Explicitly Yours Series

by Jessica Hawkins

  “It’s about three seconds,” Beau said.

  The valet looked Lola up and down. “Lucky bastard.”

  Beau laughed as he took out his wallet. “I won’t argue with that.”

  The boy’s eyes bugged wide when he accepted his tip. “And I won’t argue with that! Thank you, sir.”

  Beau waved him off to let Lola in the car himself. The three-quarter doors rose up like wings. Inside, only the dashboard lights glowed in the dark.

  Once Beau was behind the wheel, Lola found the button on the console that lowered their windows. “It’s such a nice night,” she said.

  “I’m not really a wind-in-my-hair type of guy,” he protested.

  “Can’t you fake it for a night?”

  He shook his head at her teasing smile. “I suppose one night won’t kill me.”

  Before he pulled into the street, he reached over and undid Lola’s hair with one hand.

  “It’ll get messy,” she said when it fell around her shoulders.

  He looked at her, winked and stepped on the gas. “It already is.”

  Soon, they were speeding down Sunset Boulevard. “Beau,” Lola called over the engine. Her hands wrapped around her neck and hair. “We’re going fast.”

  “What other way is there?” he asked, grinning ear to ear. “Relax. Enjoy the ride.”

  She forced her fingers to loosen. The road seemed to open just for them. Beau navigated swiftly through traffic, swerving between cars, racing yellow lights, leaving no room for error so her heart raced with them. Neon lights blurred together as they passed bars, souvenir shops, comedy clubs. Black palm trees silhouetted against the billboards. She released her hair, put her head back and closed her eyes.

  “You’re so beautiful, Lola,” Beau said. “The most breathtaking thing.”

  It was beautiful. She’d never felt so unattached to everything, even her body. She opened her eyes. Nature and commercialism and Beau were all around her. She loved the car and the new way it allowed her to experience the boulevard she thought she’d seen from every angle.

  But she shot up from the headrest when she noticed where they were. “Beau, you’re not taking me to—”

  “Hey Joe?” he interrupted. “No. Not even I’m that cruel.”

  They passed the bar and stopped several blocks down. She knew the building they parked in front of since she used to walk by it frequently on her way to see Johnny at Hey Joe. “What are we doing?” she asked as he rolled up the windows.

  “A nightcap.”

  “Does it have to be here? Can’t we do it at the hotel or something?”

  “It has to be here.” He got out of the car and then opened her door for her. He placed his large hand at the nape of her neck, guiding her down an alley until they were almost in a parking lot.

  “What is this?” Lola asked. “I’ve never been here.”

  Beau knocked once on large side door. “Used to be a speakeasy.”

  The bouncer leaned out, then stepped aside to let them in.

  “You must come here often,” Lola said over her shoulder.

  “I like their oysters.”

  “Is oyster a euphemism for something else?”

  He laughed. “Would that bother you?”

  “No.” She looked forward again. “Euphemisms don’t bother me at all.”

  They passed through a corridor. The fur articles in the coat check were almost too much for her—it was only the beginning of fall, and it was Los Angeles for heaven’s sake. She parted heavy gold velvet curtains to enter a dimly lit room. To her right, a man in a suit clinked tulip glasses with a woman in pearls.

  Despite being a few blocks from Hey Joe, Lola didn’t worry about running into anyone she knew. These were Beau’s people, not hers. She started to tell him she didn’t like it but stopped. Underneath and behind the pretentiousness were gritty brick walls and aged-leather booths the color of whiskey. An impressive backlit wall of liquor glowed bronze. In the center of the room sat a grand piano, and the pianist played “Heart-Shaped Box.”

  “By the look on your face, I guess you’re a Nirvana fan,” Beau said.

  “I don’t think I could’ve dreamed up a stranger song for this place.”

  Beau ordered from the bartender while she watched the pianist play.

  “The first time I heard Nirvana was on the radio the day Kurt Cobain died,” she said.

  “I remember that day,” Beau said. “I was a teenager, so you must’ve been...”

  “Pretty young. I fell in love, though. Johnny hates grunge. He’s rock ’n’ roll straight through.” She took the drink Beau offered her without looking away. “How about you?”

  “I’m with Johnny on this one.”

  “Really?” She glanced at him.

  “Don’t look so surprised. Pink Floyd got me through a lot of late nights at the office.”

  Lola stopped bobbing her head and took a sip of her drink. She looked down into the glass.

  “Do you like it?” Beau asked. “It’s bourbon.”

  “Bourbon isn’t really my thing, but this isn’t bad.” She drank a little more. “It’s smooth. Sweet.”

  “Fruity.” He smelled his glass. “Pappy Van Winkle, barrel-aged twenty-three years. Rare, partly because it takes so long to age and there just isn’t enough. Take your time—something like this should be savored.”

  “In other words, it’s expensive.”

  “It depends on what you mean by expensive. Money is not the same thing as worth, and drinking a glass of this with you is worth a lot to me.”

  Lola made a noise of appreciation, and not just for the drink. The sweet alcohol burn, the leathery smell of the bar, the dim lights, Beau’s deep voice—it was a heady combination.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “Relaxed.”

  He smiled. “Me too.”

  “You, relaxed? I bet that’s as rare as this drink.” The two martinis she’d had at the gala had done nothing for her, but drinking this bourbon was like falling into a warm embrace.

  “That would be a safe bet,” he said.

  “How much do you work? Be honest.”

  “Right now, I work a lot. Back when I was trying to create something from nothing, though, I barely stopped to eat.”

  “Your family was okay with that?”

  “I did it for them as much as for myself.”

  “What about your friends? Girlfriends?”

  Beau raised an eyebrow. “I’m something of a loner if you haven’t noticed.”

  “Even now?”

  He hesitated. “A man with money trusts his enemies more than his friends.”

  She tried to picture her life without Johnny and Vero and the people she saw at the bar almost nightly. While she was there, Beau was at events with eager reporters in his face and people who were often trying to get something from him. She put her hand on his arm. “That must be hard.”

  Beau took a moment to respond. “When you’re nice to me, it makes me want to kiss you,” he warned.

  “What about when I’m mean?” She allowed herself a playful smile.

  He palmed her lower back and drew her close to his side. “It makes me want to be mean back.” He slid his hand over the curve of her backside but stopped.

  “Your patience is admirable,” she said, hoping he didn’t notice her slight gasp between words.

  “My patience is thin.”

  “You’re the one carting me from place to place.”

  His eyes gleamed. “You’re ready for the hotel?”

  Her gaze dropped to his lips, his bowtie and jumped back up. He curled his fingers into her dress.

  “I’ll take your inability to answer as a yes,” he said.

  He took her hand and walked her out of the lounge. Coming out of the alley, she turned left, but he pulled her back. “This way.”

  “But the car—”

  “This wasn’t our stop,” he said, leading her in the opposite direction. “I’d just hear
d about a shipment of that bourbon and I wanted you to try it.”

  “Then where are we going?”

  He dropped her hand and didn’t answer. Her heart began to pound as they walked west. He glanced over at her with that impatient look he’d gotten right before he’d kissed her on the red carpet.

  “Here?” she asked when he stopped walking. “Is this supposed to be funny?”

  “What’s funny?” he asked, his eyebrows lowering.

  “I’m not going in there. I can’t.”

  “You can,” he said, “and you will.”

  She looked behind Beau. On the brick wall a pink neon sign flashed the word Girls at her over and over. She dried her palms on her dress. After spending an evening with Los Angeles’s elite, Cat Shoppe seemed like a cruel joke.

  It wasn’t. Any teasing, gleaming or admiration in Beau’s eyes was gone. “You aren’t too good for a strip club?”

  They must’ve looked that way on the outside—she made up in a gown, he strangled by his bowtie.

  She was far from too good for it. She’d once been a part of it. A lifetime ago, Lola had spent her nights dancing at Cat Shoppe, getting caught up in the money and the partying and forming bonds with girls she no longer spoke to. When people found out she’d been a stripper, they always wanted to know why.

  “Why are you doing this?” her mom asked from across the Formica table. Pleaded.

  “For the money.” Lola’s tone was dry. “Isn’t that what it’s all about?”

  Dina shook her head. “You’re only eighteen. This isn’t how I raised you.”

  Lola smiled thinly. “You think because I lived under your roof, you raised me? Come on, Mom. I raised myself. Nobody ever looked out for me but me.”

  Dina suddenly and visibly shook with anger. “How can you say that? I worked here day after day to put food in your mouth.” She slammed both fists on the tabletop. “I did that for you! I sacrificed my life for a child I didn’t even want.”

  Lola barely flinched. That Dina hadn’t wanted her was no secret. “Think what you like,” Lola said, standing. “I’m not quitting.”

  “Then don’t come back home when it blows up in your face. I won’t watch you do this to yourself.”

  Lola left without looking back.

  She’d said she’d done it for money, but it’d been more than that. Lola had not only loved to dance, she’d loved how it’d made her feel, how men had looked at her, how the money had put her in charge of her life. It gave her control, especially over men, something her dad had taken from her by walking out one morning and never coming home.

  Beau watched her intently. She wasn’t willing to share that part of her life with him, and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. She walked right by him, by the bouncer and into the club.

  The music hit Lola before anything. On the main stage of the dark club was a half-naked woman who looked in her early forties. On her palms and knees, she snaked toward an outstretched, dollar-waving hand.

  Across the room, Beau talked to a bartender. Even though it’d been eight years since she’d left, Lola turned away in case anyone she knew still worked there.

  A few moments later, Beau closed in on her back. “It’s not top-dollar bourbon,” he said, reaching around to hold the glass in front of her, “but it’ll do.”

  She stared at the drink but didn’t take it.

  “What do you think of her?” he asked about the woman on the main stage. “Personally, she’s not my type. She wouldn’t get any of my dollars. Not like you.”

  Lola turned her head from the woman. “It doesn’t do anything for me,” Lola said. “I think we should go.”

  Beau took her chin with his other hand and forced her to look back at the stage. “We’re not going anywhere. Does this make you hot?”

  She wrestled her face away. “No.”

  “It will,” he said. “Come with me.”

  10

  Lights lasered through the dark strip club in every direction. Women danced on small podiums set apart from the main stage. The music was loud, but Lola wished it were deafening so she wouldn’t have to hear her thoughts. She’d gone from a prize on Beau’s arm to trailing behind him with her head down to hide her face.

  She’d danced for men like Beau before, men who liked to flaunt that they had money to burn. She’d been most careful around that type. When she danced, music lived in her. It was intoxicating. Men could tell, and it was dangerous for them to believe they had that kind of effect on a woman.

  Beau led her down a hallway of doors. If one was open, the lights were on, and it was chipped-paint black inside with just a pole and some scattered chairs.

  He stopped at the last room. “Here we are, my queen.”

  “Why are we here?” She controlled the impulse to fidget by crossing her arms.

  Beau gestured inside. “Go on. I warned you not everything would be comfortable.”

  It was the VIP room. The round stage, centered in a round room, ensured a view from every angle. One pole cut through the middle. Red velvet walls bled into Bordeaux-colored sofas that lined the space. The bass of the music from the main stage thumped through the room.

  Lola looked over her shoulder. A woman in only a shiny gold thong and pasties over her nipples came in. Numerous metallic ribbons threaded her hair. She trailed a finger down Beau’s shoulder. “Good evening, sir,” she said. “I’m Golden.”

  “And I’m Angel.” Another woman stepped into the room. Her fur-lined, white baby-doll negligee matched her G-string. She placed a headband with red horns over her blonde hair. “Or Devil,” she said pleasantly. “Your choice.” Lola didn’t recognize either of them.

  Beau crossed the room and fell into a sofa. He tugged on his collar a little. Golden pushed some buttons on a keypad and the room changed to fiery pink as the music started. A spotlight shone over the stage.

  Angel danced first. Beau watched her spin around the pole, her negligee billowing to reveal a flat stomach. She landed with ease on towering heels and smiled at him. He remained impassive.

  The lights changed from pink to deep purple. Golden sat next to Beau and whispered in his ear. He nodded. Lola stood motionless while Golden straddled Beau, hovering her lips above his as she danced for him. The room was blue now, turning the red velvet a blood-black color. Beau looked past Golden to Angel when she bent, touched her toes and displayed her barely-there underwear for him. His eyes shifted to Lola. “Join me.”

  She shook her head. Watching him with another woman did nothing for her except spark some disappointment. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might involve anyone else in their evening.

  “It’s not a request,” he said.

  Lola went to sit by him. Golden’s breasts nearly touched his cheek with each movement.

  “Are you enjoying this?” he asked.

  “Why would you pay for an evening with me just to watch them?”

  “I’m still with you.” He leaned over and kissed her harder than he had earlier. When she jerked back, he reached up to keep her there. His lips and hand were warm. Pulling away had been instinct, but they’d be doing far more soon. Her jaw and shoulders relaxed. For now, it was just a kiss.

  “It’s sweet,” he whispered into her mouth, “the taste of your submission.” He pecked her again and looked up. “Touch her.”

  Lola had momentarily forgotten about the other women. Golden’s fingers were soft as she combed Lola’s hair away from her face.

  “Have you ever been with a woman?” Beau asked.

  “Once. To try.”

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  “Not enough to do it again.”

  Golden ran a knuckle down Lola’s cheek. She traced her way down the strap of Lola’s dress to the neckline, but Beau grabbed her wrist. “Wait.”

  She dropped her arm to her side. Angel worked the pole, sliding over it as if it were silk against her skin, possessing it with her legs and hands. The white fabric of her top shone unde
r the spotlight as she peeled it off. She stopped there. The topless-only rule hadn’t changed since Lola’s time there.

  “Kiss,” Beau said.

  Lola snapped her head back to Beau. He was watching her, not Angel. The room became hotter. He nodded once. Golden leaned over and put her mouth to Lola’s. Gently, she ran her tongue along Lola’s bottom lip.

  Lola backed away a little. Beau had left the taste of liquor in her mouth. The woman’s cherry lip balm would replace it. Any other night she might’ve preferred the cherry, but tonight she wanted Beau’s bitter flavor. Golden chased her down for another kiss as she felt Lola’s breast through her dress. Lola shut her eyes briefly and gave into the shameful desire that it was actually Beau touching her.

  “Beau,” Lola moaned, not because she enjoyed it, but because she didn’t.

  “Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he said.

  Golden tweaked Lola’s nipples into hardening.

  “If you don’t like it,” he said, “just say so.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Enough,” Beau said. Golden pulled away, obviously confused.

  “Now you, Lola,” he said when the song changed. He signaled Angel to get down.

  “But—”

  “It’s not up for discussion.”

  “Ask them to leave,” Lola said. “If I dance, it’s only for you.”

  Beau’s lids lowered a little, but he blinked suddenly and the lusty look was gone. “How many times do I need to ask before you do what I say? Hmm? You challenge me at every turn. Get up on the stage and dance.”

  She stood.

  “Now tell me why you’re doing this,” he said.

  She opened her mouth, breathed softly. With the hardness in his voice, her determination not to enjoy herself slipped. He already had all the power, but he wanted more. With each passing hour, he pushed the limits of her submission. Not even Johnny held that kind of complete control over her.

  “Why?” he repeated.

  “Because you told me to.”

  “Very good.”

  She climbed onto the platform. The spotlight and room had turned red.

  “You get paid either way,” Beau said. “So try to enjoy it.”