{"id":58203,"date":"2021-05-02T08:03:22","date_gmt":"2021-05-02T14:03:22","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/?p=58203"},"modified":"2021-05-02T08:03:22","modified_gmt":"2021-05-02T14:03:22","slug":"ducky-the-true-story-of-a-decoy-prostitute","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/ducky-the-true-story-of-a-decoy-prostitute\/","title":{"rendered":"Ducky: The True Story of a Decoy Prostitute"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"READ LOCAL First<\/strong> represents the world\u2019s premier archive of Utah-related writers. Today, we present Chapter One of Marilynn Bybee Rockelman\u2019s Ducky: The True Story of a Decoy Prostitute<\/em>, which earned an honorable mention in the Creative Nonfiction category of the 2020 Utah Original Writing Competition.<\/p>\n

Rockelman was raised in Bountiful, Utah. She worked for the Salt Lake City Police Department for 16 years. Then, as a Licensed Professional Counselor and Clinical Hypnotherapist, she advocated for the self-sufficiency of women and collaborated with the State of Utah in matriculating prison parolees back into the community.<\/p>\n

In her submission to 15 Bytes, Rockelman writes that her excerpt \u201chas sexual language\u201d and doesn\u2019t rely on constructions like \u201cf\u2014k\u201d to masquerade for the word itself. Enough said.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ducky: The True Story of a Decoy Prostitute<\/strong><\/h3>\n

Chapter 1<\/h4>\n

Throw A Chair<\/h4>\n

<\/h4>\n

April 1978\u2014Salt Lake City, Utah<\/em><\/h4>\n

If I could die a grotesque and mysterious death like the Black Dahlia, my name remembered for generations, I would be deliriously happy.\u00a0 I longed to be known for something other than a slob with wrinkles in my skirt, an unforgivable sin in my family or my cleavage,\u00a0 commented on by a couple of men I had slept with as \u201cyour little fried eggs.\u201d<\/h4>\n

I had been invited to the caf\u00e9 at the TriArch Hotel, where the Salt Lake City Police Vice Squad regularly met for coffee, to discuss working with them part time as a Special Officer. I liked the sound of that.<\/h4>\n

Special.<\/em><\/h4>\n

Jordan Smoot, a fellow dispatcher\u2019s boyfriend, had told me of the job when he came into the Communications Division to pick Dotty up for lunch. We\u2019d chatted about the benefits; exciting job, only three or four assignments a month, extra pay, while I sat at her dispatch console and familiarized myself with the activity going on in the field.<\/h4>\n

When I arrived at the hotel, the sun was a half-disk in the western sky. I slid into an orange booth next to Smith and Weston\u2014not to be confused with the gun. Smoot sat on the end, blocking me in.<\/h4>\n

Across from me, Sergeant Hanover, nicknamed \u201cHeartless\u201d for good reason, brushed aside my questions about the job.\u00a0 Instead, he shoved the mugshot of a woman who looked like a sumo wrestler across the brown Formica table at me. \u201cWe want you to go into her massage parlor tonight and get hired as a prostitute. That way we can shut her down.\u201d<\/h4>\n

What?<\/em><\/h4>\n

He had lost me at \u201cmassage parlor.\u201d Said something like, \u201cAnita, beat one of her girls to a pulp and went to prison a few years back.\u201d<\/h4>\n

I had come for information and coffee\u2014can you spell C.O.F.F.E.E.?\u2014not the bum\u2019s-rush into a dangerous situation. I wasn\u2019t going anywhere near the woman.<\/h4>\n

\u201cLast night we busted one of Anita\u2019s girls, Kathy, doing unauthorized extra-curriculars at the Hotel Utah.\u201d Smoot smiled. \u201cSo, either she set\u2019s Anita up by introducing you, or she gets arrested, and Anita finds out. Kathy chose to make the introduction. She\u2019s now your long-lost friend and she\u2019s working tonight.\u201d<\/h4>\n

I glared back at Smoot, cursed him for not warning me I was going to get put on the spot. He continued to explain the story Kathy and I would tell.<\/h4>\n

My heart tap-danced across my ribcage. I gulped my coffee, raising blisters on my tongue and searing my throat. Ice cubes, pale blue through the glass, clinked as I guzzled the water. A drizzle slid down my arm, sending my whole body into deep freeze. I garbled something incoherent, which the squad took as agreeing to the assignment.<\/h4>\n

I wanted to back out, but couldn\u2019t. Rumors of my running scared and ruining the operation would spread like lice through the police department, and I would be ridiculed by the people I most wanted to impress.<\/h4>\n

Maybe Anita would beat me to death and the department would give me a ceremonial funeral, like a police officer. I doubted it. More than likely I would be blamed for a botched job and the whole thing covered up to save the department\u2019s ass.<\/h4>\n

Just a couple of years earlier, one of our decoy prostitutes had arrested Congressman Alan Howe for soliciting sex. He\u2019d demanded a fellow congressman be expelled for a sexual escapade. After the arrest, the same man called for Howe to step down. He tried to deny the charges, but the decoy had every word on tape. Maybe I would become as famous as she had been, my name in the newspapers.<\/h4>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ve got to get moving.\u201d Heartless pushed a small black box with a long thin cord extending from it across the table. Silver Duct tape rolled into my lap. \u201cThat\u2019s the transmitter. Tape it to the small of your back. Run the wire up through your bra and tape it in your cleavage.\u201d<\/h4>\n

A wire! <\/em>I\u2019d seen enough movies to know people got killed for wearing a wire.<\/h4>\n

Smoot smoothed his dark hair, then stepped out of the booth. I looked into his dark eyes as I stood. If he smirked, I was going to slap him silly.<\/h4>\n

Without looking back, I marched across the orange swirled carpet and into the Ladies\u2019 Room. Inside a pink stall, I shed my frilly maroon blouse. Time to take the plunge, jump into the ice-clotted water, let the freezing burn scald away my fear. The transmitter stung the small of my back. I fumbled securing it. Luckily, my loose bohemian skirt would cover the evidence.<\/h4>\n

The bathroom stall closed in. I leaned against the steel wall. Antiseptic\/poop smell faded away. I was suddenly my four-year-old self, sitting on the stairs leading to the basement of my childhood home, banished so my mom and grandma could adult-talk. Her being there was beyond unusual. Mom didn\u2019t like people coming to our house. Even Grandma.<\/h4>\n

I already know the secret. I was getting a baby brother in a few days.<\/h4>\n

Grandma yelled something about bastards. I didn\u2019t know what that was, but it sounds bad.<\/h4>\n

Mom\u2019s reply was too soft for me to hear.<\/h4>\n

\u201cAny woman who would give her baby away is a whore.\u201d Grandma\u2019s voice shook. \u201cYou\u2019ll have to watch Marilynn like a hawk. She has that whore\u2019s blood.\u201d<\/h4>\n

She sounded like she was going to throw up.<\/h4>\n

I put my fist in my mouth and bit down hard. She gave her cat, Snowball, to me. Didn\u2019t Grandma love me anymore? What had I done wrong? Shame stomped me into the ground, the same way my father smashed stink bugs. Could they smell my whore\u2019s blood upstairs?<\/h4>\n

Of course, I didn\u2019t know what the word \u201cwhore\u201d meant at that age. My first goal became learning the meaning of the word, then discovering whether I fit one of the vilest descriptions of a woman I\u2019d ever heard.<\/h4>\n

Whether I fit the description or not, I knew I could go into the massage parlor and act my part. Imagining a black snake, I entwined the thin wire with the microphone across my back, around my side, then up through my pink princess bra. I swallowed. Hard. Little puffs of air barely reached my lungs.<\/h4>\n

Blouse back on, I shoved myself from the stall and bent forward, shaking my long hair then jerking back, letting it fall into poofed waves. A little mauve lipstick and I was finished.<\/h4>\n

Heartless waited for me just outside the bathroom door. A medium-height, muscular man, he wore a red Utah Utes t-shirt and a pair of jeans. \u201cSay something.\u201d He looked me up and down, probably checking for telltale signs of the mic.<\/h4>\n

\u201cWhat do you want me to say?\u201d I wasn\u2019t obtuse, but his abrupt request didn\u2019t make sense.<\/h4>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t give a damn what you say. Say the fucking Pledge of Allegiance.\u201d<\/h4>\n

I frowned. I was working with a raving lunatic. How could I trust him or any of his crew to protect me?<\/h4>\n

\u201cWe need to make sure the mic is working. Say something on the way to your car.\u201d He walked out, leaving me behind.<\/h4>\n

\u201cI pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America\u2014\u201d I headed across the parking lot. The unseasonably warm spring air rustled my Farrah Fawcett hairdo, but did nothing to ease my chilled body.<\/h4>\n

I got into my almost new cream yellow Mustang and started the engine.<\/h4>\n

Heartless rushed towards me, flapping his arms.<\/h4>\n

What now?\u00a0<\/em><\/h4>\n

\u201cYour mic is cutting out. Piece of crap.\u201d<\/h4>\n

My eyes must have bulged. He slowed down and smiled. He assured me I would be safe. They would be watching from a distance. \u201cIf you have a problem, just throw a chair through the window.\u201d With that, he raced back across the parking lot, jumped into his car, and pulled out, waiting for me to follow.<\/h4>\n

Hell no! I\u2019m not doing this. <\/em><\/h4>\n

I pulled out behind him. Instead of turning toward home as I\u2019d planned, I followed him to the massage parlor on Main Street. No one would blame me if I backed out, would they? Let someone else face down the madam, someone who had a working mic. And training. And a gun. I wasn\u2019t going inside.<\/h4>\n

But, of course, I was.<\/h4>\n

My throat sticky-tape tight, I parked in front of a white clapboard house.<\/h4>\n

Remember your whore\u2019s blood.<\/em><\/h4>\n

The term danced along my spinal cord, set my teeth throbbing. The open sign in the window blinked in time with the lump, lump, lump of my heart.<\/h4>\n

When I entered the massage parlor it was as though a pail over the doorway dumped coconut oil on me. It clogged my nose, permeated my skin. Slimy. In more ways than one. Turquoise and green sheer curtains sheathed the front window. I expected to see a room full of men sitting on the ragged beige furniture waiting to get rubbed down\u2014or up\u2014as the case may be.<\/h4>\n

Luckily, none were there.<\/h4>\n

Leaning against a bulky over-stuffed chair with all my might, I tried to move it.<\/h4>\n

Not one inch.<\/h4>\n

Gulping air, I scanned the room for something else I could heave through the plate-glass window.<\/h4>\n

Nothing.<\/h4>\n

\u201cCome on back.\u201d<\/h4>\n

I jumped at the booming voice.<\/h4>\n

Anita stood in the doorway of a room directly across from the front door. She looked strong enough to throw me through the window. When I got closer, I could see the deep lines in her face and the gray in her brown chin-length hair.<\/h4>\n

Not that I wanted to get close enough to see the dark two-inch hair protruding from the mole on her left jowl, but then, I had a job to do. Anita had to hire me.<\/h4>\n

A large wooden desk sat just inside the small room she indicated. I hesitated, then maneuvered through the space between it and the wall.<\/h4>\n

Trapped.<\/h4>\n

\u201cTake a seat.\u201d The large office chair behind the desk creaked with her weight.<\/h4>\n

I was riveted by a dark-stained mattress on the floor, partly covered by white crumpled sheets. Scruffy brown slippers and a red Folgers Coffee can, half full of cigarette butts, sat next to the bed. For a moment, hysterical laughter threatened to overpower me. Was I in her damn bedroom? A nervous giggle escaped as I sank into the chair across from her. I couldn\u2019t throw the large tripod office chair through the small window to the side of the desk if my life depended on it.<\/h4>\n

Great!<\/em><\/h4>\n

\u201cYou are a virgin, aren\u2019t you?\u201d<\/h4>\n

The question confused me. \u201cDo I look like one?\u201d Why would she ask me such a stupid question? Did she have many virgins applying for the job, or was she wondering if I could play one if a customer wanted someone innocent?<\/h4>\n

She studied my face. Had I let my revulsion show? I must have screwed things up already. I had to get it together.<\/h4>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re precious.\u201d She licked her upper lip with the tip of her tongue. \u201cWhat size are you, anyway? A seven?\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cTen.\u201d I gave her my best dazzle-dazzle smile.<\/h4>\n

Anita diddled her fingers. In glee? She reminded me of another woman I\u2019d seen\u2014probably in my nightmares.\u00a0\u201cSo, do you like sex?\u201d She asked.<\/h4>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s not to like?\u201d My eyes widened at the blunt question, then I chided myself. I wasn\u2019t meeting a stranger at a party. She expected me to screw her clients for money.<\/h4>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t play coy with me.\u201d Her dagger-sharp stare made me squirm. \u201cAre you sure you want to be here?\u201d<\/h4>\n

Hell, no. I don\u2019t want to be here.<\/em><\/h4>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t have time to be jerked around.\u201d<\/h4>\n

I swallowed the Adam\u2019s apple I didn\u2019t have. \u201cIf I\u2019m getting screwed anyway, why not get paid?\u201d<\/h4>\n

She nodded, then turned toward the door and yelled. \u201cKathy, get in here.\u201d<\/h4>\n

A girl with long dark hair, wearing pale blue Baby Doll pajamas with short puffy sleeves and an empire neckline falling just below her panties appeared at the door. I blinked. Although the sun had set, no stars had appeared yet, so why was she ready for bed or was that the required working outfit? Was she required to sleep there? On a massage table? My questions would have to wait. The most pressing one was whether the girl in the doorway was Kathy. I had no idea. Smoot hadn\u2019t shared what she looked like, and I hadn\u2019t thought to ask.<\/h4>\n

\u201cThis the girl you told me about?\u201d Anita asked her.<\/h4>\n

I held my breath. With one word, the girl could burn me. Trying to smile with taut muscles made my face ache.<\/h4>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re here.\u201d Kathy smiled back. \u201cDid you have any problem finding the place?\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cNope.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cSo,\u201d Anita pulled on her jowl with her thumb and forefinger. \u201cYou guys went to high school together at\u2026\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cJordan.\u201d We said in unison. I breathed again. At least Kathy played her agreed upon part.<\/h4>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re the same age?\u201d Anita looked at me, then back at Kathy.<\/h4>\n

\u201cMarilynn was a year ahead of me.\u201d<\/h4>\n

She used my real name. Piss. Puke. Scratch. Cunt.<\/em> I silently rattled off the cant I remembered from the cult film, Candy<\/em>. Didn\u2019t the idiots from Vice know what undercover <\/em>meant?<\/h4>\n

\u201cSo, you graduated in \u201867?\u201d Anita asked.<\/h4>\n

I shrugged. Might as well tell her the truth. Might as well give her my frigging address. \u201cI graduated in \u201968.\u201d<\/h4>\n

Anita nodded, then turned back to Kathy. \u201cGet the hell out of here and close that door behind you.\u201d<\/h4>\n

This was it. Either Anita believed us, or I was dead.<\/h4>\n

I scooted my chair as far from her reach as possible, bumping into the mattress.<\/h4>\n

My heart pounded my eardrums. The mic had to be picking it up\u2014if it was picking up anything at all.<\/h4>\n

Anita\u2019s chair creaked as she leaned back and put her bare feet on the desk. They were huge. She curled her toes, and I glimpsed pink nail polish. Bright pink! The absurdity of it all drew me back from the edge of panic.<\/h4>\n

I took her relaxed posture for acceptance. I was in! Tingles of elation rushed through me. I\u2019d done it. She believed me. I took a deep breath, suddenly delighted to be alive, even though inundated by stale cigarettes and stinky feet.<\/h4>\n

\u201cSo, do you like sex?\u201d she asked again.<\/h4>\n

If I was completely honest, which I didn\u2019t intend to be, I liked the physical contact, but sexual intercourse always hurt, unless I was so drunk I felt nothing.\u00a0\u201cOf course.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cSo, Kathy said you\u2019re hard up for money.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cYou know money. It never goes far enough. I need some quick cash for rent.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cWe can make that happen.\u201d Anita\u2019s chair creaked again.\u00a0\u201cWe charge thirty dollars for a blow job or hand job. Your cut is twelve-fifty.\u201d<\/h4>\n

Twelve dollars for giving a stranger a blow job!<\/em><\/h4>\n

\u201cA fuck is fifty and you get twenty-five out of that.\u201d<\/h4>\n

Fuck! No!<\/em><\/h4>\n

\u201cSomebody wants something different, I\u2019ll negotiate for you. We got costumes, toys, those kinds of things.\u201d She nodded toward a closet covered with a thin psychedelic tapestry on the other side of the bed. \u201cI\u2019ll be fair with you. I expect you to be square with me.\u201d<\/h4>\n

All I could do was nod. What an injustice. The girls were allowing their bodies to be violated while she sat back and collected the profits. They should get the same deal as hairdressers, pay her rental on the space and keep the profits for themselves.<\/h4>\n

\u201cI can tell you\u2019re impressed. I pay my girls well.\u201d She licked her lips again. \u201cDo you know how to give a good blow job?\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cI\u2014I think I do.\u201d I\u2019d never been called on to judge my performance.<\/h4>\n

She huffed. \u201cI\u2019ll have to teach you. Probably have to teach you how to give a decent hand job too.\u201d Reaching into the top desk drawer, she pulled out a black five-by-seven-inch appointment book. \u201cYou know how to moan, don\u2019t ya?\u201d<\/h4>\n

Sweat trickled between my breasts. What was I doing there? I laughed hysterically. \u201cOh boy, can I moan. I can even scream!\u201d<\/h4>\n

She took my meltdown for ecstatic enthusiasm and smiled.<\/h4>\n

It was only a matter of time until my perspiration shorted out the receiver battery pack and I electrocuted myself.<\/h4>\n

\u201cYou can buy some rubbers from me tonight,\u201d Anita continued, \u201cbut you\u2019ll have to supply your own.\u201d<\/h4>\n

Rubbers? My mind wasn\u2019t working. \u201cWhat size should I buy?\u201d I\u2019d never seen a rubber in my twenty-seven years.<\/h4>\n

\u201cJust buy the economy pack.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u00a0They don\u2019t come in penis sizes? Good to know.<\/em><\/h4>\n

\u201cBut like I said.\u201d She leered. \u201cI have some for tonight.\u201d<\/h4>\n

I shouldn\u2019t be there. I should never have joined the police department in the first place.<\/h4>\n

Flexing my thigh muscles, I prepared to flee.<\/h4>\n

Couldn\u2019t.<\/h4>\n

Anita would catch me before I made it to the door.\u00a0Maybe I could vault onto the desk and hurl myself through the window.<\/h4>\n

I was about as agile as a cow. Another nervous laugh.<\/h4>\n

Anita laughed with me, a gruff chortle. \u201cI have a few clients who love to help me break the new ones in, and you\u2019re a blond. Men love blonds.\u201d She put her feet on the floor, reached for the dirty beige desk phone. \u201cLet\u2019s see if we can\u2019t make you a couple hundred bucks tonight.\u201d<\/h4>\n

My heart and spleen scrambled to make their escape. My vagina drew itself up into my navel. I did the math. Almost twenty blow jobs? Screwing eight times? All before dawn! She wouldn\u2019t kill me. I was going to get fucked to death.<\/h4>\n

She picked up the phone\u2019s receiver and dialed. Each click of the wheel returning to zero thundered in my ears. \u201cHello, my darling,\u201d she spoke into the mouthpiece. \u201cDo I have a treat for you.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t stay. I didn\u2019t know you\u2019d want me to start right away.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cHold on a minute.\u201d Covering the mouthpiece, she glowered. \u201cWhat do you mean, you can\u2019t stay?\u201d The mic felt like it was crawling out of my blouse. I put a hand up secure it. If Anita saw the wire, she\u2019d twist my arms off.<\/h4>\n

\u201cI\u2019m meeting my boyfriend and his parents for dinner at eight-thirty. They flew in from Denver. Tomorrow they want to drive up the canyons, then see Temple Square.\u201d<\/h4>\n

Anita\u2019s beady eyes narrowed, and her lips protruded like a balloon caricature. \u201cOh.\u201d<\/h4>\n

She spoke into the phone. \u201cLet me call you right back.\u201d After she hung up, she waved her black book wildly. \u201cYou see this? There are some very important people in this book. Lots of names you would know. They\u2019re all going to want to try you.\u201d<\/h4>\n

I was in trouble.<\/h4>\n

Big trouble.<\/h4>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Marilynn Bybee Rockelman describes her work as containing “sexual language\u201d that doesn\u2019t rely on constructions like \u201cf\u2014k\u201d to masquerade for the word itself. Chapter one of her manuscript earned an honorable mention in the Creative Nonfiction category of 2020’s Utah Original Writing Competition.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1566,"featured_media":58205,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_piecal_is_event":false,"_piecal_start_date":"","_piecal_end_date":"","_piecal_is_allday":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[35,2513],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-58203","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-literary-arts","category-read-local-first"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/05\/Rockelman.jpg","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"publishpress_future_action":{"enabled":false,"date":"2026-04-27 22:54:52","action":"change-status","newStatus":"draft","terms":[],"taxonomy":"category","extraData":[]},"publishpress_future_workflow_manual_trigger":{"enabledWorkflows":[]},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/58203","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1566"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=58203"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/58203\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":58208,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/58203\/revisions\/58208"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/58205"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=58203"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=58203"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=58203"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}