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Bareknuckles Pulp No. 10: The Bellhop

Now here's a job with perks. Sort of.

The Bellhop by Joe Romano



“You wouldn’t believe some of the shit that goes on in these big hotels,” the Bellhop said as he lit his second cigarette. He offered one to the new guy as they stood out back on the loading dock.

“I’ve worked here almost eight years now. I’ve been offered other jobs, ‘better’ jobs they say. More money and all that shit, but those other jobs don’t offer what this one does - stories; bellhops and room service attendants; the best jobs in the place for a writer.”

“How long will you be staying with us, Mr. Jacobs?” asked the hotel desk clerk

“As long as it takes to finish my business,” the man answered.

Jacobs, a well trimmed man in his late thirties with thick, shoulder length brown hair, smiled at the desk clerk, a pretty young thing of twenty-two. He leaned on the counter, casually flirting with her without even being aware of it. The clerk handed him a key on a diamond shaped plastic ring. Jacob’s enjoyed the old fashioned touch of an actual key instead of a plastic card.

“The bellhop will bring your suitcase up in a few minutes Mr. Jacobs. You’ll be in room 1256 and the elevators are around the corner to your right. Enjoy your stay.”

Jacobs took the key and picked up his well-worn leather satchel leaving the large black suitcase at the front desk. As he walked to the elevator he passed an open door leading to the loading dock where several hotel employees idled during their break. The smell of cigarettes, caught in the slight draft created as he passed the door, followed him to the elevator. Despite seven smoke-free years he still missed his cigarettes. He entered the elevator and pushed the button for the twelfth floor.

The new guy puffed thoughtfully on his cigarette while the Bellhop sucked greedily on his own. He’d become used to smoking them quickly in order to squeeze at least two into his ten-minute break.

“I’m telling you man, the shit that goes on in this place is amazing. A few months ago some big corporate blow got jacked by a couple of ten-dollar whores in one of the suites. Duct taped the poor bastard to one of those Roman column things they’ve got up there. Took his clothes, his wallet, his car, everything. I got the honor of cutting him loose when the maid found him the next morning. Ha! He was so fucked over trying to figure out how the hell he was going to get home without his wife catching on. I mean he had SHIT! Stark-fuckin’-naked. It was beautiful. The GM loaned him some clothes out of the housekeeping stash and added an extra hundred to his bill to front him some dough just so he could get some clothes and a cab home. This is AFTER he explained to the police what happened. God only knows what story he gave his wife.”

The Bellhop doubled over with laughter as the new guy finished his smoke and dropped it in a dented aluminum bucket half-filled with sand. He stood near the edge of the loading dock and surveyed the parking lot.

“I sure hope I don’t have to wait eight years for something interesting to happen around here,” he said. He turned and headed back inside punching the time clock mounted just inside the door.

* * *

Jacobs stood near the wet bar and sipped his vodka rocks while surveying the room. His mind played out the next few hours, enjoying the anticipation of each moment, each turn of phrase, and each encounter. The anticipation was what he loved most, more so than the actual event that always left him feeling cold.

He’d taken the liberty of bringing a few CD’s he felt would set the right mood; Ray Charles, in tribute to the great man’s recent passing, Marvin Gaye, Barry White, Grand Funk Railroad. GFR was a particular favorite; the funky bass lines always worked well for him. He popped a CD into the player in the cabinet beneath the television and the soft sounds of Barry filled the room. With the ice buckets borrowed from an unattended housekeeping cart he filled the wet bar sink with pillow-shaped ice cubes, into which he buried two sea-green bottles of Pellegrino along with a fifth of Stoli. He turned when he heard a knock at the door, opening it to find the Bellhop with a luggage cart on which sat his big black suitcase.

“Great. Thanks for bringing it up. Toss it on the bed would you?”

The Bellhop rolled the luggage cart into the room and lifted the suitcase onto the king-sized bed. He scanned the room quickly and noticed the Stoli chilling in the sink and Barry White working his pipes.

“Havin’ a little party tonight?” The Bellhop asked winking at Jacobs.

“Something like that. Just a few close friends really. More of a get together than a party, but we always have fun.” He winked back at the Bellhop. .

“I’ll bet you do,” said the Bellhop, his greasy smile widening. “And there’s nothing like ice cold Stoli to warm up a party.”

Jacobs popped open the suitcase revealing an array of sex toys, lotions and gadgets. “And once the party’s warm enough we’ll turn up the heat.”

The Bellhop’s mouth formed into an O but he did not speak. A small gurgle escaped his lips and his loins began to stir ever so slightly.

Jacobs removed some candles from the suitcase and began to place them on the nightstands and coffee tables. “Feel free to pop up later if you feel like it. Plenty to drink. Good company.”

“Really?” the Bellhop said, barely containing his excitement.

“Sure. You seem like the kind of guy who enjoys a good party. What time do you get off?”

“Not till 3 in the morning, but I’ve got a dinner break at mid-night.”

“Well then, swing up for a pre-dinner warm up and come back later when you get off.”

“Yeah, maybe I’ll do that.”

“Great. So I’ll see you later then.” Jacobs said as he slipped him a ten. “Oh, could you do me a favor and have housekeeping send up a stack of extra towels? I think we’re gonna need ‘em.” Jacobs winked again.

“Sure, sure. No problem,” the Bellhop pocketed the ten. “And thanks. Guess I’ll see you in a few.” He went out through the foyer and into the hallway, closing the door behind him while Jacob’s continued his preparations.

* * *

At 12:01 AM Jacob’s answered the door, welcoming the Bellhop back to his suite. Old R&B was coming from the speakers and the mood had apparently progressed from relaxed to spirited. Two stunningly attractive Asian women in various stages of undress were lounging on the bed sipping cocktails, cigarettes burning in ashtrays close at hand. One of them platinum blonde, the other jet black, both more beautiful than any woman the Bellhop had seen up close and personal in his life.

“Welcome back,” Jacobs said placing a hand on his shoulder and guiding him toward the wet bar. He tossed some ice in a glass and splashed it with Stoli. “Say hello to Naomi and Jackie. Ladies, this is my friend, the Bellhop.”

Accepting the drink the Bellhop waved at the women, trying hard to appear casual.

“I love your uniform,” the blonde said as she laid her head back in her friend’s lap. “I’ve always found Bellhop’s very sexy.” Her friend purred in agreement while slipping her fingers through Naomi’s platinum mane.

The Bellhop smiled and decided against removing his pillbox hat.

“Have a seat. Relax,” Jacobs said. The Bellhop took his drink and sat in the loveseat near the foot of the bed, which afforded him an excellent view.

“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable up here with us?” Jackie said while untangling herself from Naomi’s long legs.

The Bellhop glanced at Jacobs who only smiled and shrugged as if to say, “It’s your call, Sport.”

Jacobs turned back to the bar to freshen his drink as the Bellhop attempted to casually slide up onto the big, high bed. Naomi and Jackie separated just enough to make room and playfully pulled the Bellhop between them.

“I told you there’d be good company,” Jacobs laughed as he sipped his drink and crunched the vodka-flavored ice. Naomi and Jackie were giving their undivided attention to the Bellhop with gentle pecks to his ears, and long, lacquered nails raking his hair.

Jacobs, having apparently fallen off the nicotine wagon, lit up a cigarette and took a long drag as he approached the bed from one side. He slid a hand over Naomi’s shoulder, dropping the thin strap of her silk tank top and exposing her right breast. Continuing downward, he cupped her breast, gently rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He winked at the Bellhop and gave him a slight nod of consent. Needing no more encouragement, the Bellhop welcomed Jackie’s kiss as Naomi’s hands continued to explore the buttons and zippers of his uniform.

* * *

The Bellhop was already twenty minutes late punching back in from his dinner break and he could not have possibly cared less. The only item of clothing amongst the three that had not been dispatched to one of several heaps on the floor was the Bellhop’s pillbox hat, which he continued to wear at the insistence of his new friends. Naomi’s legs stood straight up in front of him and he rode her with abandon while lovingly licking the sole of one smooth foot; the other planted firmly against his right shoulder. Jackie lay on her back beneath him, her tongue alternating between wet swipes at his balls and further exploration of his backside.

The Bellhop was in ecstasy and his mind pin-wheeled trying to enjoy the moment, marveling at his good luck, all the while trying to commit the details to memory. Jacobs hovered on the edges of the large bed, offering muted encouragement and proffering toys like a nurse in the O.R.. Somewhere along the line Naomi and Jackie had swapped places and the Bellhop found himself staring at Jackie’s hairless beauty and eagerly set to work. He was vaguely aware of Naomi gently working her lubricated fingers around his backside and when he began to feel what was at first a gentle probing it only increased his excitement and the attention he now lavished on Jackie’s smooth hole. With ever increasing urgency he felt Naomi becoming more aggressive in her affections, and when he was suddenly entered by what was surely a latex-wonder of gargantuan proportions, he shuddered from the intense pleasure that surged through his body, arched his back and released a long, guttural groan.

The Bellhop’s mouth hung open. His eyes, glazed in ecstasy, turned upward to meet the wide, staring eyes of the new guy, who stood gripping the handle of his room service cart, Jacobs to his left, camcorder rolling. The Caesar salad wilting and the champagne going flat in the eternity of their stare, broken only when the new guy removed a notebook from his back pocket, took the pen from behind his ear and began to scribble furiously.

Joe Romano is a struggling Northern California based freelance writer. His work has appeared in the SoMa Literary Review, his own personal blog, and his mother's scrapbook.