by CORY CYR
Even at almost forty (counting down the hours now), I would never be able to compete with either of them. Both had height, beauty, personality, and way more money than I had, and I was rich. I barely stood five-six and my eye color was odd to say the least. Chris had been intrigued by the color, an almost gray sometimes with light specs of blue. Even though my body was slim, it was athletic from all the swimming and walking. I also had real breasts that were of a natural size and dimension. When Chris and I first had gotten together there were many conversations and speculations about my natural, nice-sized breasts. Along with any positive features I might have, I had these damn freckles everywhere, especially across the bridge of my nose. When I first began dating Chris, I always used concealer to hide them. He, however, had adored them. He loved all of me, even my freckles. I hadn't covered them since.
Twenty-minutes later, we arrived at our destination. I had to admit Venir Island wasn't what I expected. I knew these types of resorts could be luxurious, but this bordered on decadent. From what I could see, lush tropical trees encased the island and large boulders decorated the edges, with sand so white it was blinding. The water surrounding the island was a color of blue I'd never seen before and crystal clear.
I suddenly felt nervous and a little apprehensive. It had been eleven years since I’d interacted with anyone but my staff and my two friends. I wasn't sure I'd remember how to socialize; to be truthful, I wasn't sure I wanted to. But the girls had gotten me out of my home and we’d come to Venir for rest and relaxation, aka rejuvenation. I would try to make the best of a week or so, but what I enjoyed was solitude, watching television, scouring the internet, and playing video games.
As the yacht pulled alongside a small pier, an attractive woman and a couple scantily clad men met us. The two men tied off the yacht and began helping the passengers off. Dee and Pru lingered as they were helped onto shore. I'm sure I saw Dee lick her lips as she grasped the hand of a much younger man. I suppose a little eye candy never hurt the rejuvenation process. The only semi-attractive men I'd seen in the past eleven years had been Sam the pool person and then his replacement, Chuck, three years ago. I wasn't even sure what hot referred to anymore. Sure, I knew what the magazines and television shows referred to as “hot,” but being up close and personal to one… Well, I’d been out of the loop a long time.
I managed to get myself off the yacht without any help, even though they tried. The temperature was warm, almost too warm. Along the shoreline were jet skis, kayaks, and other water devices. I scanned the island and saw past the boulders, looking up the hill at the resort. Actually, I couldn't see much of the dwelling; I could only see the steps leading to it. If the island were any indication, though, the actual resort must be breathtaking.
Our bags were gathered and put on the docks as another extremely young and muscular man walked up and handed the woman a large container.
“Good afternoon, ladies, and welcome to Acquiesce. We hope your stay will be stimulating.”
Acquiesce. I wasn't even sure what that word meant. My eyes darted to Dee and Pru, whose gaze had drifted elsewhere—that “elsewhere” being the three young men. I was almost positive the men were young enough to be at least Pru's son. I had a bad feeling as I edged my way over to Pru and Dee.
“What the hell is going on?” I whispered, elbowing Pru.
“Don't be angry,” Pru replied as I watched her turn to Dee for support.
“What is this place?” I hissed.
“You need this. You'll thank us. Trust me,” Dee said, grinning.
“Now, ladies, you all know the rules, so hand them over. Rest assured, they will be carefully cataloged for safekeeping and returned to you at the end of your stay. Besides, I have no doubt you'll have far more adventurous things to do with your time.”
I listened as the young woman on the dock spoke with a slight French accent. I watched as some of the guests began to pull out their cell phones and cameras. Horror began to etch my face. Oh hell no! Giving up my electronics? I'd rather give up my life. I sent both Pru and Dee a scathing glare. Where had they brought me? Those two scheming bitches… Something wasn't right. I wanted to go home now.
“I'd like to go back, please. The boat can take me back to the airport.” I directed my words to the woman welcoming us.
“I'm sorry, that's not possible—Mrs. Barrington, is it?” she replied as her fingers tapped the container she was holding. I could see quite a few cell phones as well as cameras among other devices had partially filled the bin she was holding.
“What do you mean not possible? Am I being held prisoner?” I was furious, not only at my friends, but at this child-woman who appeared to believe she could tell me what to do.
“You were well aware of the stipulations when you signed the contract and the nondisclosure form.”
My body began to shake. Pru wrapped her arms around me as I felt Dee step behind me. I didn't want to be here. I wasn't sure why, but I needed to go.
“What did you do? You're supposed to be my friends. What in the hell have you gotten me into? I'll never forgive you—either of you,” I told them in a hushed voice. I began backing toward the yacht, not realizing it had begun to move away from the dock. Seeing it motor out toward the sea set me in panic mode.
“Nic, we did all of this for you. Jesus, you think this island is a prison? Look around at this fucking place. It’s paradise. Baby girl, you've been in your own prison—your own version of hell—for eleven years,” Dee spit out as she grabbed my elbow.
“Dee, shut up. Don't,” Pru blurted out as she tried to wedge herself between Dee and me.
Dee pushed Pru back and stood directly in front of me.
“She has to hear this. We’ve been walking on glass with her for years. Nic, Chris died—he's fucking dead.” Dee was obviously drunk.
I blanched at her words; they stung me like a slap to my face. Tears began filling my eyes, as if the reality of what she told me was something I didn't already know. I looked over at Pru, whose face mirrored my own and was filled with sorrow and apology.
“We needed to get you out of the house, and we did with the promise of that obtuse purse. We brought you here instead. Here's a chance for a new beginning. You need to start living before you wither away like old fruit. We did it for you, Nic.”
I pulled away from both of them in a somewhat agitated state, sending them both a dirty look as I moved toward the French woman. I pulled a tissue out of my bag and wiped the tears and perspiration off my face before facing off with the woman with the basket full of electronics.
“So exactly what is this place, and why do I have to hand over all my electronic devices?” I paused, eyeing her meticulously. “I'll give up my phone, camera, and even my laptop, but no way in hell am I handing over my game box—not a chance.”
“Mrs. Barrington, you did sign the contract, didn't you? I mean, it clearly states NO electronic devices of any kind. Are you telling me you have no knowledge of the contract or the nondisclosure?” The French woman's lips pressed tightly together as she stared at me with a brittle look.
I glowered at both Pru and Dee since it was obvious those bitches had signed both papers with my name. Didn't they realize forgery is a felony? I mouthed, “Fuck you,” to both of them and returned my eyes to the French woman.
“So are you saying you didn't sign the paperwork? Mrs. Barrington?”
“No, I suppose I did sign them,” I stated, tossing an angry stare to both Pru and Dee. I should have said I didn't sign anything, and then maybe I could leave this place. Let Pru and Dee spend the night in the pokey. But knowing those two, with all their money and resources, they would grapple their way out of this. This entire ordeal still had an ominous feel to it. Why am I having to give up my electronics, and why in God's name would I have to sign two documents, one of them a nondisclosure? What had they gotten me into?
“Before I hand over my stuff, just tell me what this place is.”
The French woman c
huckled. “Really, Mrs. Barrington, if you signed the necessary paperwork, I have no idea why we are having this conversation.”
“Just humor me. I think my medication may have caused a lapse of memory,” I replied, tossing a frown between the French woman and my two ex-best friends.
“Very well. Acquiesce is essentially a male brothel.”
Damn, my medication must have not only made my memory fail, but also made my hearing malfunction, because I could have sworn she just said this resort was a male brothel. Normally, I would have been laughing my ass off. These last eleven years, if it weren't for my daily viewing of Comedy Central, I would find nothing amusing. But seriously, a male brothel?
As I looked around me, I realized nine older faces had set their eyes on mine. I've never been one to judge, but all of a sudden, it occurred to me that not only was I the youngest of the Golden Girls, but holy hell, that French woman was telling the truth. My best friends, well, my only friends and soon to be ex-friends had shanghaied me to a male fucking brothel. I mean, who went to a brothel? Okay, men go to whore houses and strip clubs, but this, this was a damn male brothel, and from looking around at all the guests, this place serviced a much older clientele, and not just older, but rich, extremely rich.
I couldn't grasp the concept. Why would Pru and Dee come here? They could get any man anytime. They were beautiful and wealthy. Of course men flocked to them. I seemed to be missing something about this resort. Oh, and did I mention the men I’d seen so far all looked to be under thirty and runway gorgeous?
The French bitch tapped those fake red fingernails against her basket, box, crate, whatever it was, the damn wannabe jailer of my precious electronics. I reluctantly put my bag down on the dock and retrieved my camera and laptop. Then I reached into my purse and grabbed my phone. I handed these to her, hoping she'd forget about the game box. I had to have something to occupy me while I was stranded here for a week.
“Did you forget something?” the French bitch said crisply.
“No, don't think so.” I gave her a smug gesture as I backed toward my two ex-friends.
“Mrs. Barrington, ALL electronic devices… as you agreed to when you signed the contract. You can surely find other more satisfying things to do with your time while you're here at Acquiesce. You'll get them all back in pristine condition in twenty-one days. I promise.”
I was sure I’d just had a heart palpitation. Did she say twenty-one days, as in three weeks? Now Pru and Dee were backing up, or rather, trying to get away from me. I changed my mind. They were no longer ex-friends; they were now dead friends, dead to me.
“Please, can I just keep my game box, please? I need it. You don't understand.” I wasn’t opposed to begging at this point. Maybe I could bribe her with the Chanel purse my ex-dead friends bribed me with.
“Truly, Mrs. Barrington. Surely you can find more carnal pleasures here to pass the time.”
Haughty French bitch. Like I was going to have sex with strangers. I had no doubt Pru and Dee planned to, but why did they have to kidnap me for their sexcapades? They had to know I would never be with anyone ever again. I would never do that to Chris. I could never have sex without love, and the only man I ever loved was gone. How could they believe I would ever want this? It made me feel sad that the people I thought knew me best didn't really know me at all.
“You expect me to stay on this island for three weeks without any means of entertainment… other than what you provide? Do I look like that kind of woman? Just let me keep my game box and I'll stay in my room the entire time—you can count on that. I have no interest in what you have to offer.” I gave her a prickled glare.
The French bitch shook her head as she glared back at me. “Please, give me the electronic device. If you don't want to fuck, that is your prerogative. Acquiesce has much more to offer its guests than just sex. We have a fully staffed kitchen with three of the finest chefs in the world, many boutiques, a very nice movie theater, a well-stocked library, as well as an Olympic-sized pool, spa, and a private beach. Oh, Mrs. Barrington, Acquiesce is so much more than fucking.”
Every time she said that word, I cringed. I said it occasionally, but this French bitch threw it around casually, as if it were an everyday occurrence, and maybe for her it was. After all, she maintained a brothel.
“I will never forgive either of you for this.” I huffed as I looked at Pru and Dee with cold fury while handing my game box to the French bitch.
“It's only a game, Nic. I think you'll live.” Dee snorted.
“Yeah, it's not so much the game box, but the game that's in it. Not that you'd give a damn, but that was Latch McKay's beta version of the newest Blood Vestige, which I had been allowed to test. God, I could just kill you both.” I sighed, grabbing my bags off the dock and squeezing past the French bitch.
“Mrs. Barrington, Bartel and Milo will deliver your bags to your room—”
I waved my hand in front of her face, stopping her mid-sentence.
“My name is Nicola, not Mrs. Barrington. I'm a widow, and every time you refer to me in that manner, it pains me, so just stop. Show me my room and let me wait out these three weeks in peace.” I continued past her and stomped up the stairs, leaving nine guests, one French bitch, and three runway ready escorts with their mouths gaping open and the sounds of whispering behind my back.
***
As I began my trek up the winding stairs, I noticed how quiet and beautiful this place was. Once I got to the actual resort, brothel—whatever—I was startled by the luxury. This was excessively posh to be a whorehouse. I had no idea what I’d expected, but this wasn't it. The building itself was a large two-story manor and spread out over many acres. The brothel was painted a pristine white topped by a dark-green tile roof. The grounds surrounding it were perfectly manicured and unique, as if an artist had landscaped it with careful and precise detail. I could see the Olympic-sized pool from where I stood, surrounded by lounge chairs and tables with umbrellas. This looked like any other five-star resort.
It was late in the afternoon now, and I was hot, tired, and irritated. I decided to roll my suitcases to the pool area and sit under an umbrella in the shade for a bit. This wasn’t how I planned to bring in my fortieth year. Actually, I had planned on bringing it in like the ten before, watching television or playing video games.
I collapsed in one of the chairs, pulling a tissue out of my purse to wipe the sweat from my face. I heard the cackling of Pru and Dee along with several other voices as they came up the stairs. Nice to hear they were all having such a good time. I sighed, knowing my petty desires and greed for a Chanel purse had brought me to a brothel.
“You look unhappy,” said a deeply masculine voice.
My eyes drifted over to a lounge chair in the shade, occupied by a man. I hadn't noticed him when I sat because he’d been sitting in the corner away from the pool. He stood and strolled casually over toward me. He kicked out one of the chairs with his foot and handed me a glass as he sat.
“You look like you could use a drink.” He grinned.
I pushed it away. There was no way I was drinking liquor in a whorehouse and loosening my morals.
“It's island lemonade, non-alcoholic. I find it ill-advised to drink alcohol during the day, especially in this heat. Dehydration and stupidity do not react well to each other.” He chuckled.
I picked up the glass he’d given me and sipped it. He was right; there was no liquor, but it was refreshing and delicious.
“You like? It's a house specialty.”
“So this whorehouse has its own beverages?” I smirked.
I watched as he leaned back in his chair. He was tall, his long legs barely fitting under the table. Dressed in board shorts and a white T-shirt, he certainly didn't look like an escort, but he could be. He was young and handsome, but not like the other three men I'd seen. He didn't have that European runway model look.
“Actually, I think the owner prefers calling it a brothel. I think whorehouse is mu
ch too mundane for this place,” he said as he took off his sunglasses. “How did you end up here… if you’re so adverse to its job description?”
“Bad timing, bad friends, and a Chanel purse. You really don't want to know,” I replied, as I patted my bag. I hadn't spoken to any other men except my staff and the occasional business calls, and here I was having a freely felt conversation. For some reason, this man didn't make me feel anxious or worried.
He laughed. “So you really had no idea where you'd be going?”
“No, they hijacked me. I honestly thought this would be a tropic vacation. Plus, they mentioned rejuvenation.”
“Well, in all fairness, they got it half right. I mean, we are in the tropics, and I suppose one could look at sexual activities as, well… rejuvenation.”
I watched as he finished his drink and started to pull off his shirt.
“It's too hot for me. Want to get changed and join me in the pool?” he asked as he stood completely bare-chested.
I tried to avert my eyes somewhere else, but they seemed to gravitate to his chest. The man was so tall that he had to stand in the direct sunlight to avoid smacking his head on the umbrella. It had been a long time since I’d seen a man, and I'd never seen one who looked like this. He clearly took care of his body. I marveled at his smooth, broad muscled chest with strong-looking arms and the six-pack of well-defined abs. His board shorts were hanging quite low on narrow hips, and I couldn't help but notice he had no tan lines. However, what I did notice was a small tattoo carefully placed on the right side of his “V” leading beneath his shorts.
