Tomcats_Book One

by Honey Palomino

  We entered our marriage with every intention of filling our custom made home with children and love. It wasn’t long before we had to accept that babies weren’t coming, because for some reason, my body decided motherhood wasn’t in the cards for me. And much to my dismay, Reggie was completely opposed to adoption or any other options, no matter how many times I suggested it.

  After a while, I stopped bringing it up.

  Shortly after, he stopped coming home.

  Work became his mistress and she stole him right out from under me, leaving me all alone in this amazingly beautiful, yet painfully quiet house. I became more and more shut off and isolated, choosing to distance myself from the few friends I did have back then just to avoid the look of pity in their eyes when they looked at me.

  A few years later, Reggie came home one day and said he wanted a divorce. It was all so official and cold, the way he’d done it, but we’d been so aloof with each other for so long, I suppose there was no other way he could be.

  The divorce was quick and painless, thankfully. He’d been overly generous with me and all I really wanted was the house anyway — even if being here alone was a constant, stinging reminder of our failed marriage. It was still my home, my sanctuary. My hope was that somehow I could find a way to still enjoy it, but I wasn’t sure just yet how to go about doing that.

  Now that I was officially single and free — I had no idea what to do with myself or how to spend my time.

  I could go anywhere, do anything, be anyone…

  It sounds great, right?

  In theory, I have nothing to complain about, I know that.

  But here’s the problem: I have no idea who I am anymore. I’m not sure I ever really did. I came to Hollywood with dreams of becoming an actress and instead I became a motherless wife and gave up all those dreams in the process.

  That’s obviously where I went wrong.

  But maybe that’s also where I start.

  It’s time I go out and figure it out for myself — figure out who I am.

  I need answers and lord knows I’m never going to find them wasting away all by myself in this house.

  I’m rich. I’ve got all the time in the world. I can do anything I want.

  Millions of people would want to be in my place and I’m sitting here wallowing in misery? It’s absurd, I know…

  I grabbed my phone again and called Mario.

  “Tillie, baby!” he answered, his voice jubilant and slurring a little at this late hour.

  “Mario, what’s the best hotel for me to stay at in Vegas?”

  His squeal was enough to put a smile on my face that lingered for the rest of the evening.

  “That’s my girl!” he cried. “I’ve got just the place.”

  CHAPTER 2

  RICHIE

  Sweat poured down my back as I lifted the hundred pound barbell over my shoulders. The mirror reflected all the hard work I’d been doing. These days, I had to work twice as hard as I used to, just to maintain what muscle I already had. Getting older wasn’t exactly a walk in the park.

  I envied the younger guys, the ones who started early, the ones who made it appear so effortless and strolled through their twenties and thirties like they were still teenagers, full of energy and stamina. Sure, they were blessed with perfect bodies, but there was always one thing those youngsters were lacking that they couldn’t find in the gym mirror.

  The benefit of hindsight.

  A strong sense of who you are, based on where you’ve been.

  Wisdom…

  Only age brought those things. I’d learned the hard way, but I’d sure as hell learned. A million mistakes and regrets later, I felt pretty good about who I was at nearly fifty years-old. I didn’t even mind having to work a little harder in the gym, either. After all these years of doing whatever it took to maintain a physique that made women scream and throw money at me, I’d grown to love the ritual of it all.

  The morning protein shakes.

  The ten mile runs in the morning.

  The grueling workouts.

  It was all part of the package, part of my lifestyle now. In the beginning, I’d been obsessed with it, maybe a little too much.

  Now, I was trying to find a balance in my life.

  The time had arrived to look inward, I guess you might say.

  It was time to figure out what I wanted to do with my life, my life off the stage, that is.

  I still look damned good for a man my age, but I wasn’t so naive to think that I would look like this forever.

  I needed to invest in my future.

  And that’s just what I’d been working on.

  This morning, I have a meeting with Barry, the owner of the club I work at. Cowboys was the first male strip club in Vegas. Opened in the late eighties, in its heyday it was the premier male strip club in Vegas. Unfortunately, nowadays, the place is in shambles and needs a ton of repairs and renovations. I’m hoping Barry will let me invest, maybe even discuss buying the place from him eventually.

  I’ve got a nice-sized savings to work with and a ton of motivation.

  Unfortunately, he’s the one lacking in that area. I’ve talked to him dozens of times before about fixing up the place, and he’s always balked at my suggestions. I’m hoping if I show him some cash this time, he’ll be a little more agreeable.

  But guys like him? In a town like Vegas?

  Well, he’s only interested in the money going one way, and that’s straight into his pocket. Getting him to even buy supplies for us is like pulling teeth.

  “Got your meeting with Barry today, right?” Daine asked, stretching his meaty arms over his head and staring at his butt in the mirror. Daine Ryan is my best friend since childhood and coworker at Cowboys. He’s been supportive of everything I’ve ever wanted to do, except pouring money into the club.

  “Yep,” I grunted, putting the weights down on the bench.

  “I’m telling you,” he starts up, indeed telling me for the tenth time. “He’s going to take your money and then you won’t see a bit of work get done. You can’t trust him.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” I shrugged, taking the weights off the barbell.

  “Just go slow,” he replied. “I’d hate to see you get fucked man.”

  “You’d love to see that,” I said, winking at him.

  “You wish, baby,” he smiled, popping his towel on my ass as he walked away.

  I laughed and shook my head. Daine’s gay, if you hadn’t figured that out yet. You’d never know by looking at him, but he’s gayer than his idol George Michael. Or Elton John. Or Boy George. He’s never even been with a chick, which I think is flat-out crazy, but good for him for knowing himself so well, right?

  Of course, that fact is a big secret, at least at work. Daine loves women. He goes so far to say he worships them. Marilyn Monroe, Elizabeth Taylor, Liza Minelli, the freakin’ Queen of England. He can go on about them all day. At work, he’s a master of the trade. Nobody makes the ladies laugh and feel wanted in quite the same way that Daine does, and that takes a certain level of commitment and acting on his part, at least when it comes to interacting with the women. Maybe he hasn’t slept with a woman, but the way he dances for them makes you think he’d be an expert if he did.

  “You ready to head home?” I call after him.

  “Yep,” he nods and wanders into the men’s locker room ahead of me.

  Twenty minutes later, I pull my old pickup truck into the driveway of the house we share in Green Valley with two other friends, also dancers at the club with us. It’s easier to live together. We keep the same hours and it keeps the costs down. Plus, it’s fairly close to the downtown area, so we can get to work in minutes. If I didn’t live here with them, I’d never have been able to save a dime.

  Besides, I love these guys. They’re my family. The brothers I never had, really. I’d grown up an only child begging my parents for siblings that never arrived. Daine was the next best thing.

  It feels goo
d to be around these guys now. I know I can count on them for anything, no matter what and that goes both ways.

  We’re a team.

  Fox was out by the pool, doing yoga in the sunshine, his tan skin gleaming under the pounding, relentless Las Vegas sun.

  Sterling Fox is basically a Ken doll come to life. Blonde hair flopped over his forehead, his sparkling blue eyes alive and vibrant. Ripped and lean, his sculpted body is the result of an annoyingly meticulous routine of diet and exercise that he refuses to stray from most days. I admire the man’s discipline, but every now and then I’d like to see Sterling Fox go a little wild. He’s as wholesome as apple pie and after numerous attempts at corrupting him over the last few years, I’d finally given up and accepted his obsession with health as just a part of who he was.

  Don’t get me wrong, the rest of us take care of our bodies too, it’s just that Fox is a lot more rigid than the rest of us.

  “Beer?” Daine asked, as if to display my point exactly. Sure, we’d just come from the gym, but in my book, anytime was just as good as another for an ice, cold beer.

  “You know it,” I said, taking the bottle from Daine. We stood by the back door, watching Fox from inside. Oblivious to our presence, he stood stoically focused in warrior position.

  “I’d give anything for that ass,” Daine said, staring enviously at our friend through the window.

  “I’d give anything for that discipline,” I said, taking a swig off the bottle.

  “I’d give anything for a good night’s sleep,” Blaze’s voice sounded behind us as he rounded the corner and entered the kitchen. Wearing only a pair of black cotton boxers, his long black hair falling in tangled waves over his muscular shoulders, he was so perfectly disheveled, he could have just stepped off a shoot for an underwear ad.

  “Why didn’t you sleep?” I asked.

  “I was up late,” he shrugged, just as a svelte brunette in yoga pants appeared around him, her toned arms snaking around his waist from behind. She slithered around to his side, raising on her tip toes and kissing him on the cheek, before silently slinking out the front door, a serene smile stretched across her face. Blaze looked over at us and shrugged again.

  “I guess that would have kept me up late, too,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Yeah,” Blaze muttered with a lazy grin.

  “When’s the last time you spent a night alone, Blaze?” Daine asked, feigning mock judgement.

  “That’s a good question,” he said, rubbing his chin and looking up in the air. Another set of hands wrapped around his waist from behind and he turned to embrace another woman — a blonde this time. He leaned down and brushed a kiss across her lips.

  “Did Vivian already go outside?”

  “I think she’s waiting for you in the car,” Blaze replied. She nodded and patted his ass fondly, before scampering off without another word.

  “Jesus, Blaze, you’re such a fucking playboy,” Daine said.

  “They’re best friends, what was I supposed to do?” He asked, laughing under his breath. “Choose just one?”

  “It’s so hard being a man,” I replied. “So many dilemmas.”

  “Cocks. Giant, walking cocks,” Daine said, laughing. “That’s all you guys are.”

  “You’d think you’d be happy about that,” Blaze teased.

  “I like brains attached to the end of my cocks, thank you very much,” he quipped.

  “Hey, loving pussy doesn’t make me stupid.”

  “I wasn’t blaming the pussy, darlin,’” Daine said. “That’s all you.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Blaze said, backing down from a quarrel with Daine quickly, as he always did.

  The back door opened and Fox walked in, wiping sweat from his skin with a thick, white towel.

  “Morning,” I said.

  “Hey,” he replied, flashing his usual perky smile. “What’s good?”

  “Apparently, Blaze’s cock. He’s swinging it up and down the block.”

  “Oh, those two yoga Moms from the park?”

  “Them’s the ones,” Blaze replied.

  “I heard y’all going at it all morning,” Fox said. “Helped with my meditation.”

  “You were meditating to the sound of Blaze having a three-way?”

  “Have you heard the sound of two yoga MILF’s moaning in unison? It’s pretty spiritual. Like a musical orgy!”

  We all cringed at his joke, spontaneously creating our own music orgy of moans and groans of pain.

  “Your grunts don’t have nearly the same effect,” Fox said, laughing.

  “I’m glad my life is providing y’all with such valuable entertainment,” Blaze said, turning away and walking back to his room. Fox looked over at Daine and me and shook his head.

  “Blaze’s cock must be a foot long, because honestly, the women don’t scream like that for me. I thought he was murdering them for a minute.”

  “Death by cock,” Daine says. “Doesn’t sound so bad to me. There are worse ways to go.”

  “All that pussy, and Blaze is still a miserable sonofabitch,” I said. “Do you think anything will ever make him happy?”

  “Sure,” Fox nodded, confidently.

  “What’s that?”

  “Love.”

  Daine and I burst out laughing.

  “I think he’s just got a big empty hole where his heart is supposed to be.”

  “No,” Fox said, shaking his head, “he just needs someone to break through his shell. A special girl. But, I don’t think he’s going to find that fucking married yoga moms from the park.”

  “Probably not,” I said, laughing.

  “Anyway,” Fox said, turning to me. “Enough of psychoanalyzing Blaze, who isn’t even in the room anymore. What’s going on with you and the club? Did you talk to Barry yet?”

  “Headed there in just a few, actually,” I said. “Soon as I shower and get dressed. Wish me luck.”

  “You don’t need luck,” he said. “You are the luck. You’re Barry’s good luck, because nobody else would ever make him an offer like this.”

  “Thanks, Fox,” I said. “You’re a good friend, man.”

  “I love you, man,” he said, hugging me hard.

  “Oh, get a room, you two!” Daine laughed.

  “Get over here!” Fox insisted. Daine walked over and joined in — prompting a big, sweaty, masculine group hug that gave me just the encouragement I needed to jumpstart the first day of the rest of my life.

  CHAPTER 3

  TILLIE

  After insisting I let him make all the arrangements for me because his cousin was a concierge at the hotel and had all the good hook-ups, Mario had taken the reins and seen to every detail of booking my trip, including my transportation arrangements.

  Gleefully, I’d allowed it. In fact, I’d given him my credit card number and told him to go all out. I quite enjoyed letting someone else handle the arrangements. It gave me less to fret about and gave me absolutely zero opportunity for backing out.

  I’d spent the evening packing for my trip, choosing a mix of casual clothes and a few dressy outfits, just in case. I usually dressed modestly, but I was determined to attempt to blend in with the crowd as much as possible. I wanted to be inconspicuous, just another woman in the crowd, not Reggie Thorne’s ex.

  The stretch limo that pulled up at my front door the next morning was going to make that a little more difficult than I’d imagined. When I spotted the hunky limo driver running around to open my door, I couldn’t help but smile. Mario had done well. I made a mental note to send him flowers. I said goodbye to the cats and left the key under the mat for Mario, then faced the driver.

  “Good morning, ma’am,” he said, tipping his shiny hat. “My name is Anderson. I’ll be your driver today.”

  “All the way to Vegas?”

  “No, ma’am,” he said. “Just the short drive to LAX.”

  “Of course,” I nodded, feeling silly. Why drive when I could fly?

  Sliding int
o the back seat, I sunk into the plush black leather as Anderson closed the door and loaded my luggage into the trunk, before sliding behind the wheel and whisking me away from my gorgeous, stately prison. The house faded away behind us as we drove away and I felt a little flutter in my belly as I wondered what lie ahead, hoping Mario hadn’t gone too far.

  Just a little fun, I reminded myself. A few minutes later the limo drove right onto the tar-mac and sidled up to a small, waiting plane. I looked out the window and smiled again. A regular flight would have been just fine, but apparently Mario thought differently.

  I stepped onto the plane, smiling politely as the pilot introduced himself and the other staff. A woman with the whitest teeth I’d ever seen guided me to my seat, offered me a menu and a cocktail, and within minutes, I was soaring through the sky on my luxurious and most certainly, outrageously expensive, private flight.

  Looking out the window at the city, drenched in sunlight and crawling with traffic, I couldn’t help but feel a little lost and lonely. All those people down there, busy with their lives, filled with purpose and ambition…

  I was nothing like them.

  I’d probably never be like them, struggling to make ends meet, enjoying the rollercoaster of emotion that came with all the successes and failures in one’s life. Sure, I had money, but what they had was true wealth. I imagined them working hard, coming home to loving families and open, welcoming arms, living in vibrant communities and benefiting from the inclusive support of their tribes, their villages, their families.

  That was true value.

  I had none of that.

  Because of that absence, all this money and luxury meant nothing really. I’d dreamt of this life as a kid. Left the squalor of the trailer park behind because I wanted to live a life exactly opposite of all of that.

  Well, look at me now…

  All alone with my money, and I’ve quickly learned money can’t keep me warm or dry my tears. I swirled the ice around in the glass of whiskey I’d asked for, taking a deep breath before drinking it all down and asking the waiting attendant to refill it. I looked down at the city, the landscape quickly changing as we flew over it, and I wondered what made all those people different than me.