“Ten dollars, man,” the big dude who collected the entrance fee said.
“Yo, bro, I’m not staying. I just want to speak to Buttercup.” Reed wanted to step around the big man, but dude was blocking his path. While the doorman tried to figure out if Reed’s request was permissible, a grinning Buttercup was already rushing toward Reed.
“Hey, baby,” she said with an excited grin. “Whatchu doin’ here so early?”
“I’m dealing with some issues,” Reed whispered and pulled Buttercup to the side. Out of earshot of the doorman, Reed continued. “Yeah, as I was saying…the black stripe on the back of my debit card got scratched and I can’t get a new card for three days. So I just swung by to see if you could let me hold a couple of dollars.”
Buttercup had already started digging in her purse and pulled out two twenty-dollar bills. “It’s still early and that’s all I made so far. Is it enough?”
Reed was disappointed, but he didn’t show it. He was hoping to get at least sixty dollars. “Yeah, baby. That’s more than enough,” he said with a strained smile. He took the money, gave her a quick kiss on the lips, and promised to come back and pick her up at ten o’clock.
The more he thought about it, the less sense it made to waste his time bullshitting Chris Miller. Until he was actually holding the cashier’s check, he’d just duck the brother as well as all the other members of the club. The hell if he was going to waste his money buying drinks for a room full of dickheads.
Therefore, instead of going to the Hilton, Reed decided to spend his money at Lizzard’s. Yeah, he hadn’t seen Sensation in a while. He knew he didn’t have enough to get with her after work, but he could afford a couple of beers while feasting his eyes on her.
Merely looking at Sensation’s fine, phat ass would get his dick erect with a hardness that would last until Buttercup got off from work. Thinking about Sensation, he’d be able to bone Buttercup for a couple of hours. Then he’d go home feeling good enough to ignore Dayna and her stupid ploy to bully him into submission. Shit, moving out of their bedroom and threatening to get a divorce wasn’t going to keep him locked up in the house with her boring ass.
Reed paid for a Corona. “What time is Sensation going onstage?”
The bartender turned his back to Reed and then turned around quickly, banging a chilled bottle on the counter. “She got canned,” the man said smugly.
“She got what?” Reed felt panicked.
“Canned,” the bartender repeated in a monotone.
“She doesn’t work here anymore?” Reed glanced around anxiously as if expecting Sensation to appear from the shadows.
“I didn’t stutter.”
Reed immediately lost his taste for the weak beer and pushed it away from him. He wanted his money back. He also wanted to bitch slap the bartender for looking so damn pleased at his delivery of such bad news.
“Well, where’s she working now?” Reed asked, distressed. He felt too desperate to try to conceal the urgency in his voice.
“How would I know?” the bartender said, and then turned his attention away from Reed and cracked a smile at a suit-wearing white patron who’d just taken a seat next to Reed. “Fuckin’ faggot,” Reed muttered and then chugged down the Corona. Without giving Reed and his quest to find Sensation another thought, the bartender turned around and became engrossed in mixing a martini for the suit.
Reed glared at the bartender’s back, scooped up his change from the counter, and rose from the barstool. No tip for the obnoxious bartender. Plowing through a sea of smiling faces and humongous bogus tits, Reed stomped toward the exit sign.
He was feeling too cranky to drive all over the city looking for Sensation. Hell, he couldn’t afford to look for Sensation. He shook his head at how fucked up his situation was. Gripping the steering wheel in anger, he drove to a deli and bought a six-pack of Old English. His private name for the malt liquor was “fire water” because it brought out the worst in him.
At the moment, with less than thirty dollars to his name, he had a right to bring out the beast in himself.
Dayna had put him in a hell of a quandary. The roof over his head was precarious at best; it was just a matter of time before her father figured out some legal loophole to have him evicted from his own home. And thanks to Dayna, his cash flow was cut off without warning, forcing him to have to rely on a drugged-out hooker for a little bit of chump change.
Yes, his wife was going to pay dearly for the unnecessary strain she was putting him through. If she thought she was going to strip him down to bare bones and suffer no repercussions, then she had sadly underestimated him. Sure, she had a master’s degree while he had only a high school education, but by no means did those letters behind her name make her smarter than he was.
He snapped open a can of Old English, took a swig. He could feel the fire water coursing through his system, causing his mind to race with hateful thoughts. He didn’t know how or when he would exact his revenge, but he knew with certainty that the penalty his wife would have to pay for her transgressions would be steep and life altering.
Three empty beer cans filled the waste bag in his Lexus to capacity. It gave his vehicle a cluttered appearance that was unacceptable. He drove around aimlessly for a few minutes until he happened upon an area that looked squalid enough that three crushed beer cans would fit perfectly with the setting.
After aiming and firing each can out of the window with the power and precision of a major league star pitcher, Reed pulled over to park on a small desolate street and snapped open the fourth can of beer.
Getting his bearings, he realized he was on Delancy Street, just a few blocks from Buttercup’s crib. Images of freaky sex infiltrated his thoughts. He felt instant sexual tension that made his penis rise up and press against his slacks in a manner that screamed for immediate relief. But Buttercup was still at work. Damn! He rubbed his groin lightly, as if trying to pacify it into deflating.
Reed couldn’t think straight with an engorged dick. His mind scrambled for alternative activities that would take his mind off his predicament until Buttercup got off, but nothing he thought of took away the dull ache.
He didn’t want any more beer, he didn’t want to chill with his PBP brothers, and the thought of going from one titty bar to the next to get a cheap lap dance gave him little consolation.
He wanted some pussy. Wet pussy was the only thing that would calm the beast inside.
The blood flow in the shaft of his penis caused Reed to feel disoriented. He wasn’t even aware of starting the car. In fact, he had no conscious memory of pulling off and parking in front of Dottie’s Hair Salon. He felt his fist pounding on the dusty door and later he had a faint recollection of the gnarled hand that admitted him. But in his current state, he was acting on pure animal instinct. There was nothing human about the urges he felt.
“How much do you charge, Dottie?” Reed asked, breathing hard.
“Did you bring me a bag of snuff?” The old woman was dressed in the same robe. It hadn’t been washed and there were additional stains and congealed substances.
“I left your snuff in my car. I’ll get it when we’re finished,” Reed heard himself say.
With the promise of a bag of snuff, the unwashed and senile old woman willingly lay down on the hard plastic couch and slowly opened her wrinkled thighs. The sight she offered was hideous and her parted legs emitted a foul scent. Remarkably, this revolting combination was giving Reed a brutal hard-on.
Like an animal in heat, Reed humped against her odiferous and hairless vagina. With fingers that trembled with depraved passion, he peeled open her paper-thin labia. There was not a drop of moisture inside the atrophied and extremely small vaginal opening.
Reed hawked up spit and smeared it inside the withered vulva and plunged into the tightest and most vile pussy he’d ever penetrated. This sexual encounter was an act of sheer insanity; he knew it but couldn’t stop himself.
Dottie cried out in pain, and then whi
mpered for a while, but that did not deter Reed from forcing himself as deeply as possible inside this bizarre batch of pussy. After a few moments, Dottie’s whimpers changed to sounds of pleasure, and then escalated to orgasmic shrieks.
Dottie’s shrieks along with her contracting vaginal muscles heightened Reed’s arousal. He made guttural growling sounds and then an utterly inhuman roar as his sea of lust gushed inside the elderly woman. Afterward, drained and limp with satisfaction, he collapsed upon Dottie’s frail chest. She grunted from the pressure of his weight.
“What the fuck?” he exclaimed as he inhaled the strong stench that filled the air. A frown of confusion covered his face. Then sanity slowly returned and he looked upon Dottie in horror. Jumping to his feet, Reed hurriedly stuffed his unclean member into his boxers and pulled up his pants.
Dottie lay on the plastic-covered couch with her legs gaped open. She shuddered. Moaned. Writhed. Reed wasn’t sure what was wrong with the old bitch. Her spastic body movements strongly suggested she was having a seizure.
Dry heaving, Reed covered his mouth with his hand and backed away. Feeling close to vomiting, he didn’t dare risk going near her to check out her physical status. The best he could do was cast a curious last glance at the quivering figure on the couch before making a quick getaway.
Chapter 20
“You’re gonna like your first client,” Hershey said confidently. “Barry’s real easy. No sex. He just wants a dinner date. You know…a companion. He loves my chocolate girls.”
With a shoulder holding the phone to her ear, Chanelle gazed at her outgrown nails, which were badly in need of a fill-in. The appearance of her fingernails pretty much spoke to the state of her financial affairs.
“How much does this date pay?” she asked suspiciously. An easy date probably didn’t pay very much. Chanelle appreciated Hershey for looking out and trying to ease her into the game, but her money was looking too funny to waste time getting her feet wet. She needed to dive right in and make some real money.
“It pays well.”
“How much?”
“Five hundred for a few hours.”
Chanelle almost choked. “He’s paying that much money just to take me out to dinner?” She scowled at her nails. I gotta make a quick trip to the nail salon; can’t allow a five-hundred-dollar date to peep these trifling fingernails.
“So how much do I have to give you?”
Hershey laughed. “Girl, don’t be tryin’ to count my money; I take mine off the top.”
“I get the whole thing?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Thanks, Hershey.”
“You’re welcome. So look, after his check clears, I’ll drop the money off at your place.”
“Suppose it bounces?”
“Barry’s a regular; his checks are good. Anyway, don’t start thinking every date is gonna be this sweet; just consider this as…you know…as a sign-on bonus. Starting you out with Barry is my way of saying, welcome to Hershey’s Smooches.”
At seven that evening, in a fancy downtown restaurant, Chanelle sat across from her client, a mature white man—oh hell, he was old, at least forty—but he was well-dressed and had a wealthy, distinguished look that worked for him.
Despite her beautiful French manicure, she felt awkward and unrefined. The double sets of silverware on each side of her plate intimidated her. She nervously wondered how she’d be able to handle the intricacies of social etiquette for two hours when she didn’t even know which eating utensils to use.
Overtaken by a case of the jitters, she buried her face in the menu and scanned the appetizers: frisee salad with lardons, barigoule artichokes and leeks, black truffle dressing, caramelized onion and stout beer soup, warm potato blini…what the fuck? Nothing sounded appetizing or even remotely familiar. She sighed and prepared herself for a long, drawn-out evening.
“What are you having, Chanelle?” Barry asked.
It sounded weird for a client to use her real name, but somehow her alias did not fit with the modern art deco dining room. She looked up at Barry and was momentarily mesmerized by a painted glass mural on the wall behind him. If the richly decorated restaurant was indicative of the kind of things Barry had to offer, Chanelle figured it would be in her best interest to get over her nervousness.
“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” she said, flicking her tongue across her lips flirtatiously and throwing him a sexy smile.
Barry blushed as if he’d been given a gift.
And a gift she was indeed, she reminded herself. After all, it was her beauty, her bangin’ body, and her skin tone that Barry was most interested in, not her social skills. Still, she made a mental note to buy an etiquette book. Oh hell, who was she fooling—she hated reading. She’d be better off buying a DVD on the subject.
Barry ordered a bottle of wine as well as their appetizers. When the model-thin, Scandinavian-pale waitress whisked away, Barry leaned in and whispered, “That is not my idea of beauty; I think the western world has gone quite mad in encouraging young women to look like human toothpicks. You, on the other hand, are the epitome of everything desirable in a woman.” He settled back in his chair, smiling and nodding approvingly.
Chanelle couldn’t agree with him more, but decided it would be in poor taste to admit that she knew she was the bomb. “So, what do you do for a living, Barry?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Legal stuff,” he said with a grimace. “I spend an inordinate amount of time kissing up to judges. But it pays off,” he said with a modest shrug. “I earn a decent income.” He frowned again as if his words were distasteful. “And I’ve made some good investments.” He made another don’t-blame-me-because-
I’m-rich shrug.
Chanelle sized up Barry. Everything about him looked expensive: his suit, his watch, and his haircut, a stylishly tousled mass of layered locks, must have cost some bucks. Hell, she’d gotten a whiff when he stood up to greet her—Barry smelled expensive, too.
“Are you married?”
“Divorced.” He shook his head and gave an uncomfortable chuckle. “Now, that was a very messy phase of my life. My wife ran out on me and then tried to take me for every cent. But she didn’t win. I’m still trying to heal from that devastating experience, but overall…I can’t complain.”
Chanelle couldn’t complain either. She felt like she’d hit the jackpot. This wealthy, yet unassuming and unmarried man was open game. Visions of a wonderfully idle suburban lifestyle danced across her mind.
The server returned with their appetizers: crab cakes surrounded by a spicy sautéed blend of vegetables. Hmmm. Chanelle hadn’t seen any crab cakes on the menu. Now, if the menu items were called by their right names instead of describing everything in fancy terms, such as pomme this and frisee that, she could have ordered her own damn appetizer.
She watched Barry pick up a fork and a knife and imitated his choices. She sliced into the crab cake. “Mmm,” she moaned, closing her eyes as she chewed.
“Oh, you like it?”
“Love it.”
“Yes, the food here is of the gods,” Barry said, picking up a piece of crab cake with his fork turned upside-down. Chanelle decided against mimicking that move. Surely, handling a fork in such an awkward manner would interfere with the enjoyment of her food.
When the server returned, Barry ordered the entrée, blackened sea bass. The side dishes had fancy-sounding names, but turned out to be sautéed celery, potato strips, and cucumber slices, all in their own tasty sauce. No bread was offered with the meal, so Chanelle didn’t press the issue, but she sure could have used some bread and butter to sop up the various colorful sauces.
“There’s nothing like a good bottle of wine,” Barry said with a satisfied smile as the server popped the cork. “You’re going to love this.”
Chanelle took a sip and had to fight the impulse to spit out the dry, bitter liquid. Quite frankly, nasty was the only word to describe the wine Barry had ordered. Swallowing was a s
erious struggle, but she felt obliged to indulge Barry. He seemed so proud of his choice. She took small sips to give the impression of savoring the taste. She even swirled it around in the wine glass as Barry did and she hoped all her swirling would give the nasty shit some badly needed flavor. It didn’t. Damn, she wished she could add a shot of some peach schnapps to sweeten it up a bit.
Barry had kept up a continuous and often humorous stream of conversation throughout the delectable meal. Chanelle felt completely relaxed with him. She was so enamored of him—his intelligence, confidence, and his wealth—she’d already begun envisioning the indoor and outdoor Jacuzzis she’d insist upon after their wedding day.
“Do you have plans for later this evening?” Barry wanted to know.
“No, I’m free,” she said without hesitation.
“Would you like to come back to my place? I promise I won’t touch you; I’m really harmless,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m enjoying your company so much, I really hate for this evening to end.”
Chanelle felt the same way, but she faced a moral dilemma. She couldn’t in good conscience extend her time with Barry without further compensation.
As if reading her mind, he said, “Look, I’m willing to pay for your time. How does six hundred dollars for another few hours sound? You don’t have to tell your employer about our little arrangement. I don’t know what she paid you, but I paid her eight hundred dollars for your time tonight.”
So…Hershey earned three hundred dollars. Hmmm. Not bad for just sitting on your ass. But man, I can’t believe this dude paid for such an expensive meal plus eight hundred for two hours of conversation. Now, he’s willing to kick in an additional six hundred for more conversation. Barry must be rollin’ in dough and I plan on rollin’ right along with him.
Heart palpitations began the moment Barry pulled his Mercedes into his driveway. Chanelle gawked at the large modern home that sat on many acres of professionally landscaped grounds. Without even seeing the inside of the house, she knew she could get used to living like this.
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