by Brent Jones
The here and now was Kara. She somehow reminded him to enjoy the moment and not worry about the future—because in the end, tomorrow never comes. She made him feel adequate, unflawed and without reason to change. As though he weren’t an alcoholic, an addict, a gambling fiend, or a broken head case littered among the trash of Palmer Heights. He craved her body, of course, but more than anything, he craved the acceptance she dispensed—an alternative to the negative presumptions he believed about himself.
He swiped back to his chat with Kara.
Drew: Send me a photo without holding up the dresses?
Kara: You’re too much LOL
Kara: Don’t you have naked ladies to look at over there Drew: Maybe
A new message from Neil.
Neil: Bro where the fuck are you Drew: Parking
Neil: Get your ass in here. There’s pussy everywhere Back to Kara.
Drew: I gotta go
Kara: Enjoy, you’ll have to tell me all about it Drew: I will
Kara: You’re gonna drunk text me later aren’t you Drew: How do I know I’m not drunk texting you right now?
Kara: LOL see you tomorrow
Drew slid his phone in his pocket and got out of the car.
*
The Gentleman’s Choice was bursting at the seams.
Howls and cheers showered the main stage as a tall, lean dancer with faultless caramel skin got to her knees, doing away with her glittery top. She uncovered plump breasts, her ebony nipples standing firmly on end. She caressed each one in turn, rocking her hips to the thunderous music.
The song ended and the disc jockey began speaking. His deep voice sent shockwaves through listeners, almost loud enough to hurt Drew’s ears. “Gentlemen, put your fucking hands together and make some noise for Jasmine.” His voice had the cadence of an auctioneer, the sultry bass tones of a radio personality. A few men clapped perfunctorily. “Jasmine will be here all night to make your wildest dreams come true, gentlemen. But remember, money talks and bullshit walks. So if you like what you see, offer Jasmine a generous tip and she’ll be sure to give you a special thank you.”
Drew joined Neil who had chosen seats in front of the main stage. Even in this house of ill repute, Neil remained steadfast about his exterior, sporting designer threads and expensive cologne. He acknowledged Drew but remained silent, allowing the DJ to finish his public address.
“. . . and don’t even think of going anywhere, because every hour on the hour tonight, three sexy ladies will be taking the main stage at once. I’ll let you do the math, gentlemen—anything could happen. All for your viewing pleasure, and all part of Thirsty Thursdays here at The Gentleman’s Choice.” The next song began. “. . . I’m DJ Dan and it’s about to get hot, hot, hot in here, gentlemen. Time to put your hands together again for Jasmine, returning to the main stage right now.”
Each dancer got two songs on the main stage, as Drew recalled from the odd previous visit with Neil—a tease for the first song, then full nudity for the second. Jasmine walked back on stage, bent over, and gently slid her thong to the side.
“I’ve been here an hour, bro. What took you so long?”
“I was on the phone,” Drew replied. “Seats in pervert’s row, huh? Nice.”
Neil winked.
“I meant to ask, how did things go with Becca?”
“Who the hell is Becca?”
“You know, the girl from The Stone Goblin.”
Neil scanned his memory without success. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“She brought us drinks—she worked there. Young, wore a kilt, tan skin, big bouncy boobs.” Drew had to holler to be heard over the music.
“Did I fuck her?”
“Yeah, probably. I mean, you left with her.”
“Then obviously she had big boobs. Doesn’t help.”
Drew gave up. He wondered what it was like to entertain such a regular stream of busty females that each one could be so easily forgotten. It seemed jarring in contrast to the way that Kara consumed his mental resources.
Neil pulled out a wad of cash, rifling through it for a twenty-dollar bill. He inched toward the stage, presenting his gift to Jasmine. She crawled to him on all fours, arching her back for viewers on the sidelines. Taking Neil by the head, she pulled his face toward her chest, encouraging him to motorboat her naked breasts. She released her grip after a moment, offering him a suggestive wave of her hand and a blown kiss.
He settled back in next to Drew. “You want a turn?” He waved his fistful of cash.
As with most situations, Drew gravitated toward the role of silent observer rather than active participant. He was satisfied to take in the exhibition without experiencing it firsthand. “I’m good for now.”
Drew felt something graze the back of his chair. He turned his head and saw two glamorous beauties—half-naked brunettes in clear heels—leading a dark-suited man in his fifties behind a plain black curtain. He had, no doubt, prepaid for a chunk of their time.
Neil perked up, as if he recalled something important. “Bro, you missed it. Before you got here, they had three chicks on stage at once, touching each other.”
Drew recalled DJ Dan broadcasting a similar message. “You don’t say?”
“Yeah, I recognized one of them, actually. She was eating the other two out. Got a hummer from her here last month.”
“What did that cost you?”
“Like three hundred bucks.” Neil paused, at first pensive then decidedly incensed. “Bro, are you my fucking accountant now? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Nothing is wrong with me.”
“Did you start playing for the other team or something?”
“What? No.”
“It’s like you’re always living in your head.” Neil shouted, not just to be heard over the music, but to drive his point home. “You’ve been here five minutes now and I haven’t seen you gawk at a single pair of tits yet. Relax and appreciate your surroundings a little.”
“Got other stuff on my mind, I guess.”
A woman in her early thirties in a taut black skirt approached them. She had a slender frame, wide eyes, heavily rouged cheeks, and full lips. Her white blouse was buttoned to her neck. She focused on Neil—likely to be the better tipper, but also the obvious alpha male—and asked, “What can I get for you?”
“Let me ask you a question first,” Neil said. “How come you’re the only one here with clothes on?”
Blouse smiled graciously, as if it were the first time someone had asked her that. “Policy. I’m not allowed to take attention away from the dancers.”
Neil produced another twenty dollars. “But you’ve already got my attention.”
Drew knew this interaction wouldn’t go far. Sure, in any other setting, Blouse was a total knockout. But by contrast to the pounds of available bare flesh in the room, she surely wasn’t Neil’s top pick. But Neil had always enjoyed the thrill of the chase, to see how far his charisma—and wallet—could take him.
“Thanks,” Blouse said, accepting his donation. “But really, I’ll get into trouble if I show anymore skin.”
Neil laughed. “Just a little skin. C’mon, bend the rules a bit. Undo your top a little for me.”
Blouse glanced over her shoulder. The song was ending and DJ Dan was bellowing hurried streams of gibberish. It served as a brief distraction, so she surrendered. She unfastened the top few buttons of her blouse just far enough to show cleavage.
“That’s better,” Neil said.
Blouse closed her top and shook her head. “For twenty dollars, you could have had your pick of girls for one song. You could have touched her, too.”
“But I wanted you.” Neil gave her a wink.
Blouse made eye contact with Drew. “Your friend here is crazy.”
“Tell me about it.” But the music drowned him out. A new woman had taken the stage. She had short, spiky red hair, a nose ring, and thick tattooed thighs. She twirled around the pole with unexpected poise, st
ill fully, albeit sparsely, dressed.
“Anyway,” Blouse continued, “what’ll you have?”
Neil squinted at Drew, and then turned back to her without consulting him. “Bring us each a single-malt scotch, neat.”
She laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“What’s so funny?”
“You’re at The Gentleman’s Choice, honey. Not The Playboy Mansion. We’ve got Bud or Bud Light—it’s up to you.”
Neil shook his head. “What kind of gentleman drinks Budweiser?”
Drew leaned in to be heard over the music. “Two tall cans of Bud will be fine, miss. Thank you.”
Neil rolled his eyes.
“We always gets cans of Bud here,” Drew explained. “You’re thinking of Roxie’s.”
“Nah, bro. They used to stock better shit here.”
No, they didn’t. But when you visit so many of these places, it must be tough to keep track.
Spiky moved on to her second song. She alternated between bending over—gripping the pole between two firm, plentiful cheeks, and then sinking to the floor, suspending herself backward from the pole.
That metal pole has to be cold on her junk. Not to mention covered in germs.
“You must be chasing some serious tail these days,” Neil commented.
“Not exactly.”
“I mean, I haven’t heard from you since—what? That day you dropped by my place to score some coke, I think.”
“Well, there is this one chick—”
“My nigga.” Neil tossed up a congratulatory hand.
“We’re white. Stop it.”
“I don’t give a fuck. High five me.”
Drew obeyed. “Anyway, she’s, uh—” He had plenty to say about Kara. But choosing his words in such a way that Neil would grasp them seemed unlikely.
“She works with you at the call center?”
“Yeah.”
Neil began to slowly nod his head. “Ah, I get it. Say no more.”
“What do you get exactly?”
“Saggy tits, stretch marks, tramp stamp, eight kids, food stamps. I get it. Enough to make any man’s penis soft.”
“Dickhead, no. She’s stunning.”
Neil rubbed his fingers together, the universal sign for money. “If she’s such a top shelf piece of ass, how come she’s working with you instead of trapping herself a sugar daddy?”
“She’s, uh, the independent type, I guess.”
“A feminist?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. You fuck her yet?”
“No.”
“You’re out of practice, bro,” Neil mused. “Spent too long shacked up with that horse-faced broad. Hillary or Heather or whatever her goddamn name was. But if this new chick lets you stick it in, mark my words. She’ll have a thick fucking rug on her cunt and hairy armpits, too. These feminist bitches are all the same, bro. Fucking fat, disgusting, and bushy. You’ll see.”
Blouse returned with two cans of beer. Drew reached for his wallet, but Neil stopped him, keen to show off his spending power again. After she left, Neil turned his head toward the back of the club, and then tapped Drew on the shoulder. “Now’s our chance.”
“For what?”
“Now. Let’s go.” He led Drew to the bathroom. An empty stool was positioned by the door and assorted toiletries arranged in baskets spanned the counter next to the sinks. “The dude who sits in here normally—you know, the guy who washes your hands for tips? He’s a smoker and I saw him dart out back. He’s been going out every half hour or so.”
“So?”
“So we’ve got five minutes.” He opened each stall, confirming they were alone. “Come here.” He gestured for Drew to enter the handicapped stall with him. “Brought us a little something.”
Neil closed the door behind them, and removed a plastic baggie from his jacket pocket. He shook a small heap of white powder on the back of the toilet and deftly cut it into two fine lines with his bank card. He pulled out a dollar bill and rolled it into a narrow tube. He lowered his face to the tank, and ripped the first line. He pinched his nose and then ran his finger across the tank and massaged the leftover powder onto his gums. Drew took the dollar bill and did the same. The blow instantly rushed to his head and livened his pulse, awakening his senses. They pocketed a few breath mints near the sink and walked back to their seats.
“Thanks for that,” Drew said.
“My pleasure, bro. It’s a good night to celebrate.”
“What are we celebrating?”
“I got promoted to division manager at work.”
That could’ve been me. “Congrats. But I thought you were thinking of leaving?”
“Nah, bro. Things got better since you left. They gave me a nice bump in salary. Plus I got my own sexy assistant. Boned her twice al—”
“All in a week or two, huh?”
“All in a week, bro. You know I don’t fuck around.”
Define ‘fuck around.’
“And I’m moving into a new condo on the first.”
“That’s next week.”
“Yes, it is.”
“You really don’t fuck around. What was wrong with the old condo?”
“New one’s bigger.”
“And bigger is better, I guess.”
“That’s what she said.” Neil laughed at his own worn out quip. He eyed the full can of beer in front of him with disdain then surrendered, raising it in the air. “Cheers, my friend.”
Drew lifted his can.
“I’ll be having a housewarming party. I trust you’ll be there.”
Drew thought of his father, who was likely passed out in his hospital bed at the moment, savoring the sweet serenity of a drug induced coma. It occurred to Drew that he had been at The Gentleman’s Choice with Neil for almost an hour—nearly enough time for the next trio of ladies to hit the stage—and his father’s condition hadn’t come up even once. “I’ll try to make it.” He paused. “It’s just that I won’t be able to if—”
“Holy shit!” A new dancer strutted on stage. “Look at the tits on that bitch. Jesus Christ.”
Drew shrugged. “Yeah, look at them.”
* * *
Chapter 14
Kara scrunched her face, her chest full of smoke. She’d just put the joint to her lips and taken an enormous drag, drawing it to the depths of her lungs. She was reeling, dizzy, as though her next trick would be to pass out.
“Are you okay?” Drew asked, chuckling. They were standing behind the Transtel building, sandwiched between a couple of dumpsters and a dormant security vehicle.
She exhaled at long last, dispersing a thick haze. “Yeah, I’m doing just fine.”
“This bud Marcus sells isn’t half bad, is it?”
“Who’s Marcus?”
“He’s my new dealer.” Drew carefully removed the burning joint from Kara’s fingers and took a puff. “Full-time student, part-time dealer, covert tutor, and just another friendly face in the neighborhood. I give him a call and he drops by my place with whatever I need.”
“Service with a smile.” She tittered, her eyes red and glazed over, and then broke out in uncontrollable laughter.
“You really do get the giggles when you smoke, huh?”
“Oh God, this is embarrassing,” she cackled.
“Nothing to be embarrassed about.” He watched her with amusement. “But while we’re on the topic, do you know any good dirty jokes?”
She shook her head, unable to concentrate. “Do you, Drew Thomson?”
“Yeah, I got one.”
Kara bobbed her head up and down, urging him to tell it.
“A man says to his wife, ‘Let’s try something kinky. Tonight I’m going to come in your ear.’ ”
She keeled over, her face bright red, nearing purple, as if Drew had already delivered the punch line.
“The wife was shocked. ‘You can’t do that. It might make me go deaf,’ she said.”
>
“He wants to nut in her ear!” Kara gasped for air. “Oh my God . . .”
Drew took another drag, delaying the rest of the joke for effect. Kara was, after all, already in stitches. He opened his mouth a crack, letting smoke trickle past his dry lips. “So the husband says, ‘I’ve been shooting my load in your mouth for ten years now, and it hasn’t shut you up yet.’ ”
Kara was unable to move or speak. She vibrated in place like a Tickle Me Elmo.
She’s probably had enough. Drew took one final hit, the joint burned to its crutch, then tossed what was left.
A few seconds later—or perhaps several minutes—Kara was gradually regaining control of herself, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “Oh shit! That was too good.”
“Glad you liked that one.”
“I’ve got one.”
“Is it dirty?”
She grinned. “Why did God invent women?” Kara looked eager to blurt out the rest.
“Why?”
“To carry semen from the bedroom to the bathroom.”
Drew doubled up in delight, speechless at her unexpected lewdness, and higher than even he had realized. Sure, he found the joke tasteless and hilarious in equal measure, but he also enjoyed hearing Kara say the word semen. “I’m glad we did this.”
Kara looked unstable. She toppled against Drew, uncoordinated, planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek. He was slow to respond, unsure what to do. “Thanks,” he said after a moment.
“I like you, Drew Thomson.” Her speech was hallow and distant.
He nodded. “I, uh, like you, too.”
Kiss her back.
But the moment expired, each waning second lessening the impact of any possible reaction. He lost his nerve, eventually asking, “Are you hungry?”
