As she explained to Aria, Larry was the kind of man who had so little sense of real wealth within the world that his stable salary and bonuses made him feel like a king, especially when compared to these women of the night. And, desperate for affection, he was committed to spoiling them with it. Really, he was buying the way they looked at him when instead of telling them to suck his cock, he took them on a shopping spree, or at the very least focused on trying to get them to orgasm instead. They would fake it every time, but he was too naive to know it. Instead, he deluded himself that they loved spending time with him and that he was the only man who had ever cared about them. It was a hero fantasy that Ciarra played straight into. “You gotta love the guy,” she said. And maybe some part of her did. Not in the way a woman loves a man, but in the way a girl loves a puppy or a kitten. His blatant naivety made her feel safe. And safety was a hard commodity to come by.

Aria shifted her attention back to the negotiation taking place between Ciarra and the man in the BMW. Ciarra’s flirtations ended. She pushed herself back from the ledge of the car window and turned in her tall boots toward Aria. For a minute, Aria expected the man to drive off. But instead, the car stayed parked by the curb. “Come on, bitch, hurry,” Ciarra yelled affectionately at Aria. She opened the car door, ushering Aria inside as fast as she could.

“Hey,” the man said. Aria said hi in response and smiled at him, trying to mimic Ciarra’s sexual flair, albeit unsuccessfully. He drove away from the curb, attempting to draw as little attention to himself as possible. Through the side mirror, Aria watched Ciarra strut toward Larry’s car and get into it before her own car turned the corner.

The car pulled into a parking spot just in front of the outermost motel room on the bottom level of a cheap, two-story, U-shaped motel. Inside, the carpet, left over from the 1970s, was stained, as if its putrid orange color weren’t off-putting enough already. Two beds took up the room. They were arranged against a wood-plank wall and covered with floor-length orange bedding. Above them were two cheap-looking reproduction paintings of a group of sailboats. The sharp fetor of chain-smoking hung so thick in the air you could taste it.