by Amber Heart
"My future's fucked if I can't clear my name, as far as I'm concerned. You need to go now. I think we should take a break. Oh, and Owen talks shit about you behind your back; I just never had the heart to say."
Chapter Eight
Boyd had cum already, but that never stopped him from continuing the fun. He was only in his late twenties, and full of testosterone from all the working out he did. "Are you ready for another go?" he said to the goth chick he'd brought home.
"Where the fuck did you get those pills from? They're great!"
"Hey, when you don't live in that rat's nest area you call home, it's pretty easy to get all the best things in life." Boyd smirked and looked down his nose at Brandy. He even remembered her name, which was quite an honor as far as he was concerned. "Isn't that right, Brandy. What kind of goth name is that anyway? Shouldn't you be called Raven or Darkness?"
"You're a dickhead. And why the fuck did you have to come to that rat's nest to find a good lay? Because all you rich people are stuck up, and your women wouldn't know what to do with a dick if it hit them over the head."
"Is that what you're into? Okay!" He jumped up on the bed and started slapping Brandy on top of the head, using his thick dick as a humorous weapon. "Maybe this is a better way to get you ghetto bitches to come home with me, just club you all over the head with my huge piece and drag you to my limo."
Brandy sighed. "Say, since you're so eager to act like a little bitch, how about you let me break out my toy?"
"You're not fucking me in the ass with a strap on, I'll tell you that right now. This is purely an out box."
"Yeah, that's what I used to say when I was a preteen."
"Well, you're a whore. Your ass is for fucking, which I'd like to give another go in a while," said Boyd. He was really feeling the effects of the ecstasy they'd taken earlier that day before heading to his place. He didn't even think people still did that stuff, but then again, they weren't exactly the trendiest people out where Brandy lived.
"Shut up and bend over," she said. Brandy pulled a paddle out of her handbag.
"You take that thing with you everywhere?"
"Like you said, I'm a whore. But I also like to fuck whores, men and women. Yes, that means you. There's nothing going on in your head, and you think money rules everything. You're more of a whore than my mother used to be when she was putting me and my brother through college."
"You went to college? What, did they have a course on bartending and sucking a mean cock?"
"Bartending, yes, at community college. Sucking dick? Well, I just got a lot of practice, honey. You're welcome." She smiled warmly. "You're an asshole but you are fun, I'll give you that. Boyd's a stupid name though. Now, who needs a spanking?!"
"What the shit?!" said Felicia after she burst in through Boyd's bedroom door. "Oh, please excuse me," she added when she realized just what she had so rudely interrupted. Trying to stop herself from openly laughing, Felicia backed out of the room and closed the door on herself. Through the door, she yelled, "Sorry! I'm sorry, but this is urgent. Seriously urgent. Can you, uh, finish up whatever you're doing and meet me in the kitchen?"
"Sure thing," called Boyd, still on his hands and knees with his butt cheeks bright red from his paddling. "Hey, why don't you make us something to eat?" he called out. Then, quietly saying to Brandy, "Are you hungry?"
Brandy just laughed and shook her head. "I didn't realize you lived with your mother."
"Watch it!" called Felicia from outside the closed door.
"I mean, you're a very hot mother, don't get me wrong. I just didn't think that … I think I should go. Thanks for the drugs and the sex, Boyd. You take a good spanking."
Once they had dressed and Brandy was in a taxi on the way home, Boyd found Felicia sitting in the spacious living area. That was another area Boyd didn't go very often. He had sex there occasionally, but all of his lube and other paraphernalia were in the bedroom, along with the plastic sheets and emperor sized bed. "I thought you were going to wait in the kitchen," she said.
"Yes, well, to be honest," Felicia mumbled through a crooked smile, "I needed a cushion to laugh into. That poor girl must have been embarrassed."
"Poor girl? Well, she doesn't have much money. She honestly didn't care about you seeing her. I get the feeling being naked in a room with just two people is a quiet day for that one. Fucking tight pussy though."
"And so, did you enjoy your spanking? You have been bad, after all." Felicia started openly laughing at Boyd. "You're never going to be able to live that down."
"Like it's the worst thing I've done." Boyd sat down next to her. He still stank like sex and alcohol, but that was nothing new.
"Oh, right. You could have let me enjoy myself for a few minutes more. I'd almost forgotten about the trouble you've gotten yourself into this time."
"She was legal; we came straight here alone. How could I have gotten into any more trouble since yesterday? You did clear that up, right?" Boyd was genuinely concerned.
"I've found out about a little regulation that someone clearly didn't want me to know about. The board that manages your trust fund, require you to prove that you have in fact been good."
"Well, I'm screwed then …"
"Now, they can't morally judge you in any objective way, not in a legal sense. But you need to have a clean police record."
"Oh, well that's fine. You've kept it cleaner than that vagina you neglect so much."
"I wouldn't be making crude jokes if I were in your shoes. I get paid either way. If you lose your trust fund, I have no choice but to find a new job. Even if I did keep helping you, there's not much I can do without money to grease all those wheels you stick up in shit so regularly. Not to mention all the people who could testify against you. What do you think would happen if someone came back asking for another pay out to keep quiet, and you didn't have all those millions at your disposal?"
"Okay, I'll be good. Promise." And he meant it.
"You'd better watch out for that uncle of yours too. He's been snooping around, trying to butter up the trust board members, especially the ones who'll be making the final judgment."
"Carl … that old asshole."
Chapter Nine
"This is hopeless," Opal said to no one. A week had gone by and it was terrifying to see how quickly the savings in her bank were dwindling already. There just wasn't any way to sustain herself with all the overdue payments that were accumulating.
She'd sat down to a nice, cheap meal and a cup of coffee at the diner near her house. It wasn't her first choice of places to grab some lunch, but when money was tight, there was not much else to do. Stirring her cup of energizing caffeine, she wondered how much she could save if she just stopped eating altogether. If anyone were to look in her refrigerator and pantry at the apartment, they would have assumed as much anyway. So, she took a big gulp of the hot liquid and closed her eyes to really enjoy it.
Out on the table in front of her were listings for job vacancies that she'd printed out at home. It helped her to think when things were on real paper, unplugged and on a surface before her. That's how they always come up with initial sketches and ideas for company logos and illustrations.
"How's the job hunt going, sweetheart?" said the older waitress as she approached to clear Opal's plate. That day, she had eaten every last crumb, not wanting to waste any money by throwing food out. How things change…
"Oh?" said Opal, startled out of her deep contemplation and rising depression. "You know how it is, all the good jobs are going to people who weren't just framed for stealing from their ex-employer. On top of that, I broke it off with my fiancé and I don't think I'll be going back to him; the usual."
"Christ, that's awful. Here, I'll tell you what: you let me know when you're done with that cup, and I'll top you up for free, okay?"
"You're very kind, thanks. I don't want to get you in trouble though."
"Hey, my husband and I own the place. That's him out back doing the c
ooking. You're not gonna get anyone in trouble. In fact, I'll tell you what. If you find yourself starving because you can't find any way to make money, you come here okay?"
"I don’t suppose you’re looking for someone to wait tables?" Opal didn't like the idea of going from a high paying creative job, to clearing up people's half eaten food and taking orders. But she couldn't be too picky, and this woman seemed like she'd be a great employer."
"Oh, no honey. I'm sorry to get your hopes up. I meant you can get yourself a sandwich and a nice cup of brew, if you're desperate." The woman smiled but it was clear that she felt bad for disappointing Opal.
"Thank you," she replied to the offer. "You're very kind." Her smile was genuine, and a kind of warm and fuzzy feeling came over her. "Really, thank you." She almost had to work to hold back a tear.
"Not a problem. Good luck with finding a job. Pretty young thing like you with good manners, well dressed too. I'm sure you'll have no problem." The women walked back behind the counter and went about her work.
After Opal went back home to mope and lick her wounds from an unsuccessful day looking for work, she found several upsetting letters in her mailbox. She stood in the lobby, mouth open and shaking her head in disbelief. There was a letter about her university payments, which she'd never thought twice about. After all, she'd gotten a good job after leaving and always had plenty of money to take care of this type of thing. Then, there was something that made her heart race.
"Ooh, that looks particularly bad, might I say," said the man checking his own mail nearby.
"Yeah, tell me about it," she replied. It was a letter from her mother's care and medical home. Vanessa had someone come around and help her out with tasks that were too tiring, and there was also a medical facility inside the grounds. It was basically like any other fancy condo block, but with care for people with ongoing medical problems.
"You have a relative who's sick? Gee, that is not a payment you want to miss. My name's Gus. Pleasure to meet you …"
"Hi, Gus. I've seen you around the building but no one seems to talk to each other much here. To be honest, I kind of like that about living here."
"Yeah, well it's a pretty expensive place to live. I can't image you being able to keep your joint if you can't take care of your poor mother." The way he spoke was as common as muck. He kept looking Opal up and down. It wasn't as if he planned to hit on her, and there was something a little too focused about his look to indicate that he was just perving. He had the look of a successful criminal, maybe a drug dealer or a pimp even."
"Sorry, I really should be going."
"Say, if you're ever short on money, you can give dancing a try."
"That's a good one. I've never been the best dancer, and I don't think anyone would—wait, are you talking about stripping?"
"Yeah, sure. You've probably seen my place a few blocks over. Here, take one of my cards and you be sure to let me know if you'd like to keep a roof over your head, not to mention making sure that sick mother of yours doesn't end up on the streets too." He walked off, slinked off really. It was surprising that he didn't leave a trail of grease behind him, like the stuff that was holding back his thick, dark hair. Opal shuddered, but she was intrigued by the thought of having lots of money.
"I'm not taking my clothes off in public!" she called out. An older lady with perfectly coifed hair and an expensive gold handbag, tacky as hell, looked at her with utter shock. "Wait, no, that's not what I meant. Damn it …" She went to run off after the guy just to give him a piece of her mind. He turned around and called back to her instead, "Tell you what. You're pretty enough to bring guys in with your clothes on."
Opal walked over to him. "Can you please stop shouting about this in the lobby? Shit … I'm not dancing for fat old perverts, clothes on or not."
"No, but maybe you'd prefer to get behind the bar and serve those perverts some drinks. Tips are better than most salaries, plus you'll get your guaranteed weekly paycheck on top of that. It's not rocket science."
"Let me think about it. I'll call you, okay?"
"Sure, sweetheart. Laters." He left the lobby. Opal felt dirty having simply talked to the guy, but desperate times did call for her to do what it took to keep her head above water. Falling any further behind with her payments was not an option, especially where her mother's care was concerned. She could handle losing her apartment, maybe even winding up with nothing to eat. Letting her mom go into a public home, that could end very badly for a lady with so many medical issues that needed constant care.
If Opal had to work behind the bar at a strip club, then that's just what she was going to do. Still, it didn't make it any easier, no matter how noble of a sacrifice it would be.
Chapter Ten
It was evening, but still around seven or so. Boyd was only slightly drunk and looking to find something to take his mind off things. Despite what people thought of him, the guy wasn't stupid by any stretch of the imagination. Up until that point in his adult life, there had been little to prevent him from doing just what he wanted to do. This whole thing about "staying clean" had gotten into his brain and was laying its eggs of doubt and anxiety; two emotions that he simply wasn't used to sharing his thoughts with.
"This is bullshit," he kept saying to Jimmie. "All I want is some fun! But no, they have to make everything illegal. And every dick head has a camera right in their pocket these days. Can you imagine how easy it would have been to be rich and fuck prostitutes back in the day? Shit, those guys had it all."
"I know how you feel. My wife won't let me have any mother fucking fun anymore. It's like being locked up in a prison sometimes. Still, at least she's still keeping herself in good shape."
"Yeah, that is important, Jimmie. If you're not getting great sex, what's the fucking point of living? Yeah, I can still have fun. I just have to keep things nice and legal, right?"
"You're not meant to be talking to me about any of this. In fact, please stop giving me more details about whatever this interview thing is. I don't feel like losing my job. Why don't you just pick up another woman and take her back to your place?"
"Hey, it's fine. You're not losing anything while I'm in charge," replied Boyd. That was met with nothing but silence from the anxious driver. "What? I am still in charge. Look, how about we go have some good, wholesome, legal fun?"
Jimmie refused to come inside with him, preferring to stay with the expensive limo. Boyd went inside the strip club. The transition from the night outside to the artificial glow of the strip club was strangely unsettling. It was not brighter inside, but for some reason it took the eyes a minute or two to adjust. "Hey, gimme a beer and shot of scotch," he said to the guy behind the bar. He was a very big dude, with muscles that could have probably popped Boyd's arms from their sockets without too much effort. It made sense to hire such a scary guy to work the bar, with all the low lives who frequented strip clubs.
"You got the money?" said the burly bartender. Boyd just laughed at that.
"Are you shitting me? Here," he said as he threw down several hundreds, which he always had on him. "Keep the drinks coming. I'll need a lap dance soon too. Ooh, does she do dances?"
"Who? You mean the new girl? The reason she's behind the bar, and not out there with her tits out, is because she's working the bar. I don't know though, seems pretty naive. Maybe you can convince her." The bartender left the shot and beer, then walked off to take another order down the other end of the long bar that took up much of the wall. There were actually quite a few guys in there, and several girls up on stage dancing. The main show was yet to start yet, and that's when the place tended to get crowded.
It wasn't long before Boyd needed another drink. He did the shot right away and then consistently swigged at the beer until it was empty. The whole time, he was eyeing the gorgeous woman behind the bar. She was maybe the same age as him, give or take a year or two either way. The way she went about her work in such a professional way, easily dodging the awkward lines and b
ullshit stories the customers threw at her, while still remaining graceful and alluring … it was magical to watch. Best of all, it seemed like she had no idea how much of a draw she had on these guys. Sure, she had eyes and hence knew she was a stunner. But there was something else there that might have been untapped as of yet.
Or, maybe Boyd just thought she had a sexy body and a great face, and he wanted to score. It was all very philosophical from his point of view, but he had been drinking already that night. "Hey," he finally called out to her when he'd finished his beer. She finished giving some change to a fat guy with a shocking comb over, and headed down the bar toward Boyd. Her self-conscious sway made him think of all the ways she would allow herself to submit to him. Shit, maybe she was secretly a tiger in the sack, and he'd be the one giving in to her.
He realized that he'd been sitting in a strip club for a good half hour, and it was the kind that fiscally encouraged the girls to go totally crazy. In that time, he'd barely even looked over at the porn-quality tits and ass that were freely on display. And these women were good dancers, even from an artistic perspective. No, he was mesmerized by the way this fresh, shy bartender carried herself. It was a whole new world for her, that much was painfully clear. And yet, she didn't seem intimidated. He needed to peel back at least one or two of those surface layers to find out what kind of complex beast was lurking underneath. Boyd needed that, but he also needed to nut soon before he started to get frustrated.
"So, what are you doing later?"
"I'm working until pretty late. This is a strip club. They're open until after later. Did you want a drink?"
"How about I come by and pick you up in my limo when you finish? I'll give you a ride. Here's my number." Pure confidence was dangerous with this type of woman, but Boyd didn't know any other way.
