Double Rolled: An MMF Bisexual Romance

by Aly White

  “Maybe I have! Your eyes, they’re intriguing. It almost feels like you can see my soul.”

  “Indeed I can.” I respond, “so are you going to introduce yourself?”

  “Ah, yes, of course. My name is Caleb Woods. I happen to own the place.”

  “I can tell, Caleb.” I place my elbows on the table, “and judging from the private setting, I suspect you liked my performance.”

  “Indeed I have,” he takes another sip, “it’s a shame Miguel didn’t tell me about you…ummmm…Maxene, was it?”

  “For you, it’s Max,” I say with a smile, “It’s interesting, this little getting to know session we’re having. I like understanding what kind of person my boss is like.”

  “Is it? So what kind of person am I, so far?”

  “I like how you didn’t dodge when I claimed you as my boss.” I explain, “Well, to answer your question, you’re very nice. It’s also very obvious how you treat your crew, you’re a benevolent leader. Something I don’t need, I admit, but you do what you do, and you keep people in-line smoothly without having to raise your voice. I can’t say I don’t admire you.”

  Caleb grins, “You seem familiar.”

  “Am I?” I giggle, “you seem familiar too. Have we met somewhere?”

  “I don’t know, but I will tell you this. I love having this conversation with you, but as you can see, I’m terribly busy. So I’m gonna have to leave you hanging, but tonight, I do require your presence.”

  “And where would I go to?”

  “The Cha’teu restaurant just by the corner of this building. I’ll book a reservation for two, so we can eat, drink, and be merry, as we discuss your contract.”

  My heart starts to race. An actual contract from a real music producer, something I can only dream of. The excitement starts to flush my cheek red.

  “I’m not going to disappoint you,” I say confidently, trying to hide the bursting of my emotions. I can almost hug him, but I don’t want him to see my tears.

  “Great! What do you like to eat, by the way? Any specific requests for the restaurant?”

  I shrug, and shake my head, “As long as you’re serving that contract on a silver platter, I’m pretty much set for whatever you want to eat.”

  “It’s settled, then. A giant bowl of goulash.”

  Maxene

  My ritualistic makeover always takes some time. I like making sure that I’m the baddest bitch in the room, dark lipstick, sharp edges to my cheekbones, and smokey eyes. It always struck a man whenever I’d wear something that revealed my shoulders. After that, I walk straight to my room to put on the best set of heels I have.

  As I am grooming my hair with a comb and my dryer, my phone rings. I look at my vanity mirror as soon as my sister yells congratulations to my ear.

  “Calm down,” I say, trying to mask my own excitement too, “you’re going to make my ears bleed.”

  “Well, it’s not every day you get a Whitney Houston in the family.”

  “Well, what can I say?”

  “Maybe a thank you for being congratulated.”

  “Fine. Thank you…I never thought I’d say that un-ironically.”

  “Too late to take it back.” My sister retorts. “I’m happy for you. I hope you find what you’re looking for here.”

  “Me too. Me too…Anyway, I have to meet my music producers. Wish me luck.”

  “I just did.”

  “Then I hope it’s enough,” I tell her as I disconnect the call.

  I really hope it’s enough.

  Mr. Woods sent a limousine to come and pick me up. The driver is courteous, and in a matter of minutes, we arrive in front of the Cha’teu. It’s a one-story building, an old baroque looking restaurant with a miniature version of tall pillars.

  I greet the waiter and ask him if Mr. Woods is in. He smiles at me brightly, as any customer service representative pretends to do, and escorts me directly to a booth beside a fountain inspired by Aphrodite coming out of the seashell.

  Only it is a smaller version, no bigger than the table I’m in front of. Brown couches circularly surrounded the table. Mr. Woods is still deciding what to eat as soon as I sit down. I didn’t even wait for the waiter to announce my presence, but he probably feels my presence. Mr. Woods puts the menu down and then smiles at me.

  “There you are!” Caleb Woods takes my hand and shakes it. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you.”

  “I can tell. No goulash?”

  “Oh, fuck, don’t remind me.” Caleb replies, “I’m trying to look for something as savory.”

  “Maybe try the pork stew,” I suggest.

  “No, I don’t like pork. Ah, well, I’m usually picky, so you pick first.” He explains, handing me the menu.

  “Okay, I’ll have some steak. Medium rare. Soft interior, hard exterior. My type of meal.”

  “Sounds good.” Caleb says, “From what I can tell, you’re a little hungry.”

  “Am I?” I grin, “Yes, I probably am. Food always has a way of seducing me. Especially my mother’s cooking. Ah, you’d love her cooking.”

  “Mmmmm, tell me more.”

  “I would, but I’d also avoid torturing my boss while he’s writhing in hunger.”

  He grins, “I’ll have some lasagna, please. Be generous with the cheese. Otherwise, I’d go insane.”

  “One medium rare steak, and one lasagna, extra cheese. How about drinks sir?” The waiter asks, jotting down the orders.

  “Your finest bottle of red,”

  “I prefer sparkles,” I say with my brow raised.

  “Okay, then. One bottle of your finest red, and one glass of bubbly stars for the lady. And I want to have some cheese with that order.”

  “I’ll have it ready for you as soon as possible.” He bows and leaves us with the orders we’ve given him.

  “So!” Caleb exclaims, “Let’s talk branding. I’d imagine you’re the Beyonce type, but of course, before I impose what I want from you, I’d like to ask what kind of star are you?”

  “My family always wanted me to be the Whitney Houston type. The classy middle-aged singer whose songs are in the most popular romantic movies.”

  Caleb wags his finger, “But, romantic movies don’t sell like they used to. Not any more, sadly. You have to have a certain image to get into the industry. The Lana Del Reys and the Mandy Moores disappear into the background when you have someone like Rihanna or Lady Gaga.

  “I mean, even Taylor Swift changed her image from the sweet country girl to the Queen Bitch of the Industry, though it is working terribly against her. Well, that’s my personal take on her.”

  “Ah, Mr. Woods, I did say that—”

  “It’s Caleb, Mr. Woods was my father.”

  “Well, Caleb,” I say, folding my hands together. “I did say that’s what my family wants. I was looking to be more like the Katy Perry type. A little sexual, appeasing to the eyes—“

  “Which you are.” Caleb retorts.

  The wine arrives at our tables via a cart, they disappear as fast as they appear. Caleb looks enthused to see the drinks and quickly opens the bottle to pour one for himself. He sniffs the wine, sips, swirls it in his mouth, and then swallows.

  “That’s liquor, not mouthwash. I do hope you know the difference.” I joke, with a smirk.

  “Is it?” He shrugs. “It’s how my father taught me how to drink wine.”

  “Oh, your father taught you debauchery at an early age? I pity you.”

  “Don’t. I never was quite the drinker, he would often tell me.” Caleb says, “So, about—“

  We are interrupted by a man who slides into the couches and sits beside us nonchalantly. He picks up the menu and starts to look for a meal. Caleb faux-coughs at his presence. The blond-haired man looked at him and raises his eyebrows.

  “What did you order?” He asks.

  “I’ll do you one better. What the hell are you doing here?” Caleb asks. He doesn’t sound infuriated, more of surprised real
ly.

  “I came to visit you at work,” he pushes his platinum hair backward when one of the strands got loose. He is wearing a black overcoat, on top of a gray button down and pale brown pants. “I see you have a new star. What’s your name?”

  “Maxene. Call me Max. You must be his butler.”

  He laughs, “Oh definitely. I love this girl,” He looks at Caleb, nudging him. Caleb doesn’t look too amused. “You have a sharp tongue.”

  “So they say. What about you?”

  “My name is Tristan. Caleb’s butler.”

  “Well, I’m not paying you to ‘surprise-visit’ me. I mean, what are you, my boyfriend?” Caleb says, rolling his eyes.

  Tristan merely laughs at the remark.

  But it does feel like that. It seems like they are both entranced with each other. The way Caleb looks at him is like a very annoyed soccer mom, and the way Tristan flirts with his green eyes strongly suggests these two are dating.

  But there is something familiar about him. I can feel…oh dear god. I think I remember back when I was I dominatrix, which is not a hooker, I met these two. My thoughts start to cave in on me, but I remain calm.

  “So, how long have you two been dating?” I ask, just to make sure.

  “I hired him back when I was in college, isn’t that right, Butler? Though he is useless, seeing as I’m always the one looking after him. Maybe you should pay me.”

  Tristan pecks his lips. “Oh come on, don’t be such a grouch.”

  “How can I not be when you’re always interrupting my meetings?”

  “Well, pretend I’m not here,” he picks up the menu again and starts reading.

  “Well…okay, back to branding,” Caleb says, trying to sort the confusion in our table, “We could work on that. I’ve always liked Katy Perry, and we do have a set for your psychedelic music videos. Would you be writing your own songs, or do you want someone to write them for you—“

  “Waiter!” Tristan yells, snapping his fingers in the air.

  Caleb rolls his eyes so far up his skull, I swear he could be staring at his brain. He folds his arms and looks at his other half, shaking his head at Tristan’s direction.

  “What? I’m hungry.” He grins.

  “So am I…now, back to what I was saying…” His voice disappears as soon as I reminisced.

  His eyes, they remind me of someone. He even looks like him and talks like him. Could it be? No. It couldn’t.

  I must be having delusions, a little too excited at the prospect of becoming a singer. I don’t even care for the waiter when he goes over our table to take Tristan’s order.

  “I’m sorry, dear, but I think Tristan is being a pest.”

  “No, I’m not. I think she’s just a little disoriented.”

  “How can you tell?” I ask.

  “Well, you’ve met us. So I think—“

  “Tristan, dear god, not here.”

  “What? I figured she already knows. I mean the way she looks at us strongly suggests that.”

  “But still, it’s rude to point that out during a meeting. We could have talked about it after.” Caleb says, “She might feel uncomfortable.”

  “She already is,” Tristan responds, “the moment I walked in here.”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask, my voice started to shrink.

  “Oh don’t act surprised. It must have been one of your fondest memories.”

  “What? The only thing I know is you’re the pretty boy who sat with us just now.”

  “No, that’s wrong, Penthouse…Summer of ’15 if memory serves right,” Tristan replies.

  I started to feel woozy. It’s probably the wine. I want to blame the wine and forget that my boss was the guy I shagged back in ’15...but I have no time to tell him off as soon as I collapse to the floor.

  Tristan

  My boyfriend’s obsessive pacing is distracting, to say the least. For the last thirty minutes, he’s done nothing but walk around, while holding his wireless landline phone. Caleb made sure to rearrange everything before he left for earlier, but I always had a way of messing things up, like the askew couch for instance—which wasn’t askew before my glorious ass sat on it.

  I sip from my whiskey. There are no rocks on this fucking thing, just the solid taste of liquor knocking me to the moon and back. I wipe some excess off my chin.

  I analyze the tragedy that is Maxene Flores, who’s now sprawled on the leather couch across him. Leather kind of suited her in this situation. Caleb starts to bite his nails, as he looks at me.

  “Maybe a seat, hon. Might cool you down for a bit.” I offer.

  “Fuck you,” Caleb retorts rather coldly, “I don’t know even know what kind of situation I’m in. You made my client faint. Oh god, what do I tell her when she wakes up?”

  “I don’t know, maybe—”

  “What, genius? Take her to the hospital? I’ve thought of that right before we hauled her ass up here.”

  “So you’ve told me during the elevator ride. But then again, she’s alright, just a little shocked is all. Let her rest.”

  “So what do you want me to do?” Caleb asks sharply.

  “First, take that nice little ass of yours, and sit it beside me. Might ease off the tension.”

  Caleb’s response is to cross his arms and look at me like I just committed a felony. I guess as much that Caleb didn’t like it when I blow shit out of proportion. However, this isn’t out of proportion, merely a minor inconvenience of sorts.

  I raise my eyebrows at him, a natural response for the skeptic. Though it’s true that we should have taken her someplace else, I didn’t see the necessity for a hospital. But if we are in a different setting, say we’re in a penthouse, and we were blowing some joint, I might have considered a hospital.

  “Alright, suit yourself,” I tell him. “But I’m telling you, she’s alright. She just needs to rest. A lot to process after all.”

  “You’re fucking impossible.”

  “Goddamn right,” I sip until I drain my glass.

  I follow it up with another refill on my glass. And then another gulp. She has gotten more beautiful, fiercer.

  I look at her, trying to study her features. It is almost like staring into the sun. She is beautiful in more ways than one, but she is untouchable. And even if you do manage to orbit right into space, no one can ever land in the sun. Her wavy hair falls languidly from the side of the couch.

  And then she starts to stir. Caleb stops his frantic pacing and stares at her as she slowly pushes herself to sit. She looks at us with furrowed eyebrows, confused at the sight of my boyfriend.

  Caleb immediately puts the phone down and sits beside her. He places his arm on her shoulder and tells her she is going to be alright. But she immediately grabs his neck and pins him to the armrest.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa! It’s me. Caleb! It’s me!” Caleb says, waving his arms like a puppy.

  I laugh. What else was there to say?

  “You asshole!” Caleb points at me as he tries pulling Max’s hand off with his other hand.

  “Where am I?” Max asks.

  “Ah, she speaks.” I finally say. “From the looks of it, I take it you’re about to kill him. But I would suggest not to kill the only person who was concerned for your wellbeing.”

  “What the fuck do you mean?” Max asks, her arm still resting on his neck.

  “What I mean is…honey would you, let him go, please? Thank you.” I respond. “I might get the blame for not saving his ass.”

  Max slowly lets his neck go. Her eyes wander from the vaulted ceiling to the wide-open windows. She looks at the bar inside the pantry, and the spiral staircase just at the corner of the room. Familiarity was starting to coerce her animalistic nature, so she seizes it by resting her back on the other side of the couch.

  “Where am I?” Max finally asks.

  “Okay, so we were dining in a restaurant. And then he appeared and started being an ass. And then you fainted upon revelation.” C
aleb tells her, rubbing his neck. “So—hey, can you make yourself useful and get some water?” he turns to me.

  “I could get some water. Only if you kiss me.” I say, grinning.

  “Yeah, kiss my ass, Adam Lambert. Get her the fucking water.”

  I shrug and head over to the pantry to grab her some water. She looks like she is on the worse night of her life, but I can profusely say that this is indeed the best night of her life. I take the glass and give it to her gingerly.

  “Okay, so that my boyfriend would calm down, let me ask: What’s your method of diplomacy, words or a belt?”

  Caleb is about to react, but Max beat him to the punch. “That depends on how naughty you’ve been.”

  I chuckle. “See, Caleb? She has a sense of humor.”

  Caleb shoots me a look of seething hate. At this point, he’d love to see me get choked by her.

  She drinks the water deeply, gulping in extreme takes, before finger-tapping the glass in a way to distract herself from our expectant eyes. Though I do expect more quipping, while Caleb would expect her to calm down.

  “You know what? I’ve been thinking of an appropriate reaction to this. Nothing’s coming to mind.” Max says, “Can I have another glass?”

  “Well, none of us do,” Caleb replies.

  I take the glass from her hand, “Well I do. Welcome back to the penthouse.”

  Maxene

  “When you’re going to faint again, do us all a favor and warn us,” Tristan says, grinning as he hands me another glass of water. This is the fifth one, and my thirst hasn’t been quenched, not after all that processing.

  I can’t fucking believe it. Caleb takes the initiative of showing me to my room, the same fucking room we fucked in. I wonder if there are cum stains on the bed, but I didn’t want to ask him.

  God, even the stupidest of things dawns on me. Of course, there wouldn’t be, that was fucking two years ago.

  “Oh okay, but do you accept non-auditory signals like my head crashing on the floorboard?” I say sharply.

  “That works, but I prefer something along the lines of red. Or blue. Or green. Oh, fuck no, green means go.” Tristan says.