Being a rookie cop in the vice department sucks. Especially when you’re a woman. Well, I consider myself a tomboy, although I guess I just see that as a subset of women. But for the vice division, it means I have to get dressed up sexy and help arrest johns for soliciting. I do actually work on a good team, and I don’t go undercover as any streetwalker. I’m an alleged high-class call girl. I guess I took a silly kind of pride in that. Someone else makes the appointment via a webpage or app, and me and my team show up. They rush into the fancy hotel room immediately after I get the john on tape propositioning me, or sooner if he tries anything I can’t handle before then.

But as the rookie, I do have to put up with getting teased or lightly hazed a bit. I'm a third-generation cop, and my brother is one too, so I know all about it and don’t take it personally. It’s not sexual harassment or anything. It’s more putting mayonnaise in my favorite type of cream-filled donut or sending me to the evidence locker to retrieve the Maltese Falcon. I felt dumb when I found out it was from a famous movie and didn’t exist. But it’s all part of being a rookie. Weirdly enough, it made me feel like I belonged, because now I had stories like grandpa, and dad, and my brother.

This week’s prank though? They hid my civilian clothes after tonight’s bust of a local councilman with a wild side. I didn’t let it faze me though. Part of being a good sport was not flinching, like when I first bit into the mayo-filled donut. So I just grabbed my car keys, walked back out of the women’s locker room to where they were waiting in the hall and said my goodnights to the team. I didn’t even take off the wig or makeup. I think they were disappointed I didn’t freak out, but at the same time I earned points with them. I knew my clothes would be back in my locker tomorrow.

I drove home like that. I almost took the wig off as I was driving, but it wasn’t just sitting on top of my head. There were bobby pins and other stuff holding it in place. And the only thing worse than the makeup painted on my face would be the effect if I tried to wipe it off in the car with nothing more than some fast-food napkins and some spit.

Getting into the house without any of the neighbors seeing me wasn’t that hard. It was pretty late, so they were in bed. Unfortunately, my roommate was still up. Technically he was my landlord. We’d gone to college together.

He looked up from his laptop in the living room as I came in, dressed like a cross between a supermodel and Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. He paused for a moment, then said “Sorry, did I tell you tonight by mistake? My bad. My roommate will be home soon, and she’s a cop, so this would just be awkward if she walked in.”

I rolled my eyes. I mean, I knew damn well that he knew damn well that it was me. Maybe my own mom wouldn’t recognize me right now, but he would. Despite what he just said, who else was going to walk into his house like this?

Full Script Here

This is from an idea I've had brewing for a while about a tomboy vice cop who is tapped to work undercover as a ridiculously feminine high-class call girl, and how her best friend somehow gets involved. I had a few false starts, and hopefully this isn't another one of them. I did enjoy it though, for what it's worth.

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