Piper: The Casanova Club #1

by Ali Parker

I chuckled and stared out the window at the bumper-to-bumper traffic as we inched our way downtown. “Is there a place near the address I gave you where you can get a decent burger?”

  “Sure is. Want me to drop you off in front?”

  I nodded. “If it’s not too inconvenient.”

  The driver dropped me off outside a little diner that was packed full of people. I paid him double what he asked for and sent him on his merry way. Then I turned to face the diner and swallowed. Navigating my way to the counter was going to be a nightmare.

  Outside at the curb was a young man wrapped up in thick blankets. He had a cardboard sign that read “Please help me. Cold and Hungry”. Everyone who walked by ignored him.

  Wishing I’d paid the cabbie to take me through a drive thru, I walked up to the diner and let myself in.

  It took twenty-two minutes to order two meals.

  I took them to-go and stepped back out into the cold afternoon air. Then I walked to the curb, stepped off, and sat down beside the man with the cardboard sign.

  His long gray beard blew in the chilly wind as he turned to look at me. His eyes widened a bit when I handed him one of the bags. Neither of us said anything as he took it from my hands. I began opening my bag, and he did the same, pausing to stare down at the contents.

  I popped a fry in my mouth. “Go for it, man. Eat.”

  “You’re sure?” he asked. His voice was thin and frail.

  “Positive. Eat.”

  So, we ate.

  “What’s your name, fella?” I asked.

  “Thomas. And yours?”

  “Wyatt.”

  He grinned. “Like Wyatt Earp with that accent. Nice to meet you, Sheriff.”

  His toothy smile was infectious, and I grinned back at him. “Nice to meet you too, Thomas. Do you sit out here often? Or do you move around from place to place?”

  He shrugged as he nibbled on a French fry. He ate delicately despite how hungry he must have been. He savored and appreciated every single bite. “Sometimes, I have to move if they come and tell me off.”

  My eyes narrowed. “They make you move?”

  Thomas shrugged. “Bad for business, they say.”

  “That can’t feel very good,” I said, frowning.

  He smiled, showing me all six of his missing teeth and darkened gum line. “It doesn’t feel great. But you get used to it, you know?”

  I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to get used to being treated like that. My experience had been the polar opposite.

  When I finished eating, I pulled out my wallet and handed him a hundred-dollar bill. Thomas wouldn’t take it at first. He stared at it, pinched between my thumb and forefinger, and then lifted his pale blue eyes to mine. “I can’t take that.”

  “Sure, you can,” I said, pushing it toward him until he accepted it. “I want you to have it.”

  He ran his dirty thumb over the bill. “People never hand me cash like this.”

  I shrugged. “Well, I have it, so I might as well give it. And spend it however you see fit. I don’t give a damn.”

  Thomas looked around before sliding the bill into his pocket. Then he smiled. And it was a real, genuine, “my day just got a hell of a lot better” sort of smile.

  “Thank you, Wyatt. You’re very generous.”

  I crumpled up my empty food bag. “Merry Christmas, Thomas.”

  Chapter 8

  Miles

  A lot of the other guys—well, probably all them—had grown tired of the conference room at the Casanova Club.

  Apparently, the round, one-piece obsidian table no longer excited them. Neither did the sleek black walls and floor-to-ceiling windows on the south wall. The way the afternoon sun hit the table and refracted off the surface, lighting up the black walls, still captured my attention the same way it had the first time I set foot in this room.

  It was a masterpiece.

  Every single thing in the room had a purpose and had been selected with care. The liquor cabinet, a black piece of furniture with gold details, stood solitary against the east wall. Bottles of booze were hidden from view inside it, but crystal glasses sat atop it, waiting for the other men to arrive.

  I’d poured myself a glass of whiskey as soon as I walked in the room. Then I lifted my camera from where it hung at my hip and snapped a few photos as I walked around the table with my drink in hand.

  How could anyone get tired of a place like this?

  The sharp angles lent the room a dramatic feel. The city, a far eighty floors below, was alive with people running errands or going to work. The clouds above were heavy and white and full of snow. Soon, they would release the flurries.

  I hoped I was out of this meeting by then so I could snap a couple good photos. New York City in the winter was my favorite place to be.

  It was a shame that the men who would be arriving over the course of the next half hour were not as admirable as the city. A few of them were okay, sure, but a good majority of them had rubbed me the wrong way since the first night we all met.

  Whoever this girl was, she had no clue what shitstorm was about to descend on her. She was going to spend several months next year with total buffoons. Poor girl.

  I was snapping a shot of the street down below when the door opened behind me. I got my photo and straightened up, letting my camera fall back to my hip as I turned around.

  In walked Jackson Lee. The President of the Casanova Club. His gait was as smooth as his voice as he adjusted his black suit jacket and greeted me with a courteous nod. “Miles. I should have expected you’d already be here. You do know that being early doesn’t increase your odds of getting the girl?”

  “No, but it reminds the other boys that I’m here.”

  Jackson chuckled. The sound was deep and confident as he moved around the table and toward the liquor cabinet. “Are you looking forward to getting things going?”

  “I’m as curious as I am concerned.”

  “Concerned?” Jackson asked, tipping his head to the side as he poured whiskey into his own crystal glass.

  I put my drink down and slid my hands in my pockets. “All the tests last week were a little unexpected.”

  Jackson laughed again. Then he shook his head at me as he swirled the whiskey around in his glass. “Did you really expect us to move things forward without doing some STI tests at the very least? The women will be subjected to the same tests as you. We must ensure that everyone is safe and protected.”

  “Yes, well, I suppose it reminded me that I’ll have to share her, whoever she is. And I don’t like that. I don’t like it one bit.”

  “It’s what you agreed to when you signed on with us.”

  “I realize that.”

  Jackson paced around the table to the window. When he spoke, he kept his back to me. “As your sponsor and as someone who went through this experience last year, I can assure you it won’t be easy. But it was worth it for me. I don’t know if you’ll get as lucky as I did, but you’ve come this far, and it would be a shame to throw away a chance like this when you’re so close to sealing the deal.”

  “Close?” I asked incredulously. “We still have a year to go.”

  “It will pass quickly,” Jackson said. His voice sounded far away.

  “I have my doubts on that, too.”

  “Doubts are fine,” he said. “Just don’t sabotage yourself. This process might surprise you.”

  I took a sip of whiskey as Jackson turned back around. He watched me closely as I set the glass back down. “Well, I find it hard to believe this will work when I have no intention of sleeping with her. I don’t like it. And I won’t partake in it.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t be such a prude.”

  “What about this makes me a prude?” I asked, laughing.

  Jackson didn’t have the chance to answer.

  Easton Price rolled into the room. His blond hair was slicked back, as per usual, and his cocky smile lingered at the corners of his mouth. His gaze flicked from J
ackson to me. “Relax, Miles. We all know Jackson’s right. You are a prude. A delicate flower.”

  “Fuck you too,” I said.

  Easton laughed. “Careful. You wouldn’t want to tarnish that reputation of yours with foul language.”

  Easton was one of the men I had my doubts about. Surely, no self-respecting woman would fall for a self-centered ass like him. All he cared about was his fame, his money, and his reflection. He had an uncanny knack for making enemies of those he had little in common with, like me, and his attitude and confidence seemed to draw others to him.

  Like stupid sheep.

  Jackson pulled out a chair and took a seat. “Gentlemen. There will be plenty of time to argue later.”

  “I’m not arguing,” Easton said. “I’m just letting Miles here know that he doesn’t have to worry about the sex. It won’t be an issue.”

  “Oh, and why is that?” I asked sharply.

  Easton clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair like the cocky ass he was. “She’s not going to want to fuck you.”

  “Right,” I said, refusing to indulge him any more than I already had.

  I was grateful when Wyatt strolled in. He was well dressed in a slick suit and black cowboy boots. I’d never seen the man without his signature boots on. He was a Texan boy through and through, and of the group, I thought he was the only genuine one among us. And that included myself.

  Wyatt looked around at the three of us with a sheepish grin on his face. “Boys.”

  “Texas.” Easton nodded. For some reason, Easton liked to bestow nicknames on people.

  Wyatt went to the liquor cart. His cowboy swagger was not lost on me as he moved to pour himself a drink. He turned back to us with the glass pinched in his fingers and leaned up against the cabinet. “I must admit, I’m getting a bit tired of seeing your faces. No offense, but I’m about ready to meet some women.”

  “Couldn’t agree more,” I muttered.

  Wyatt dropped into the chair beside mine and draped himself casually over the arms. He looked up and gestured for me to take a seat as well. I sat. Then he nodded at Jackson. “President. Good to see you. Tell me, are we going to actually get to meet some of these ladies soon? I’m done just staring at pictures.”

  “Amen,” Easton said.

  Jackson nodded. “Tomorrow night. The final ten women arrive tomorrow evening, and you will have the chance to meet all of them over the course of the weekend. They’ll be staying here at the club.”

  “Thank God,” Easton said.

  Wyatt nodded his approval while I took another sip of whiskey. “When do we choose the one out of the ten?” I asked.

  “At the end of the weekend, once you’ve met all the women and hopefully had a chance to somewhat get to know them, there will be a vote. Whichever woman gets the most votes from the twelve of you will be the Casanova Club girl for 2019.”

  “I hope you fuckers like brunettes.” Easton winked.

  “And I hope you consider something other than hair color when casting your vote,” I said.

  Wyatt glanced over at me. “He’s just trying to ruffle your feathers. Leave it.”

  Easton finished off his whiskey. “You should listen to the cowpoke. He’s smarter than he looks.”

  Wyatt didn’t react to the underhanded comment. In fact, he rolled right past it, leaning forward to pick up the stack of print photographs that had been placed in the middle of the table. “So, are we supposed to narrow it down to the ten tonight?”

  Jackson nodded. “Yes. They will be informed of your decision in the morning, and the top ten will arrive in the evening.”

  “Short notice,” I said.

  “All part of the process,” Jackson said.

  “Do we get no other information to help us make this decision?” I asked. “Now that we’re so close to the end, I feel like there should be more parameters for us to base our choice off of.”

  “It’s simple, flower boy,” Easton said, sitting up straighter. He pointed at the photographs in Wyatt’s hands. “Look at the picture. If you’d fuck her, put her in the yes pile. If you wouldn’t, put her in the no pile. I realize this is a lot of responsibility for a guy like you who probably doesn’t get a lot of tail, but consider it your opportunity to see how the other half lives. Amongst an abundance of perky titties and—”

  “Forget I asked,” I said, sighing.

  Easton slumped back in his chair. He wore his smirk like a second skin, and I hoped against all the odds that the woman who made it through all of this saw right through his typical roided-out jock look. If she didn’t, she would be in for a rude awakening when she finally got to know the real Easton Price.

  Chapter 9

  Piper

  When I left the apartment on Thursday morning, Janie was annoyed with me. I’d come home from work the night before in a terrible mood after my three potential customers turned around and basically fled Piper’s Paradise like a trio of culinary cowards.

  Of course, I understood why they didn’t want to sit in a completely empty restaurant. But all I was looking for was someone who was willing to take a chance on us again. Our food was excellent. Our service was top notch. And on top of that, our prices were good. It was a combination that was becoming harder and harder to find in New York, and yet there it was, waiting to be rediscovered by the public.

  I had begged and pleaded with Janie to try harder at work to get Jackson Lee to give me a chance. I didn’t know if she was actually doing what she said she was, but I took her word for it. After pestering her for nearly an hour, she locked herself in her room just to get away from me.

  I understood her reasons, and she understood mine. I needed the money for my mom and dad. For my brother. For school. For Aldo and Iris.

  I entered the restaurant through the back door when I arrived for my shift that afternoon. It smelled like curry and fresh-baked bread. I inhaled deeply as I stood in the back room to tie my apron around my waist and tuck my bag under my dad’s desk.

  I found everyone else in the kitchen. My mother was cooking the curry while my father sliced up fresh bread. Phillip was nowhere in sight.

  “Hello, you two,” I said, giving both my parents a hug. “What’s all this?”

  My mother took my hands in hers, held them up between us, and gave them a tight squeeze. “We have customers, Piper. Real customers!”

  “What, really?” I asked, looking back and forth between them. For some reason, a part of me thought this might be a horrible joke or trick of some kind. Then I realized how cruel that was and knew my parents would never do something like that. I blinked a couple of times and shook my head. “Then I should be out on the floor waiting tables, shouldn’t I?”

  “Phillip has held down the fort for the last hour, but I’m sure he’d appreciate the help,” my mother said.

  “We’ve had customers for an hour?” I asked incredulously.

  My father nodded excitedly. “Yes. Not many though. So don’t go out there expecting a full house. But we’ve had two tables full for the last hour. And that’s something.”

  “Of course it is!” I cried.

  My mother patted my cheek. “I think your decorations brought the people in.”

  “Maybe,” I said, but I didn’t really believe it. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the concept that we had customers simply because there were some mason jars on the tables now. It didn’t make sense. Maybe it was just the holiday season revealing itself finally. “We’ll find out. I’ll be out front if you need me.”

  “All right, kiddo.” My dad grinned.

  It had been a long time since I saw either of my parents looking as happy and hopeful as they did this afternoon. Their eyes were bright with it. The energy in the place was totally different, too. It was like we had all woken up from a year-long nap.

  Phillip was carrying a tray of waters out to one of the tables by the window when I walked around the corner. There were four people at the table he was serving and a
pair of women at another table.

  Six whole people sitting in Piper’s Paradise.

  “What a sight,” I said to myself as I looked upon the scene.

  Phillip hurried back over to me behind the bar after dropping off the waters. “Piper! Can you believe this? I don’t know why, but people are coming in today. We had two other groups of people in before this. The new look is catching their attention from the street.”

  “I don’t know if it has anything to do with it, Phillip.”

  “Don’t be so modest,” my brother said excitedly. “It’s working. Whatever it is, it’s working. We need to keep this momentum going. I forgot what it was like to have customers. You know? How nice it is to have people to talk to around here that aren’t family members. No offense.”

  “None taken. I get it.”

  He clapped me excitedly on the shoulder and then apologized when I winced and started rubbing it. “Sorry, Piper. I’m just really pumped. You want the other table? They’re taking their time with the menus and haven’t ordered yet.”

  I nodded as butterflies took flight in my stomach. I was nervous to go over and talk to them. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to help customers.

  I stepped around Phillip and made my way over to the table. The two women were either in their late twenties or early thirties. I noticed their fresh set of nails. One had sparkly blue with snowflakes and the other sparkly red with candy canes.

  “Hello.” I smiled, looking back and forth between them. “Thank you for coming in today. Do you have any questions about the menu, or are you ready to order?”

  The woman with the red nails looked up at me like I’d just interrupted a very private and important conversation, even though neither of them had been speaking. She had sleek, shiny black hair and the longest lashes I had ever seen on a human being before. “We’ve been waiting a long time for service.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. We’ve been a bit slow over the last month, and now that we have customers, it’s a bit of a change of pace. How about a drink on the house? We make a lovely Christmas cider and have mulled wine if you’re looking for something festive this afternoon.”