Chapter 2: Quick Tricks and Cold Calls

2

Looking at her teasing eyes, I could tell she was joking, but for a second I didn’t know what to say. Just then, Old Hank showed up again, breath heavy with smoke and booze. “What’s this, interested in our college boy? Having such a good chat?”

Hank’s smile was wolfish, but underneath it was real warmth. He’d made it his mission to look out for the new guy, even if it meant throwing me in the deep end for a laugh.

“I was interested, but he doesn’t seem interested in me,” 25 shot back, her voice light and teasing.

She leaned back, tossing a peanut shell at the ashtray, missing by a mile. Her gaze bounced between me and Hank—she was running the show, and she knew it.

“Hey, feelings grow over time. I’m telling you, you have to take good care of him. Our guy here’s educated—a real intellectual.”

Hank clapped me on the shoulder like he was proud to introduce his puppy to a tough world. My cheeks burned all over again.

“How do feelings grow? This is just the first meeting.” 25 cracked another peanut, her tone light but with an edge, like she’d heard this line too many times before. The snap of the shell in her fingers sounded way too loud.

“What are you talking about? First time, you’re strangers; second time, you’re familiar. You’ll get used to it…” Old Hank grinned lewdly, elbowing me. It felt more like I was the punchline than the joke.

I couldn’t stand the atmosphere anymore. The booze hit me all at once, my head splitting. I got up and said goodbye. Out in the Cleveland night, the wind hit me cold and hard, sobering me up. I felt my soul slide back into my body.

Cleveland nights have teeth. The city was slick with rain, neon reflected in puddles. My breath came out in white clouds. I shivered, not sure if it was the wind or something else crawling up my spine.

Back at the company apartment, just as I was about to make my bed, the dorm phone rang. I picked up, wondering who’d call this late.

The radiator hissed, filling the silence between her words. The old landline was a relic, a leftover from the last tenant. It never rang. For a second, I thought maybe I was dreaming.

“Did you get back?” A woman’s voice on the line.

The connection crackled, like the kind of phone call that could only happen after midnight.

I asked, “Who are you looking for?”

I kept my voice cautious, not wanting to sound too eager.

“Just you. Can’t you recognize my voice?” she laughed.

Her laugh was soft, a little amused. I found myself smiling in spite of myself.

“I really can’t. You are…?”

I started to feel embarrassed, like I should know but was missing something obvious.

“You’re really forgetful. We were just drinking and chatting together, and you’ve forgotten me already?” she teased.

The gentle ribbing made something in my chest loosen. Suddenly, I got it.

I blurted out, “25?”

It came out more hopeful than I meant.

“Heh… You finally guessed it.”

She chuckled, and I could picture her shaking her head, half-annoyed, half-amused.

I asked, curious, “How did you get the dorm phone number?”

It felt weirdly intimate that she’d tracked me down. Part of me liked it.

“That coworker of yours, last name Hank, gave it to me. Told me to call and check if you got back to the apartment safe—just showing some concern. He saw you drank quite a bit today.”

I imagined Old Hank leaning in, reeking of smoke, insisting someone look after the rookie. A weird sort of caring, rough-edged but real.

“Mm… Thanks.” I wasn’t sure if I should thank 25 or Old Hank.

I fiddled with the phone cord, listening to her breathe on the other end. I felt awkward, but oddly grateful.

“What’s there to thank? It’s nothing. Go rest.” 25 paused, then asked, “Hey, are you really still a virgin?”

She said it like she was asking what I ate for lunch. My face heated up all over again.

“Uh…” I hesitated, then quickly changed the subject. “By the way, how was business today? How many quick tricks did you do?”

I winced, immediately wishing I hadn’t asked, but it was the first thing I could think of.

“Don’t mention it. Business was bad today. I was counting on you to be my first customer.”

Her voice was lighter now, like she didn’t want to let me off the hook that easily.

“Sorry about that.”

It came out quiet, the words almost sticking in my throat.

“Heh, it’s fine. Go rest. I won’t get to rest until midnight—there are more customers at night. Come visit me when you have time. If you really are a virgin, first time’s free, second time half price.” She sweetly said “bye bye” and hung up.

She let the words hang there, playful and a little sad. The click of the receiver echoed in my ear long after she was gone.

I crawled into bed, closed my eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. The image of 25 teasing me kept flashing through my mind, making me feel hot all over. The ceiling was stained with watermarks, the radiator ticking in the dark. I replayed the night over and over, embarrassed and weirdly alive. I’d never met anyone like her.

For several days, I was distracted at work. Old Hank took one look at me and grinned, “Kid, you’re lovesick.”

He slapped me on the back with a knowing wink, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Get lost. You think everyone’s like you, always in heat.”

I tried to sound annoyed, but couldn’t quite hide the smile tugging at my mouth.

“Trying to explain just means you’re hiding something. Look at you, so pure and chaste. College boy—eating and sex are human nature, you know? If you can, don’t look for women, don’t eat.”

Hank made a big show of it, pantomiming hunger, and everyone in the break room laughed. It was the kind of ribbing that made you feel like part of the team, even if you were the butt of the joke.

Old Hank’s words made me itch inside, and the image of 25’s smile flashed in my mind again. Taking advantage of an empty apartment at noon, I checked the call log and, on a whim, dialed her number.

I closed the blinds, heart racing like I was doing something illicit. The apartment was quieter than ever, as if it were holding its breath.

The phone rang—beep, beep—and suddenly I regretted it. I hovered my finger over the end call button, telling myself I was being ridiculous, but unable to hang up.

“Hello.” Just as I was about to hang up, she answered. It was 25’s voice.

Her voice was softer, wearier than before. I could hear a TV murmuring in the background.

“It’s me,” I said after a pause.

I tried to sound casual, but probably just sounded nervous.

“I know. What made you think of calling me?” She sounded tired.

I pictured her on a faded couch, maybe in a tiny apartment, surrounded by afternoon shadows.

“Didn’t you call me that night? This is just a return call. Didn’t disturb your rest, did I?”

I stumbled over my words, suddenly worried I was intruding.

“No, I’m watching TV.”

She sounded distracted, as if her mind was somewhere else.

“If you don’t rest during the day, how do you work at night?” I tried for small talk, feeling awkward.

“I didn’t take any clients last night. It’s that time of the month.”

She said it plain, no embarrassment. I felt a weird sort of respect for her honesty.

“Oh, I see… Why do you sound a little off?”

I hesitated, wanting to ask more but not wanting to pry.

“Ugh, don’t mention it. Bad luck today. A friend was going home, and I went to the bus station to see her off at noon. When I got back and checked my pocket, my wallet was gone.”

Her voice went flat, like she’d switched off a light inside herself.

“Where did you lose it? Did you go back and look?”

I tried to be helpful, even though I knew how unlikely it was she’d find it.

“What’s the point? It must’ve been stolen on the bus. I remember taking out money before getting on. Just a few stops, and it was gone. Pickpockets these days…”

She let out a tired sigh, the words heavy.

“Did you lose much?”

I pictured her standing at a bus stop, the wind whipping her hair, her shoulders hunched against more than just the cold.

“Not much, just a couple hundred, and some bank cards. Now I have to report the loss—such a hassle. The main thing is, there was a pendant in the wallet. Not worth much, but it was from my mom. Now it’s gone too.”

Her words trailed off, and for the first time, I could hear something raw in her voice.

“Go to the police and report it. Maybe you’ll get it back.” I tried to comfort her.

I knew it was a long shot, but it was all I had to offer.

“No use reporting. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. Forget it, just my bad luck.”

She tried to sound tough, but I could tell it stung.

After hanging up, I didn’t know why, but a thought popped into my head. I wanted to help her get her wallet back. It wasn’t pity, exactly—just this urge to fix something, to make things right for someone who’d never had anything handed to her.