Free Live Girls by Ray Garton Page A

to see her as often as I can.” She wadded the crescent-shaped remains of the cruller into the napkin and threw it away.

    Two young Hispanic men, one holding a portable stereo that throbbed with a heavy beat, hurried by. They both smiled at Sondra and Hildy.

    “You threw away your cruller,” Hildy said, wrapping her lips around the end of her custard bar. When she pulled it away, a bit of custard clung to her lower lip; the tip of her tongue slid out and licked it up.

    “Not hungry anymore."

    “Hey,” a voice called. “I like the way you eat that."

    They turned as a man in a rainslicker approached, his eyes and smile on Hildy. He had frizzy hair that was disappearing on top and very thick eyebrows that tangled with his lashes.

    “You do, huh?” Hildy said with a smirk.

    “Yeah.” He stood before her. “Think I could get you to eat my custard bar like that?"

    “If you're nice enough, I'll eat your whole fuckin’ bakery, friend."

    “Yeah?” His head bobbed up and down. “Yeah, sure, I think I can handle that. Whatta you say we take a little walk and talk about it?"

    Hildy turned to Sondra and held out the custard bar.

    “You want the rest of this?"

    Before Sondra could reply, the man grinned and said, “No, no, bring that along,” his head bobbing like a beachball on the surf.

    “See ya,” Sondra said as Hildy walked away with the man.

    Sondra lit another cigarette and paced on the sidewalk. The wind was icy and her stockinged legs ached with cold. She was twenty-three years old but the lines around her eyes and mouth, though not unflattering, made her look over thirty.

    “Heya, babe,” a slurred voice said.

    A fat, disheveled man, probably in his late fifties, approached her. When he was still several feet away, she could already smell the gin on his breath and on the front of his coat.

    “'Cha doin’ with yerself out here inna cold, huh?"

    “Waitin’ for my limo, thanks.” She walked back to the wall.

    “Aw, c'mon, honey. How much? Twenny bucks? I got twenny bucks."

    “Sorry."

    “C'mon, babe."

    “Walk."

    “You ain't gonna turn away bidness now, are ya?"

    “Go to bed and fuck yourself, friend,” she snapped.

    He staggered toward her, sneering. “Can't handle it all m'self.” He cackled. “Need some help. You wanna gimme a hand?” He stepped forward and reached for her arm.

    “Hey, hey! Back off!"

    He laughed a strained, wheezy laugh. “Whatta you gonna do, sweetie, call a cop? ” His laugh turned into a cough and he doubled over a moment, holding his stomach. He spat, then stood and took another step toward her. “C'mon, babe, let's have some — "

    “Excuse me."

    The deep, clear voice made Sondra turn. A startlingly tall figure stood at the corner of the building, blanketed in shadow, his hands in the pockets of a long black coat.

    “What do you say you go somewhere else for company, hm?” he said to the drunk, his voice barely raised above a whisper.

    The drunk waved a hand in dismissal. “Aw, fuck off, I was just lookin’ for a little fun's all. Who the hell you think you — "

    “Go. Away."

    The drunk straightened his posture, jutted his jaw. “It's a free country, buddy. I'll do whatever the fuck — "

    The man stepped forward and closed a fist over a clump of the dirty coat and shirt, and lifted him off the ground, backed him against the building. The drunk's feet dangled heavily several inches from the sidewalk.

    “I said go. Now.” The man let go and the drunk fell in a heap onto the sidewalk. He scrambled to his feet and staggered down the walk away from them, mumbling curses into his collar.

    The man turned to Sondra and stepped into the light.

    “Well,” Sondra said, uncertain at first. “Thanks. I guess."

    “No problem."

    Sondra put a hand on her hip and looked up at the man, half smiling.

    “So, is there anything I can do to show my appreciation?” she asked.

    “Maybe,” the man said, nodding slowly. “Why don't