Birds of a Feather

Chelly walked through the door of the dive like a goddess. Physically she didn’t quite live up to this description, but her charisma more than made up for the minor flaws holding her back from stardom.

 

Sitting down at the bar she hardly noticed the woman sitting next to her. When she did her spine stiffened. Though the woman’s face was hidden Chelly knew straight away. She was sitting next to a whore. She didn’t have to guess. It was something you could smell.

 

“Hey there missy,” the bartender smiled in a way Chelly was used to. “What can I get for you today?”

 

After ordering Chelly glanced again to the figure slumped next to her. Jerking awake the woman sat up suddenly, her face stark pale against her fake tan and flamboyant makeup. Blinking rapidly she glanced at Chelly. They stared at each other briefly. “Sister.” The woman smiled wickedly before resting her forehead against the bar.  

 

Chelly scoffed. “Sister?” The bartender returned with her drink. She smiled at him sweetly and slid him a bill. Once he walked out of ear shot she continued. “I’m certain there is no relation.”

 

“Of course there is,” the woman’s voice sounded muffled but still clear. “You’re an escort.”

 

Sniffing, Chelly clicked her tongue and looked around. “What makes you say that?”

 

“The smell,” The woman poked her nose in her bent position.

 

Chelly sneered. “You are a street walker. A prostitute. A whore.” She emphasized each syllable as she turned to face her fully. “I still fail to see a relation.”

 

“Your high-horse is annoying…” She looked up from her slumped position. “But you and I are not as different as you’d love to believe.”

 

“What are you talking about?” The woman looked scornful. “Stop talking like we’re equals. Because we’re not and I doubt we ever have been.” Her lips curled. The woman cackled into the crooks of her arms before sitting up straight. No longer looking down on her conversationalist Chelly blinked and sat up straighter herself. 

 

“Where did you pick him up; your man of the week?” the woman asked, her voice like silk.

 

“What are you babbling about?” Chelly rolled her eyes at the question. “We didn’t meet anywhere. It was all arranged beforehand.” She batted her eyes. “He flew me out from California to here.”

 

“Ah,” she smiled back, resting her cheek in her palm. “The last guy I gave a job? We met in a bar. I live just down the block.”

 

Chelly scoffed. “Completely different obviously,”

 

“Uh-huh. Sure thing Sugar Tits.” She picked up another shot delivered promptly by the bartender and downed in cleanly. “We both work for money, though the difference paid out is obvious.” She looked Chelly up and down amused. “But regardless we are bought and sold for a set price with little concern given to who we actually are as people. It’s a facade we put on to get more business. Am I wrong?” 

 

Chelly sipped her drink without a word. Her rational mind wouldn’t let the obvious in. The woman sighed before sliding off her stool. “Let’s face it Angel. We are both prostitutes with little prospects after we’re too old to bend just the right way.” Chelly glanced at her retreating figure. “Let’s hope for the best after retirement.” She said just before the door closed behind her. 

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