David Herkt presents a story of love for money by Liam Starkey, the first in a series of summer short stories. Caution: Language may offend. Adam was the least of Vladi's problems. 'What for the eyes-roll?' exclaimed Vladi to Adam. 'What is it? A hundred-fifty dollar for no-touch just-watch wank? In-call as well. You roll eyes? Starving peoples in India queue up to do the goddamned job, bro. What-for you don't want to work? Look at me! I spend all day in this goddamned motherfuck escort agency, phones always ring-ring-ring, too many goddamned motherfuck boys, not enough jobs, and Xiu-Xiu she hasn't done her thing for two days now.' Xiu-Xiu was Vladi's pedigreed Pekinese. 'That is Big Problem,' Vladi said, scowling. 'I feed her special food. She won't eat. I give her pizza. She won't eat. She die if she don't shit.' 'Xiu-Xiu! Xiu-Xiu!' Vladi called. Adam, standing in the laundry dressed only in a tight white T-shirt and blue satin pair of boxers, pulled his jeans from the drier and tested them with his fingers. 'You need to depilatory yourself again,' said Vladi, disapprovingly, studying Adam's legs. 'How can I say you are smooth to clients on the goddamned phone, if you are hairy like some shit-hole Italian. Smooth, smooth, smooth, they all want mother-fucking smooth nowdays. Where is my Xiu-Xiu?' Vladi walked out into the kitchen. 'Xiu-Xiu!' Xiu-Xiu lay curled up in a wicker basket by the agency's back door. She raised her head and looked at Vladi with moist black eyes, but didn't move. 'My Xiu-Xiu,' said Vladi, kneeling down and stroking her. 'Poor Xiu-Xiu. You are not well. You've got to do your thing, Xiu-Xiu, you are stoppered. I get Raphael to take you for a walk after he gets back. You like Raphael. Nice walk, Xiu-Xiu, to get your digestives moving.' Vladi played with his hair and suddenly remembered something. 'Conrad, Conrad, where is Conrad?' He opened the door of the TV room. Conrad was sprawled on the sofa watching America's Next Top Model. 'Conrad, you want to do booking? Motherfuck Jesus, I forget. Sorry, man, I get no memory sometimes. Thomas, Mr Thomas, very American, sounds old fuck but classy, you know, at Rydges. Just wants sucky-sucky. Have I the right boy for you, I say, good-looking, 18 years old, retro-style, hard-core, eight inches, uncut, just like big lollipop, I say, make his goddamned mouth water. He pay cash. I quote him one-seven-five for hour but good boy like you make it two hours easy-peasey.' Conrad stretched out on the couch, easing his long legs. 'When?' he asked, bored. 'Nine o'clock, when Rafi gets back I get him to drive you there, get cab back, what it cost, ten dollars?' The phone started to ring in the office. 'Who the motherfuck now?' Vladi said in exasperation. 'Goddamn Wednesday, only goddamn Wednesday, how come last Friday, no-one, three fucking shithole jobs all the motherfuck night and now Wednesday everything break loose, every fucking one in the world wants business.' Vladi walked into the office and picked up the phone. 'Good Evening, Boys-R-Us, how can we assist?' he answered formally. 'Hi, hi, hi,' he said, relaxing, ‘long-time, no-see, what for you don't love me? I missed you. We all missed you. Even Xiu-Xiu she missed you. You have been out of the country? Wow, lucky you, just the right time of year, wow, cool….' He paused to listen. 'No,' Vladi murmured, pulling at his hair, 'Jason is not available tonight, tomorrow night I can let you have Jason, but you don't want to wait. Tonight for you I have Dylan, medium height, dark-hair, olive-complexioned, smooth swimmer's build, 19, 7 inches uncut, versatile, very nice, very hunky in medium sort of way. Very good, clients always call back. 'Can I have Dylan?' they say. I tell you, just between us, very hot, very active bottom. With him it isn't just work, you know what I mean? Take him, what, hour thirty minutes, to get there? You still at old place? Give me address? That's right. Cool. Yes, still the same price. I think this inflation got to put the prices up someday, maybe, not yet, still the same. What is your preferred payment option? Mastercard, cool, wow, if you could provide me with details…' 'Hey, Adam,' Vladi said, wandering out to the back again, 'I have another job for you.' Adam was looking at himself in profile in the full-length mirror by the dryer, lifting his T-shirt to expose his flat stomach and adjusting the height of the boxers he could see above his jeans. 'Another job?' Adam said, frowning. 'Two?' he added. 'Yeah, cool,' Vladi said, ignoring Adam's tone, 'after the little wank thing with Mr What's-It you go to a friend of mine, big lawyer, just got back from Europe, Herne Bay, cool guy.' 'What do I have to do?' asked Adam, narrowing his eyes. 'Just a little ass-fuck, very quick, too goddamned quick, average dick, not too big, and he tips, always the tipper. Hey, maybe he like you so much he want you to move in, think of that, man, wow, cool, swimming-pool, movie-stars, corporate parties, all the business. Going out for dinner every night. You have new clothes, plasma TV maybe. Think of the shopping, bro. Wow, maybe I do it myself.' Vladi's mobile began its Bohemian Rhapsody ring-tone. 'What the dumb-fuck,' exclaimed Vladi, trying to extract it from his back pocket. 'Who calls me now?' 'Hello there,' he said. 'Oliver, hey man, how are you?' 'What?' he said. He pulled a Dunhill packet from his shirt pocket, extracted a cigarette with his teeth, pulled out his gold Ronson lighter, and lit the cigarette, all one handed. 'You too?' he said. He glanced at Adam balefully. 'I too am over this country,' Vladi said darkly. 'This shithole goddamn motherfuck arsehole country. Why do I come here, I think, to make new life? What for I work 24 hours in every day? Can't even take Xiu-Xiu for a walkies. That dog, she is stoppered, cannot do the poop. She suffers. What for I work? To make dog unhappy? Then goddamned motherfuck landlord wants to put up rent. $1200 a week. My boys will wear their arses out and still I cannot pay. Then last week, bad week. Friday everyone sit around. Saturday everyone sit around. Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, all sit round. Since when have arses been for sitting on? I say. Big Joke. Not funny when you look at credit-card balance. Now Wednesday, now every motherfuck gay person phones up wanting their business taken care off. I have not enough boys in the day. And, hey man, it is winter too. Freeze your balls off. We go, you and I to Fiji maybe. Holiday.' The door-chimes sounded. 'Hey bro,' said Vladi, 'hey, bro, bro, business calls. You come around later, huh? We love to see you. Yeah, you drop in.' Vladi snapped shut his phone. 'It's him, at the door, your client,' he said to Adam. 'Now he don't want to touch you. He look like he want to but he don't. Just likes little performance. Slow, slow, slow. Slow with the strip-tease. Slow, slow, slow. Then wank. Slow, slow. Show him all the bits. He like that. Get close but not too close. You smart boy, you know how to handle him, huh?' Vladi moved to the door. 'You ready? What for you fix your hair? Looks cool. Wow.' Adam turned profile to the mirror again. Vladi sighed. 'Hey, bro, it's not going to get no better,' he drawled. The door-chimes sounded again. 'Vladi?' called Conrad from the TV room, in enquiry. 'Coming, coming,' replied Vladi. Then he sniffed. 'What is that smell?' he asked, coming to a halt. 'Jesus Motherfuck. Xiu-Xiu comes unstoppered. Xiu-Xiu, where you are? Where you poo-poo? This is not-cool. Wow, what a fucking stink. Place smells of dog-shit. Jesus motherfuck, close the fucking door.' Adam closed the kitchen door. 'Wow, man, how unerotic,' Vladi said. 'This don't work at all. No clients want agency that stinks of dog-poop.' He fanned the air uselessly with his hand. 'Just one moment please,' Vladi announced formally into the intercom which linked to the small agency foyer outside. 'Now what for, wow, that dog sure stink the place. We must find dog do-do. Fuck, no time.' Vladi pulled at his hair. 'Fuck, it smell worse than fucking toilet in Thailand. Freshener. Jesus, man, no freshener. We run out. Incense too slow. Where is my goddamned colognes?' Vladi darted into his office. 'What the motherfuck we have? Jean-Paul Gaultier? Not quite right. Issey Miyake? Too goddamn light. Versace? Yes, we have it. Versace Eai Fraiche.' Vladi ground out his cigarette in the marble ashtray and took the blue bottle of Versace, held it in the air above his head, and wandered down the passageway, squirting it in the air. 'Jesus Christ, this dog-crap cost me a fortune. First special food, now fucking hundred dollars in cologne.' Adam leaned against a door-frame, watching Vladi. 'I don't know whether I like the fucking dog being stoppered all together better, ‘ Vladi added, frowning blackly as he squirted the Versace bottle one last time. 'Sure the motherfuck smell less. How can I run an agency like this, huh? Boys don't want to work. Fucking clients unpredictable as all hell. Dog won't poop then poops too much. Goddamned motherfuck shithole of country at bottom of the world. Where is the glamour? Where is all the sophisticated peoples, huh? Now remember just a little wank. He don't wanna touch you. He just likes to look. Then you go to Herne Bay for the assfuck. Now into the lounge and look pretty. I bring Mr What's-It into see you. He likes his boys straight-acting. You do that? Course you can, you are a good boy.' Vladi put the blue glass bottle of Versace back on his desk, stood at the agency's front door, sniffed the air a few times to check, flicked back his hair, tossed his head, tugged down his body-shirt and composed himself. Then he opened the security door to the foyer. 'Hi there, welcome, sorry about the wait, come in, too cold out there, come in, nice to see you, wow, good to have you back,' said Vladi, smiling as only he could, triumphant now in the face of adversity overcome. LIAM STARKEY is a prolific writer of internet erotica under a variety of names and has been finalist for ‘Best Erotic Fiction Without A Paranormal Element' Category in the annual EPIC Awards. Invercargill-born, he now lives in Northland. Copyright ©David Herkt. All Rights Reserved. Laim Starkey - 31st December 2007