Josephine got grumpy for a second. Oh for chrissakes. He’s a converter! Fuck him!
He just wanted to switch the hardest he could find for the sure softness of a heaven he believed happened after this life.
Big sigh. Big, big sigh. She saw the pamphlets, the cross of steel. Easy to convert the loveless but the loved, oh the loved who still reject the proposition of forgiveness and peace, now that’s a guaranteed jump up to the clouds and such. They’re treasures. Golden tickets, yeah.
Josephine tried gods as a child. A catholic baby, baptized, communized, confirmed and I’m sure, eulogized. You know, because of the Monster’s gun.
She tried to feel that thing she saw in the believers eyes. It alluded her, every incarnation of this bigger being every single time. So she just started challenging it. Got a bit boring. Then she ignored it. Now that’s true faith, Goddamn it. You can reject something you don’t actually believe exists. This just pissed her off in a really dumb way.
She swaggered on back to the Betties and told them to start it up. She took Bee Dee by the elbow and led her back to the house. They bleeped up ol’ the computer and brought up the evening’s client list.
There he was, sure enough. He’d be here in 45 minutes.
And you know,
he’ll be early.
He’d never even entered this dear Betty. Never felt the tender squeeze of the perfect white thighs, never tipped her hourglass. It’s not that rare, some just like the company of a whore. Josephine did. Their attention to detail was intoxicating. These were modern day geishas, painted permanently this time around, commited, well read and well kept. She could’ve really shown him god.
Oh, he just wanted to speak of his lord, you know, the white one, the one with the long brown flowing locks. The one that looked like Shooter Jennings. Surely a whore would go for a guy like that. Stupid. He was that. Coulda felt what being saved really felt like if he’d only had the nerve.
She called her curious Betty to the lounge and met her there. I need you to go to Sweet Georgia’s bed. She’s throwing a "party". Good fun, good fees, good hearted man.
She reminded Josephine of her ten o’clock request. Not to worry, we’ll take care of him and take care of him well. Indeed.
Betty was a bit relieved, actually. She had nothing for him, not what he’d asked for, hoped for and she hated to disappoint.
Josephine, matched the nighttime with her black tee, jeans and boots, black hair and black look. She kept it all in check so at any time she could really melt into the last sky. The blurriest of darks she was, making the edges all hazy and quiet. No stark horizons on her. Just an almost there quality. More a silhouette than a shadow. Just as quiet.
She sank into the big chair in Betty’s room. All the rooms had one. They looked like comfortable thrones. Josephine had handpicked a different one for each room for whatever reigning might occur.
she let the leftover light make a bit of glow through the crack in the door. She sank in the chair so elegantly, one leg outstretched, one cocked up and ready in case a pounce was necessary. Her head was heavy to one side bearing the imaginary crown of harvested jewels.
Her reach was relaxed as her red manicure held the arms like a shotgun. There was no need for a weapon...
Not tonight....
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