Lewd Behavior

by Samson Weld

  “No, really. It’s not that I don’t want to, mind you. It’s just that you have to find the right girls for that. And as far as I’m concerned, they’re coming up short.”

  “I hope there’s no agenda with this sweet talk. You won’t get me horizontal tonight.”

  “That’s very presumptuous of you, Anne-Marie.”

  “It’s not presumptuous,” she said. “You’re an open book. I can tell what you’re thinking.”

  “Oh yeah? Between one and ten, what number am I thinking of?”

  She had this amused grin on her face again. She took a sip of her martini before speaking. “Did you ever hear of the term cinq à sept?”

  “Is it on the menu?”

  “It literally means five to seven. In France, it refers to guys going to see their mistresses after work, but in Quebec it’s like happy hour with colleagues. You go out for drinks after leaving the office and you go home around seven. The younger you are and the longer you stay. The more ambitious you are and the more often you attend.”

  Nick sampled his drink. “Thanks for the cultural lesson.”

  “So I was once younger and very ambitious. I’ve been to my share of these cinq à sept gatherings. I’ve heard all the pickup lines you can think of. I’ve come to know what a man who wants to sleep with me looks like.”

  “That should be easy to recognize, Anne-Marie. A male above the age of puberty, with a heartbeat.”

  “And it’s not going to happen between us tonight,” she said, clutching her menu and not reading it.

  Now it was his turn to smirk. “I hope so, I have other plans this evening.”

  “Working late?”

  “Something like that.”

  He stirred the lonely ice cube in his glass and sipped his Crown Royal. He liked how direct she was. It was strange at first since he was so used to the games people play, but it was a nice change of pace.

  She looked up from her menu. “Is that a habit for you?”

  “Working late?” he inquired. “It’s as good as any hobby I guess.”

  “Is that why there’s no Mrs. Eversull?”

  “Is that a proposal?”

  She paused for a second before replying. “I like to know about the people I work with.”

  “There’s never been a Mrs. Eversull, not my style.”

  “What do you mean? You have a thing against monogamy?”

  If you only knew, he thought.

  “I just don’t believe in stable relationships. Trust is just something that is far too expensive to give away.”

  That made her frown in genuine puzzlement. She moved her drink to the side as if it was what hindered their conversation.

  “You never had a stable relationship?” she asked.

  He stared at her for a moment in complete silence. Finally, he opened his menu.

  “What’s good here?”

  “Is that the cue for a subject change?”

  “How long have you been working for Hozalex Solutions?”

  She stared at him for several seconds, like she couldn’t believe he was currently changing subjects. Then she gave up and shrugged.

  “Four years. Helmbold brought me in at first to revamp the marketing department. When that was done, I was transferred to sales.” She took an unhurried sip of her martini before continuing. “Then, I moved to administration with a promise of a VP post before the year’s end. That was two years ago.”

  “You’re still young...”

  “Gee, thanks,” she said without hiding the sarcasm in her voice.

  “I mean, you have your entire career ahead of you. There’s no need to be bitter.”

  “I’m not bitter.”

  The way she broke a piece of bread, snapping it in two as if she wanted to choke a chicken to death, told the truth about her real feelings. Nick pursed his lips knowing it was high time to switch subjects yet again. He perused the menu which was thankfully bilingual.

  “Okay, whatever you say. I think I’m gonna go with the lamb chops. Maybe the duck carpaccio for starters.”

  He looked up at her and she was staring back. He drank while she chewed her bread. He was surprised at how long it had been since he’d been so comfortable with a woman.

  With a woman he hadn’t paid.

  Chapter 6

  Even though he was a pimp and that his income was above the national average, Xavier didn’t believe in domestic bliss.

  The money he made certainly didn’t go into his Snowdon condo. The place was filled with furniture that had been fashionable when Southeast Asia was being bombed by American planes. The walls had once been white and were in desperate need of repainting. Some dump sites had been known to be cleaner.

  An old girlfriend had once commented that he was a hypocrite. He kept his car pristine while his apartment was a disaster zone. He had broken up with her two minutes later.

  He came into the apartment, slamming the door behind him. He was assaulted by the vaguely familiar fragrance of decaying pizza yet he promptly forgot about it. He was a man on a mission. He hurried to the aging couch and pulled it forward. He kneeled on it, reached down behind it, and pulled out a small gun safe.

  “Come on,” he mumbled, urging himself on.

  He dropped the strongbox on the couch and punched in the combination. Opening it, he rummaged through some documents before finding a flash drive. He yanked it out and plugged the drive into his laptop which sat on the coffee table amid empty Chinese food containers. The computer, along with the big screen TV, was the only item that seemed new and in good shape.

  He booted up the computer and sat on the couch, waiting impatiently, tapping his foot as if he was waiting for worrying test results. When the PC was ready, he searched through file folders and found one with hundreds of thumbnail images.

  “Where are you, you son of a bitch?”

  All the pictures were of men. They were of all ages. Most of the photographs were candid snapshots taken on the street, but some of them included his prostitutes. Guys half dressed, girls completely naked on top of them.

  He had begun taking pictures of his clients with a view to getting into the extortion business, but in the end Xavier had deemed it wasn’t worth the risk. After all, in Montreal the cops pretty much turned a blind eye to his activities as long as no drugs or underage girls were involved. Why risk a good thing, right?

  Nevertheless, he still liked having photographs of his client as a sort of insurance policy. If anything ever happened to his girls or if he didn’t get paid, at least he’d have something with which to threaten the client. That was just good business sense, he told himself.

  He forced himself to calm down and started browsing through his images in a much more concerted manner.

  “Come on, come on…”

  He abruptly stopped when he came across the face of a handsome man. Most of his clients didn’t look like him. They were usually older or ugly, or both. Not this guy. This was the type of guy who didn’t need to pay for sex so he stuck out like a sore thumb.

  The file name corresponded to a reference number and he called up a simple Excel file where he stored his notes. For all his faults, Xavier had always been a good record keeper. His father had wanted him to be an accountant once upon a time.

  He scanned the Excel file until he found the client’s meeting place of choice: Vu3 Hotel. He produced a mini USB cable and transferred the photograph to his phone.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  The hotel lobby wasn’t especially crowded and there were no guests at the reception desk. The young night clerk was slouching at his post while two-thumb texting on his phone.

  Henri the manager came out of his office—back straight and head high, proud of his job. It wasn’t exactly what his parents had expected of him, but he himself saw prestige in what he did. He immediately spotted the ill-mannered employee. He quickly went to him.

  “What are you doing?” he asked in French.

  “Uh, nothing, just waiting.”

>   “We are a five-star hotel, not some five-minute East End fleabag.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Show some respect and decorum or you will find yourself running to the unemployment office.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Henri stared at him long enough for the boy to put his phone away and stand up straight. It was bad enough that he had to cover the night manager’s shift, but now he had to put up with this kind of employee? Maybe he should go apply for a job at the Ritz-Carlton where he’d be surrounded by a better class of workers.

  Sighing, he was convinced the kid would pull out his phone again in a matter of minutes, but he didn’t have time to baby-sit him. He glared at him for a few more seconds and left to go speak with the kitchen staff.

  As soon as Henri disappeared from view, Xavier entered.

  He had actually been standing near the entrance, waiting for the manager to leave before showing up. He instinctively looked around for unfriendly faces. It was a professional habit. The coast clear, he went to the front desk.

  “What’s up, kid?”

  The night clerk rolled his eyes when he looked up at the pimp. “Now’s not a good time, Xavier.”

  “It’s always a good time to make money.”

  “My boss is probably watching me right now. Almost got fired five seconds ago.”

  “I won’t take much of your time.”

  Xavier looked around for a second time and slid over a green twenty-dollar bill across the counter to the young man.

  “That’s it?”

  “If I like your information, I’ll give you one hour with one of my girls.”

  “As long as it’s not Bella,” the clerk said, knowing every face in Xavier’s roster.

  “Fine, whatever.”

  As the boy pocketed the money, Xavier pulled out his iPhone and showed him the picture he had found on his flash drive.

  “Do you know this guy? Do you know if he’s staying here?”

  The young man studied the image for almost ten seconds. He nodded. “Yeah, he’s staying here, I saw him earlier.”

  “Wonderful. What room?”

  At that, the clerk shook his head. “Uh-huh, no way. If you do anything, it’s my ass.”

  Xavier grinned and inched a little closer.

  “Tell me, have you ever been with two girls at the same time?”

  The young man fidgeted as he glanced left and right, excited at the prospect of this reward, but also conscious of the consequences.

  “What do you know, brother? Tell me.”

  Looking at the picture again, the kid gulped. It wasn’t so bad to squeal about this Nick Eversull character, was it? It’s not like he was a doctor or a lawyer, having sworn an oath. He was just a hotel clerk. It wasn’t his life’s ambition either.

  Besides, he was looking forward to having his first threesome. Well, as long as it didn’t involve Bella.

  “Okay, I’ll tell you.”

  Chapter 7

  It was just after ten o’clock and Nick was behind schedule.

  “Damn it…” he whispered to himself.

  Being late for him was a cardinal sin. It showed a lack of respect. In fact, his idea of being on time was being early. So if he wanted others to respect him, he had to do the same in return and that meant being on time, preferably ahead of time, too. And now he was cutting it close.

  Tonight he had an appointment with Suzy. He’d been looking forward to this for days. He had let the anticipation build up ever since he had scheduled things. Now was the moment of truth.

  He had just returned from dinner with Anne-Marie and barely had time to take a quick shower before his meeting. Suzy had come highly recommended on the most popular discussion boards about the Montreal escort scene.

  It was somewhat disconcerting to know that there were forums dedicated to talking about prostitutes, he was aware of that. It was maybe a little condescending, objectifying. After all, what sort of an inconsiderate idiot gave reviews about women, grading them on their looks, their attitude, and their service?

  From the outside looking in, it was despicable to treat women like restaurants on Yelp. Nick justified this in two ways. First, people were rated all the time on Yelp and other similar review sites. There were doctors and mechanics and plumbers. In the circles he ran in, escorts often called themselves service providers. How were they any different from doctors and mechanics and plumbers?

  And the second reason was that the escorts where on board with the idea of being reviewed. More than one had told Nick as much. In an ideal world, it wouldn’t be necessary, but favorable reviews did help their business.

  Christ, he thought, gargling with mouthwash. Marketing had truly invaded every sphere of their society. Everything was about commercial endeavors. Prostitutes had to be business savvy if they wanted to prosper. This was the world they were living in.

  There was a knock at the door, making his heart skip a beat. How would Suzy compare to his expectations? From everything he’d read, she was gorgeous and classy, not to mention gifted when it came to the service she was here to provide. This thrill he was feeling at the moment, the anticipation, that was his favorite part of the hobby.

  He spat, wiped the corners of his mouth, and gave one last glance at himself in the mirror. His wavy dark hair was properly coiffed and his dress shirt didn’t have too many creases. He wasn’t worried about it. He would be taking it off soon.

  He went to the door and opened it after taking a deep breath to calm himself down. Before him stood a young woman in her late twenties. She was about two inches above five feet. Her blond hair was streaked with faded green, hanging down past her shoulders. She was puffing on a cigarette and forced a smile which displayed two rows of uneven teeth.

  “Come in lovely Suzy, come in. Make yourself at home.”

  He stepped aside and she walked in. He shut the door behind her and put on the security chain. He looked at her loose cotton dress. It wasn’t fancy, but at least it was easily removable. She turned around and kissed him on both cheeks as he’d discovered was popular here in Montreal.

  “Enchantée,” she said.

  She gawked around the room, obviously looking for something. She stopped at last when she spotted the envelope on the dresser next to the TV. Her search wasn’t lost on Nick.

  “That’s for you, feel free to take it.”

  She went to it and pulled the money out. She slowly counted each bill—Canadian currency—until she determined there was indeed five hundred dollars. She stuffed the envelope into her purse.

  “Can I get you something to drink? I have some champagne on ice.” He pointed to the bucket which was next to the envelope.

  “J’vas prendre du champagne.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t speak French. Uh…” He focused, struggling to conjure up the few French phrases he had learned. “Je ne parle pas français.”

  She reacted with a shrug and wandered away. For some people, the language barrier could be the sign of a long evening. However, Nick knew that with this kind of activity, his lack of French wasn’t too worrying. Within minutes they wouldn’t be talking anymore.

  He went to the bucket and opened the bottle without making a mess. Champagne never failed to impress escorts and they usually became much friendlier afterwards, more liberal in their ministrations. He poured two glasses, came back, and handed her one. He motioned for the love seat and they both sat down.

  They clinked their glasses and both had a sip. They smiled awkwardly to each other as he tried to think of something clever to say. He obviously couldn’t go into his usual shtick. He had a few different scenarios for each type of girl he met. Some of the more sophisticated ones loved talking about art or politics or culture. Others he knew responded more to discussions about travels.

  He had found out over the years that because of the harsh winters, a large portion of Montreal’s population traveled south regularly. South Florida had been popular once, but now the current trend was to spend
a week or two in Cuba or the Dominican Republic, often in all-inclusive resorts.

  Nick was about to say something when the young woman drained her entire glass in one gulp. Then, she lit another cigarette using the previous one. She discarded the butt into the water glass on the table next to her.

  “So, you really don’t speak any English?” he ventured.

  “No, no English.”

  “Okay, then perhaps we could move to the good stuff.”

  He set his drink down, gently put a hand on top of hers, and moved in to kiss her. She recoiled quickly and shook her head.

  “No kiss.”

  “No kiss?” Nick repeated incredulously.

  “No kiss, no blow job with, uh… bareback, no eating, no Greek.”

  Nick got the gist of what she was saying. “Oh, I see.”

  He tried to hide his disappointment, but wasn’t sure if he succeeded. That was quite a long list of restrictions. He wasn’t particularly kinky or demanding, but just being refused things put him in a bad mood. Geez, she didn’t even kiss?

  He brought his hand up to caress her face, but again she retreated.

  “No touch face.”

  “Is anything allowed at all?”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  Maybe she would warm up to him as things progressed, he decided. He stood up and took her hand, pulling her to her feet.

  She stubbed out her cigarette next to the other and let herself be led to the bed. Nick sat on the edge of the mattress and positioned her in front of him. He let his hands roam across her body and under the hem of her dress.

  He loved the thrill of touching a strange girl for the first time. He explored her, letting his fingers meander over her warm, smooth skin. He found her bra and pushed it up eagerly. He cupped her breasts, finding them soft and droopy. He hadn’t been expecting this. It didn’t matter, he liked all women. He craned his neck while he pushed her dress farther up and kissed her soft stomach.

  He went lower, going for her mound. It was important to him to give as much pleasure as he received, he truly believed that. In the past, women had told him that they became much more attentive with a client when they were comfortable with him. Nick saw this as a seduction.