by John Locke
“I was staring because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and I’m incredibly attracted to you.”
Dani’s eyes grow larger than normal, if such could be possible. She starts to get to her feet.
“Please,” Callie says. “Let me finish.”
“I’m with Sophie,” Dani says.
“I know. I’m not trying to seduce you.”
“Forgive me, but it feels like you are. Big time.”
Callie smiles. “Okay, so I am. But still. Accept the compliment.”
She laughs, pats the chair.
Dani looks around again before reclaiming her seat.
“Your friend, Donovan,” Dani says, changing the subject.
“What about him?”
“I’m right about him? He’s gay?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.”
She’s not curious, Callie thinks, she’s interested.
Callie lowers her voice and says, “This has to stay between us.”
Dani nods.
“You can’t tell Sophie.”
“Sophie and I tell each other everything.”
“Except for this,’ Callie says.
Dani pauses, then says, “Okay.”
“I’m counting on you, Dani.”
Dani says nothing.
“Just to be clear,” Callie says. “I can trust you, can’t I?”
Dani nods several times. “Yes.”
Callie looks around to make sure they’re completely alone.
They are.
Callie forces herself to keep a straight face, while thinking, Sorry Donovan. All’s fair in love and war!
Then she says, “You were right. Donovan’s gay.”
“I knew it!” Dani says, proudly.
6.
“YOU’RE AMAZINGLY INTUITIVE,” Callie says.
“I don’t know about that,” Dani says.
“You might be the most intuitive person I’ve ever met.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“Not at all. You’re the only one who’s ever picked up on Donovan being gay.”
“Seriously?”
“Except for me. I’m intuitive too.”
She notices the skeptical look on Dani’s face and says, “I can prove it if you like.”
Dani looks around again. Callie wonders how Sophie manages to keep this gorgeous woman on such a short leash.
Dani says, “Okay, prove it. Tell me something about me no one knows.”
“Can I be blunt?”
“Yes.”
“I think you and Sophie are best friends.”
Dani laughs. “Everyone knows that!”
“True. But they don’t know you’re not really into the sex.”
Dani’s smile suddenly turns upside down. “You’ve just crossed a line.”
“Like I said, I’m a blunt person. But intuitive. I look at you and Sophie as a couple, but you know what I see?”
Dani stands. “I don’t really give a shit!”
“You and Sophie aren’t lovers. You’ve had sex once or twice, at most. I dare you to tell me I’m wrong.”
Dani’s eyes become slits. “You’re not only blunt, you’re the rudest woman I’ve ever met.”
She stomps off, gets about twenty feet, stops. Takes a moment, then slowly walks back and sits down. Her eyes are blazing.
“What right do you have to talk to me like that?”
“I know your background,” Callie says. “Sophie’s taking advantage of you, and I don’t like it.”
“What are you talking about? Sofe and I love each other!”
“As friends.”
“You’re wrong about that.”
“You’re a giver. She’s a taker.”
“You honestly believe Sophie’s using me?”
“I’m certain she is.”
“You don’t even know her!”
“I know how many times you’ve looked around the past five minutes to make sure she’s not watching you from the stage.”
“I care about Sofe. I don’t want her to get the wrong impression.”
“You’re admitting she’s jealous.”
“No.”
Callie smiles. “No?”
Dani says, “Fine. She’s jealous. So what?”
“Do you know why people get jealous?”
She starts to speak, then stops and says, “No. I don’t understand jealousy. At all.”
“In every relationship there is unequal love. One partner always loves more than the other. Sophie loves you more than you love her. The less she’s loved, the more jealous she gets. It’s hard on her because she lives every moment knowing she could lose you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“You agreed she’s jealous. I’m telling you why. If Sophie believed you love her completely, how could she possibly get the wrong impression about us talking?”
“You’re trying to fuck with my mind.”
Callie fixes her with a steady stare. “I want you, Dani.”
“Excuse me?”
“I want you like I’ve never wanted a woman in my entire life.”
Dani shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I’ve never been around anyone like you before. I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or making fun of me, or if you’re just some trashy bitch who likes to stir the pot and cause trouble.”
“You and I are the same, Dani.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
“We were both attacked by men at an early age. We both have trust issues. We’re not gay, but find ourselves extremely attracted to beautiful women. We seek their nurturing. We park ourselves with women who make us feel safe, whose company we enjoy, but secretly we’re looking for the right man.”
“I’m sorry to hear about what happened to you. But you’ve known me less than an hour. You can’t possibly make these types of judgments about me. Or Sophie. Nor should you say them to my face.”
Callie takes her cell phone out of her handbag and says, “Answer your phone.”
“It’s not ringing.”
Callie presses a button and says, “Yes it is.”
Dani hears her cell phone ring. She frowns, clicks the button, says, “Hello?”
“It’s me,” Callie says.
Dani clicks to end the call and says, “How did you get my private number?”
“Please. The point is, now you’ve got my private number.”
“Wow. Lucky me.”
Callie says, “Look at me, Dani.”
They lock eyes.
Callie says, “Tonight Sophie’s going to put a lot of sexual pressure on you.”
“You have no basis for saying that.”
“Trust me. She saw you with Creed. She saw you with me. She’ll require major reassurance.”
“And what will I do?” Dani says, in a mocking tone.
“You’ll try your best to prove that what you have with Sophie is the real deal. You’ll think about this conversation. You’ll try to prove me wrong.”
Dani laughs. “You’re pretty full of yourself, aren’t you?”
“No. But I’ve been there before.”
“Right. And of course, you couldn’t possibly be wrong. Because you’re so intuitive.”
“Don’t be bitchy.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not the type. Look, if I’m wrong, the worst thing that happens is you know you and Sophie are perfect together. But if I’m right, and you find yourself unable to give yourself to her completely-”
“What, I’m supposed to call you? See how a real woman does it?”
“Maybe you are the bitchy type after all,” Callie says. She sighs. “Look, I’m not claiming to be a better lover than Sophie. I’m just saying you and I would have an honest relationship.”
“Meaning what, exactly?”
“Our lovemaking would be based on pure lust, not obligation.”
“You think I find you attractive?” Dani says.
/>
“I know you do.”
“But you’re not full of yourself.”
“Not in the least.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve!”
“And you’ve got the biggest, deepest, bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.”
Dani frowns. “I will never make that phone call.”
“Have you never thought about letting yourself go wild?”
“No.”
“For just one night?”
“No.”
“It’d be something we’ll always have together. Something we’ll never forget for the rest of our lives.”
“I will never make that phone call.”
“We can take it slow at first.”
“You’re insane.”
7.
Top Six Club, Las Vegas.
Carmine Porello.
THE MOB WARS of 2008 resulted in a three-way split for control of the continental United States. The winners were Vincent “Viggie” Matisse (east coast), Sal Bonadello (mid-west), and Carmine “The Chin” Porello, who currently holds the west coast by the thinnest of threads.
Carmine’s seen better days. He’s late seventies, barrel-chested, with thin arms and wispy gray hair he combs straight back and holds in place with some type of ancient hair tonic. He got his nickname because twenty years ago he could lift his chin and cause the death of any ten men. These days he spends his days negotiating blow jobs from the strippers at his dance club, the Top Six.
“New girl’s here, Mr. Porello,” Roy says.
“What’s she look like?”
“A headliner.”
Carmine looks up with sudden interest. “Top shelf?”
“Don’t get too excited. She’s no Gwen Peters.”
“Her and everyone else on the planet,” Carmine says.
He goes quiet a minute, lost in thoughts about little Gwennie, who put the Top Six on the map and kept it there till she ran off and married Lucky Peters, the famous gambler. Gwen wasn’t just beautiful, she was brilliant when it came to strip club entertainment. She invented drinking games and audience participation games that revolutionized the industry and increased business tenfold. Other clubs mimicked her style, stole her ideas, but none could compete. It was Gwen, with her looks, her personality, who brought magic to the place.
That was a year ago, and it’s been all downhill ever since.
For the Top Six and all the other clubs.
After Lucky died, Carmine and his competitors tried to hire Gwen to resurrect their businesses. But she found a Vegas billionaire who keeps her happy as a pampered, kept woman. With Gwen out of the picture the club owners have been falling all over themselves in an effort to hire a headliner who could turn out to be the next Gwen Peters. But it’s like catching lightning in a bottle. In Vegas pretty girls are a dime a dozen. But most of them don’t have to strip for a living. Those who hang around do so because they can’t score a better job elsewhere.
Carmine sighs. “They’re all less than Gwen.”
“True.”
“How much less is this one?”
Roy shrugs. “I give her body a high eight.”
“Maybe a nine?”
“Maybe.”
“You saw her tits?”
Roy nods.
“They real?” Carmine says.
“Real and nice,” he says. “Real nice.”
Carmine says, “P, N, or Q?” Referring to a stripper game Gwen invented where clients try to guess if a penny, nickel, or quarter is sufficient to cover the areola.
“Nickle.”
Carmine licks his lips. “Nickle’s my favorite.”
Roy, thinking, No shit. I’ve only heard that what, eight thousand times?
“How old is she?” Carmine says.
“Eighteen.”
“You check her driver’s license?”
“Yeah,” Roy says, thinking, After all this time you need to ask me that? I’d love to shove my fist up your dinosaur ass and grind your knuckle bones into dice, you disgusting old letch!
“How’s her face?” Carmine says.
“A nine.”
“A high nine?”
“No. But a solid nine.”
“Can she dance?”
“Who knows? She’ll only audition for you.”
“And you put up with that?”
Roy shrugs. “Like I say, she’s a headliner. An eight body, a nine face. A solid eighty-nine. With a ten smile. We need her. She knows it.”
Carmine Porello laughs. “Spunky. I like that. Send her in.”
Roy stands, walks to the door, opens it. Says, “Mr. Porello will see you now.”
The young, well-proportioned blonde who enters the office does so with an air of great confidence. She takes the seat directly across from Carmine’s desk and waits for him to speak.
“You’re not that cute,” Carmine says.
“Yes I am.”
“I’ve seen cuter.”
“Me too. But not in this club.”
“You got a mouth on you,” Carmine says.
“I’m just saying what I know, Mr. Porello. If you’ve got prettier girls than what I’ve seen, you should let this bunch go.”
He looks at Roy, says, “You believe this shit?”
Roy says, “Show some respect.”
To Carmine, she says, “What happened to his hand?”
Carmine looks at Roy, then back at her. “He broke it.”
“That’s too much cast for a broken hand.”
“Let’s move along with the interview,” Carmine says, softening his tone. “What’s your name, sugar?”
“My driver’s license says Willow.”
He laughs. “Willow what?”
“Breeland.”
“You’re young.”
She says nothing.
“Ever dance before?”
She nods.
“Where?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“If you’re gonna work for me, there won’t be any secrets between us.”
“Does that mean you’ll tell me everything I want to know about your business?”
Carmine and Roy do a double-take.
Carmine says, “You believe this shit?”
Roy says, “Show some respect. I won’t tell you again.”
Willow says, “Where I come from, respect is a two-way street.”
Carmine says, “Where do you come from?”
“Midwest.”
“Fresh off the bus?”
“Airline. I’ve got a bank account.”
“Oh, a bank account!” Roy says. “Wow!”
Willow frowns.
Carmine says, “You got references?”
“All the references I need are under my clothes.”
Carmine swallows his urge to slap her face. This fuckin’ eighteen-year-old comes waltzing in here like she owns the place. Cocky, arrogant, showing no respect. She sure as shit ain’t no Gwen Peters. Gwen may have been confident, but she wasn’t cocky. She knew her place in the hierarchy. That said, Carmine finds himself drawn to this mouthy little Willow. He wants to see her dance. Wants to see what’s under her clothes. It’s just that she needs to be brought down a peg.
“Let’s see what you got,” he says.
Willow lifts her tank top.
Carmine forces himself not to lick his lips or drool. But the fact is Willow’s tits are perfect. He strains to contain his enthusiasm. Forces himself to say, “Not bad.”
Then he adds, “Roy says you’ve got a great smile.”
“Roy’s right.”
“Show me.”
Willow flashes her money smile.
“I’d like to see that smile wrapped around my dick,” Carmine says, attempting to put her in her place.
Roy laughs.
Without batting an eye, Willow says, “If we’re negotiating, let’s leave Roy out of it from here on.”
Roy moves toward her with his fist cocked. But Carmine waves him off.
Ro
y says, “Say the word, I’ll beat that attitude out of her.”
Carmine says, “Leave us be, Roy. Can’t you see we’re negotiating?”
Willow smiles.
Roy glares at her. Says, “This ain’t over, bitch.”
Willow says, “Run along, Roy.”
“What the fuck did you just say to me?”
He gets right up in her face. His eyes are slits. His face, a mask of fury. Through clenched teeth he says, “Get ready, Miss. Because I’ve got plans for you!”
“Cancel them,” she says.
“Outside this club, you’re on my turf,” he snarls. “Bad things happen on my turf. You been warned.”
Willow gives him a look of her own. Then says, “Roy, you’re a bug on my windshield. Nothing more.”
When he leaves, Carmine says, “You got balls, I’ll give you that. But you better re-think this thing with Roy.”
“Why’s that?”
“He’s a mean son of a bitch.”
Willow shrugs.
“I won’t lie to you. He beats the shit out of the girls sometimes.”
Willow yawns.
“I’m serious. He broke a girl’s jaw once, for talking back. Crushed another one’s cheekbones.”
Willow says, “I’m not afraid.”
“Why not?”
She bats her goldenrod eyes at him and says, “You’ll take care of me.”
Carmine gives her a long look, then says, “The other girls think Roy’s the power around here.”
“Why should you and I care what they think?”
Carmine scrunches up his face in thought and says, “Roy thinks I’m ripe for the plucking.”
“What’s that mean?”
“He’s one step away from making a run at me.”
“Then maybe we should put him in his place.”
Carmine gives her a long, wistful look.
His voice softens. “You remind me of things from long ago.”
“What sorts of things?”
“Honey-suckle. Swimming at Blue Lake. Stick ball. Kick the can. You know, kid things.”
He smiles.
Willow says, “Who’s the first girl you ever felt up?”
“Excuse me? Did you just say ‘felt up’?”
She nods.
“You mean kissed?”
“Nope. Felt up.”
He laughs. “Seriously?”
“I’m told you never forget your first feel.”
“Mary Jane Milligan.”
She smiles. “How old were you?”
“Fourteen.”
