by Amber Heart
"Show us your dick!" was far too common a request. The guys weren't allowed to get completely naked though, which really pissed Opal off.
"They let women take it all off. I don't get it," Opal yelled over the roaring ladies in the crowd. The bar was packed as well, like the whole place.
"Yeah but your junk is a little more, concealed, don't you think?" said Rupert over the cacophony.
"Still, it's been some time since I've seen a nice cock. That was one thing my fiancé did have going for him, spineless weasel that he turned out to be. Why are all the real men such assholes? Is it a confidence thing? Does knowing that women want you just instantly turn you into a total cunt?"
"Wow, I didn't think you even knew that word," said Rupert. "Not exactly lady like. Here, have a shot of tequila."
"Lady like my ass," said Opal as she downed the semi-opaque liquid. "I'm tired of being treated like shit. Ladies night only went for two hours total. That was more than enough time for Gus’s strip club to rake in more than enough money. He was basically never there himself, which was a pleasant realization for Opal. It was bad enough that she had to see him around the lobby of her building sometimes, with his greasy smugness.
After the studs were off the stage, the women left quickly and orderly. Slowly, the male patrons began to sift back in, until the area was much like it had been every other night Opal worked there. That was when she saw a face that really made her see red.
"Hello, Opal," said Owen as he approached the bar. The guy had seen her from the entrance and started to smile to himself like someone had just told him a funny joke. "Were you here for this ladies’ night shit?"
"I figured that's why you're here. Sorry but you missed the naked men. It's okay, they didn't get their dicks out anyway."
"Wow … you've really let yourself go slumming since losing your job, haven't you? I always knew that Dwayne was too much of a pantie waist to handle you."
"You got that right," she said. "Rupert, can I get another drink?"
"And I'll have your best bourbon," he said.
"Apparently it's not what the wealthy drink," said Opal. "You can probably make do with it though. Does your wife know you like to come to strip clubs?"
"Who would believe your word on anything anymore? The circles I run in, they wouldn't even let you approach them long enough to tell your lies. Just accept it: I'm better than you, especially now you don't have Dwayne to make you look like you actually had an upbringing."
"You're a real fucking piece of shit, but you know that. And I know something went on at work. I promise that I'll find out who framed me."
"What are you going to do about it anyway? You can't do shit without a lawyer in this town, and you're working behind the bar at a whore house."
"How do you know I work here? Oh, I see, I guess my shitty life is pretty tasty gossip at the country club. You came in just to see for yourself, didn't you? I'll see you later, dick head." That was that—she had to follow through with Carl's plan and get that money. A bartender's wages, even with great tips, wasn't enough for that kind of action.
Chapter Fourteen
Boyd would not have said that he'd gotten used to living within the limits of the law. He did feel more relaxed about it though. In fact, he had actually spent the night watching old Kung Fu movies, drinking beer, and enjoying a tasty pizza that he'd had delivered. That kind of thing would have made him cringe not too long ago. Being forced to pretend to be good, even if it was just until the end of this stupid interview, had started to change him.
His phone started to ring and he paused the movie to answer. "Hello?" he said through a partially chewed mouth full of cheesy pepperoni pizza.
"Hello? Are you there?" It was a woman and her voice was familiar. "The connection's bad or something."
Finishing what he was chewing, Boyd repeated, "Hello? Sorry, I was just having dinner. Might I ask who's calling?" The beers had given him a mellow buzz that made him feel generally pleasant.
"This is Brandy, remember me from the other day?"
"Oh, the goth chick who likes paddling people? How are you?"
"I've been better. Always looking for more pills like the ones you hooked me up with. You think you could help me out? I'll make it very worth your while. I'll even let you paddle me this time."
"That sounds more than tempting … ah, fuck. I can't, not now."
"What? You turned into a bitch on me? Damn, and I thought you were cool. What if I let you paddle me and stick the handle up my ass? How many times a day do you get an offer like that? Get in that limo and come pick me up from work."
"I'm not a bitch. It's just, there's this whole thing about me not breaking the law for awhile. I get caught and I'm screwed. Also, there's this girl who I think might want to go out with me."
"Are you serious? Shit, that's pretty gay."
"You're the one who hooks up with women, Brandy."
"Yeah, so? I would be more than happy for you to join in too. But I can respect that, to be honest. Being a bad ass doesn't mean you're not allowed to be human."
"Why does it feel so fucking soft then?"
"Hey, I said I'm human. I didn't say I want to sit around listening to your whiny rich boy problems, princess. Just toughen up a bit, okay? You've got this. Bye."
"Yeah. See ya." Boyd went back to his pizza, but the piece he was eating had gone mostly cold. It would be easy enough to grab a fresh slice from the closed box, or even order another one with all the cash he had. Instead he just ate the cold slice and thought about what his life was becoming. He unpaused the movie and went back to watching the shadow clan infiltrate the good guys, getting ready for the final showdown.
Several hours and another six pack later, Boyd was wondering if he should just give in and call Brandy back. The only thing stopping him was the thought that he wanted the company more than the hot sex. "I am going soft," he muttered.
There was a missed call on his phone, must have happened when he'd been on the phone to the goth slut. "Yes!" It was Opal. He didn't even remember that he'd given her his number, but he'd been pretty wasted the first time they met. The message read:
Hey, it's Opal, the cute bartender from the other night. You gave me your number.
He replied quickly but not without giving it a moment's thought. You just couldn't stay away? Did you want to take me up on a romantic evening? He waited for a good five minutes for an answer.
How about we start with a simple dinner? Can you call me so we can talk?
He wondered why she wanted him to call her. Suspicions started to crawl up around him. Maybe it was so she could set up a recording or something, get some evidence of what he'd been up to. No, that was stupid. It didn't make any sense. If anyone was going to try and trick Boyd, surely it would be one of the low life types, like that goth slut who was only interested in drugs and cheap sex. But he was also into that sort of thing. A person didn't change after just one night. That would be absolutely stupid to assume.
With a racing heart, he pressed the call button.
Chapter Fifteen
"Hello?" Opal said with what she hoped was an innocent and pleasantly anticipating voice. The very second she heard him speak, all thoughts of going through with this stupid plan went out the high window of her apartment and splattered on the bustling street below.
"How are you, Opal?" came Boyd's voice. "What are you thinking about my offer now?"
"Well, I'm interested. I wouldn't have called you otherwise." Crap, that was rude, she thought. "Uh, silly boy."
"What kind of food are you into? We can go out for an all-out meal, five stars and more expensive touches than you could imagine. Something tells me you're not the kind of girl who goes in for that type of junk, though, are you?" The guy was talking pretty fast, like he was actually nervous or something. That didn't seem realistic though, not for someone who'd gotten in between more sets of legs than the average person had eaten hot meals. No, there was something odd about him, but that was
in itself interesting.
"I've had plenty of it since I met my fiancé. Would you mind if we did something a little more, I don't know, low key?"
"Low key? That's funny; seems all I've been doing lately is keeping it quiet. Believe me, I've gotten pretty good at keeping my nose clean, very recently at least." He did not sound too pleased as he said that. Opal wondered if it had anything to do with this interview his uncle was talking about. A pang of guilt hit her, but the idea of her poor, always unwell, mother going without the important care she needed was enough to keep her strong.
"Why's that?" she said coyly. Maybe he was actually buying her act. There wasn't any reason that he should suspect her of something to contrived and plane sneaky. Of course, the guy was probably used to people trying to dig up dirt on him for their own gains. It wasn't too late to back out, still. They hadn't even made plans yet. "What's changed suddenly? I thought you were a bad boy, Boyd."
"Opal, you wouldn't believe me even if I could tell you. And I'm afraid it's a matter of business. You know how it is, being a millionaire and everything."
"You're really that rich? Holy shit …"
"Wait, you didn't know that? Most women, that's the main reason they're interested in me to begin with. Actually, I lie; they're first lured in by my amazingly good looks and the big bulge in my pants. The money then makes it a sure thing. I mean, well, I guess I tell a lot of bad jokes." Still talking too fast, uneasy, but sounding clearer than when they'd talked at the bar. It might have just been that he wasn't drunk.
"Was that a tiny sliver of modesty there? You don't have to act around me. I like to think I can tell a lot about a guy by the way he holds himself at a strip club, when he's drunk and being a jackass."
"Well then, the only reason you could possibly be interested in me is that you like that sort of thing. Opal, are you into bad boys? Let me guess, your fiancé—"
"Ex-fiancé, if you have to know. I guess you do need to know … unless sleeping with women who are already taken isn't an issue?"
"Let's say that it is. So, newly single and damn sexy? I think we can find something fun to do. Shall I pick you up at seven?"
"It's a date. Well, wait it's not a date yet. How about we see if you're a total ass within the first five minutes, and then we can decide if it's going to be a date or not."
"Okay, we can still grab a meal if you hate me."
"Sounds good. See ya at seven, Boyd. And how about we wait until the date starts before you get drunk."
After she'd hung up, Opal felt a weird blend of numbed guilt and invigorating excitement. It was almost making her body tingly. If that's what it felt like to be on the other end of screwing someone over, she could kind of get why people might do it so regularly. There was a dirty sensation to the whole thing as well, which wasn't pleasant.
"You really do have a limousine," Opal said as she stepped inside. "Thank you," she said to the man holding the door open for her, a stocky guy wearing the full outfit of a professional driver. The door was closed and she sat down across from Boyd. He was dressed in a similar way to when he went to the strip club. But that was nice, in the usual expensive labels that he probably always wore around.
"So," he began after some silence. "How much longer did you say until you know if this is a date?"
"I believe I said five minutes." Opal settled in on the soft yet supportive chair. Boyd was looking relaxed without slouching. He had a satisfied look on his face, but didn't seem smug for once. She could see the outline of his thing, pressed up against the inside of his snug pants. They must have been custom made for him, so that would indicate he actually asked for something that would show of the snake he was packing.
"Should we just have Jimmie wait here until the five minutes are up? That would save him finding another place to park this thing outside your building."
"You're in the loading zone, aren't you?"
"And I don't expect you to want to leave anyway. Jimmie, can we please drive around and find something fun, classy fun, to do?"
"Sure, thing, sir," said the limo driver. There was a little jest to his voice, meaning they were probably in on some personal joke that Opal wasn't being told about. She kept quiet, thinking about the stupid things Boyd might be planning. If she could get a picture of him doing something illegal right away, it would take away the pain of going through this all.
"You like what you see?"
"Yes, I do. This car is amazing. You don't own this thing, do you?"
"I do own it actually. Well, technically it's in the trust's name. The trust is mine though. It's complicated."
"It doesn't seem too complicated. Someone put a whole lot of money in a trust for you, probably when you were young, and that money is being kept by a board of people in suits, who also use that money to make more money. You probably get a huge paycheck out of it. Maybe the money will be entirely yours one day too?"
"I guess it's only complicated to someone without your brains. No, I wasn't talking about the car anyway." Boyd nodded his head down and looked at his own crotch. "Don't be embarrassed that I caught you staring."
Seriously? Opal couldn't believe this guy, but she had been staring. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said with a smile.
"You don't have to pretend you dislike me, Opal. It's okay, we're possibly on a first date; will be in," he checked his Rolex, "what, eighty-five seconds? That is, unless you decide you'd like to roll out of the car."
"Oh, you'll let me out if I ask, or I'll …"
"You'll what?"
"I'll smash this bottle over your head," she said, grabbing a big champagne bottle from a cooler beside her seat. "Hey, this is for us? Shit, that's an expensive bottle. You are actually as rich as you say, aren't you?"
"What will it take to convince you? Would you like to pop it? Just be sure not to let the cork hit any birds or children."
"You want me to pop the cork, out of the window? That's crazy. Why don't you do it?" Trying to get him to do stupid things, however small, right away was a bad idea. Opal thought about it, and she was so very thirsty and needed something to calm her nerves. "What the hell."
So, yes, Opal popped the bottle and laughed as the cork flew at the side of an old building. She'd earned a treat after the week she'd had, and no one in their right mind passed up a hundreds-of-dollars-bottle of the good stuff.
Chapter Sixteen
Opal seemed like she was actually having a good time. The moment some of that sweet and luxurious liquid settled down inside her, the girl changed at least slightly. It wasn't the type of transformation Boyd had witnessed in people who had a dependency on booze, or the more outrageous dates he'd taken out in the limo. No, she just seemed to relax and stop trying to force some kind of stand-offish facade.
"Do you drink very often?" he asked.
"What, are you saying I'm an alcoholic? Not every person needs to get plastered to make it through the day."
"Believe me, I don't think you drink. Especially for someone who works behind a bar of a strip club, you seem painfully straight-edge." He'd try to loosen her up with some playful banter, see if that wild side was for real, of if she was just acting for some reason. There was a reason no one had managed to get good dirt on Boyd yet, and it wasn't entirely thanks to Felicia's legal skills. Boyd motioned to the now open bottle "You liked popping that open," he added. "I thought you were going to hit that guy on his bicycle for a minute. Jimmie would not have been happy with you then."
"Hey, I could have just blamed you, right? Isn't that what you're meant to do, take the wrap for me, as my date?"
"Hey, you're right! It is well and truly our first date now! I'd say this calls for a celebration, but it looks like that's already begun!" Boyd reached over and took his own bottle of the same expensive liquid from a cooler beside his seat. He noticed the look of impressed disbelief on Opal's face. "Oh, yes, that's right. We're not going to run out of the good shit while I'm in charge of refreshments. Don't you worry your pret
ty little head about that, dearie."
"Did you just channel a wealthy ancestor? Who're you calling dearie? I was expecting something more like, 'bitch' or 'ho'." She took another gulp of the champagne, completely aware that her sense of right and wrong would slowly ebb away with each additional mouthful she swallowed. That might lead her to do some things that would be regretted the following day, yes. But it would help with the task of screwing Boyd over and digging up some dirt on him. So, she drank.
"If you'd prefer me to call you by one of those names, I would be happy to oblige, my bitch. You can take your top off if that'd make you more comfortable, really I don't mind."
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, pal. Just because I work at a strip club, it doesn't mean I like taking my clothes off in front of strangers." She looked away shyly, well aware that she was sexually attracted to Boyd. The problem was that he clearly knew it too. Why else would she have agreed to go out with him in the first place?
"Will you tell me why you're working there in the first place? I know money is the main factor behind most people's choice of jobs. Surely you could have found something else though."
"Actually, I'm a designer, graphics and illustration mostly. I used to do a lot more hands on stuff, but lately I've been heading my own team at this marketing agency."
"Oh, really, what's the name of the place?"
"I'd rather not talk about it. They fired me for something I didn't do, had no idea about. Looks like no one else wants to hire the person who just got fired for being a white-collar thief."
"Yeah, people with money really hate white-collar crimes. It's a wonder you're not doing more time than a murderer for that. How'd you manage to get off?" Boyd had leaned forward, setting down his bottle as the liquid inside swished around with the smooth motion of the limo.
"My ex-boss wanted me to think that he was just being generous by not putting charges up against me. Personally, I think he had something to do with what really happened to the missing money. That, or he's covering for someone else."
