Iron Princess (Iron Palace Book 2)

by Lisa Ferrari

  I’m trying to do upright rows with Kellan as this B.S. is coming in. “1979” is playing. I was never a huge Pumpkins fan, but I love this song.

  “Chasing rainbows?” Kellan asks. He shakes his head and goes back to lifting.

  My mom goes on to say that it’s only a matter of time before Kellan gets busted for steroids and goes to prison and I’ll go right along with him and she WON’T bring me blueberry muffins in prison.

  I show this one to Kellan, too.

  “Blueberry muffins in prison?”

  He shakes his head and goes back to lifting.

  Radio silence resumes after that.

  Beth is less of a bitch. She texts me to tell me she sold two houses and is thinking about buying one for herself.

  I text her back, congratulating her.

  Kellan and I also get regular texts from Aaron and Rami and Sheila, providing much-appreciated updates on the project, giving info about casting and locations scouting. We even get one very cool pic of the three of them in a jungle somewhere, looking at a huge spider web big enough to trap an SUV. The caption is Costa Rica.

  That, somehow, makes it all the more real for me.

  I begin to understand that this thing is actually going to happen. They’re taking the time to fly to remote locations like the jungles of Costa Rica. It’s too soon to know for certain if I’ll be in the movie, or Kellan for that matter, but the movie is definitely going to be made.

  They also start talking to Kellan about being an executive producer in order to reap some of the profits beyond just his paycheck.

  I’m concerned this is a red flag that they don’t have the financing they claim to have.

  Kellan says he doesn’t think that’s case. But he’ll proceed slowly and he won’t simply liquidate all his assets and hand over the cash to them.

  But Rami says they’re anticipating a 1000% profit. Ten times the money. So if Kellan puts in a million, he’ll make ten. If he puts in ten, he’ll make a hundred.

  He tells me if he sold everything, everything, he might be able to come up with five million in cash.

  Wow.

  DENISE AND I finally hook up for lunch. She’s in the mood for Mexican so we meet at Chevy’s.

  “What, no work attire today?” she asks as we sit down.

  “I got fired.”

  “Really? What happened?”

  “I totally spazzed out and missed a shift so Nancy called me to see where I was and she fired me. She said I’d outgrown the job and I had to chase my dreams and go after this movie thing. She knew I felt guilty about quitting so she fired me.”

  “She’s right.”

  “You think?”

  “Absolutely. Besides, if you don’t get the movie thing and the book thing falls through and you and Kellan break up, I’m sure Nancy will hire you back. Speaking of which, I wanted to talk to you about your monogamy.”

  “My what?”

  “Harper has been asking about you.”

  “Oh God.”

  Denise goes on and on about Harper, how kind he is, how great he is with kids, how great he is with animals, how sensitive he is, how he probably likes to give his partners oral sex for hours and hours, and how he always smells so good that Denise has considered touching herself in her office after he comes in smelling like Old Spice or whatever. She tries to give me Harper’s phone number about twenty times.

  When I refuse, she tries to sweeten the deal: “He’s buying a Ferrari. A Four-Five-Eight. Do you know what that is?”

  “Yeah. Kellan and I rented one the day he bought the Aventador. It’s gorgeous. But the Lamborghini is more animalistic while the Ferrari is more refined and elegant. But it’s certainly a beautiful machine and worth every penny.”

  “The Ferrari or Harper?”

  “The Ferrari.” I remember what Calista said about being an alpha female. “I’m with Kellan now. I’m not interested in Harper, or Nathan, or anyone else. Okay? What are you having for lunch?”

  I hope telling her outright that I’m with Kellan and redirecting her toward the menu will end the discussion. It works.

  “I want the flautas with about a gallon of sour cream but I’ll probably just get a salad.”

  That’s what I order: a fajita salad, dry, with extra chicken, extra beef, and no dressing or oil of any kind. I dump fresh salsa all over it and it’s delicious.

  Denise eats two baskets of tortilla chips. She offers them to me repeatedly and I repeatedly say no, telling her I need to keep my fat calories to a minimum. So no chips.

  Denise eats her salad but she pouts the whole time. But all in all it’s nice that we’re able to spend time together.

  She slobbers all over my little red Pontiac when we leave the restaurant. Her insanely awesome BMW X6-M is just a few parking spaces away. She could buy ten of my car for the price of hers. But for some reason she seems glum.

  At home later, I tell Kellan about lunch with Denise and her mention of Harper. He says she is one interesting friend.

  The next day, we succeed in selling my car. I get $5,000 cash. I immediately give it to Kellan.

  A FEW DAYS later, Denise texts me, inviting Kellan and me to dinner with her and Mark. She says she wants to go back to Chevy’s and devour two orders of flautas with extra sour cream and fresh guacamole, and deep-fried ice cream for dessert. She says she saw her doctor and got a pill that blocks fat, so she can eat whatever she wants.

  That night, Kellan and I are in bed, the perspiration fresh on our bodies after we made love for over an hour. The light from the swimming pool shines through the big glass doors, filling the master suite with a soft glow. We’re sharing our thoughts on the day and he’s telling me all about the clients he’s helping lose weight.

  I adore lying in bed with Kellan in post-coital bliss, talking. And being naked together.

  I tell him about Denise’s invitation for tomorrow night, and about how she wants to try out this new diet pill she got from her doctor.

  “What’s the name of it?”

  “I don’t remember. Xeni-something.”

  “Xenilean?”

  “Yeah. That’s it.”

  “Oh Lord.”

  “What?”

  “I tried that.”

  “Really? When?”

  “A couple years ago, right after it came on the market.”

  “Did it work?”

  “No. It most definitely did not work. I mean, yes, it worked because it absolutely one-hundred percent does what it’s supposed to do. But it was a disaster. Or should I say a ‘dis-ASS-ter’.”

  “What happened?”

  “It’s supposed to discourage you from eating fatty foods because of the negative effects of taking the pill.”

  “What negative effects?”

  “Uncontrollable and unstoppable explosions of hot, disgusting, oily fat out of your butthole.”

  “Fat?”

  “Yes.”

  “Out of your butt?”

  “Yes.”

  I’m not sure if I want to laugh or gag. “Is that what happened to you?”

  “Oh yeah. See, it works by binding to the enzyme which normally breaks down the fat. With the enzyme out of the way, the fat runs through you and into your bowels. You think you have to fart but, instead, orange oil comes out and ruins your underwear, your pants, your sofa cushions.”

  “You ruined your sofa cushion?”

  “No, it was my mom’s sofa cushion.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “What happened?”

  “I was at her house Christmas morning and we were opening presents and having a nice family bonding time. I farted and felt that oily, hot, wet feeling in my butt crack so I got up and hauled ass to the bathroom. I barely made it, too. I got in there and a geyser of orange oil shot out of me. My underwear was full of it so I surreptitiously threw them in the garbage.”

  “Surreptitiously how?”

  “I wrapped them in toilet paper and buried them in the bottom of the wastebask
et. I also surreptitiously turned over the sofa cushion when no one was looking.”

  “So, what happens? You eat fat and then immediately poop it out?”

  “Pretty much. The fat runs through you and it comes out looking like those little beads of orange oil that drip out of a taco. It’s the grease from the ground beef, mixed with the taco seasoning. Smells like it, too.”

  Okay now I want to gag. “And I’m never eating tacos again.”

  “Wait, it gets worse. I was at Chili’s one time after taking one of those pills. I ate a bunch of tortilla chips and I had to run to the bathroom before we were even out of the restaurant. It happened fast. One minute I was fine, the next minute, I thought maybe I needed to fart or maybe poop, but within thirty seconds it was a code red and I had to get to a toilet immediately.”

  “Like in Bridesmaids after they eat that weird meat?”

  “Exactly. Or like in Dumb & Dumber when Jim Carey put a ton of laxative in Jeff Daniels’ drink. I was in the stall and I couldn’t get my jeans down fast enough. And then the toilet seat had pee and pubic hairs on it so while I was furiously trying to clean it with a wad of toilet paper, orange oil was literally dripping out of my ass.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I stuck my butt out and kind of squatted to try to keep the oil from dripping on my pants or my shoes. The oil went all over the floor. I cleaned it up as best I could. What’s really disgusting, but also kind of interesting, is that different kinds of fats make different kinds of oil. It’s either orange, green, or brown, depending on what you eat. It was horrible, man. I threw away at least five or six perfectly good pair of underwear because the oil wouldn’t come out in the laundry.”

  By this time, I am laughing my ass off, no pun intended.

  “I tried scrubbing the oil out with dish soap and hot water right after it happened and then rinsing it and tossing them into the washing machine right away. But they always came out of the dryer with an orange stain in the crotch. You could still smell it, too.”

  “What did it smell like?”

  “Kind of like meat or spices or onions. It was a unique smell so it’s difficult to describe.”

  This is so not pillow talk. But it is fascinating. And hilarious. “Do you think Denise’s ass is going to explode?”

  “It will if she eats a lot of fat and takes one of those pills. You want to be a real bitch? Tell her we’ll go to dinner with them and then tell her a big, elaborate story about how you did some research online about that pill and you saw a whole bunch of women who lost thirty pounds while eating a pint of Ben & Jerry’s every night. She wants Mexican, right? With lots of tortilla chips and cheese and sour cream?”

  “And guacamole. And deep-fried ice cream for dessert.”

  “And then watch her get into her hundred-thousand-dollar BMW. Her ass will explode all over that pristine leather upholstery. I honestly don’t know if you could ever truly clean it. You’d probably have to go to the dealer and have them install a brand new seat. There’s no way that would be covered under the warranty. Honestly, you’d have to be wearing adult diapers to stop it. Maybe not even then. I don’t know, I’ve never worn adult diapers. But I can tell you that it is a disaster. Are you going to warn her or just let her find out the hard way?”

  “I don’t know. She wouldn’t listen to me anyway. She’s the hot-shot attorney and I’m the lowly fat girl who dreams of being a writer and who managed to land a hunky guy by sheer miraculous luck. So what could I possibly know about anything?”

  I get pissed every time I think about this.

  Kellan does his best to calm me down, rubbing my bare shoulder and soothing me. “Maybe we should all go out and after she takes the pills and eats, suggest we take a nice long drive out to the lake in her Bimmer so we can see what happens.”

  “That’s pretty messed up.”

  “Maybe. But so is trying to make you call Lawyer Boy when she knows you’re with me.”

  This is also true.

  I grab my phone and text Denise, telling her we’re on for dinner tomorrow night.

  She texts back a smiley face.

  “She won’t be smiling when she’s shooting hot, stinky grease out of her butt,” Kellan says.

  THE NEXT NIGHT, Kellan and I take the white Mercedes to Denise’s house. We go inside and the four of us chit chat for a bit before we pile into Denise’s X6 and head up to Chevy’s.

  Mark is astounded by my weight loss transformation. He says I look like a different person, and he keeps staring at me. I’m wearing my stretchy skinny jeans Kellan likes because they really hug my thighs and butt, along with my knee-high black boots I bought one day when I saw them for sale at the mall, and a tight, low-cut white angora sweater Kellan bought for me. He likes to pet me because the angora is so soft. He likes to admire my breasts, too, which the v-neck accentuates.

  I catch Mark’s eyes on my chest more than once.

  More than once, he tells me how great I look.

  Denise gets pissed as she drives. “You wanna stick your dick in her mouth and get it over with?”

  “I’ll put my dick in your mouth,” Mark counters.

  “Not til you pump it up first.”

  “Denise!”

  “What? It’s okay. Kellan and Claire don’t mind, do you guys? We’re all friends here. Kellan, you pump, right?”

  “Pump?”

  “Don’t play dumb,” Denise says, eyeing us in her rear-view mirror, “penis pump. I know you do. Claire bear told me how big you are. I know you’re pumping that thing.”

  “Uh, well, I used to, yes. But it’s been awhile. Claire keeps me in shape in that department.”

  “But you used to?”

  “Yes.”

  “And did it work?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “And why did you start? Were you really tiny or lacking girth? Were you throwing a hotdog down a hallway?”

  “No, not really. I’ve always been above average but I’m also above average in height and weight. I’m a big guy so things have always been proportionate.”

  “So why did you start pumping?” Denise asks.

  “Uh, curiosity mostly. And ego. I was pumping my muscles in the gym and taking supplements so I wanted to see if it would work on the male reproductive system as well.”

  “And it did, right?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “And Claire, you’re happy with Kellan’s manhood?”

  “Yes…”

  “Denise,” Mark says, “I really don’t feel comfortable talking about this.”

  “Why? It’s no big deal. I got my tits done. I color my hair. I paint my nails. I wear heels. I wear make-up. Nothing about me is original. Men take stuff to grow their hair, they take Viagra so they can perform, they work out to make their muscles bigger, why not pump up the love muscle to make it bigger, too? Look, I’m a size queen. I like a big dick, okay? Sue me. Except you’d better not, because I’m a lawyer and I’ll counter-sue you so hard that you’ll be so poor you’ll have to jack off your dog to feed your cat. You’ll be so poor you can’t afford to pay attention. Hey, what do you call twenty-five lawyers buried up to their necks in cement?”

  “I don’t know,” says Mark. “What?”

  Denise says, “Not enough cement. Hey, what are lawyers good for?”

  “What?” says Mark.

  “They make car salesmen look good.”

  “I sell cars,” says Mark.

  “I know!” says Denise. “That’s why it’s funny!”

  Denise reaches over and rubs Mark’s crotch. “Don’t worry, babe, we’ll get something off Amazon and we’ll do it together, okay? We’ll pump you while we watch The Walking Dead. You love that show.”

  Watching a show about a zombie apocalypse does not strike me as a good way to get it up or to enjoy penis pumping. I mean, uh, Terminus? The trough scene? Hello! Not to mention Negan and Glenn (colossal mistake, imho btw). But, Denise and Mark’s television viewing habits are their
business.

  As we drive, I consider what Kellan said about his own pumping experience. I’m not a “size queen”, as is Denise, apparently (I’m not sure I even know what that is), but perhaps it’s something I’d like to see. But how much bigger can Kellan get? When he took the Viagra during our stay at the Del, his body was…a work of art. Kellan has a beautiful penis. I do adore it so.

  Quite a contrast to the onions-and-dried-urine smell of the Warcraft guy’s tiny gherkin. A shivoo it was not.

  It occurs to me that I’m riding in a car, thinking about penises.

  Kellan reaches over and takes my hand.

  When our eyes meet, he glances down momentarily. I follow his gaze to his jeans, where his erection is clearly visible. It looks like he shoved a giant banana down his pants. I don’t know how I’m going to get through dinner.

  AT THE RESTAURANT, Denise goes to town on the chips and salsa. She orders tableside guacamole and we all watch as our server cuts open two fresh, ripe avocados and spoons them into a bowl and mixes them with salsa and lemon juice. Denise jumps right in.

  “Oh, almost forgot,” Denise says, “I have to take my pill.”

  I pretend to look for something in my purse so I can speak to Kellan, “What’s going to happen?”

  Kellan makes a sign with his hands like a bomb going off.

  “I’d better take two to combat all this fat,” says Denise.

  She has the two blue capsules in her hand and is about to toss them into her mouth and wash them down with her strawberry margarita.

  I can’t let her do it. “Are you sure that’s a good idea, Deni?”

  “Of course. Why the fuck wouldn’t it be? I got them from my doctor. It’s not like I smuggled them in my rectum across the border from Mexico. Relax, Claire.”

  Well. Excuse me. Suddenly I hope Denise shits so badly that she has to go to the hospital and get an IV and about a million enemas.

  Denise tosses the blue pills into her mouth and swallows them down. She goes back to devouring the guacamole and sour cream with an entire basket of warm tortilla chips.

  When our server turns up, Denise orders the flautas she wanted last time we were here, plus a combo plate with cheese enchiladas and pork carnitas, refried beans, rice, sour cream, guac, and sweet corn cake.