Melanie answered the phone on the third ring. She was wrapped in a towel, having just emerged from the shower.

    "Hi, Mel," the voice said. "This is Cheryl. I have a date for you. That puppy-kinda guy who always says 'please' and 'ma'am, like he's askin' for a favor instead of payin' for it."

    Melanie gave a low moan. "Oh, hell, I was hoping to stay home tonight. I've been out every night this week with 'long-timers.' And I'm expecting an important call from my mom's surgeon."

    "That's what you get for having such a following."

    "And this guy's such a bore. He's so quiet, I have to keep talking to entertain him, hour after hour."

    "Talking? He pays you for talking? I could do that."   

    Melanie laughed. "After the other stuff, Cheryl."

    "Oh. He tip good?"

    "Very. That's the reason I let him keep calling. I've got to pay for this new apartment somehow." She paused, phone braced between her shoulder and ear, rubbing the towel over her body. "You know what? I really don’t like doing this, but maybe I can kill a few birds with one trick. Tell him I can give him only two hours...and that he has to come here to my place instead of me meeting him in a hotel. He won't complain, he's a real wuss. That way I can get rid of him quick, stay home to wait for the phone call, and make a few bucks all at the same time."

    "Your place? Are you sure? Some of these guys..."

    "Don't worry. I've known him for ages. Believe it or not, he even took me to a movie once, like we were in high school. He wouldn't hurt a fly. A real Mama's boy. Still lives with the dear lady, as a matter of fact. Takes care of the old 'saint,' as he calls her. Yeah, this’ll work fine. Give him this address and have him come over in about an hour."

    "Oh, I don’t like this, Mel. And the bosses won’t..."

    Melanie hung up the phone and shuffled her bare feet through the thick pile of her bedroom carpeting on her way to the bathroom. She casually brushed and blow-dried her auburn hair, watching herself in the mirror above the marble sink. There was plenty of time. Sonny, as her visitor liked to be called, preferred her without makeup and fancy hairdos. "Homey," was the style he liked. Unpretentious and "wifely."

    His taste veered off-center in one area only; he didn’t want her to wear underwear. Unlike most of her clients, he wasn't interested in watching her undress slowly, enticing him, but to perform whatever service he required while she was at least partially clothed. As if he wasn't being "naughty" if he couldn't see what was happening.

    Also, she was never to use vulgar or profane language. Once, about a year ago, she'd stubbed her toe and muttered, "Goddamn!" He'd gotten very upset, shouted at her never to use the Lord's name in vain again, and stormed off.

    She'd removed him from her client list and sworn never to date him again. But after he'd let loose a flood of pleas, apologies and cajolery on her escort service people, she agreed to see him, if just to get him off their backs. Sonny had been a pussycat ever since.

    A loose skirt and peasant blouse for easy access would satisfy the costume needs for the night's activities. She'd just slipped into a pair of comfortable flat shoes when the doorbell rang.

    Melanie opened it to find Sonny standing outside holding a small bouquet of white daisies and looking decidedly sheepish. About the same height and age as her, he gave the impression of being just a young boy. Nice-looking, but not really handsome, he had an engaging, shy smile and a sidling of his shoulders which made him seem as if he was constantly uncertain about what to say or do next.

    "Come in, Sonny," Melanie said. She closed the door and leaned toward him for the single kiss on the cheek she permitted, and then sent him toward the living room. She joined him a few minutes later, carrying a tray. On it were the flowers in a vase, glasses, an ice bucket and a bottle of ginger ale. She also brought a crispy loaf of French bread and a large wedge of cheese. "You know you can stay only two hours, right?"

    He nodded.

    "All right, then. Sit here and slice some of the bread while Mama fixes the drinks." She sat beside him on the sofa, letting her skirt ride high on her thighs so he could look and touch at his leisure. The sooner to get you out of here, she thought, pouring the ginger ale, so I can relax. "Why don't you loosen your tie, sweetie? You'll be more comfortable."

    "Where are we?" Sonny asked, his hands clasped in his lap, eyes searching the fine furniture in the spacious room. "Somebody live here?"

    "I do," Melanie said with a light laugh. "This is my home. I don't invite people here, but..." She took one of his hands and moved it to her inner thigh. "You're...special."

    Sonny pulled his hand away, stood quickly and stalked to the center of the room. He looked around from side to side, and then crossed to peer into the bedroom and kitchen, as if in search of something. He then began to pace, growing more and more agitated as he moved about.

    "Your home?" he asked. His voice sounded shrill. "You invited me to your home?"

    "Yes, Sonny. I thought you'd like..."

    "You bring your filthy behavior into your home, where your husband and little boy live?" His voice rose with anger. "You are a disgusting tramp! A slut! Trash! You belong..."

    Melanie jumped to her feet and backed away from him. "What husband? What little boy? What are you talking...?"

    Tears welled in Sonny's eyes. His voice took on the high whine of a child. "Daddy killed himself because of you! He cut himself bad because he saw you in the bedroom with all your clothes off with a man! I heard him tell Grammy on the phone."

    "Sonny, stop this! I'm not your..."

    "He said you defiled your own house, and now you're doing it again." Sonny rushed to the table and grabbed the silver bread knife. He turned toward Melanie and advanced on her, the knife held high, cornering her.

    Melanie screamed. She shook her head, her knees growing weak with fear. "No, Sonny. That wasn't me. I'm not your mother."

    "You're just like her and you deserve the same that I gave her. I'll put your head right next to hers. You'll have plenty of company with all the other tramps in my fridge. All you devils who soil the sanctity of the home."

    He raised his arm higher, the glint of the blade catching Melanie’s eyes. She was unable to move, but her lips twitched soundlessly.

    The shriek of the telephone in the static air froze them in position. They stared at one another as statues in a museum. The phone was not far from Melanie and she broke the standoff, streaking to grab the receiver. "Help!" she shrieked. "Please!"

    Sonny leaped at her.

    Melanie screamed, but the sound was cut short by the silver blade slashing her windpipe. Sonny continued to gouge and slice until Melanie's head was no longer connected to her body. He sat back on the rug, exhausted. After a few minutes, he rose and looked down at his bloody hands and body, and then at the remains of Melanie. He nodded slightly, hung up the phone, then made his way to the bathroom to rid himself of as much blood as he could.

    When he returned, he veered off into the kitchen before entering the living room with a black plastic bag. He smiled. "Time to go, Melanie." He lifted her head to place it gently in the bag, making certain no more blood splattered his clothing. "Thank you for inviting me into your home," he said, straightening her skirt, which had ridden up her thighs. He then retrieved the daisies to place them on her bosom. " I hope you enjoyed the flowers."