The King

by Tiffany Reisz

  “And the thighs. You dress like this often?”

  “When necessary,” Kingsley said with a shrug. There wasn’t much he hadn’t done in his twenty-eight years for business or pleasure. “You always dress in men’s clothes?”

  “I’m a woman. If they’re my clothes, they’re women’s clothes,” Sam said. “I’m not a cross-dresser. I’m a good dresser.”

  “You are. The spats are a nice touch.”

  “When you work in a strip club that’s a front for a bathhouse, you need the extra shoe protection. Speaking of shoes,” she said, pausing to tap her chin and point at him. “Where did you get shoes big enough?”

  “I stole them out of Petra’s locker.”

  “Petra? Oh, Peter. Our Thursday-night drag queen. Should have known. Anyway, thank you for getting rid of Mack. I’ll buy you a drink as long as it’s not an entire bottle of champagne.”

  “I don’t need a drink. I wasn’t kidding earlier. I do need some information.”

  “Ask,” she said. Kingsley was pleased to see his little stunt had gained her confidence.

  “Do you know a woman named Blaise?”

  Sam slapped a hand over her heart.

  “Blaise? Blaise of Glory Blaise? The future mother of my children Blaise? Hair like Rita Hayworth, eyes like Ingrid Bergman, dresses like Lauren Bacall?”

  “You know her, then.”

  “Know her? I worship her. If there is a God and if that God loves me, I will wake up tomorrow morning with no work to do, no place to go and that perfect piece of ass in my bed. I’d tie her down spread-eagle and turn her inside out. I’d make her come so often she’d forget how to go. I want to spend so much time inside that girl I’d have to get my mail forwarded to her pussy. So, yes, I know her.”

  “So do I. We’re sleeping together.”

  Sam opened her mouth and closed it again.

  “Well, bully for you,” she said at last.

  “I’m a lucky man.”

  “I guess I should apologize for saying I’d forward my mail to your girlfriend’s vagina.”

  “Don’t apologize. I feel the same way. I did have my mail forwarded there until she started complaining about paper cuts. Women,” he said.

  “You’re a very understanding boyfriend. So, what information do you need?”

  “Blaise mentioned you told her about a church that’s moving into Manhattan.”

  Sam paused long enough to let Kingsley know he needed to tread lightly on this topic.

  “Yeah, The Way, The Truth, and The Life Ministries. I saw in the paper they’d bought an old hotel. They’re turning it into a church and office complex. It’s supposed to be the new WTL HQ.”

  “This pissed you off?”

  “I’m not a fan of them, no.”

  “Is it personal?”

  “Kind of personal, yes,” she said.

  “So you know the Fullers?”

  “Never met them. But I know a lot about them, a lot about the church. I know enough to not enjoy chatting about them in a bar on Friday night.”

  “Then let me ask you a different question—why are you working here?”

  “Why? A bartender tends bar. I came here a couple times to see friends dance. The last head bartender was an ass. He hit on all the girls. All of them. Constantly. They told Mack either he goes or they do. So he fired him. Duke told him to hire me. No straight guys hit on me, and the women feel safe around me.”

  “They must feel more than safe around you if you’re fucking them all.”

  “They have needs. And I have needs. I have the need to meet their needs. We get along well.”

  “Intéressant,” he said. “You have no interest in men?”

  “I like men. I get along great with most men. I don’t fuck men.”

  “Ever?”

  “Ever.”

  Kingsley tapped the bar, thinking.

  “Are you going to stay in that get-up all night?” Sam asked him. “Just wondering.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “You look amazing,” she said. “And I’m not kidding. You’re sexier than Tim Curry in Rocky Horror, and that’s saying something. But you’re in a strip club full of men.”

  “They’re only jealous I look better in a corset and heels than they do in their suits. I have fantastic shoulders, don’t I?” He tossed his hair playfully.

  “To die for.”

  “Let me ask you something, Sam. Do you love working here?”

  “I like working here. I can’t say I love it. I’m good at it.”

  “What would you rather be doing?”

  She sighed and shrugged her shoulders.

  “Using my brain more often. Getting into trouble more often.”

  “You like trouble?”

  “I love trouble.”

  “Then let me make you offer.”

  “What’s the offer?” Sam asked.

  “Come get in trouble with me.”

  14

  “TROUBLE?” SAM REPEATED.

  “I’m offering you a job. Work for me.”

  “Work for you? Doing what?” Sam asked Kingsley as he

  threw a leg on to the bar and straightened his stocking. “I need a personal assistant,” Kingsley said, tilting his head

  to let Holly and Raven kiss him on the cheek. They tried to

  steal his boa, and he slapped their hands away.

  “Personal assistant? How personal?” she asked, sounding

  cautiously curious.

  “You can live in my house for all I care, as long as we get

  the work done. And I do have a very nice house.” “What’s the work?”

  He didn’t answer her. Instead, he looked around the club.

  He caught Duke’s eye and waved him over.

  “I’m taking Sam with me. Can you handle things without

  her?” he asked Duke.

  “Sure. Carla’s here now. No problem,” Duke said. “Good. Sam? This way, s’il vous plait.”

  Sam followed Kingsley through the club and to the street.

  What a pair they made—he in his corset and stockings and she

  in a three-piece suit, black Oxfords with white spats. Some drunk teenagers across the street whistled. Kingsley waved

  his boa at them.

  His silver Rolls Royce waited behind the club. His driver

  hopped out of the Rolls and opened the door for them. Gia

  gave Kingsley a little smile of approval and a slap on his ass

  as he got in the car. Women—did they ever stop thinking

  about sex?

  “So, where are we going?” Sam asked as the car pulled

  into the street.

  “To a hotel.”

  “Why?”

  “Before I answer that,” Kingsley said, “let me ask you a

  question.”

  “Ask.”

  Kingsley stretched out his leg and put his high-heeled foot

  on the seat next to her.

  “Have you ever had sex in the back of a Rolls Royce?” Sam furrowed her brow at him and leaned forward. “Look at me.” She pointed at herself. “What part of ‘I’m a

  lesbian’ do you not understand?”

  “You said you were fucking all the girls at the Möbius, oui?” “Fucking might be too strong a word. But I’ve gotten them

  all off at one time or another.”

  “They aren’t all lesbians.”

  “Yeah, but I’m really good at what I do.”

  “So am I. Care to find out?”

  “No. No I wouldn’t. And you can let me off right here.” “Let you off? Or get you off?”

  “Not funny. Let me out of the fucking car,” she said, reaching for the door handle.

  Kingsley tapped on the window that separated him from the

  driver. The window rolled down an inch. Kingsley ordered

  the driver to pull over. As soon as it stopped, Sam reached for the door. Kingsley put his high-heeled foot on the doo
r

  to block her.

  “Let me out,” Sam ordered.

  “You passed,” Kingsley said.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and raised her chin. “Passed what?” she asked.

  “The test.”

  Sam eyed him warily. “What test?”

  “I have a problem,” Kingsley said, and he sat back. Sam remained on her guard. “I need help. I’m doing something with

  my life. Finally. Something important. It might even be the

  most important thing I’ve ever done. And I can’t do it alone.

  But I fuck my assistants. Then when they realize I’m not in

  love with them, they get pissed and quit.”

  “This is why I fuck straight girls. No commitment.” “Forgive me for upsetting you. Please. I only wanted to

  see if you had any inclination, any interest in me. You don’t.” “Not a bit,” she said. “But don’t take it personally. I mean,

  I see the appeal. You look great in drag, and you have amazing legs. And you’ve got the sexy hair and the Greek thing

  going—”

  “The French thing.”

  “French. Right. Sorry,” she said, and he noted her biting

  back a smile. “I mean, pardonnez-moi.”

  “De rien,” he said.

  “All that being said…you’re darn cute. I’m just not attracted to you. I hope that makes sense, and your ego isn’t

  too bruised.”

  “My ego enjoys the occasional bruise.” Among other parts

  of him. “And you don’t have to apologize for not wanting to

  have sex with me. I consider it a mark in your favor. Especially if you’re my assistant.”

  “What exactly would I be doing for you as a personal as

  sistant?”

  “Let me show you something.”

  Sam raised her eyebrow.

  “It’s a building,” he said. “I promise.”

  “Good. Just checking.”

  When they arrived at their destination, the driver held open

  the door for them. Sam exited the car first and then held out

  her hand to Kingsley.

  “Might I assist you, ma’am?” Sam asked.

  “Who said chivalry was dead?” Kingsley took her hand,

  and she pulled him—high heels, corset and all—out of the car. Side by side they stood on the sidewalk in the light of a

  lamppost, in the shadow of a ghost.

  “What are we doing here?” Sam demanded. “This is the

  hotel Fuller’s church bought, isn’t it?”

  “It is.”

  “Why are we here?”

  “Because I want it.”

  “The city sold the place to them two weeks ago. It’s not on

  the market anymore.”

  “I’ve fucked more married women than I can count,”

  Kingsley said. “If something’s worth owning, it’s worth stealing.”

  “You are an interesting man, Kingsley Edge,” Sam said,

  watching him as he scanned the exterior of the hotel. “I’m

  not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”

  “You seduce straight girls in order to make them question

  their sexuality. Jury is still out on you, too,” he said. “And for

  the record, I have had sex with lesbians before.”

  “Yeah, how did that happen?”

  “One was on an ‘orientation vacation’ as she called it. The

  other didn’t know she was until after we had sex.” “Ouch,” Sam said.

  “There were no hard feelings. Especially after she told me

  she was gay.”

  They walked up and down the sidewalk in front of the

  building. It was boarded up and chained. Yellow caution tape

  warned passersby away. Signs and notices declared it condemned and closed.

  Kingsley was undeterred.

  “What did the newspaper say about this place?” Kingsley

  asked.

  “According to the Times, it was called The Renaissance.

  Now it’s The Nothing since it’s been closed for ten years.” “Why does a church want a hotel?”

  “Reverend Fuller wants to expand his empire of conservative family values into the heart of New York City blah blah

  bullshit et cetera,” Sam said. “In the interview in the paper

  he said something about how, unlike the righteous Lot who

  f led from Sodom, WTL Ministries will infiltrate the city of