Blues to drown sorrows and yell, “When will Reid run the fucking ball? “ (Amongst other rhetorical slurs about the team they knew they should never bet on to win).

Bree tried to look as un-whorish as possible as she walked across the twisted carpet, past the glowing disembodied heads filled with cameras watching the taunting roulette table (you will not win, you will not win), under the iridescent green alligator illuminated above the bar filled with green and white sports jerseys and yelling drunken men. She was done for the night; no more fucking, and a flip of her hair or cocked hip would invite more penis. She tried desperately not to make eye contact, but an attractively burly tattooed lumberjack saw her plastic shoes and almost fell off his bar stool.

He followed at 16 paces and joined her in the elevator. “Can I take a picture of you on the toilet?” He slurred in Philly drunk, “I have a friend who likes those kind of pictures. Seriously, she’s a girl. I’ll pay you.” He placed a bear sized paw on the mirrored elevator wall to keep his tenuous balance. Bree was intrigued. This was the most fun she’d had all night, and somehow, she trusted this man with his Doctorate in Alcohol.

“Yeah. I’ll take a picture for you. You have any coke?”

“No, but I hear the pills help. I have beer and money. $100 if you take the picture.” His eyes were losing focus and Bree saw her opportunity. Although she liked this tattooed giant, she was planning to rifle through his room for anything of value. She and Dottie might be able to eat this week.

The elevator doors opened to reveal an Asian man in expensive grey suit with brown cigarette and large black briefcase looking vaguely familiar. Bree was transported five years previous as Jin-Ho Sung’s eyes widened and he reached open-handed to caress her face mouthing, “Whole enchilada”.

The tattooed Eagle suddenly erupted from his stupor to slap away the Korean’s hand, “She’s mine tonight, Buddy. I found her first! We’re going to take pictures!”

Jin-Ho eyed him up and down with drastically aggressive chin bobbing, mind-measuring the elevator space. There was not enough room for him to leap off the wall kicking the Jolly Green Giant in the head without harming the beautiful Bree. He dropped the briefcase to the ground with a thud and threatened, “You don’t want this.” He patted a nefarious object in his pocket.

Bear paws raging, the Philly accent threw his tattooed body on top of the diminutive Korean who struggled underneath for air and escape.

Bree absconded the briefcase and escaped the elevator listening to the snores and sounds of struggle, muffled by 80’s Musak (Was that Thomson Twins? Or Bowie?)

She walked nonchalantly through the lobby and slipped into the first yellow cab.

Opening the briefcase, she realized this might be the best weekend ever in the history of ever. She closed the lid hearing its soft click, and thanked the Universe.

They would not have to eat for weeks.