by Nolon King
Brandi nodded. “Okay.”
We went inside, but didn’t make it more than a few steps before we ran into Kristi.
“Hey Jade. Elle came by to give Victor his cut, but then she was hanging out for a while, asking about you.”
“The MILF wants to know what size panties I wear,” I announced to everyone. “Because she’s hoping to tighten her pussy.” Then I doubled over laughing.
“What’s she talking about?” Kristi asked.
Amber shrugged.
Brandi said, “I haven’t understood a word she’s said in fifteen minutes.”
“You better not let Victor see that shit,” Kristi said, pointing at me, now clutching my stomach.
“I’ll be fine,” I gasped.
And really I meant it. I was high, but perfectly aware, even if it was hard to see that from the outside.
Brandi took me to my room, nervous the whole way that I was going to start yelling or laughing or something, anything that might get us in trouble. But I wasn’t going to do that.
Not when my bed was only a minute away. I was planning to crash into that shit hard.
“You bet,” I said, before giving Brandi a thumb’s up then opening my door.
The MILF was sitting on my bed.
I was ready to pick a fight with her, excited for it even, but she immediately disarmed me.
Elle was staring at my drawings, studying them like she was at some damn museum.
She stood, and with awe in her voice that touched me like cold wind on a raw nerve, said, “These are stunning, Jade. There’s a darkness to them for sure, but they really are incredible.”
What could I say to that?
I wanted to lash out at her for disrespecting my privacy. She didn’t have permission to be in here, and I didn’t want her to be. But no one had ever given a shit about my drawings before. If anything, people had always told me they were a waste of time, then proved it by throwing ‘em away, or even spitting on ‘em like my mom and dad had both done.
I thought of a handful of things to say, but none of them really made much sense, once I turned them around in my head a time or two.
I tried to make words, tell her to go away, but I realized that I couldn’t get my tongue to work.
Or maybe that was just in my imagination?
I thought about singing Call Me Maybe to find out.
Then I thought of the perfect joke:
How do you tenderize some hot MILF ass?
Throw it on the kitchen counter, then pound it for ten to fifteen minutes.
I wondered if Elle would think it was funny and decided to find out.
So I told her the joke, but she just stared at me. I think it might have sounded something like this:
“Thrwetunthektchncntrthenpnditfrfftnmnts.”
“Christ,” she said walking over.
She took me gently by the arm, closed the door, and led me over to the bed.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
That must have been clear enough because she said, “I’m putting you to bed, Jade. You need to sleep this off. Whatever it is.”
“I don’t need to sleep anything …” I might have snored.
“You’re going to be in trouble if Victor sees you like this. Maybe get kicked out of the house. You know the rules, no drugs of any kind. Ever.”
“Just say no!” I laughed.
She moved me into the bed and settled the covers around me. “You’ve lost a lot of weight since the last time you yelled at me to get out of your room. Are you eating?”
Her question made me sorta wanna throw up. But then again, so did the spinning room and the giant bat that may or may not have been flying around in the corner.
“You’re a hypocrite.”
“I’m a what?”
“A hypocrite.”
“I have no idea what you’re saying. It sounds like you have a mouth full of marbles.”
“You have a mouthful of marbles.”
She had no idea how hilarious this was.
So I started laughing, to show her.
“You really need to take better care of yourself.”
That pissed me off. What a hypocrite. I’d smelled weed on her before. And weed was definitely a drug. Hell, Victor smelled like it half the time himself. The world was full of hypocrites, and one of ‘em was always in my room.
“You’re not my mother.”
“What about your mother?” The MILF looked concerned, like she really wanted to know. “Do you want me to call your mom?”
I sat up and swallowed. Narrowed my eyes as I focused, intent on getting my message across. Palms planted flat on the mattress I leaned forward, speaking slow so I could articulate every word.
“You don’t belong here. You’re old and sad, and I feel sorry for your children.”
I didn’t expect her to look so sad.
Maybe the drugs made me say that, since I normally wasn’t that mean. Or maybe I just couldn’t stand her looking down at me with all that pity in her eyes. Like a tractor beam of misplaced condolences, dragging me into its big empty belly.
She stood abruptly, and I was glad that hurt her feelings, except that I wasn’t.
I wanted to laugh and cry and vomit, all of it at once and none of it at all.
I wanted to sleep or die, maybe one then the other.
I wanted her to go away.
“If Victor finds out, he’ll confiscate your pay for the next three parties. Then you’ll be giving yourself away. Never do that, Jade. You’re better than this.”
I wanted to tell the MILF thank you, or maybe that I hated her.
Instead I fell asleep.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Thursday Morning …
MELINDA
Ryan came right when I called, like a good boy.
This time we were meeting in my office, or the office I shared with Dominic. Our business was so intimate, taking those meetings at home felt more natural. But today I needed to work in the office, and so it made more sense for Ryan to meet me there. That was also the best place to enjoy lunch from our private chef, Warren.
Today he was making Shallot Tarte Tatin, a vegetarian, caramelized puff pastry tart with a lightly dressed salad. As usual, the meal was delicious. And the meeting, I expected, would yield just what I wanted.
“So can you tell me more about this job?” Ryan asked after swallowing his first bite. I’d insisted that we didn’t talk any business until after our food had arrived.
“Of course.” I took a sip of my wine. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything, please.”
“We’ve found a potential candidate for someone to help us run Blush from the operational side.”
“Okay …”
“The person we’re looking at will be able to manage the girls, but hopefully, if I’m right about this, she should also be able to help us build profiles for our varying clients. If you accept our generous offer for a permanent position with us, then she would be working directly with you.”
“What do you mean by profiles?”
“There’s nothing amateur about Blush. Just because we’re interested in the world’s oldest profession doesn’t mean that we have any intention of doing things in antiquated ways. Psychographics matter, as do personality profiles.”
“Is there anything different you’re wanting from this assessment?”
I shook my head. “Same as the others. The woman’s name is Elle. Her track record with clients is impeccable, from everything I’ve heard.”
“From everything you’ve heard. So you haven’t worked with her yet?”
“No, and I won’t. At least not until we hear back from you. This is too important. We can’t afford mistakes. But she has a fantastic reputation.”
Ryan cleared his throat before he asked, “This business is all about secrets, and I assume she works for a rival organization, so how is that you’ve heard about her ‘fantastic reputation’?”
&nbs
p; “One of my close friends is a regular client.”
“So this is a reputation founded on the opinion of an individual, correct?”
This was just one of the many reasons I liked him. “Correct, but he is an avatar for this business. A connoisseur of courtesans. I would trust his opinion on this, same as I would trust Warren’s opinion on food.”
I placed a delicate forkful of Shallot Tarte Tatin into my mouth with a light little moan to prove my point.
“What makes her special? At a glance?”
“She’s in her early thirties. Definitely older than most of the girls.”
“So she’s been at this for a while.”
“No.” I shook my head, smiling. “That’s one of the things that stands out. She just started.”
This seemed to surprise him, but I wasn’t sure if he liked that or not. “Jess is twenty-seven, and that struck me as a tad late to get started in this field, for a few reasons. Do you not see that as a potential drawback?”
“Not at all. And besides, I see her as being out of the field, anyway. She’s much more valuable to us on her feet than she is on her back.”
“Have you met her yourself, in person?”
“I have.”
“And …?”
“I was impressed.” Another bite, followed by a sip, just enough to drag it out, make him want to hear more. “She’s sophisticated. I’m not where she went to school, but she’s been around wealth enough to blend in, even though that isn’t who she is to her core. She’s compassionate, smart, and sexy in all the right ways. Not like a Hadley Witt or a Jess Lindley, but more like an Allison Brie. She knows what she wants, but if I’m reading it right, the woman has little idea of what she is capable of. She underestimates her abilities. Something about her seems trapped. And I believe we can release Elle from whatever those bonds are, but we need you to help us understand what they are.”
“Keep going, what else do you know?”
“It usually takes a while for these girls to get going. There’s always a number of clients who only want to party with the newest girls, but those guys don’t really build a stable of regulars for that exact reason. It takes a while to get established in this game. But Elle’s roster has been full practically since she started. According to my friend, she’s booked solid and refusing new clients.”
“And how long has she been at this?”
“I’m not sure,” I shrugged. “Maybe a month.”
“Wow.”
“Exactly. She doesn’t want to be in the game permanently, which is good for us, and from what I understand she just sort of fell into it, rather this being a vocation she was actively seeking. I’m sure you would agree that these are all elements that perfectly fit our profile.”
Ryan nodded, looking both close and far away, thinking hard. It was there in his eyes and the set of his jaw.
“Why did she start?” he finally asked.
“I’m not exactly sure, and neither is my friend. Only that it had something to do with her husband. That’s why she’s doing this now. She wants to leave him, but needs to earn enough to climb out of the matrimonial ditch.”
I took another bite and let that settle, then I finished the thought.
“I see this woman as the missing piece, someone we might be able to build the bones of Blush around, but I need assurance that she’s right for the job, and I want the specific breed of comfort that can only come from an appraisal made by Mr. Ryan Monroe.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but I couldn’t let him. Not yet, not until a No was impossible.
“Whatever you’re worried about, don’t be. You don’t have to spend a time building a relationship with this woman. She is an escort, after all. Their art demands distance. So we’ll book you for a party, and then you’ll tell us what you think.”
He was right on the edge. It wouldn’t take much.
“Look Ryan, you know us well enough by now. We pay unreasonably well, trust you implicitly, and appreciate your work. You want to be doing business with us, and both of us know it. Whatever it is you’re worried about, we’ll fix it. That’s what we do. Just give me a yes, and I’ll put you in touch with Elle.”
And the final shot: “I don’t need you to sleep with her or anything, that’s up to you, although I would highly suggest it. But we won’t be needing her to do that for us unless she wants to, so the same should go for you. Having said all of that, there should be nothing standing in your way. Am I right, Ryan?”
Ryan nodded.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Friday Morning …
LYNETTE
I wish I wasn’t addicted to so many things.
I blame it on Frank. Ever since our first date he’s always given me whatever I wanted. On our second date he said, “I want you to forget that the word No exists, okay, Lynette? Stick with me and you’ll never have to hear that word again.”
I believed him. It was easier then. He hadn’t hurt me so much by forcing me to pretend that he wasn’t sleeping around on me, a lie I told everyone in my life, especially myself.
Frank was overweight when we met, a few years before we had Drew, but he had gained almost a hundred pounds since then. It was gross, but he was always so good to me, and I was grateful for the life that we had. In some ways it made me feel safe. Maybe he wasn’t sleeping around on me. I had seen Frank naked plenty; who would want to fuck that if they weren’t married to it? No one. Not unless they were really in a relationship and he was buying her things, like he did for me. It was always theoretical, the idea that he’d cheat on me.
Until I saw that woman at the Broadway, and I knew it for a fact.
And something I never considered came sharply into focus.
My husband was probably paying for women to fuck him.
That woman was up there for an hour, and she looked like a very expensive whore. Exactly the kind of thing Frank would buy for himself, now that I was giving myself permission to admit it.
So yes, Frank was responsible for my many addictions, at least in part. I was lucky that I wasn’t fixed on anything truly awful like pills. But I was plenty dependent on buying things and experiences, the more exclusive they made me feel the better — I loved having things that few others could — same as I was addicted to people acknowledging me, making me feel important. The only one of my addictions that had nothing whatsoever to do with Frank was caffeine. I’d been drinking coffee since Daddy bought me my first white chocolate mocha on my fourteenth birthday.
That was exactly what I needed now.
I entered Hill of Beans, shuffled into the back of the line, and nearly lost my mind.
Over in the corner, in a pair of small armchairs, turned slightly toward each other and away from the crowd, I saw Natalie Monroe having a coffee with Slut Mom.
I felt so slighted, standing there in line alone while the two of them looked so close. Like friends.
That’s not what I expected after our time on the boat. Sure, I was maybe a little drunk, but I remember what Natalie said just fine.
You have nothing to worry about, Lynette. I’m going to help you with this.
It was all lies, because that woman wasn’t in a relationship with my husband. She was a whore, and Natalie was her friend. Apparently she was Slut Mom’s friend, too. And they would probably judge me.
What if one of them looked over and saw me?
What if they started wondering, or even worse, whispering?
I wanted to leave.
But even more, I wanted to stay and find out why a woman like Natalie Monroe would want to hang out with someone like Theresa. She wasn’t in uniform for once, but that meant she wasn’t zipping to or from work. This was casual, day-off time.
Maybe I’d answered the question for myself. I already knew that Natalie associated with a whore. Who cared if the blonde carried a Michael Kors purse while Slut Mom carried a bag from Target? They were both bottom of the barrel as far as I was concerned. If Natalie rubbed her spindly
little elbows with one, why wouldn’t she break bread with another?
Clearly, I was wrong. This wasn’t out of character at all. This was exactly the kind of company kept by the likes of Natalie Monroe.
“Ma’am?” The cashier was smiling, waiting for my order.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, glancing at the menu, flustered, my eyes falling over to their table before settling back on her. No need to look anyway. I knew what I wanted before I started the car. “A white chocolate mocha, please.”
“Of course.”
“Your name?”
“Lynette.” I said it soft, just on the off chance that it might float across the room to land in their laps as something familiar, either the name or my voice. But then I remembered that they would have to yell it, so I said, “Actually my name is Susan.”
Gross. Why did I think of her? And what if she looked anyway?
Too late to change it.
“O … kay.” The cashier gave me a crooked smile, then rolled her eyes at the barista when she thought I couldn’t see.
I went over and waited for my drink, wishing I was invisible, and hoping that neither of them turned and saw me before my white chocolate mocha was ready.
“Susan.”
Said with an audible eye roll, to match the cashier’s, but whatever.
I grabbed my drink and took a seat — not too near, but still within earshot.
My stomach fell, because even as I was waiting for my drink I was hoping that maybe this was something professional. Maybe Theresa had reached out to Natalie for some sort of help, like a lot of the moms did.
But no, this wasn’t that. Or at least not anymore.
They had the sort of easygoing conversation that was passed between the best or at least the oldest of friends. It sounded effortless, nothing like the exchanges that we always had, where I had to work hard to keep the conversation going. They were bonding over coffee and a bagel. Singular.
“Enough about me,” Natalie said. “Your turn.”
“There isn’t really much else to say, other than what I told you.” Slut Mom shrugged. “But I sure as hell never imagined that I’d be thirty-five, divorced, and raising a kid alone.”
