by Tineka Brown
“I think I’m capable of making that decision myself, Valentine,” said Olympia, her voice acidic.
“Are you? I don’t know Olympia. You know, everything you are, you owe me. Who’s the one that took you under his wing, showed you how to really put on a show? Was it Everett? No! I don’t think so.”
“Were you my manager? All this time I thought you were my boyfriend.”
“I loved you, Olympia. That’s the point! I still do! And here you are, throwing all that away for a chance with some rich white boy who doesn’t really care about you at all.”
“Yeah, well… that should tell you something, Valentine.”
She saw, for a moment, his lip quiver. There was something wrong with his face, with his expression. Olympia realized, too late, that he was still high. Had he found more coke? Or had his earlier bender just not worn off yet? Olympia guessed the former and shivered.
“Valentine, you look awful,” she said. “Are you going to perform like this? Everyone’s going to be able to tell you’re high, you know. You won’t be able to hide it.”
“Why should I hide it? I’m a singer! I’m headlining this damn show! I can do what I want!” He backed away from her, gesturing wildly like a man possessed. “I don’t know why I was even arrested in the first place — someone should have recognized me. The people in this town wouldn’t know good music if it bit them!”
“Okay… Valentine… you’re scaring me. Please… go get some water… sit down… talk to someone else, okay? Please?” Olympia chewed her lip. He was staring at her as if he’d seen a ghost, his eyebrows twitching up and down as if in disbelief. “Valentine, please. For me.”
Suddenly a smile cracked over his features, filling Olympia with a terrible sense of dread. It was barely a smile, really — more like the man was baring his teeth, waiting to devour her.
“For you, Olympia. Remember that — I do it all for you.”
And all of a sudden, he turned on a heel and was gone, letting the door slam with a loud bang!
Olympia listened, not daring to move, as his footsteps down the hall grew quieter. Then she collapsed back into her chair, feeling like crying yet again. This time, though, she was able to hold back the tears, shutting her eyes tightly and taking deep breaths.
It’s just Valentine. You learned long ago that he’s not worth your tears.
She hung onto that thought, repeating it to herself until she felt fine. In fact, she felt a renewed sense of confidence. Olympia returned to the task of eating lunch, enjoying each bit this time.
She was finishing up her last bite when there was yet another knock. For a moment, she froze. Was Valentine back? But something about the knock didn’t seem quite right — anyway, she was almost certain that if Valentine were to return, he wouldn’t even bother to knock the second time around.
“Come in,” she said, half-standing as if poised for a fight.
It was Everett. He’d changed, and was dressed up now in a full tux, complete with bowtie.
Damn, thought Olympia. In spite of everything, she felt her knees wobble at the sight of him. He is hot. I have to give him that much.
“Olympia,” he said, with a smile that could melt butter. “How are you doing? You feel ready?”
Olympia took a deep breath. Such a simple question, but one that had so many answers, right now. She settled for a quiet but confident “yes.”
“Great.” Everett walked in and pulled up a seat next to her. “We’ve got a packed house. The show is set to start at eight sharp — you’re going to do great.”
“Thanks.” Olympia stared at him, searching his face. The lights from the vanity cast a glow across his features that was reminiscent of that night in his penthouse, far above the city. An odd kind of longing gripped her heart. “Everett… um…” She glanced away before looking back at him. Her eyes lingered on his lips.
“What is it?”
“I wanted to… I wanted to talk about what happened the other night. The… uh… well. When we kissed.”
“Ah.”
“I… I have feelings for you. And I don’t… I just need to know if you feel the same.” Her cheeks burned with embarrassment — was this really the right time to have this conversation? But she’d asked the question now, and there was no turning back.
Everett’s face grew serious. “Olympia,” he said, putting a hand on her knee. “Of course, I feel the same.”
Relief flooded into her, quickly followed by vague confusion, maybe even anger. If he feels the same, why has he been practically avoiding me?
“So… are you… are you waiting until the show is over?”
“For what?”
“I don’t know… to… show me that? To act like you want me? To actually… do something about it?”
“Oh… Olympia. I’m so sorry if you’ve felt neglected. I… I’ve been so busy and, well… my parents are making things rather complicated.”
“How so?”
“Well… I don’t really want to get into it right now.” He looked away for a moment. In spite of herself, Olympia put a hand over his hand on her knee.
“Fine…” she said. “But--if you do really want me, I expect an explanation… eventually.”
“I owe you that much. I’m sorry I can’t give it to you now. I just… I want the show to go well, and I don’t want you to be worried.”
“I’m already worried!”
“Well, what can I do to make that go away?”
Olympia pondered this for a moment, then leaned forward and kissed him.
Everett seemed surprised at first, but quickly reciprocated the kiss, pressing his mouth against hers, and flicking his tongue apprehensively into her parted lips. He shifted closer in his chair, moving his hand further up Olympia’s thigh. She guided him, bringing his hand up under the fabric of her final-number gown, running a trail up the inside of her thigh until he was pressed against the satin of her panties.
He moved his hand softly against her, stroking and pressing lazily, then he grabbed her, one hand in her hair, one hand on her hip, and pulled her roughly onto his lap, his chair spinning back against the vanity.
“Does this door have a lock?” gasped Olympia.
“Uh… yeah, I think so…”
She stood to let him pass. He seemed to locate a locking mechanism under the push panel, pulling something up and out until Olympia heard a clicking noise. He turned back to her.
“Where were we?”
Olympia smiled. “Unzip me. I don’t want to ruin this dress.”
Everett nodded as she turned to look at her reflection in the mirror, finding the zipper and drawing it slowly from her neck to the small of her back, pressing kisses down her spine in the process.
Olympia arched her back as she felt the dress fall away, leaving her in a pair of black satin panties and absolutely nothing else.
The sound that Everett made was halfway between a sigh and a moan and sent a jolt of electricity right through Olympia. She could see him, behind her, obscured slightly by the shadows of the rest of the room, then she felt him press against her back, one hand moving to cup her right breast, one hand moving to press, again, at her sex.
Olympia moved her hips in time to the rolling of Everett’s thumb over her nipple, crying out a few times in spite of herself as a new spasm of pleasure overtook her. She could feel, increasingly, the press of his hard cock through his trousers, and she pushed back against it playfully.
They found a sort of rhythm, for a while, Everett pressing her clit through the satin and rolling his hips to stroke himself against her buttocks. It wasn’t enough, wouldn’t go anywhere, but the feeling of it was electric, and Olympia, watching Everett’s expression through half-lidded eyes in the mirror, thought that he’d never looked so hot.
Finally, she turned. “I’d hate to wrinkle that nice tux of yours,” she said suggestively.
He seemed to realize he was wearing it for the first time, and immediately set about stripping off his ja
cket, then his bowtie and his shirt.
“Let me help you,” said Olympia, finding his belt and the buttons of his pants. He watched in awe as she let the pants drop to the floor and worked his cock through the fabric of his boxer briefs, running first one finger up its length, reading his expression carefully and spending a bit of extra time stroking at the parts that made him toss his head back in ecstasy.
‘Oh… god…” he said in a voice that was less than a whisper.
Olympia tugged down his underwear, exposing him. He had a nice cock — it felt firm and heavy in her hands, not too big or too small. She grinned as she wrapped her fingers around him and gave him a few firm tugs, each one eliciting a groan of pleasure.
“You’re making me so wet,” she said, and moved to press herself against the head of his cock, letting Everett feel her through her panties, which were quite soaked by this point.
“Oh… ah--mmm…” he said by way of response.
Olympia had intended to tease, but the combination of his rock-hard member and the warmth and wetness of her panties was too good a sensation to pass up. She rocked against him, holding him in place, vaguely aware that the tiny motions of her hand were sending him into a fit of desperation. She quickened her pace, rolling the head of his cock against her clit, and grabbed blindly for his neck, pulling his against her to press her mouth against his, if only to muffle the sounds of her pleasure.
“Are you going to--” he hissed.
“Uh huh,” she managed, a moment before her orgasm barreled through her and she stiffened, her hips still rocking in a desperate rhythm as she moaned. As she rode the waves to their conclusion, she became dimly aware that she was still holding onto Everett’s cock, now glistening with precum, and his expression was one of pained wonder.
“Can I…” he said.
She nodded. “Uh… do you have--”
He had produced a condom from somewhere before she could even finish her sentence. He rolled it on with a distinct sense of urgency, tore off her panties, and lifted her by the hips so that she was resting on the vanity counter. Then he thrust into her, gasping at the ease.
There was no slow build, no careful, gentle push or questioning glance, only the harsh, piston-like thrusts of a man who needed to come. Olympia reveled in it, in this new side of Everett, the aggressive grip of his hands on her hips, the way he half-gasped with each push and each pull, the way he picked up speed until his eyes widened and he looked at her, barely able to get the words out.
“I’m gonna-- I’m-- ah-- Ah!”
And he stiffened, driving into her, and Olympia felt the pulsing along his length as he came. For a moment they held each other, bent back roughly over the vanity counter, then Everett pulled back and collapsed into the chair, stark naked and looking for vulnerable than Olympia had ever seen him.
Somehow, he still looked good — the sharpness of his features, cut out by the soft lights, hadn’t dissipated.
Olympia, suddenly self-conscious, bent to pick up her dress off the floor and pulled it on, letting it hang loose, unzipped at the back.
A slightly awkward silence descended on them, then. Olympia spoke. The moment was gone, and that magical shimmer in the air had all but disappeared. “Um…” she began. Not promising.
Everett looked up at her expectantly.
“I suppose I should let you know,” she said, “Valentine was here just about half an hour ago. He… uh… he was high as a kite, for lack of a better euphemism.”
Everett’s brow knitted, and he looked down at the floor. “Oh. Do you know where he went after he came here?”
Expecting some sort of sympathy, or a question about how she was doing, Olympia was caught off guard. “Oh, uh… no. No, I… well I know he went left, down the hallway, but--”
“That’s the way that leads to the front of house.”
“Well…”
“Do you think he would have gone out into the casino?”
“I have no idea.” Olympia felt increasingly agitated. “I just wanted him to leave. He was harassing me.”
This seemed to cut through Everett’s fervor for a second. His face softened, and he looked at Olympia. It occurred to both of them, at that moment, that he was still stark naked, sitting in his chair, and he tore his gaze away from her to find his clothes. Once he was dressed, he cupped Olympia’s face in his hands.
“I’m sorry, Olympia. I’m so sorry that you’re having to deal with him. It’s… this is all my fault.”
He was heading for the door. “But I’m going to make things right, I promise,” he said. Halfway out the door, his bowtie off-kilter, his hair in disarray, he looked at her. “Just do me a favor and sing your heart out tonight. Sing like you’ve never sung before. You’ll absolutely wow them. I’m telling you, Olympia — this night is your ticket to the big time. If… if you want that.”
Olympia just stared at him. She wanted to say so much to him, but none of it seemed right. She settled, instead, for “thanks. I will.”
Everett was out the door and gone, just like that. Olympia slumped back against the counter for a moment, then straightened. She turned and stared at her reflection. Her face and chest were still flushed from all the excitement, and her dress looked disheveled rather than glamorous. What a day — and it wasn’t over yet. She fixed her dress and checked her phone. Sally should be here in just a few minutes.
Time to put on a show.
Chapter 7
The noise of the crowd was deafening as Olympia stood in the wings. She recited the opening line of her first number to herself over and over again, until she remembered that the director had kindly reminded her earlier that over-practicing could be just as bad as under-practicing.
Right, she thought, curling her fingers into fists. I want to sound natural. Organic. Unrehearsed.
A P.A. appeared from somewhere behind the curtains and raised his eyebrows at her as if to say, “are you ready?”
Olympia swallowed, and nodded. At least she hadn’t broken out into a sweat yet, though she knew the stage lights would take care of that in short order. The P.A. nodded and responded to some garbled message that had sounded over his walkie talkie.
You can do this, Olympia. She wanted to hear the words of encouragement in her mother’s voice, or Everett’s voice, but, curiously, they came out in Valentine’s unmistakable drawl. I guess I’ll take encouragement where I can get it, she thought.
Ordinarily, a good roll in the hay would have made her relaxed and laid back for a solid few hours, but now it seemed to have only served to make her more jittery, like she’d had too much coffee. She rocked back and forth on her heels, almost losing her balance a couple of times.
Then, with barely any warning at all, the house lights began to dim.
“On my count,” whispered the P.A., touching her gently on the shoulder. Olympia swallowed and cleared her throat.
“And, three. You’re on. Break a leg!”
Olympia walked onto the stage as the spotlight found her. Aside from the patch of stage, and the dust motes that were visible in the air, she couldn’t see anything around her at all. It was as though she was submerged in inky black water, floating, or being dragged by the magnetism of the light.