She again faked sexual ecstasy and, knowing only he could hear, said, “Get lost, Shithead."
He stood quickly, anguish showing on his face. She gave the signal as she stroked her breasts and the bouncers quickly escorted the man from the stage.
“You promised!” he shouted.
She ignored him, accepted the stage prop filter tipped cigarette from a bouncer, squatted, inserted the cigarette between her vaginal lips and, with knees obscenely parted, sidestepped one final time around the stage as a spotlight followed, focused on the area between her widely spread thighs. The audience knew this was the grande finale and, as one, stood and applauded her performance.
She showered and saw one of the bouncers sitting in her dressing room when she emerged, dripping wet. As usual, he was holding a towel, and she waited for him to approach and dry her off.
“Old number one two one three didn't seem very interested in your delicious body, tonight,” he commented as he kneaded her breasts with towel wrapped hands.
She nodded. His touch was always so sensual. “Stage fright,” she said.
“Maybe.” He knelt and applied the towel to her most private area. “What was it you promised him?"
“The bastard wanted a date after the show."
“He's probably lurking outside,” he said as he stood and lowered his pants.
“Probably,” she agreed, watching him step out of his boxers.
“I'll take care of it,” he said, “but it'll cost you."
She smiled as she removed a foil package from her purse. “I know."
He sat in a straight-backed chair and she rolled on the condom. She straddled him and impaled herself. He's so tiny I'm never sure he's inside me, she thought as she ground her hips against the muscular giant. She used her stage moan when he sucked her left nipple because she knew he liked the illusion he was giving her pleasure. He grunted.
“Twenty seconds,” she grinned. “I think that's a record."
“Fuck you,” he laughed as he pulled off the condom and tossed it into the trashcan.
He watched her dress while pulling on his shorts and pants. “I'll check the alley. Give me a couple of minutes."
She relaxed at the dressing table and examined her reflection in the mirror. It's my big boobs, wide hips and tiny waist that turns them on, she thought. It's certainly not my face. She chuckled as she looked at her shoulder length auburn hair, gray-green eyes, trimmed but bushy eyebrows, high cheekbones and long, slender nose. She grinned at her reflection. My best facial feature, she observed as she studied her pouting lips.
A knock at the dressing room door brought her back to reality. “Tiny says the coast is clear."
“Thanks, Bud,” she called through the closed door.
Shelly Brooks saw Tiny's shadowy hulk as she slipped into the alley. “Did you have to work him over?” she asked.
“Naw. There's no sign of him. I guess he gave up."
She kissed the bodyguard lightly and slipped beneath the steering wheel of her red Escort, not certain whether she was relieved or disappointed. She eased out of the alley, made a left turn and headed for her small apartment.
She was always amazed at the amount of traffic in downtown Charlotte, even during the wee hours of the morning, and fought it for three miles until she gratefully came to her exit, turned off Independence Boulevard and automatically weaved her way through the twists and turns of her residential area. Her thighs ached and her eyelids drooped as she turned into the parking lot beside her apartment building.
Suddenly she was wide-awake and her heart thumped against her ribcage as she saw, in the rearview mirror, headlights following her into the deserted lot. She parked beneath the closest mercury vapor lamp, opened the glove box and grabbed the 9mm pistol.
She checked the rearview mirror. He had parked on the opposite side of the lot and was rapidly approaching her Escort. She threw open the door, leaped to the pavement and, holding the weapon with both hands, aimed directly at him.
“Whoa!” he said as he stopped and raised his hands. “For God's sake, don't shoot. You owe me breakfast."
She lowered the pistol, still holding it with both trembling hands.
He slowly resumed his approach. “I believe you would have shot me,” he said, smiling faintly.
“In a heartbeat, Scumbag. Get lost."
“Delilah, think a minute. When was the last time you had a customer on stage who treated you with respect?"
“You weren't supposed to treat me with respect,” she hissed. “It's a damn sex show. You were supposed to be hot for my body."
“I'm hot for more than your body,” he said. “Do you remember the old song, Some Enchanted Evening where strangers’ eyes meet across a crowded room and somehow they know they're meant for each other?"
“What do you want from me?"
“Pancakes and conversation."
“I don't know how to make pancakes."
“Scrambles eggs?"
“I'm tired."
“Ten minutes of conversation?"
“Go away."
“Delilah, please."
She relented. Reaching into the Escort, she replaced the pistol, picked up her purse, locked the car and said, “My name is Shelly Brooks."
He followed two steps behind her as she hurried into the building and to the last apartment on the right of the hallway. She inserted a key in the lock, softly tapped three times on the door, paused and tapped three more times. She opened the door to the scowling face of the elderly babysitter.
“You're late again."
“I'm sorry, Mrs. Jordan. The show ran late."
The blue-haired lady glanced at Shelly's companion. “I warned you about bringing your work home with you."
“I've told you before,” Shelly said as she closed the door, “I'm not a streetwalker. I'm an exotic dancer. This is not a customer. He's just my friend, uh..."
“Sam Pond,” Sam said, extending his hand to the wary widow.
“Sam,” Shelly said, “this is Beatrice Jordan, my neighbor and babysitter."
“Pleased to meet you, ma'am."
Beatrice eyed the couple suspiciously, then concentrated on Shelly. “I think Annie may be coming down with the sniffles. I gave her a baby aspirin and she seems to be sleeping peacefully."
“I hope she didn't give you any trouble."
Beatrice shook her head. “She's a little angel. She deserves better than you. Shelly, I'm giving you notice. I'm too old to stay up all hours of the night, not knowing whether or when you will come home."
Shelly watched the elderly lady shoulder her huge purse. “Two weeks?"
“And not a day longer."
Shelly opened the door. “Thank you, Mrs. Jordan. I'll begin looking for someone immediately."
Sam cocked his head to one side as Shelly closed the door. “You don't seem very concerned."
Shelly smiled. “She gives me her notice at least once a week. She doesn't mean it. She needs the money."
“May I see Annie?"
“Don't wake her."
Shelly led the way to the little girl's bedroom. The mercury vapor lamp in the parking lot revealed the two-year-old's golden curls.
“She ... she's beautiful,” Sam whispered.
“She's a pain in the ass,” Shelly replied as she retraced her steps to the living room. “I have no pancakes and I'm not cooking eggs at this hour. A beer will have to do."
Sam followed her to the kitchen. “You can't mean that,” he said as he sat at the kitchen table.
She pulled two Budweiser's from the refrigerator. “Mean what?"
“What you said about your daughter."
“I meant every word of it,” she replied, placing his beer on the table.
He twisted the cap on the brown bottle. “Who's the father?"
“You think I don't know who knocked me up?” Her eyes were blazing.
“I didn't mean it that way. It's just that ... if you didn't want her you could have opted
for an abortion."
“Yeah,” she said wistfully as she sat in a chair opposite him. “Her dad is my on-again, off-again boyfriend. He's off right now."
Sam read the pain in her eyes.
“I wanted to have an abortion, but he wanted to keep the brat. He said he'd marry me. Of course, he changed his mind after it was too late."
“Does he come to see her—help support her?"
She laughed sarcastically. “He works as a deejay in a local club. He doesn't make enough to feed himself, let alone his daughter. He had a good job once as a computer systems manager, but sticky fingers caught up with him."
“Sticky fingers?"
She smiled. “He liked to bring his work home with him—including company owned computers. They couldn't prove he was the thief, but they found a way to get rid of him anyway."
“Is the Macintosh in the living room one of his, uh, acquisitions?'
She nodded. “We still communicate occasionally by email."
“But he never visits Annie?"
“Oh, he comes around sometimes, but not to see Annie. He drops by when he can't find a piece of pussy somewhere else or needs a handout."
“Did you love him?"
“Bullshit. There's no such thing as love.” She paused and dropped her eyes. “Yes, damn it all. I loved the son-of-a-bitch. Still do."
He glanced at his watch. “My ten minutes are about gone. Shelly, will you marry me?"
She chuckled. “You're a damn fruitcake."
“Maybe. I'm twenty-four years old—a mechanic at a Charlotte trucking company. I make good money. I have a nice little house in Dot on Lumbermill Road. I've never been married but I'm ready to change that. I don't think I'm bad looking. I'll be a good father to Annie and you'll never have to work in a strip joint again."
“You ashamed of my vocation?” she hissed. “Do you have any idea of how much money I make?"
He shook his head. “I don't know and I don't care."
“A thousand bucks a night,” she said, ignoring his comment. “That's six thousand a week—over three hundred grand a year. Can you match that?"
“If the money is that important to you I'll look after Annie while you're working. I'll look after the house too, and I'm a great cook."
“Having a working stripper for a wife doesn't bother you?"
He emptied the bottle and replied, “Yeah. It does. But I'll do anything to make you my wife. You'll love Dot and the house. It sits on nearly an acre of wooded land, but there's plenty of room for flower gardens."
She chuckled. “You're too much. Can you imagine me on my knees planting flowers?"
He smiled and nodded. “Yes, I can—wearing skimpy cutoffs and a tight fitting halter top while Annie digs in a sandbox or plays in a swing set."
She stood and tossed both empty bottles in the recycling bin. “Your ten minutes are up."
His shoulders slumped as he slowly stood. “You're right,” he said and reluctantly moved towards the front door.
“You give up too easily."
He placed his hand on the doorknob and did not turn around. “I knew someone as beautiful as you would never be interested in me. I gave it a shot. I'm sorry I wasted your time."
“You really are a fruitcake. You didn't even ask for my phone number."
“What's the use?” he asked as he opened the door. “Thanks for the ten minutes."
She spun him around, grabbed his shirt, pulled him close as her hands traveled over his hard chest to his neck, up his cheeks, and nestled in his thick dark hair. She pulled his head down and pressed her lips to his, exploring the deep recesses of his mouth with her experienced tongue.
“I would never consider marrying a guy who can't satisfy me in bed,” she said huskily. “Want to spend the night?"
Chapter Two
Sam sat up and yawned as he stretched. Something didn't seem right. He wasn't wearing pajamas and the bed was unfamiliar. He smiled when he remembered and reached for his watch on the bedside table. “Damn!” he said when he realized it was nine in the morning. Calm down, Sam, he cautioned himself. You're not late for work. It's Sunday.
He pulled on his shorts, padded to the bathroom and relieved himself noisily as he listened to the sounds of Annie's voice coming from elsewhere in the apartment. He studied his growth of beard in the mirror over the sink and ran his hand over the stubble. You'll scare the kid to death.
He dampened his hair and used Shelly's comb on it, lathered his face with a bar of Palmolive soap and shaved, using Shelly's dull razor. Remembering where she used it, in addition to her legs and underarms, caused a bit of swelling between his thighs.
Sam dressed quickly and found Shelly and Annie in the kitchen.
“How do you like it?” Shelly asked as she poured a mug of coffee.
“Hot,” he replied, taking the steaming mug from her hands.
The golden-haired tot studied him seriously as she sat in her high chair, playing with a bowl of cereal. “Are you another one of mommy's friends?” she asked.
Sam tried to ignore the implication of the child's question and stuck out his hand. “Your friend too, I hope. I'm Sam."
The tyke grabbed his index finger and shook it with all her might. “I'm Annie."
“I know, but I'm going to call you Goldilocks. You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen."
“Prettier than my mommy?"
Kid asks tough questions. “You may be when you grow up."
Shelly laughed. “I wondered how you would get out of that one."
“I slept with you last night,” Annie giggled.
Sam looked at Shelly who shrugged her shoulders. “Sometime she wakes up before I do and crawls into bed with me."
“You snore,” Annie continued.
“Do not."
“Do too."
“Don't you like your cereal?” Sam asked, changing the subject.
“She's always been a finicky eater,” Shelly explained.
Sam eyes the box on the table. “Rice Krispies are my favorite. I like to hear them snap, crackle and pop."
“Me too, but they don't taste good."
“Then you won't mind if I eat them,” he said as he took the spoon from her willing hand.
“Ugh, you're right,” he said after he managed to swallow a bite. He glared at Shelly. “The milk is sour. Don't you smell it before serving it to your kid?"
She again shrugged her shoulders. “It should be okay. I just bought it a few days ago."
“Like hell you did."
“Don't get your bowels in an uproar. There's a fast food place around the corner. I'll go for fresh milk while you give the kid her morning bath."
“You're out of you happy mind,” he barked. “I'll get the milk. You bathe Annie."
“Hey, what happened to the guy who said he loved kids?"
“Haven't you heard of child abuse?” His voice was louder than he intended. “In case you haven't noticed, I'm an adult male and Annie is a very attractive female child."
“You planning on doing nasty things to her?"
“No, but it just isn't right."
“Then you go get the milk, child molester. I'll bathe her."
“Mommy, don't fuss at Uncle Sam. I like him."
“I'll be back in a few minutes, Goldilocks,” Sam said as he smiled at the beautiful child. “I like you too, but I don't snore."
“Do too."
* * * *
“Mommy, I didn't know men can wash dishes,” Annie said as she eyed Sam, standing at the kitchen sink when breakfast was over.
She laughed. “They can, honey, but not many of them do."
“Uncle Sam, will you take me to the park?"
“Honey, Uncle Sam has to go back to his house now,” Shelly said.
“Please, Uncle Sam."
With his eyes, Sam asked if he could stay.
“It's a little neighborhood park a couple of blocks south,” Shelly said, granting her approval.
“Sure, I'll take y
ou to the park, Goldilocks. But would you rather go to the park or go swimming?"
“Mommy, can we get the wading pool out?” Annie asked excitedly.
“No, no, no,” Sam said as he dried and put away the last dish. “I mean go to a real swimming pool."
“Like on TV?"
“Yeah, but it's better ‘cause you can play in it."
“I might drown."
“I won't let anything happen to you. This swimming pool is near my house and it has a kiddy pool with a water slide and everything."
“Where's your house?"
“It's not far. It's in a little town called Dot."
“Can we mommy? Can we, please?"
“I don't know, Annie. We don't want to put Mr., uh..."
“Pond."
“Mr. Pond to any trouble."
“Please, mommy,” Sam said. “I want you both to see my house. Then we'll have lunch in a great little restaurant called the Korner Kafe."
“I thought you said we were going swimming,” Annie pouted.
“We'll spend the whole afternoon swimming, right after we eat lunch."
“Sam,” Shelly said, “I don't think this is a good idea."
“Please, Shelly. I want to show you my place."
“Come on, Uncle Sam,” Annie said as she maneuvered her small body under the tray of the high chair. “Let's go."
Sam scooped the little girl up and swung her high in the air as she squealed her delight. “Goldilocks, I'm not your uncle. How would you like for me to be your daddy?"
The child grew ridged in his hands and her eyes reflected terror. “You're not my daddy. Boyd is."
“Boyd?” Sam asked, turning towards Shelly.
“Boyd Fisher,” Shelly explained. “He and Annie don't get along."
“He's the, uh, friend you told me about last night?"
She nodded.
Sam cradled Annie in his arms. “Then Uncle Sam it is!"
“Yea! Let's go!"
“Sam,” Shelly said. “We'll have to take both cars. I have a baby seat in the back of mine. It's the law."
“We can put it in my car."
“Then you'll have to bring us back."
“My pleasure."
“I haven't worn any of my bathing suits in a year or more. They're all probably too small."
He grinned. “Sounds perfect."
* * * *
Sintown Chronicles II: Through Bedroom Windows Page 53