"Sam, I Need a Buddy—Now!"

He had still been asleep when he answered the phone. “Huh? Who is this?”

“It’s me, Baby. It’s seven a. m. You need to get over here and help me out. I’ve got you booked from ten to ten. Get crackin,’ Baby.”

“Marie?”

“No, Dope Dick, it’s the other hot Greek whore who gets a thousand women a year to pay us for blowing you!”

Oh God I am beat. I have never been this tired. It’s your wife.

“Oh, that Marie. What you need?”

Her voice then became like a scolding school teacher’s. “Do not start speaking like a black man on me. I’ll have to cut your price in half.”

“Right, Babe. What do you need?”

“Apparently the same thing every other bitch in Harford County needs!”

“Babe, I’m exhausted!”

Marie’s voice became calm. “Sam Waterford, I have insured your dick for five-hundred thousand dollars. I’m a nymphomaniac that has not been laid in twelve days. If you cannot do something about that, then I’m dropping by with the HK and razor and repossessing what’s mine. Got it, Dope Dick! Eat a blue pill, put the python in a sling, and bring it to Mommy.”

I hate it when she calls me Dope Dick. It is so dehumanizing.

Sam headed out looking like hell. On his way down the hallway he noticed an older man scratching at a door, scratching and sniffing like a tall lonely dog in a trance. The man ignored him as he walked by.

As crazy as his wife and the old man and the tattooed chick with the door knockers and the room service creep had been, most of the ladies had been normal, if extra horny. The day, once he was out in it, seemed normal as well. Apparently the Red Sky Ball had only scrambled a few brains.

Within fifteen minutes he was knocking on Marie’s office door. She had a massage therapy office in the medical building. The back portion of the office was not a series of massage therapy rooms but four different bedrooms. He stopped at the desk to inquire with Misha the receptionist, who greeted him with more than her usual cordial smile, but with a radiant needful look.

Christ, now I feel like a pervert. What is she twelve?

She looked at him, and before he could speak she just fixated on the bulge in his slacks, which he could not help, having complied and taken another hit of Viagra. “Master Sam. What may I do for you today?”

As she said this she tore her hair clip out, letting her red hair fall down over her slight shoulders, and absently grasped at her own breast.

“My wife, I need to see my wife.”

Misha was all of eighteen, sweet and innocent, never seemingly the wiser concerning the actual activities of her employer. Today she was different. She stood, unbuttoned her blouse, grabbed him by the belt buckle and led him down the hall. “Mistress Marie broke me in this morning, Master Sam. I have been directed to assist you.”

Misha stopped with her back to the Black Satin Room where Marie usually only saw top clients, and snarled playfully, “I’ve been promoted. Your wife will see you shortly.”

She then pulled her hair up into a bundle and held it out to him as she fell to her knees.

I always thought Misha was—oh God. Marie must be trying to make amends.

Misha, Viagra, Marie, vodka and pineapple juice, all had him disoriented by the time Marie finally kissed him like they were man and wife and whispered into his ear with her sultry voice as her kinky black hair brushed his neck, “Now take your little helper along and make Mommy some bank. Misha has the client list and addresses. Dope Dick is going on the road for a thousand an hour. The world’s gone horny, Baby and you are just what the doctor ordered.”

Just like that, his wife/pimp pushed him away. “Keep ‘em happy, Baby. You’re in charge, Misha—never leave a lucrative orgasm in a man’s hand. Oh and Misha, leave the door unlocked. The County Executive is on his way over. No sense in me putting the suit back on.”