Champagne chills in a bucket on the bar when the door to the suite pushes open half an hour later. I hear the pair before I see them, but don’t move. If rule one of the stage is know your lines, rule two is know your cue.
“…still don’t like this.” The voice is gruff and heavy with a fleeting twinge of Texas twang. Thad, I assume.
“But you love me.” Winston giggles. His voice is also deep, but his tone is much lighter, excited. “One night a month. Suck it up, cowboy.”
Bags in tow, they come to a startled stop in the living room, staring at me lounging in the finely upholstered chair.
Both men are very attractive. Mid-thirties, one with curly brown hair all about his head, the other with perfectly groomed black, the short strands combed back from his face. Judging by the hint of a scowl on the second’s visage, brown-hair is Winston.
Well-worn blue jeans hug his narrow hips and thighs, and a tucked, buttoned down shirt hides what appear to be muscled abs and pecs. His partner is built beefier and a little taller, maybe six-three to Winston’s six-one, and dressed much the same in black jeans and a plaid shirt. But the biggest difference with Thad is that glower he’s all too happy to let me see.
I’ve got my work cut out for me. The critics are in attendance tonight. A convincing performance is crucial.
Winston approaches, smile warm, tanned arm extended, brown eyes bright. I stand, smooth down my dress as though nervous.
I’m not.
Without heels on, my eyes are just level with his shoulder.
“Hi. I’m Tony,” he says when our hands connect. “My debatably better half over there is Thad,”—to his partner—“Come say howdy to the pretty woman.”
I chuckle, certain the comment is not intentional.
Thad grunts, doesn’t bother to come over, and murmurs, “‘Pretty woman’ is right.”
Not a fan of the arts.
“Be nice, Thad,” Winston warns. “He’s not always this much of an ass, Rosalyn.”
I put a little lilt in my voice. “Everyone calls me Roz.”
“How many everyones’re we talkin’?” Thad drawls, contempt dripping from his fading southern accent.
I raise a brow, fix him with a seductive gaze. The corners of my mouth turn up a hair.
“Thad!” Winston is visibly upset, face flushing red with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, he’s never—”
A gentle shake of my head stops the apology.
Thad abandons their luggage and comes farther into the room. Upon closer inspection he has frosty blue eyes fiery with possession for his lover. Had it not been directed at me it would be adorable.
Know your lines. Know your cue.
“Settle down, Tony. I don’t guess yer little friend here needs as much protection as ya think.”
Thad brushes past me, moves to the chilling champagne. He lifts it from the bucket to read the label—Perrier Jouet’s 2000 Belle Epoque, Limited Edition—mutters, “Drivel,” with a disgusted twist of his head. The bottle drops back into the ice with a slosh.
That “drivel” is actually quite delicious. It’s one of a dozen gifted to me from a client, a French businessman with connections to the company. At over six grand a bottle, it’s not exactly the type of drink one would scoff at.
Winston apologizes again with his eyes as I move to stand beside Thad at the bar. I retrieve the bottle and open it like a pro, pour bubbly for Winston and myself. I set both glasses back on the counter and prepare a tumbler of George Dickel for Thad. I hand him his drink, careful we don’t touch, and then take hold of both flutes of champagne.
He eyes the whiskey warily, turns to his lover and frowns. “You?”
Winston shakes his head as I approach. “I do my homework,” I say, then press a glass firmly into his hand. “A little bird informed me you were dying for a sip of this, Winston.”
He nods happily. “Thanks. And call me Tony. Winston’s so,”—he pulls a face—“formal.”
“All right, Tony.” I raise my glass. “To a great night?”
Tony smiles, clinks his glass to mine. Thad lowers into a chair, sips his drink, refusing to join in the toast. I know the Dickel’s won me points but he won’t acknowledge it.
Tony’s brown curls are shaking again and it’s clear he’s bothered by his lover’s churlishness. I offer a smile, motion for him to have a seat on the couch directly across from Thad. I remain standing.
“So, tell me a little about yourselves.” The inquiry is directed toward Tony but intended for his partner. If Tony is the wear-your-heart-on-your-sleeve type, Thad is sleeveless. His comments are likely to be straight to the point and I need direct information.
Thad grunts. “Thought we were here for a quick screw, not a full-on gittin’ tuh know ya.”
“Roz is bein’ nice, Thad,” Tony snaps.
“Well, let‘er be nice someplace else. We don’t need her here.”
The smile never leaves my face.
Tony hops up from his seat with murder in his eyes, jabbing a finger at his mate. “Your insane jealousy is the reason we can’t move forward.”
“Actually, it’s the backwater laws in this here country won’t let us move forward,” Thad mocks, taking another hefty swallow of the whiskey. “That…and yer fence straddlin’.”
Tony lets out a strangled groan. “For the love of—Why do I even try with you?”
I sip my champagne slowly and move toward Thad, Tony straining to keep his anger in check.
“Please, Tony. Have a seat.” My voice is soft, eyes locked with his, arm extended toward the couch. One angry cowboy is plenty, and it’s time for me to intervene.
Tony plops down, the Jouet sloshing from the glass onto his pants. He doesn’t notice.
Standing near Thad, I try a different approach. “If that’s all you want, an impersonal fuck,” I shrug, “you should have called a hooker.”
Thad’s surprised gaze shoots up to mine. “What in hell d’ya think ya are, a saint?”
“A doxy,” I correct, canting innocently on the arm of his chair. “I’m a long-term affair that involves knowing my clients and their preferences. I’m not a casual fuck, Thad. I’m an intimate lover. Not everyone can handle it.”
“A wig don’t make it no less a pig, so yer still a hooker in my book.” He looks me over with disdain. “A hooker who don’t look old enough to be doin’ what she’s doin’.”
“Why, Thaddeus, I do believe that’s a compliment,” I enthuse with a wink at Tony. He smiles weakly and I settle more comfortably on the arm of Thad’s chair. “Now, let’s get a few things clear, shall we? Thad, I’m assuming you’re a top only, right?”
His incoherent grumble sounds like assent.
“And Tony, what is it you like about women so much that you have to have one?”
He pushes his fingers through his curly locks. “After seeing the hard ass I’m with, you can understand I like something soft and supple every now and again.”
I laugh a little, casually slide my arm across Thad’s broad shoulders and lean against him. He doesn’t move, but the tension is tangible. My fingers absently trace a plaid square on his shirt, the other hand bringing the glass of bubbly to my lips.
Thad hops up, the move so abrupt my drink spills down my dress.
“Git off me,” he barks, bucks his head toward a furious Tony who is standing again. “Ya might have him on yer string, but not me. I don’t like this, and I don’t like you!”
“See!” Tony screams, finding a cloth napkin for my dress. “Completely unreasonable! Look what you’ve done.” He dabs at the wet spot, ironically trying to avoid touching me inappropriately. “Roz, I’m so sorry.” His brown eyes are tinged with sadness, and I know his next line before he utters it. “This isn’t going to work.” Tony’s hands are shaking with rage, but he’s intent on mopping up every drop of liquid from my dress. “Tell me what I owe you and—”
I stop his hand, take the napkin from him. “How about you go take a shower
and relax a bit; give me and Thad a chance to talk, hm?”
Tony flicks his angry gaze to his partner—who is sitting on the couch as though nothing has happened—then looks back to me, uncertain.
“I’ll be fine,” I assure. “Won’t I, Thad?”
The other man grunts again and Tony grabs his bag, stalks from the room.
To be honest, I didn’t expect this level of derision from Thad. But I’m a professional, and at times like these an actress has to think fast, work with what her costar gives her in order to save the show.
I move toward the bar, place my empty flute and the napkin upon it. Then I add a bit of whiskey to a tumbler and take up a post on the coffee table directly in front of the sulking man. We’re silent a while, Thad glaring at me and slowly sipping his elixir, me staring right back.
Showdown at the Doxy Corral.
The water starts in the bathroom.
Whiskey still in my grip, I lean back a little onto my hands before crossing one leg over the other at the knee. It draws a mote of interest by two blue eyes, both of which quickly darken again with aversion.
“You’ve made it crystal clear you don’t like me, Thad, but let me remind you, you love Tony.”
“Where in the hell do you get off…? Tellin’ me about…” He goes into the makings of a soliloquy, more impressed with the sound of his voice than actually speaking to me, and I roll my eyes in a gentle arc, tired of his macho bullshit. You might catch more flies with honey, but vinegar stuns them. “…don’t know a damn thing—”
“Listen,” I interject, voice devoid of its usual sugar. “What I know is you’re afraid of losing your bi lover to some woman, and it’s a valid concern. But I guarantee, the harder you try to hang on to him with jealousy, the faster you’ll lose him.”
He snorts. “If this don’t beat all. Relationship advice from a woman who fucks fer a livin’. Does it cost extra?”
“How’s the view from that glass house, hm? I imagine sweeping vistas…rolling hills....” He has no retort. “I’ve made mine of concrete, Thad. Takes bigger stones to bring it down.” Certain he understands my meaning, I continue. “Here’s what you need to know about me. I only do things ad libitum—do you know what that means? Ad libitum?”
The pop quiz annoys him. “I know what ad libbin’ is. I’m not an idiot.”
I blink. “No, I mean the literal translation. It’s Latin for ‘in accordance with desire’.” I pause a beat, let that sink in. “See, I have no desire to steal Tony from you, although with the way you’re behaving it wouldn’t be hard. Nor do I have any desire to take you from him—trust and believe I’m bad enough to do it. So, while I should just walk out that door, we’re going through with this experience tonight.”
“Need the money?”
I shake my head. “Never have.”
“Sure ya do. It’s why women like you do this kind’a thing, ain’t it? Cash under the table.”
He delves into his pocket, flings a thick wad of bills to the floor. “Well, there ya go. Two hours’ payment, like we agreed. All the money a filthy little bitch like you earned for the night. Even tossed ya a tip.”
My eyes don’t stray from his face.
He grits his teeth, a muscle jumps in his jaw. “Go on. Take it. It’s why yer here, ain’t it?”
“You misunderstand my dedication…” I respond on a sigh.
“Dedication? Tuh what, bein’ a whore?”
“And my purpose,” I return calmly. “As with all of my clients, I am an enhancement to pleasure—in this case, Tony’s pleasure. My commitment to that is paramount, as should be yours.”
Through narrowed slits Thad studies my face, perhaps searching for some semblance of mistruth. He’ll find none.
“As I was saying,” I continue acerbically, fixing him with a steady gaze, “Beyond this encounter is questionable, however tonight is for Tony, understand?”
He stands swiftly, the skin between his brows wrinkles as he stares down at me. Thad’s the dominant energy in he and Winston’s relationship. Being spoken to this way is not something he’s accustomed to, I’m sure. Actually, I’m counting on it.
“Excuse me? Sounded tuh me like you were tellin’ me what tuh do.”
The more upset he gets, the thicker the drawl, but the menacing stance doesn’t threaten me. I tilt my head back in challenge; smirk. “Good. You do understand me. I was beginning to worry we had a language barrier.”
A rough bark scrapes his throat, rife with disbelief. “Ya know what we do tuh wild young things like you back on the ranch? We break buckin’ fillies, sweetheart. Ride ‘em tuh submission.”
My voice reclaims its Georgia roots, finds a southern flavor that rivals his. “Well, this here ain’t the ranch now, is it, partna’?”
Thad’s fuming, face dark with anger. “Ya ain’t exactly makin’ me like ya more.”
“Another item on a long list of misconstructions between us, Thad.” Shoot my whiskey; swallow hard against the bite. “Your liking me is of zero consequence. As I said before, I’m here for Tony’s pleasure. You couldn’t afford my fee for yours.”
His chest heaves with the force of his breathing, muscles taut and coiled, ready for a brawl. If he weren’t a good southern boy and I weren’t a dame, chances are good Thad would have punched me square in the jaw. Instead, he hooks it firmly with one calloused hand, jerking my head all the way up to look at him, fingers clenching tight enough to bruise.
“You little—” He shakes his head, lets the slur die in his throat. “You got a smart ass mouth.”
Lick my lips; prod the bull. “Man enough to stuff it, Thaddeus?”
The use of his full name makes him more reckless.
He wants to.
Everything in that glittery, wild-eyed gaze tells me so, and just as my fingers caress the stiffening flesh behind his zipper, he lets my face go with a deliberate nudge.
I work my jaw, stretching it gently to get the blood flowing again. The water stops in the bathroom and Thad leers down at me. I purr with seductive defiance. “Go get yourself together, ‘cause in a minute Tony’s gonna fuck me so good, you’ll be beggin’ to saddle up and ride this filly, too, cowboy.”
SCENE 3
EDWARDIAN SUITE
THE PLAZA HOTEL
4:48pm
Thad emerges from the bathroom to find his lover center stage—naked, stretched spread eagle, lying head-to-foot on the crisp white duvet covering the bed. Tony’s dick is pointing skyward and I’m bent in the space between his legs—fully dressed—ready to take him in my mouth. I’ve staged him this way so I can see the look on Thad’s face when he comes into the room. As expected it’s not a happy one. I raise a brow, grin at him as he stands guard at the foot of the bed.
The towel hugs his waist tightly, above it the sight of strong arms and chest actually make my mouth water. He’s a delightful sight; tanned skin, dark-hair, and muscled flesh. I forget that I’m rubbing up Tony’s legs, lightly grazing his skin with my nails. He wriggles madly beneath me. He’ll have to wait.
Slowly, I crawl over Tony, let the loose fabric of my dress tease his length, drag over his abs as I make my way up his shaved body. I keep going, all the way up, until my knees bracket either side of his head, my crotch so close to his face I can feel his breath on my thighs. I lift my torso, not quite eye-level with Thad, but high enough to stare into that frosty blue gaze.
Head hidden under my frock, Tony takes the moment to kiss my legs with smooth passes of his lips, more tender than erotic, and I’m a little off balance, surprised to find myself so aroused by it. It’s difficult to be the center of two polar opposites, the division between comedy and tragedy. I force the thought from my mind and focus on the man I need to win over.
Thad crosses his arms, mouth a firm line, head dipped a bit to make his glowering more effective.
I look up at him from beneath my lashes and lean forward, brace my hands on his forearms, press my lips to his chest. He doesn’t move back
so I move up to kiss his collarbone; the dip where his neck meets his shoulders; flutter over his sculpted jaw. His hands have dropped, enjoying this but still standing military straight. I kiss his cheek…lower…trail kisses across his chin to the other side.
He inches forward, so close now my breasts crush to his chest. Tony’s still doing those delicious barely-there kisses between my legs, and the sexual contradiction has a fire burning in my belly. Thad thinks I’m here for Tony, but from the start I wanted both.
And they both want me.
“Tony already knows the rules,” I whisper against Thad’s cheek. My kisses continue to his jaw again, moving up to his ear. I tease his lobe with the tip of my tongue; nip it gently with my teeth.
Thad growls low in his throat. His arms come up to wrap around me when I stop him, holding one muscled forearm in each hand. I pull back, look into his eyes so we’re both clear about what’s going to happen.
Tony’s hands grip my ass, tipping me forward, his nose pressed to my core. My eyes slip closed for a second, my mind trying to straighten out the conflicting signals. I refocus on Thad. The fury is still present, lurking just beneath the desire. Voice silky and deep he asks, “And what’re the rules?”
A woeful shake of my head and a sigh; the reply infused with mock sadness. “Rules are only for those playing with the doxy.”
The corner of his mouth tips up, his eyes soften a hair. “Hyp’athetically, if I was playin’ with the doxy, what would those rules be?”
I release his arms, let them encircle my waist as my hands smooth up the soft carpet of hair on his chest. “Safety always. I don’t do abuse. No kissing on the mouth.”
The Doxy's Daybook: A Friday in Two Acts Page 6