The Auckland Hotel Juliet
He is an Irish crane operator at the helm of small Mazda flatbed. Me is a dirty hitchhiker cradling a home computer on his lap. Cans of Redbull roll across the dash while maps and receipts practice for their pilot's license.
He: Do you like Kiwi women?
Me: Yeah, well, one anyway.
He: She beautiful?
Me: Oh yeah.
He: In bed or out?
Me: Uh, well... She's, she's beautiful in both I suppose.
Me adjusts the computer on his lap uncomfortably.
Me: How about you?
He: How about me what?
Me: You like Kiwi women? You go and fall in love with a Kiwi beauty?
He: I pay for them.
Me: For Kiwi women?
He: Yeah. Message yaknow? Massage with happy endings.
Me: Oh yeah, what''s the goin' rate these days? Expensive?
He: $60, $100. Depends.
Me: Is that including the massage or just the happy part?
He: That's all inclusive. She'll work your back, shoulders, legs and arms, then she'll flip you over and work your feet, quads... and you know she'll work her way up. Its a natural progression.
Me: So how do you go about asking for it? You have like some code or something?
He: Na man, its included. Its up front. (He drinks some Redbull) Yaknow troof magazine?
Me: Troof?
He. Yeah. Troof. In Auckland. T. R. U. T. H. Its a newspaper, like a locals thing.
Me. Oh, Truth. No I don't.
He: Well they got this whole section in the back. You call, you make a time, then you go over to her house, she give you a massage, give you the handjob, then you drive away happy.
Me: Right.
He: So you ask is she beautiful...when you get the handjob it doesn't matter. Its just a handjob right? Is not like I'm in love.
Me: Right.
(He honks the horn at a passing car.)
He: To tell the truth, there was a while there I was a little addicted.
Me: That so...
He: Yeah, well I was working the cranes right? Hard work and I'd get home and my back was hurtin' so I'd make a call and drive over and an hour later I'd feel great. Got to be that I was goin' three or four time a week. I had a diary going too, a black book and I'd keep track of who I went to and how they were. Gave then a rating from one to 10 and my scale included both quality of massage and the ending. Problem was that half these girls will only get a 3 or 4 with the massage. They're not dedicated to the craft of the massage. Listen: when I get a massage I like a MASSAGE right, like, "get those fingers into my goddamn back right?" but half the time they'd have really weak massage, and then there's the hand job, but after a crappy massage, its not as good. It went on for months like this.
Me: But you don't go anymore?
He: There was this one girl. Sarah who I called by accident because my number 7 girl was busy on a trip to the Coramandle or something but she was Chinese see, she knew how to massage. After the first time I would actually have to start bringing a towel to bite down on. To make matters worse she was hot too, I gave her a ten and after I got into her that diary didn't mean anything anymore. I tossed it. Once you had Sarah's fingers working you you never wanted it any other way.
Me:Quite the lady.
He: Suppose. That's all behind me now.
Me: Too expensive I guess.
He: I'd have paid. I was layin' out like $500 a week and lovin' it, but she had just finished her law degree and was about to start articling or something and she just couldn't do it anymore for fear it would damage her professional image. She disappeared and I tried to find another 10, but after months of her the 3's and 4's started to feel like 1's and 2's. I decided to cut myself off. I stopped.
Me: Wow. How long?
He: Like eight months now.
(The road stretches out revealing the rolling hills of the far north. The hot sun heating the cab. Me rolls down his window a bit.)
He: I take it you never had a handjob?
Me: Not that I paid for... but as you were talking I got thinking that the happy ending shouldn't be limited only to the massage profession, I mean, think of the potential, chiropractors, physiotherapists, hell you know when you're rescued from hypothermia and they have to crawl into the bag with you to heat you up again... See...Potential for happy endings everywhere.
(There is a pregnant pause.)
He: Is that supposed to be funny?
Me:I thought so.
He: My ex-wife almost died of hypothermia.
(A series of trucks carrying sheep pass the mazda. )
He: Lets pick up some more Rebbull.
Me: alright.
He: Do you like Kiwi women?
Me: Yeah, well, one anyway.
He: She beautiful?
Me: Oh yeah.
He: In bed or out?
Me: Uh, well... She's, she's beautiful in both I suppose.
Me adjusts the computer on his lap uncomfortably.
Me: How about you?
He: How about me what?
Me: You like Kiwi women? You go and fall in love with a Kiwi beauty?
He: I pay for them.
Me: For Kiwi women?
He: Yeah. Message yaknow? Massage with happy endings.
Me: Oh yeah, what''s the goin' rate these days? Expensive?
He: $60, $100. Depends.
Me: Is that including the massage or just the happy part?
He: That's all inclusive. She'll work your back, shoulders, legs and arms, then she'll flip you over and work your feet, quads... and you know she'll work her way up. Its a natural progression.
Me: So how do you go about asking for it? You have like some code or something?
He: Na man, its included. Its up front. (He drinks some Redbull) Yaknow troof magazine?
Me: Troof?
He. Yeah. Troof. In Auckland. T. R. U. T. H. Its a newspaper, like a locals thing.
Me. Oh, Truth. No I don't.
He: Well they got this whole section in the back. You call, you make a time, then you go over to her house, she give you a massage, give you the handjob, then you drive away happy.
Me: Right.
He: So you ask is she beautiful...when you get the handjob it doesn't matter. Its just a handjob right? Is not like I'm in love.
Me: Right.
(He honks the horn at a passing car.)
He: To tell the truth, there was a while there I was a little addicted.
Me: That so...
He: Yeah, well I was working the cranes right? Hard work and I'd get home and my back was hurtin' so I'd make a call and drive over and an hour later I'd feel great. Got to be that I was goin' three or four time a week. I had a diary going too, a black book and I'd keep track of who I went to and how they were. Gave then a rating from one to 10 and my scale included both quality of massage and the ending. Problem was that half these girls will only get a 3 or 4 with the massage. They're not dedicated to the craft of the massage. Listen: when I get a massage I like a MASSAGE right, like, "get those fingers into my goddamn back right?" but half the time they'd have really weak massage, and then there's the hand job, but after a crappy massage, its not as good. It went on for months like this.
Me: But you don't go anymore?
He: There was this one girl. Sarah who I called by accident because my number 7 girl was busy on a trip to the Coramandle or something but she was Chinese see, she knew how to massage. After the first time I would actually have to start bringing a towel to bite down on. To make matters worse she was hot too, I gave her a ten and after I got into her that diary didn't mean anything anymore. I tossed it. Once you had Sarah's fingers working you you never wanted it any other way.
Me:Quite the lady.
He: Suppose. That's all behind me now.
Me: Too expensive I guess.
He: I'd have paid. I was layin' out like $500 a week and lovin' it, but she had just finished her law degree and was about to start articling or something and she just couldn't do it anymore for fear it would damage her professional image. She disappeared and I tried to find another 10, but after months of her the 3's and 4's started to feel like 1's and 2's. I decided to cut myself off. I stopped.
Me: Wow. How long?
He: Like eight months now.
(The road stretches out revealing the rolling hills of the far north. The hot sun heating the cab. Me rolls down his window a bit.)
He: I take it you never had a handjob?
Me: Not that I paid for... but as you were talking I got thinking that the happy ending shouldn't be limited only to the massage profession, I mean, think of the potential, chiropractors, physiotherapists, hell you know when you're rescued from hypothermia and they have to crawl into the bag with you to heat you up again... See...Potential for happy endings everywhere.
(There is a pregnant pause.)
He: Is that supposed to be funny?
Me:I thought so.
He: My ex-wife almost died of hypothermia.
(A series of trucks carrying sheep pass the mazda. )
He: Lets pick up some more Rebbull.
Me: alright.
posted by Michael J.P. Hall at 9:54 PM
2 Comments:
man, I thought the story was going to end with him offering you $100 to give him a handjob, or did you just leave that part out
No Hotel Juliets for this cat.
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