by Alice Ward
“They have an excellent chef. Besides, I usually stay in the lounge and let my clients accompany each other into the offer room — the theater. Wait.” I held up a hand between us. “I’m not having this discussion with you.” Peter was baiting me, trying to get me to admit to paying for sex. An indescribable fire spread across my chest at the thought.
“The offer room.” Peter clicked his tongue. “You think I’m stupid, but I know what’s up. Does Liliana know you buy sex? You can’t be that hard up. Women are always throwing themselves at you, and pretty shamelessly I might add. You don’t have to pay for love, bro. Just say yes to any of the women who are like… everywhere.”
Was he actually trying to school me in the art of love? This was comedy.
In the beginning of their courtship, to capture the attention of my goodhearted sister, he took her rock climbing and offered her Twinkies at the summit of the mountain. Somehow that spelled love to both of them. They’re always on some half-baked adventure of his making. He’s lucky, and she’s crazy, or there’s no way he could’ve weaseled his way into one of the richest families in Montana.
“For god’s sake, I don’t buy sex. I’ve never contracted with any of the women. I take my clients. I have a membership to the most exclusive gentleman’s club in the world, why not use it to my business benefit?” I pressed my foot to the gas pedal and let the rev of the engine drive away the uncomfortable feelings the conversation had aroused in me.
“So, if I’m hearing you correctly, you have an exclusive, and I’m assuming uber expensive — like tres expensif — membership to a club you just visit. For what, the sushi? That’s like reading Playboy for the articles, it doesn’t happen.” He shook his head in disbelief, as if the very thought of a man being uncomfortable with casual sex was an impossibility.
It was his confidence I hated and admired most about Peter. He was a man who had no fear or trepidation, just went balls in every time.
“I don’t read Playboy.” Turning into the lot adjacent to the golf course, I roared into the first open parking spot and yanked back the parking break, my agitation getting the better of me.
“It’s a waste of money, bro,” Peter deduced with his sage surfer’s wisdom.
“As we are barely on time and the head of the PGA is most likely waiting, I can’t go into depth about this. I have a membership because sex sells.” I lowered my voice as I opened the door. “The brand of sexual exchange Jewel has on offer is enough to close a deal on just about anything.”
“You mean, like for bulk bra and underwear vendors?” His snide affront to my business was more than I could overlook.
“No!” I stepped out of the car to give myself a second to regain control. He was such a child. “The exclusive trade deals with bulk suppliers that allow my website to sell… anything at an incredibly low price, lower than anywhere else in the world. People want deals, crave them. Crave dot com has everything at an incredible bargain. However, even bargains have a price.” I popped open the back and threw his golf bag at him, ready to literally iron out my angst on the course.
He shrugged, clearly unconvinced. “Alright, Mr. Wellington, fuck or don’t fuck who you will, but you need to get that dick out and get it some fresh air once in a while. A slice of pussy pie would totally solve your agromaniac issues.” He hauled his golf bag onto his shoulder with his usual overexuberance, and we headed for the golf course.
“Agromaniac isn’t a word,” I countered, biting my lip to stop myself from saying more.
He had a point. I did need a woman in my life, but the truth was, I made too much money to trust them. As soon as they learned how many zeros were in a billion, they suddenly became ravenous opportunists. I’d had enough heartbreak, learned the hard way how untrustworthy most women were. At the slightest hint that my generosity might be drying up, their interest and “love” waned. I didn’t need that in my life.
Our business over eighteen holes went well. We scored the account for Crave. Despite being cocky, Peter really could charm anyone into anything. I possessed the numbers knowledge and business savvy to tip the scales, and together we landed the account.
I made a quick apology to Peter for being an asshole, and he had the audacity not notice that I wasn’t being as unpleasant as usual. I truly loved and hated the man.
Upon returning to the office, energized and no longer affronted, I checked in with Adam, my assistant, one last time before heading out for the evening. “I’m waiting for Pascal Richardson to call from England tonight, so phone me when he calls, it’s very important.”
Adam searched his files for the account, which was annoying as he should have known all of our potential clients and always have their information readily available.
I gritted my teeth. “He’s the vacation homes guy for Europe, and we’ve got competition for his bid, so we can’t fumble this.” I knew I sounded like an ass, but if I missed the call, I’d have a hard time getting in Richardson’s face again.
“Of course, Mr. Wellington.” Adam stared at his computer screen, having found Richardson’s profile.
I liked precision and efficiency but knew my interactions with people were viewed as cold at times. Adam’s stiff and robotlike response was a great indication that my people skills were not one of my greatest assets.
“I’ll be at Jewel, so be discreet,” I added with a note of warning.
“Absolutely, Mr. Wellington. I’ll call you as soon as I hear from him.”
Again, I was running late, so I grabbed my jacket and rushed out to meet Duk Soo at Jewel. He was one of my biggest clients, and I’d received a text alerting me that he’d just landed and was en route to the club. He loved Jewel and was like a kid in a candy store. It was embarrassing at times. As a matter of fact, it was the first time I would make it for the opening act, thanks to his exuberance.
When I arrived just behind the driver I’d hired to pick up my client, it was pouring rain. Still, Mr. Soo greeted me with an excited bow, obviously looking forward to the evening ahead. The valet produced two umbrellas with the Jewel logo and shepherded us inside.
We were met by a woman wearing a gown sheer enough to glimpse her nipples underneath. She led us to the greeting room, handing us warm, wet towels for our faces that smelled of sandalwood.
Soft, soothing music funneled in that was laced with heavy bass. Despite my determination to remain unaffected by the atmosphere, my heart thumped faster. Jewel had truly mastered all elements of seduction.
After toweling off the rain, we were directed to a table in the lounge. A cocktail waitress dressed in a black silk kimono that barely covered the peak of her ass cheeks came to our table to take our drink order.
“Mr. Soo.” She bowed her head graciously. “It’s always a pleasure to see you.” She gently stroked his shoulder and let her fingers linger softly on his arm.
“Do you have the new menu?” Duk asked, his eyes as wide as a child’s as he twirled the edge of the black silk napkin between his newly manicured fingers. He wasn’t referring to the “catch of the day” but rather was inquiring about The Book of Delights and whether there were any new Jewels inside.
Each Jewel employee was well schooled in the evening’s client list, and most knew him well enough. He was a frequent visitor.
The waitress bent low enough to give him a good look down her top. “We’ve acquired some new delights since your last visit, and your favorites are ready and waiting to show you more.” Her voice, low and sultry, was like honey.
Trained to arouse every sensation, she bowed her head again and slowly turned from him, displaying her barely covered backside at his eye level. He let his hand brush across it as she sauntered toward the hostess stand.
She lingered for only a moment as the hostess produced a large glossy volume from behind the lacquered mahogany desk. Her every move was perfectly calculated. Taking her time, she moved back to us with gracious movements orchestrated to arouse his need and build the level of suspense. When she fi
nally handed the heavily bound catalog over to him, even I was anxious to see it.
At that moment, my phone rang, the screen lighting up with Adam’s name. Probably my call from Pascal being forwarded. I looked over to Duk, who was engrossed in the glossy pages of the book.
“Excuse me.” Duk gave me a half nod without looking up, and I stepped away to take the call.
CHAPTER THREE
Adara
There was an ominous crack of thunder as I exited my dressing room. I hated storms. Goose bumps rose up on my arms and legs as the energy in the air from the storm pressed down on me. I took an umbrella from an assistant waiting by the front door to my building with shaking hands.
“Watch out for the walkways, they’re really slick,” she said with a note of real concern in her voice.
I nodded, unable to say anything because flashes of another night and another storm were filling my head. My hand clutched the umbrella as if it could help me cling to my sanity.
Outside, I walked as quickly as I could in the rain, but I still had plenty of time to get to the theater. Brandy usually wanted us in the main building ten minutes before curtain. It wasn’t a far walk, two minutes maybe, even at my slow pace.
The Jewel compound had an odd but remarkably efficient lay out. Everything was designed for illusion and discretion. The dressing rooms weren’t connected to the theater as they were in most traditional venues but had their own building nearby. This way, the girls could enter in full costume and never be caught in their everyday clothes. The owner was very particular that the illusion of Jewel appeared as real as possible. All of it was designed for the gentleman’s pleasure.
As soon as a man entered the property, the “show” began and didn’t truly end until he drove out of the gates. The structure of each night’s performance was the same with some variations nightly.
Each night, different women were presented in The Book of Delights. Food was handcrafted by chefs and tailored to each man’s personal preferences. Rooms were staged for whatever specialty they housed. By day, a staff of people cleaned and set up props in preparation for the night. Designers tailored the rooms for their nightly specialties by changing out linens, providing toys, contraception, lotions, candles, and lighting.
After the opening numbers — of which mine was the first — there were usually acrobats, singers, dancers, and illusionists, then the Procession of Delights. A catwalk-style parade of the women on offer that evening. A man would place an offer with a hostess and raise it until the hostess awarded him his choice. It wasn’t the same as an auction. The women for sale had the ultimate decision and since it was reservation only, the club prepared their “menu” to each man’s preferences. Hostesses could maneuver attention to available women, avoiding a bidding war.
When the women were selected for the evening, the Jewels would greet their clients in the audience and take them backstage. The rooms behind the stage were specialized for the variety of amusements the men sought. There, they began their evening.
If a Jewel’s client wanted more than what was on offer, they were taken to the bungalows on campus and the night would continue in one of the luxury suites.
The walk to the stage usually didn’t bother me. I liked being outside. Since everything within Jewel was designed for ocular pleasure, being outside felt like freedom. At times, the heavy brocades and thick, musky aroma that clung to them was too heady a mix. Fresh air reminded me that I wasn’t one of them, and never would be. I could gaze out from Jewel’s perch in the middle of the Bitterroot Mountain range and let the view of the jagged mountains in the distance soothe my anguished soul.
Tonight though, I cursed the rain.
I wore a long black velvet hooded robe that concealed my costume and kept me shrouded in mystery. All of the entertainers and Jewels wore the same capes to conceal themselves when they weren’t in the theater. Just as I neared the stage door, a lightning bolt cracked across the sky.
I screamed, and my hand flew to my chest, terror gripping me so intensely that I lost my footing. Tripping over my cane, I fell forward with my hands out, bracing for the immense pain a fall would cause me.
Rather than splaying out on the rock-hard concrete, I was caught by something warm and solid. Fingers on my arms. The smell of sandalwood and man. Warm breath on my face. My mind swirled with each sensation.
Another crack of thunder, and I was transported to a stage far from here…
An outdoor stage.
Dark, menacing clouds churned overhead.
Nate and I knew the storm was getting worse, but the festival hadn’t been evacuated. While I’d wanted to cancel, Nate insisted we go on with our show. Diehard festival goers would stand through anything, and we didn’t want to disappoint our fans.
Just after our first song, a police officer standing in the wings waved his hands madly, giving us the “stop” sign.
Nate and I looked at one another. We didn’t need words sometimes, we were so connected that we could read each other’s body language, and we’d been rained out before.
Nate grabbed the mic. “Heya, Montana!” The crowd cheered. “There’s quite a storm brewin’ out there, so we’ve been asked to have everyone evacuate the venue. Please take your time and don’t crowd. We promise we’ll give y’all the concert of a lifetime to make up for this mess, but right now everyone needs to get to safety. Adara and I are gonna stay up here and keep singing, but we want y’all to git!”
The crowd, however, didn’t agree and booed loudly, then started to chant our names.
Nate looked longingly at the microphone, but finally set it in the stand, just as a blinding strike a lightning hit the stage. Before I had time to scream, sparks flew everywhere, and the air filled with the acrid smell of burnt wood and steel as the boom of thunder filled the entire universe around me.
It all happened so fast.
The gale-force wind, the sheets of rain, the loud sound of splitting steel.
Then everything went black.
“I’ve got you. You’re okay now.” A man’s soothing voice came to me as if he’d spoken from miles away. “I’ll take care of you.” He was closer now. Closer. So close I could feel his hand on mine.
My eyes tried to adjust to the darkness. I couldn’t catch my breath, couldn’t see in the dark. My hand touched the flat coolness of a wall. I could smell musk and lavender. I was in the theater, in one of the halls.
“You took quite a fall out there. We were getting all wet so… are you okay?” My eyes searched to find the man who possessed the deep, soothing voice.
I was still disoriented, my chest feeling like it had been split in two and my heart wrenched out. “Yeah, I-I’m…” I wasn’t sure how to finish.
“Can I get you some water or something?” the dark-haired man asked as he moved closer and a door down the hall opened, casting a pale light on his face. A face with a strong jaw and coppery brown eyes that were inspecting every inch of me with concern.
It was the most gorgeous face I’d ever seen, and it yanked me back from the nightmare storm two years ago and into reality. Back to Jewel. Back to my current life.
“Oh god, I’m sorry.” I gazed at him for a moment, horrified speechless. He had to be a client, and I didn’t know what I’d uttered in the time he’d brought me inside. Had he carried me? My stomach plummeted. “I must’ve tripped.”
He handed me my cane. “I think you dropped this.”
“Thank you.” I took the cane, letting my gaze linger on him, as I couldn’t pry my eyes away from his. As I grew accustomed to the dim light, I could see that his eyes were the deep mahogany color of the earth just before the sun rose and lit it with its rays. I thought he must have felt the same incredible magnetism because he took my hand and held it between his.
“You’re welcome,” he said, his voice drawing me in further.
No. No-no-no. Walk away. He’s a john.
“Thank you for catching my fall. I’ve got to go.” Quickly, before I
could change my mind, I turned away from him and walked down the hallway toward the stage, trying with extreme effort not to hobble or lean too heavily on my cane.
“Wait!” His hand grabbed my arm through the cape. His grip was strong, and by his tone I could tell he was used to getting what he wanted. “Where are you going?” He seemed frantic, but quickly composed himself. “Can I see you again? Are you in that book?”
I shook my head, pulled free and continued walking as quickly as my disability would allow toward backstage. When I got there, I threw off my wet cape, feeling sore but grateful the gorgeous stranger had caught me. I closed my eyes and focused on taking one breath in and letting it out.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
“Where’ve you been? You’ve three minutes till curtain!” Brandy whisper-screamed as she catapulted toward me.
She looked ridiculous and the utter absurdity of my impending act, blended with the storm and the man, hit me like a brick, and a bark of sob slash laughter leaped out of my throat.
“You want to tell me what’s so funny?” Her lips curled into a scowl.
I looked at her, longing for her true friendship, one where I could confide in her and not have it turned around on me. I needed her to be my family, not my pimp.
The odd tickling feeling I often got before entering the stage danced across my back and settled in my stomach. It wasn’t stage fright. I’d conquered that years ago. It was the fear of facing them. The men. This was a crowd of men who’d only see me as one thing, a prelude to sex. I was to arouse them, get them all hot and bothered so they would pick a Jewel tonight.
My job was to get them hard. Sweaty and ready to spend their money. The room was already electrified with anticipation.
“I don’t want to do this. I can’t do this again,” I confessed, not wanting to face my reality. The men out there were waiting for me, and I needed to be so beguiling that I inspired them to cheat on their wives and girlfriends in order to have a night with a dream.
He was out there… waiting, just like the rest. He probably had a beautiful wife and children at home.