by Rowe, Jordan
“I won’t tell anyone.”
“You better not.” Vanessa looked at the door, then at Jordan. “Her name is Zizi Fain. I know she isn’t a waitress; at least, she hasn’t been one for the last two months that she has been coming into the store. Zizi is a limo driver for some company that caters to rich people.”
Jordan’s heart skipped a beat. “Do you know what the company is called?”
“No idea. Zizi mentioned it briefly a few weeks ago when she purchased a new skirt and blouse. In fact, it was the same outfit she had been wearing today.”
“Speaking of today, what did she buy?”
“Does it matter?” Vanessa snapped. “You sure are asking a lot from me.”
Jordan felt a pang of guilt. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Vanessa rubbed Jordan on the arm. “Please do not tell Zizi we spoke about her.”
“There is no way I would do that to you.”
The door opened. A young couple walked in, browsing through the designer jeans. Vanessa waved to them. “I’ll be right with you.” She turned and whispered to Jordan. “Zizi bought a pair of black stockings that have a silk black bow. She also purchased a lace black thong.”
Jordan watched as Vanessa greeted the young couple. Jordan thought about Zizi fucking that guy in the parking lot, then giving him the shopping bag with the stockings and thong. Who was the gift for?
Maybe it was for the guy’s wife…
Jordan waited for Vanessa to return, then bought the black dress she tried on earlier.
14
The phone rang as Jordan arrived back at the condo. “Hello?”
“This is Detective Tracy Daane of the Nashville Police Department.”
“Who?” Jordan fumbled with her keys and opened the door.
“The detective that is investigating your unlawful entry from last night.”
Jordan felt like an ass. She did not remember the name of the female detective asking her questions. “I’m an idiot.”
Detective Daane chuckled. “It’s not a problem. Are you busy?”
“No.” Jordan shut the door and walked through the condo to make sure no one was there. “What’s going on?”
“We spoke to Clayton Trudell and did not find any reason to believe he was the one that attacked you.”
“Yes, well, he chewed me out.”
“That’s unfortunate, but you still did the right thing by telling me, although, you did not tell me that you had a second ex-husband named Jeremy Baggart who owns that southern restaurant downtown.”
Jordan cringed. She really did not what him being questioned. “I didn’t think of him while you were questioning me.”
“Mr. Baggart does not have an alibi for the time when you were attacked.”
“It’s not him. Jeremy can be an asshole, but he would not hurt me.”
“Are you willing to bet your life on that?”
Jordan’s skin flushed. She envisioned Jeremy eating her out this morning. “I wouldn’t bet my life on it, but I’m pretty sure.”
“We need to pursue every lead…do you agree?”
“Sure.”
“I’ve also questioned some other gentlemen that live in your building.”
Jordan plopped down on the couch. “Really? How many?”
“Seven.”
“Everyone is going to hate me!”
“I need to find out who did this.”
“I understand, but…”
“Yes?”
“Nothing. Is there anything else?”
“One more thing. When was the last time you checked your mail?”
Jordan had to think about that. Today was Tuesday. She did not check it yesterday. “I think Saturday.”
“Why did you wait so long?”
“Does it matter?”
“It’s just that we found something hanging from the ceiling of the condo mailroom.”
For some reason, Jordan had an image of a dead body. “What was hanging in the mailroom?”
“The two-faced clown mask that you described the attacker had been wearing.”
15
Was it still only Tuesday?
Jordan once again began counting the hours and minutes to early Monday afternoon when she would return to Dark. She had become so sexually aroused as if the hormones in her body had been injected with a mixture of B-12 and a porn flick.
Detective Daane had called back to give Jordan the bad news that they found no traces of hair, sweat, or fingerprints on the mask. Daane went on to say that she believed the attacker purchased two of the same mask; one to wear and one to leave behind.
Jordan whipped up some grilled chicken, snow peas, and brown rice. She debated on going to the pool, or maybe she could take a long walk around Nashville. Perhaps she would go to a club. She hadn’t been to a club since…well…it’s been a few years.
Were clubs even open on Tuesday night?
Jordan sucked down a glass of Fontanafredda wine then changed into her new black dress. The next decision was her underwear. Did she expect to get laid tonight?
Cotton underwear?
A thong?
Lace?
Silk?
Jordan decided on no underwear, which may help the risky mood she had been in since entering Dark. She slipped on a pair of tan leather cowboy boots that she purchased from the Nashville Boot Company for $200. There was only an inch and three quarter heel, which made them comfortable for walking. She put on a fairly small amount of makeup, gave her hair a quick brush, tucked her credit card in her bra, then walked out the door carrying only her cell phone.
On the way down the elevator, she Googled the local clubs. The top three ranked nightclubs in Nashville were Mai, Lucy Blue, and Karma, but none of them were open during the week. The fourth ranked nightclub, Fuel, only had two stars, but at least it was open.
The club was within walking distance, but Jordan called a cab. She felt vulnerable for some reason. Perhaps it was the no-panties decision. But even so, the temperature had dipped into the upper forties.
It was only eight o’clock when the cab dropped her off in front of Fuel. She took her place at the end of the line, eyeing the people.
Two women dressed in identical midnight blue dresses and matching six inch heels.
Two guys gawked at the women from behind, both wearing flannel shirts, jeans, boots, and cowboy hats. Behind them were two more guys. One had on a flashy purple silk shirt, the other had on a red silk shirt. Both wore tight slacks.
Just in front of Jordan were a group of six women, all dressed completely different. It was obvious which women were dragged out by their friends to go drinking and which were doing the dragging.
Two men stood in line behind Jordan, both looking like they were ready to go bull riding. They tipped their hats and said “Hello, ma’am,” to Jordan. She smiled and prayed that the line would start moving.
Exactly fourteen minutes later, she was inside. The club had a gas station theme, but not much thought had been put into it. Women danced on the bar and around poles. The music was techno, sounding like a wrench and screwdriver were being rubbed together. Six large flat screens showed MTV Road Rules with no sound. The only male bar tender was an exact replica of Bret Michaels. The women bartenders were pleasant enough, wearing tiny jean shorts, half-shirts, and for some reason they decided to paint little bunny rabbits on their cheeks.
A fight broke out between two rednecks that had been competing over the same woman. They probably did not have a chance in hell to get her in the first place, which made the fight useless. It wasn’t as if the woman had been expectantly waiting for the man who would survive as the victor. In fact, she had already slipped away while attempting to hide her embarrassment.
Each fighter landed one solid punc
h, but five bouncers came charging through the crowd and used Tasers and pepper spray as if they were kids playing with their new Christmas toys.
“Hello, ma’am,” someone said next to her.
Jordan rolled her eyes over to see a skinny redneck that smelled like cheap beer. “Hey,” Jordan said, attempting to push her way to the bar.
“Can I buy you a beer, or are you more of a wine type lady?”
Jordan was going to pretend she did not hear him over the blaring techno music, but she did not want to prolong the conversation. The man inched closer and touched Jordan’s ass. She smiled and said to him, “I have to tell you that I’m a polygamist and I’m here with my husband and four sister-wives. They would not be too happy about your hand on my ass.”
The guy shook his head, eyes wide with confusion. “What is a polyg…ployga...”
“Exactly,” Jordan said, then pushed her way to the bar, regretting the decision to go out. This was probably the reason why she never went to clubs in the first place.
She ordered a double rum and Coke, then slammed it down and ordered another one to sip on.
When she turned around, a different man had been standing right behind her. “Excuse me,” she said, trying to get by him.
Suddenly, a tear spilt from his eye. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I…” He turned, staring at someone across the bar. “I’m such a moron.”
Jordan noticed that this guy dressed like a normal person. No cowboy hat, no flashy silk shirt. Instead, he had on a collarless tan long sleeve shirt and brown slacks. “What’s wrong?” she asked, moving away from the bar.
He barely acknowledged her. “It’s just…damn, I can’t believe this.”
Jordan attempted to follow his line of sight. “What are you looking at?”
The guy quickly wiped away another tear. “My wife.” He swallowed, then wiped away another tear. “She’s with another guy.”
16
Smooth pickup line, or did this guy really get his heart broken tonight? Either way, Jordan was interested.
He did not have bulging muscles, or the tall-dark-handsome-look. Jordan saw him as an attractive man that stood out from the mixture of drunk rednecks and flashy silk shirt men with bad dance moves.
“What’s your name?” Jordan asked, but the techno music drowned her voice. She tapped him on the shoulder and shouted in his ear, “What is your name!”
His eyes seemed distant as he gazed across the bar. “Mitch…” he said from the corner of his mouth.
Jordan grabbed his arm. “Hey!” She then shook him in attempt to gain his attention. “Focus on me for a minute.”
It seemed as if it took all his willpower to turn his head. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”
She moved closer to him and said in his ear. “My name is Jordan.”
He stepped back, glancing across the bar. “I’m not looking to pick anyone up.” Once again, his gaze fixated on his wife.
Jordan inched forward. “Which one is she?”
“The brunette...over there.”
Jordan saw her right away. The brunette woman stood out in her bare shouldered icy blue dress that barely covered her ass, with a black zipper down the front. She had round silver earrings and a silver beaded bracelet on her right wrist. The woman had a decent looking body, however, her face had a pointed nose and she over did it with the black eyeliner and eye shadow.
The guy she danced with had dark complexion and a groomed goatee. His ice blue shirt matched hers and he wore an open white jacket and black slacks.
Jordan looked at Mitch. His eyes seemed ready to burst with tears at any moment, which would be a total embarrassment in this high testosterone place. Jordan leaned close to him. “What will happen once your wife sees you?”
Mitch turned and looked at Jordan. “She already knows I’m here.” His eyes swept around the crowded room. He bravely took her hand and guided her to a corner area away from the pounding music. His eyes fell on Jordan. “I wanted to give my marriage some extra spice, which it desperately needed, so I suggested to my wife that we role play.”
Jordan shook her head. “I don’t get it?”
“I told her that we could come to a bar separately and pretend to meet for the first time. I could ask her to dance, we could get drunk, and have sex in the parking lot.”
Jordan smiled. “So it’s like a one night stand with your wife, but you are pretending she’s just some slut you picked up at the bar.”
“Yeah.” Mitch looked at the dance floor. His wife and the other man grinded together as if they were going to fuck right there in front of everyone.
Jordan wrapped her arm around Mitch to get his attention. “So you both came in separately?”
“Yeah. My wife was supposed to come here about fifteen minutes ahead of me. I couldn’t find a parking spot, so I drove to the 4th & Commerce parking garage down the street.”
Jordan had an image of Zizi getting fucked on the limo. “Yes, I know that garage well.”
Mitch sighed. “By the time I parked, walked back to the bar, waited in line, then came in, she had been here an hour. That’s when I saw her with that other guy.”
Jordan glanced at the dance floor, seeing Mitch’s wife kissing the stranger as they pressed their bodies together. “But she had to know you were coming here?”
“I know…that’s what I don’t get.” Mitch gazed at his wife. “Like I said, I’m an idiot. She probably thought I changed my mind. I’m sure that guy bought her a few drinks and picked her up.”
Mitch froze.
Jordan kept her arm around him and looked at the dance floor. His wife was leading the guy to the exit. Jordan could not believe it. “Doesn’t she realize you are watching her?”
“I don’t know.” Mitch’s voice was cracked with sorrow. “I cannot believe this is happening to me.”
Jordan had to ask him something. “Is she really your wife, or is this some elaborate plan to get me to fuck you in the parking lot?”
Mitch kissed her on the forehead. “I need to go home and figure out what the hell I’m going to do with my life.” He began making his way through the crowd. Jordan had to make a decision. Did she believe this guy or not? If she did, was she going to let him just walk away?
Jordan decided to chase after him.
17
The crisp night air seemed to brush away the scent of smoke and alcohol from Jordan’s black dress. She found Mitch standing in the parking lot. He stood motionless as she hurried toward him.
“Are you okay?” Jordan asked.
A drizzle of tears gleamed on his face. “I can’t believe this. My wife is actually fucking that guy in her car.”
“Where?”
Mitch pointed. “The blue mini-coup with the double-white stripes.”
Jordan stared at the mini-coup and noticed it shifting back and forth as Mitch’s wife rode the guy in the passengers seat. “What are you going to do?”
Mitch shook his head. “What is there to do? I guess I’ll go home and deal with the fact my marriage is over.”
“Why don’t you pound on the window and beat the shit out of her and that guy?”
Mitch wiped the tears from his face. “Yeah right. I’m crying in the parking lot while watching my wife getting laid. If I had the courage, I would have done it already.”
“How about you bend me over the hood of your wife’s mini-coupe and fuck me from behind while they watch? You can at least get some revenge?”
Mitch turned at gave Jordan a weak smile. “I don’t think my wife would give a shit. In fact, she would probably be happy for me, which hurts even more.” Mitch started walking. “I’m going home. It was nice to meet you.”
Jordan was utterly confused. Why did she want to be involved in this crap? What did she care?
Despite those sensible qu
estions, she jogged forward, clicking her heals across the parking lot. She thought about Zizi being fucked on the hood.
Jordan wanted the exact same thing to be done to her.
When Mitch unlocked the door to his red Saturn, Jordan placed her cell phone on the roof and sat on the hood of the car. “Get over here and fuck me, or else you’ll be miserable the rest of you life.”
Mitch still had the keys in his hand, staring at Jordan. “How would fucking you make me feel any better? I love my wife.”
“It’s obvious that you love her, but it is even more obvious that she doesn’t love you and she is willing to crush you in the process.”
Mitch looked around. “What if someone sees us?”
“Get over here,” Jordan said. Had she become one of those garbage sluts from the bar? Or was she trying to sooth an inner passion that had consumed her since entering Dark?
At the moment, Jordan could not tell the difference between a slut and sexual eagerness.
Mitch tossed his keys next to her cell phone, took one more look around, then unzipped his pants and pulled his boxers just low enough for his cock to spring out. He was not fully hard yet, but was able to ease it inside of Jordan.
She could feel the swell of his cock becoming larger, gradually filling her pussy. Then as if reading her mind, he lifted her leg, rested the boot on his shoulder, and fucked her with vigorous thrusts.
A car pulled in, searching for an open parking spot. Jordan looked over, seeing the car full of women, applauding, yelling, and laughing. They beeped and continued forward.
Jordan suddenly felt Mitch cum inside of her. There was so much warm liquid that she had an orgasm that lasted for several seconds.
Mitch did not stop. He continued fucking her with his limp, yet thick cock. It slid on the edge of her clit, bringing her to another orgasm.
He continued as more cars pulled in, beeping their horns, and idiot rednecks yelling things like, “Yead dude! Fuck that bitch!”
Mitch continued until his cock inflated to its rock hard size. He ignored the cars, the rednecks, and the screaming. Instead, he stared into Jordan’s eyes, fucking with all the strength he had remaining, clutching her boot and pushing her leg in the air.