by Bella Knight
Ivy got in the back door and walked into her bedroom. She took off her motorcycle boots. She moved the spray-painted, gold half-columns and slid back the curtain that hid her armoire. She hung up her leather coat. She filled the armoire with the stuff from her duffel, then stowed the duffel too. The computer she stowed in a bottom drawer. Then finally she moved the columns back.
She put her toiletries into a little basket and put it on the floor. She stripped, taking the little basket with her. She had her own minuscule bathroom hidden by a curtain with a tiny shower, barely enough room to stand up in, and a toilet and sink that were nearly on top of each other.
She showered, blew her hair mostly dry, and used her fingers to make the twists she liked. She came out and dressed in red silk boy shorts and a matching bra, a see-through red peignoir, and matching delicate sandals with low heels. Di would squeal about the lack of height on the heels, but she needed a break on her first night back. She put on her makeup in gold, bronze, and maroon, making herself look like a harem girl. She put her laundry in a laundry bag.
She opened the door into the corridor. The Palomino Roadhouse was actually a main building with various rooms, where little trailers dotted everywhere so the girls had their own rooms. The corridor was painted white with an overlay of pale gold to make it shimmer. That had been Ivy’s idea. The sconces were covered in red cloth, giving the place the feel of a Moroccan hallway. She had built a false arch over her own door; the customers loved it.
She stuck her nose into the laundry room; it was empty. She entered and quickly separated her lights and darks into the various baskets. She left the bag on a hook.
She followed the sound of the girls’ voices to the kitchen. Jazz and Thanda were eating quickly, shoving bites of burrito into their mouths. They waved at her and continued to shovel in their food.
Ky, their cook, and houseboy, gave her an air kiss so as not to smear her makeup.
“Ivy, looking lovely as ever,” he turned, started grabbing plastic containers out of the huge refrigerator, “let me get some meat on your bones, girl!”
He turned and put on the kettle on the stove to boil. He put matchstick carrots, cucumber, red bell peppers, and little bits of shredded chicken into a bowl, and mixed it with some soy sauce and crushed ginger. He put the containers away and poured steaming water into a flat bowl. He handed her a plate, a spoon, and a package of hard, round, Vietnamese rice. Yummy spring roll shells. She drew one out, soaked it in the water, carefully maneuvered it onto her plate, smoothed it out, and took a spoon and put the veggies and meat into the now -softened shell. She rolled up the spring roll and popped it into her mouth. She ate four, then went to the communal bathroom to brush her teeth. She took out a new toothbrush from under the sink on the right, labeled it, and brushed her teeth, careful not to smear her bronze lip gloss.
She padded into the main room. Marybelle, Thanda, and Jazmine were lounging over various customers on the velvet couches, chatting. Thanda had herself a cowboy, complete with a belt buckle and string tie, which she slowly removed from around his neck with delicate fingers, gold nails flashing in the light. Marybelle was sitting on a biker’s lap —a biker with brown fuzzy hair and a beard. He had his eyes on hers, and then said something in her ear that made her giggle. Ivy looked down and saw the hint of the top of a knife in one of his boots. They stood and left the room, her dragging him down the hall by two of his fingers.
Ivy hid her astonishment at seeing Arsenal by going to Dion over at the bar. Someone was crashing balls into each other in the billiards room, probably the other biker, Henry.
Dion came rushing over, “Girl, you came just in time. Marybelle won’t be out for a while.” He put grenadine and lime and soda into her glass, “The other one’s in there,” he said, gesturing with his head.
She sipped her soda and walked into the other room. Henry was methodically shooting balls into the pockets.
“Hey, Henry,” she said as if she’d known him all her life.
“Ivy?” he knocked a ball into the corner pocket.
“If you get tired of that,” she said, “I have books. And movies. But it will cost you.”
He knocked in the eight ball, “How much?”
“Thirty bucks for as long as your boy Arsenal keeps himself busy with Marybelle,” she said.
He snorted, “That won’t take long. Let me get a beer.”
She followed him to the bar. He got himself a bottled beer, then said, “Lead on.”
She smiled, and he followed her to her room. She kicked off her sandals, and he sat on the bed to take off his boots. She pulled aside the curtain at the end of the bed to reveal a television, a DVD player, and a row of movies underneath.
“I got Easy Rider,” she said, “and…”
“That’ll do,” he said plainly.
She found the movie, and turned on the electronics, and put the DVD in to play. She turned and approved of the row of pillows he had made to prop them up. She picked up her drink and went over to him. She sat down, then reclined. They sipped their drinks and watched Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper. Then they both heard something.
It seemed Henry was quicker than Ivy getting to the door. Ivy hit the button to stop the movie, and they heard a scream.
“Marybelle!” said Ivy, breaking into a run.
Ivy burst into Marybelle’s trailer. Marybelle was up against the wall crying, in most of her clothes. Arsenal was standing up, stark naked, his fists clenching and unclenching. Ivy grabbed Marybelle and dragged her out of the room. Henry spoke in low tones to Arsenal. Ivy dragged Marybelle into the bathroom, shut the door, and sat her on the toilet.
“Let me see,” she said. Marybelle’s right eye was already swelling shut.
Ky came in with a bag of ice in hand, “I’ve got her,” he said.
Ivy nodded and ran back to the room. James was moving down the hall at a fast clip, “Stay back,” she said, “he’s ex-military, and he’s loaded for bear.”
She entered. Henry handed Arsenal’s shirt to him; he had on the rest of his clothes, except for his motorcycle vest. Henry had a gun in the waistband of his jeans. He hadn’t had one earlier, so Ivy suspected he’d taken it off of Arsenal.
“Want it back,” said Arsenal, his voice low and mulish.
“Arsenal,” said Henry, “you hit a woman. No one can wear our patch if you’ve hit a woman.”
Arsenal was breathing hard, “Didn’t hit no one. Was there… there for a minute.”
Ivy stepped into the room, “You have PTSD?” she asked.
“Yeah. No. Sort of,” said Arsenal, looking down at the floor.
Henry was pissed, “Marybelle’s lucky. You’re much bigger than she is. You could have bashed in her skull.”
“What?” said Arsenal.
Ivy went over to him and looked him in the eye, “Did you think, ‘Hey, I’m going to hit a woman now?’”
“What? No!” he looked down at his hands, “no! I musta fell asleep. Thought I heard...”
Ivy nodded, “You thought you were fighting with someone. And Marybelle was here and you hit her. Hard and square in the face.”
Arsenal covered his face with his hands, “Didn’t mean to,” he said, “I didn’t…”
“Come on, buddy,” said Henry, “time to ride home.”
He took out a wallet and left three tens, “For you,” he said to Ivy, “and for her medical care,” he said as he left a one-hundred-dollar bill.
“You didn’t get the money first?” asked Di, behind her.
Ivy struggled not to turn around and backhand her, “Not now,” she said. “you and James go away. We’ve got this handled.” Di hissed but left.
They got Arsenal out to the bike. Dion came back out with two cans of soda.
“Wake you both up,” he said.
Henry gave him a five, “Thank you, Sir,” he said, “and, I’m sorry, you can come back, but your friend can’t.”
“Figured that,” said Henry. He stuffed the ve
st with the patch into a saddlebag and mounted up.
“Come on, Arsenal, the road will do you good.” Ivy walked back in with Dion as the bikes roared down the road.
Di was spitting nails, “How dare you!”
Ivy got in her face, “I got them out of here. I got the money. So pipe down. Doesn’t Marybelle mean anything to you?”
Di’s face went white, “How dare you say that?” she hissed.
“Then why aren’t you with her?” asked Ivy, her voice cold but controlled.
Di sighed, “Because I thought you’d get yourself killed, is why.”
“I’m a big girl. Take care of Marybelle. She’s your responsibility!” Di glared at her, then whirled to go to look after Marybelle.
“That went well,” said Dion.
“Mhm,” said Ivy in sarcasm.
The bar and lounge were empty with just them, “Sit down, girl,” said Dion, “I’ll make you something special.”
She sat down at the bar. Dion pottered, then sat a bright red drink in front of her.
“What is it?”
“Muddled strawberry, soda, mint, a hint of lime. Ky taught me how to make it.”
Ivy sipped, and almost fell off her stool, “Wow, you gotta show me how to do that.”
“You’re not supposed to be behind the bar,” said Dion.
“Fuck that!” said Ivy, “cross-train me. For when you and Barry are busy.”
“Cross-train… now, there, girl, you may have an idea.”
Ivy felt better talking to Dion. He was more than understanding.
The lights blinked, “Talk about busy,” said Dion, quickly checking his face in the bar mirror, “that’s Damian. He’s picked up some boys who want a good time if you know what I mean.”
“Yours or mine?” asked Ivy.
“Mine,” said Dion. He hit two separate buttons hidden under the lip of the bar, “James can join, and Ivan can tend bar. Too bad. That boy could fucken rake it in if he played for the other team.”
“You play for both teams?” asked Ivy with a cheeky grin.
“I know, right?” said Dion, raising his eyebrows. He flexed his muscles, and Ivy laughed.
Ivan came out, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His mesh top and black poured-on jeans were identical to Dion’s. He pulled on a bar apron.
“You will be working?” he said, referring to Dion’s other source of income.
“I hope so,” said Dion.
Then the men were in the room, —a sandy-haired one and a blonde, both cut and lean. They both stared at Dion and smiled.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” he said, coming out from behind the bar, “my friend Ivan here would like to pour you a drink. What would you like?”
The sandy-haired one smiled. “You,” he said.
They laughed. Ivy sashayed past and went back to her room for a rest before the next horde showed up.
Arsenal’s Return
Ivy had just logged in, to scout out dead whorehouses online when the lights flashed.
“Damn,” she said, stowing the computer. She put a peignoir on, —blue to match her blue, boy shorts and sexy silver top. She slipped on sandals and went out into the lobby.
“False alarm,” said James, coming out of the control booth in a closet near the kitchen, “it’s that guy who hit Marybelle.”
“Is he alone?” asked Ivy.
“Yeah, but he’s banned. I’m gonna…”
Ivy held up a hand, “I’ll handle him!” She went back to her room, grabbed her leather jacket, and went back out.
Arsenal parked his bike, got off, and spotted Ivy. He walked over to her. “Nice to see you again, Ma’am,” he said, “would it be possible for me to talk to Marybelle? Not alone. That big bouncer guy can be with you.”
“Christ, Arsenal. James wants to break you in half. Why are you here?”
“Like I said, to talk to Marybelle. She deserves to know that I’m an asshole and that I’m truly sorry.”
Ivy smiled, and held out her hand, “Give me thirty dollars, and wait here.”
Arsenal pulled on the chain holding his wallet to his belt loop. He opened the flap and handed over a twenty and a ten. Ivy walked back in. Dion was rubbing Marybelle’s back in slow circles. Ivy went over and knelt in front of Marybelle.
“He wants to talk to you, over there, on that other couch, while you sit here. He wants to apologize. He gave me this for your time.” She held out the thirty dollars.
Marybelle took the money and fluffed her red hair, “Damn idiot owes me Donna Karan, not this crap.”
“He does. And, if I can get him back to my room, I’ll give you half.”
Marybelle nodded, “I’ll take his apology. But he’s still an asshole.”
“Yes, he is,” said Ivy, and she went out to get Arsenal.
She noticed his leather didn’t have a Nighthawks badge across its back. So, Henry must have had him kicked out.
Ivy sat him on the couch across from Marybelle. Ivy sat beside him. Dion sat down next to Marybelle, holding her hand.
“I’m real sorry,” said Arsenal, his voice raspy, “I’ve been sober three months. Done a lot of work to stay that way. I have PTSD, from my time in Iraq. Doesn’t excuse it, ‘cos Henry told me drinking and PTSD don’t mix, but I did it anyway. I’m an asshole, and I’m here to ask how to make it right with you.”
“I want a Donna Karan bag,” blurted Marybelle.
“Oh… okay,” said Arsenal confused by the request.
“I’ll show you where to get one on my computer,” said Ivy, “come on back,” she said.
Dion turned wide eyes on Ivy, “You sure, girl?”
Ivy nodded, “He’s got knives in his boots. I’ll just stab him with one if he tries anything bad.” Dion nodded, as if that made actual sense.
Arsenal followed her back. She let him in and smiled at his reaction.
“Wow!” he said, “Henry said your room rocked, but this is really cool! Marrakesh style!”
“That’s what I was going for,” she said, “want some soda or water? Dion makes this strawberry mash that tastes awesome.”
“Not right now, Ma’am,” said Arsenal, still slightly awkward.
“Sit down,” said Ivy.
She bent over to get the computer out of its drawer, showing herself off. He stared, then looked away. She flicked back the curtain and got the computer out of the drawer. She flipped it open and opened the page.
“There’s a shop in Vegas that has secondhand Donna Karan bags. Get a bigger one, —black or red. She hates white bags. Gray is okay too.”
Arsenal looked as she scrolled with her mouse.
She pulled up the website of the store; usedtreasures111.com.
“Or, you can order off eBay or Amazon.”
She wrote down the address of the ranch, “Send it here. As long as it is in good shape and is pretty, she’ll like it,” she poked around on eBay, “oh my god, this is a python bag, gray and black, with a silver chain and leather straps. And it is only a hundred bucks! Dude, I’ll get it and send here.”
Wordlessly, Arsenal counted out five twenties and handed it to her. She put it under her butt as she ordered the bag.
“It’ll be here on Thursday,” she said, “now, want to watch Easy Rider?”
“I hit your friend, and now you want to watch a movie with me?”
“You fucked up,” said Ivy, “don’t do it again, and we won’t have a problem. You hurt one of my friends again and I’ll remove your face.”
“Remind me never to piss you off,” said Arsenal.
“Don’t piss me off!” she said.
He snorted, “So? The movie?”
“You got aliens?” he asked with an eager expression.
She laughed. She ordered Cokes and popcorn from Ky. Arsenal took off his leathers and boots and they propped themselves up and watched a movie. She charged him thirty bucks an hour. When he finished, she sent him off and informed Marybelle that a bag was on its way.
Another group of cyclists showed up, —a small club called the Iron Riders on a road trip from Tucson, fresh from a trip to Death Valley. They were sweaty and smelly from the road. Dion got them all beers, and Ivy asked them about their bikes while Ky cooked something up for them. They dug into poppers, cheese sticks, and sliders at the bar as if they hadn’t eaten in months.
“I’ve got this thing I do,” said Ivy, when they were two beers in and the food was gone, “I think a few of you would like it.”
“Oh, yeah?” asked their biggest member, a guy with black, wiry hair and black eyes.
He had a nose that had been broken several times, and an easy smile. He called himself, “Hellcat.”
Ivy slid closer to him, “You finish that beer, then we can try it out, Hellcat. We usually do it with each other, when you’re not here, but…”
His eyes were wide and excited by her words.
She leaned over and kissed Thanda deeply. There was whooping and catcalling until Ivy broke the kiss, “…I don’t know if you want to try it with us?”
“With you?” asked Hellcat, “all of you?”
Ivy smiled, “It’ll cost you,” said Ivy, “but it’ll be worth it.”
The guys had their wallets on the counter before Ivy could say more, “Two fifty. Each,” said Ivy, “and you get one free beer each.”
“Two free beers!” said Hellcat.
“Two,” agreed Ivy, “and a night you’ll never forget.”
She had them put their leathers and boots on the chairs in the pool room, and she took them to the back. The girls behind her smiled when they realized where she was going. They all took off their high heels and giggled at the men’s reactions when Ivy opened the door. The door opened into a room with showers and a huge Jacuzzi.
“Want some clean sex?” asked Ivy.
“Hell, yes!” said Hellcat.
He stripped right there and walked in butt naked to the shower. Ivy stripped down too, and she washed the huge biker from head to toe. He kissed her, laughing, his hands slippery with soap.
“Do I get to wash you now?” he said.
“Absolutely,” said Ivy, kissing him again.
She stroked him as he washed her, and she laughed when he gasped as she ran the edge of her fingernail on the head of his cock. She literally led him by the balls to the Jacuzzi. She flipped the switch to turn it on, and they got in. She stroked him under the water, kissing him, and running her fingernails down his back. She pulled him out onto the edge of the tub. He sat on the side, as she took a condom out of a box on the floor and rolled it on him.
