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The Naked Room

The small room is empty except for a mattress in the corner, and a fridge on the other side. Chloe walks in and Chris is curled up in bed with his face to the wall. She stares at his thin outline.

"I'm here," Chloe says.

Chris pulls the covers closer to him.

She begins to head towards the door. "I guess Ill go."

"I've been laying here sick for three days now," Chris says sharply.

"That sucks." She takes a step towards him.

He is twenty-one. Maybe even younger. He lies. A Polish kid from Chicago. Or so he says.

"You could have come here sooner. Before we had sex you would've. My sponsor is the only one who gives a shit about me."

"What about your parents?" she asks.

"He's still facing the wall. "They don't care about me."

"Why not?"

"Because they're not around," he says.

"Where are they? Chicago?"

"They're dead. Both of them." He sits up and draws his knees to his chest, hugging them close to his body. "Didn't you bring me some soup or something?"

"I don't have a kitchen. Where am I going to do that?" Chloe looks around at several empty gift boxes on the floor.

Chris jumps out of bed, picks up his golf club, a wood, and starts swinging it in wide arcs.

"My mom would have made me soup. She loved me. But my dad killed her. Then he killed himself." He swings violently, making a loud thunk on the wooden floor, where the carpet has been torn off. "The next Tiger Woods. Only white. I can hit the ball farther than anyone. If you could only see me on the course. I'd blow you away. Watch this…I have a perfect swing. Perfect! I have a tournament tomorrow, and I still feel like shit. I have to win."

She turns away from him. "I better go."

"I wrote you a poem."

Chris goes under his mattress and unfolds a piece of paper. Chloe notices a box of smashed dollar store brownies next to the mattress. He begins to eat one.

"Want a bite?"

Chloe shakes her head.

Chris gets up and stands at attention in the center of the room.

"Got on the Greyhound bus at one a.m.
I'm leaving all my stupid friends in Chicago
Couldn't do all that drinking with them anymore.
I'm never coming back
Until I can roll up in a red Ferrari

Maybe yellow.

I've never been out of Chicago even once in my life

And now I arrive in Hollywood. Downtown.
It's the middle of the night, and I don't know where I am.
So I began walking.

Just me and my golf clubs.
I guessed where the Hollywood sign was,
and I started walking towards it….
I never knew it was going to be
so fucking hard in L. A.
I was going to pack it up
And then I met this girl…"

Chloe interrupts. "You didn't have any money when you got here?"

"No, but I got lucky. That same night when my clubs and I started walking, I met my sponsor."

Chloe sits down on the bed.

"Come here," she says.

"Why?"

She gets up and crosses over to him. She stands close and leans in to kiss him. He quickly turns his head and gives her a funny look.

"How do you make your money?" she asks.

Avoiding her eyes. "I go out with men, but I don't do anything with them," he answers, scowling.

He edges up towards her and puts her hand on his dick. It's hard. Chloe smiles and walks over to the bed. He follows her and curls up on the opposite side facing the wall. He wraps the sheet tightly around his body.

She touches his back lightly. He shudders and moves even closer to the wall.

She leans back, stares at the ceiling for a few minutes, and then gets up and leaves without shutting the door.

"I love you," he shouts after her.

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