“Oh, Terrence!” I’m moaning; I’m panting; I’m heaving. They can hear me all the way down in Mrs. Walters’ office. “Terrence—this—this feels so good—but . . .”
But my client’s meant to be here already. And somehow I don’t think watching me get fingered by Terrence Blue is the kink he signed up for.
Or maybe it is, who knows? The Blue Room’s clientele seem pretty into the weird stuff.
“You have no idea what you’re missing.” Terrence whispers into my ears. “Such pleasure. Such wild pleasure. All yours. A body and a face like yours—your body is an instrument. Built to give, but also to receive.”
At once I’m on the defensive. I’m no instrument—I’m not built for anything, except maybe finding out the truth about Rita. But it’s hard to think about that when my mind is going blank, when my eyes are rolling back into my head, when with a shudder and a scream that feels like an explosion I’m coming onto his fingers, his hand, against his chest, crying out into his neck.
I buck a few more times and then he takes his fingers out of me, lifts them to his lips, begins to suck them dry.
The look he gives me almost makes me come a second time.
“Next time,” he says, and I’m wet again just hearing it. “I’ll take off your panties first. Then I’ll do exactly what I just did to you—only next time, I’m going to use my tongue. And you’ll come so fast—I know girls like you—on edge the way you are. It’ll only take a few licks before you come so hard you won’t know what hit you. But it won’t be over.” He wipes his lips with a handkerchief, impeccably monogrammed TJB. “I bet you can come at least four or five times in an hour. You look like it this time. And I’m going to make sure I have the chance to find out.”
I can’t even think.
A knock at the door slams us both out of the reverie.
“It’s him!” My voice catches in my throat.
Shit. How am I going to get Terrence out of here?
I start fixing my lipstick, my hair, everything. I tell myself that this is all part of the plan—that seducing Terrence Blue is the best way to get inside the real back of the Blue Room, to figure out what happened to Rita and why. But why does it feel like he seduced me? And why does it feel so good?
“It’s him . . .”
But before I can get to the door, Terrence is already there. He leans out, whispers a few words, then closes it again before I can say anything.
“Why did you send him away?” I ask.
My first client—and I don’t even get to meet him? Terrence Blue is bad for business.
“An unnecessary distraction.”
“But he’s already paid!” I cry out. “Mrs. Walters says he’s already paid for dinner . . .”
Terrence bursts out laughing. “Staci,” he says. “That was housekeeping. For the vase.”
“But . . .” the realization hits me before I finish the sentence. “My patron.”
Terrence doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me, with those amazing blue eyes, until I nod, slowly.
“I think you’ve passed the dinner test, Staci,” he says. “Normally I make my decisions after dessert—but in this case—I think I will have you for the rest of the night.”
I stare up at him in shock.
I’d been prepared to sleep with a patron, that much was true. I’d been prepared to sleep with someone for whom I felt nothing, not even attraction, to turn off my body and my mind and just go through the motions, like a robot. Be an actress, playing a scene with a stranger. But it hadn’t occurred to me that I’d have to sleep with Terrence. Terrence for whom I felt something real, even if it was just desire.
“You’re joking . . .” Somehow, I know he’s not. “Terrence—you have to go before my client gets here.”
“Don’t play dumb, Staci.” He grins, pinning my arms above my head as he presses against me once again. He leans in to kiss me behind the ears, which feels so good that my heart stops for a second in sheer ecstasy. I half-close my eyes, enjoying the way his tongue is probing my ears, my neck. “I’m getting through to you, Miss Atussi. That much I’m sure of.” His kiss intoxicates me. “Little by little,” he says. “I’m chipping away that virginal little chastity belt of yours.” He applies more pressure, then his teeth, and that little bit of pain sends me over the edge. I’m moaning again, unable to stand it any longer.
“You see, I’ve found one of your buttons.” I’m practically screaming. “You’re still new enough to pleasure, that discovering it excites you. You’re still so untouched, so fresh—you take such pleasure in the pleasure you feel. You can’t fake how your skin heats up underneath my fingers. You can’t fake how your pretty blue eyes are dilated so wide. Your body’s taking over. Whatever your mind is screaming, it won’t listen.”
“Terrence . . . my dress . . . my hair . . .” I don’t even know what I’m saying now.
“Sorry baby. Those things are beyond repair. It’s fine. I’ll pay damages.” His teeth nip against my neck and leave a bruise. His smile is wicked. “I called the original client—assigned him elsewhere.”
“Why would you do that?” My mouth falls open. Against myself I’m thinking of the money, of what it could do for my mother.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll still get paid. I’ll see to that. But I don’t know what Mrs. Walters was thinking booking you with him for the night. Although I can see how he could have gotten a whiff of you from that little performance you did onstage the other night.”
“He seems . . . specific,” I say, thinking of how carefully Mrs. Walters and the others made me up.
I’d rather him than Terrence. At least then I don’t have to worry about falling for him.
“He likes that glamorous look. The sex bomb you pretend to be. ”
“Well, then I’ll pretend to be experienced for him,” I say. “Isn’t that my job. To fulfill men’s fantasies.”
“Not his,” Terrence looks grave. “Look—Staci,” his voice is almost tender. “The stuff he likes—this guy is extreme. And he wants extreme things. To do to girls and to be done to him. There’s a reason he pays as much as it does. But the stuff he’ll ask you to do—it will take a toll. Even among the Blue Girls, several refuse to see him. After what he’s done to some of the girls.”
Girls like Rita?
Now I’m more curious than ever to meet him.
“What does he do to them?”
“He’s one of our best patrons at the club,” says Terrence, as if that settles it. “What he wants, he gets.”
“So he can have his way with any girl?” The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “What if they say no?”
His smile is dark. “They never say no.”
Chapter 9
“I want to see him,” I say.
It’s the most dangerous thing I’ve ever said, but right now, I’m sure it’s what I want. This man—whoever he is—sounds like someone who might have known Rita. Who might have killed her. No, I won’t let myself think that way. All I know is—he might know where Rita is. And right now, that’s good enough for me.
Part of me, too, knows that it’ll be easier this way. To do sick, strange things with a stranger won’t shake me nearly as much as taking money for sex with Terrence Blue. I’m not afraid of getting hurt.
“I want to protect you,” he says.
I want to laugh in his face.
“You want to protect me?”
Like he hasn’t grown up in the lap of luxury. Like he hasn’t grown up with everything he’s ever wanted. He thinks I haven’t met prostitutes before? Pimps? Men who beat up women? When you grow up in the one-night-cheap motels of Las Vegas, you learn pretty early on that you have to protect yourself. I’ve been beaten up before. Back when I worked the cash register, drunks would try to get fresh all the time. And he thinks he’s going to protect me? Ridiculous.
I’m going to protect myself. And Rita, too. If she’s still alive.
“Why?”
“
If he can have whatever he wants,” I say, “he’s going to have me sooner or later. And I don’t want to waste time. Maybe I’ll change my mind tomorrow. You might want to sell me off while I’m still ready, willing, and able.”
“I told him you were so new—we didn’t have all your paperwork filled out yet. Confidentiality agreements. Security checks. STD testing.”
“Confidentiality agreements?”
“This patron is discreet. Not that he needs paperwork to keep people quiet. This guy has a lot of people who—ah—shut people up as necessary.”
I’m starting to get nervous. But I didn’t come to the Blue Room to back out. My intuition tells me that this guy is the guy I want.
“I want to know who he is.”
“You don’t,” says Terrence. “You’re better off not knowing. We have a lot of people who come into the Blue Room. Celebrities, princes, billionaires, politicians. People powerful enough to make those disappear whom they perceive as a threat. Many of our girls don’t even know his name. He likes it that way.”
Did he make Rita disappear? The question has filled my brain so entirely I can’t think of anything else.
“You can at least tell me what he’s into,” I say. “I want to be prepared.”
“He’s rough,” said Terrence. “Dominant.”
“I can handle that.”
“Are you sure you can?”
He takes my hand and pushes me onto the bed.
“When you can’t even handle this?”
He gets on top of me. He’s straddling me.
“He’s not going to take his time with you. He’s not going to kiss you gently, make you wet. He runs the world. He hasn’t got time for that.”
I can’t help myself. Again I’m turned on—so turned on I can’t move.
“Don’t move,” he says.
“I’m not—oh!”
His tongue is down between my thighs, working its way upwards.
He finds what he’s looking for. I arch my back. The pleasure is so intense I can’t stand it. My panties are down somewhere around my ankles; his face is buried between my legs; his tongue is licking me over and over, probing deep, reenacting the motions of his fingers earlier.
He’s right. I can’t handle it.
“You’re delicious,” he murmurs, his breath intoxicating me as it ripples between my legs.
I scream his name over and over when I come.
“That’s one,” he whispers. He strips the dress from me, pulls it onto the floor.
“I want to eat you all night.”
I tell myself I’m doing this for Rita. I’m preparing myself for the moment when I’ll have to meet this man, have to pretend I know what I’m doing.
Before I find the truth.
Right now, I’m lost in him.
He kisses every part of me, nipping at the most sensitive areas, driving me wild. His tongue finds places I didn’t even know were part of me—patches of skin that under him are nothing but nerves.
“More . . .” My voice is rough and hungry. “Don’t stop.”
“A second course?”
He’s explored every part of me. Soon he’s stripped down to his underwear; soon I’m exploring him, too, with my lips, just as he has explored me.
At last I can’t stand it any longer.
I tell him exactly what I want him to do to me.
“Oh, Staci,” he groans. “I wish I could. But Mrs. Walters would have my head.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s a price on virginity here,” he said. “Stupid, isn’t it. When we both know what you’re capable of. When we both know how depraved your desires are, how deep they go—in your own mind. But that technicality is worth a pretty penny to several of our patrons.
“And—this patron? Does he want a virgin?”
“He shouldn’t,” Terrence looks faintly disgusted. “The stuff he’s into—it’s not exactly how most girls want their first time to be.”
“I’m not most girls,” I say.
“He likes virgins,” Terrence says. “He especially likes experienced virgins. Who know how to please a man. But who give him that little ego-boost—of having him been their first.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to leave.” I’m trying to play sassy—but deep down I don’t want him to go. I want to stay in his arms until morning. I’ve come three times tonight, and still I want more. He’s awakened a hunger in me I didn’t know I had. A knowledge of my own body, my own strength.
I should feel conquered, I think. Seduced. Instead, I feel in control. Powerful. Like I’m recognizing a part of myself that I didn’t even know existed.
“You’re going to have to make up for that somehow,” I say. I’m laughing, even joking as I say it, but I’m proud of the power I have over him when I see the desire cross his face in a smile. “If you can’t be inside me . . .”
“I’ll have to find some other way to make you moan.”
We understand each other perfectly.
But when the clock strikes three in the morning, Terrence gets up.
“Sorry, darling,” he said. “I have an unbroken streak of never spending the night with any woman.”
I pretend like it’s okay.
After all, I need time to myself. To recover. And to eat. I haven’t had dinner and it hits me all at once that I’m starving.
“Next time,” I try to make it a joke. “Take me out to dinner first.”
“That’d be a challenge,” he says. “I’m not sure I could be with you in any setting when I couldn’t reach up between your legs whenever I wanted. I don’t know if I’d be able to stand it.”
And with that, he leaves me.
The next morning, I hardly have time to reflect on what’s going on. There’s no beauty treatment listed on the schedule, but the daily handwritten letter slipped under my door at some insane hour says
8:00. Mixology. Ben.
Ben, I learn, is an affable bartender who works in the Blue Room. He shows up at my hotel room with a bottle of Courvoisier in each hand.
“Sorry it’s so early,” he says “I bet you’re wondering who on earth drinks at a time like this?
“Can’t we start with mimosas,” I say. “After all, it’s not even brunch.”
“You know what they say.” He grins. “It’s five-o-clock somewhere in the world.”
His task, he explains, is to teach me drinks. Not just how to make them—that would be too easy. But how to identify wine and fine spirits by their taste, and how to identify men’s tastes by just looking at them.
“The idea is that a good bartender knows what the customer wants before he orders it,” says Ben. “My ex-boyfriend, he used to say he could tell the cocktail order before the customer entered, just by the perfume his female companion was wearing. But that’s pretty rare. Still, it’s a gift. And learning about fine wines and liqueurs makes you that much more desirable as a companion.” He looks apologetic.
“Sorry—that’s kind of gross, isn’t it?”
I laugh out loud. For the first time, someone in The Blue Room is talking like a real, normal person, not a character out of Eyes Wide Shut.
“What?”
“You’re the only person here who hasn’t acted like this is normal.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to pretend I’m not in that world,” he said. “But it’s easier for me if I hold onto myself in the process.” His gaze turns dark. “You know—everyone is for sale here,” he says. “Whether they want to be or not.”
I wonder who has sold him, and when.
“I’m prepared to accept that,” I say.
“Why?”
He’s so nice, so warm, so trustworthy-seeming, that I almost tell him about Rita on the spot. But I think better of it. I can’t trust anybody just yet. Not Ben. Not Terrence. Not even myself.
“There are worse things than sex,” I say. I think of my mother in her hospital bed. “There are worse ways to sell yourself.”
&
nbsp; He nods, and for a second his stare grows melancholy.
He’s seen things, I think.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s start with the wines. Maybe if we get tipsy by the afternoon, it’ll make your 5 pm. more appealing.”
I look at the schedule. 5 pm. Basics of the Global Economy.
“My community college never had this stuff,” I joke. “Guess I’m finally getting an education.”
“Careful, Staci.” His voice is low. “There’s some things here nobody ever wants to learn.”
Chapter 10
It is going to be a special night. That much I learn from the handwritten note Mrs. Walters slips under my door at 7 pm. There is to be no client tonight. Instead, I am going to be going to the Blue Room to learn how things worked as, as she puts it, a “silent observer.” I understand at once what she means. No more punching and kicking like last time. I’m going to learn how the other girls—the real girls—perform. I’m going to know my place and keep my mouth shut.
“Don’t worry,” Ben smiles gently at me. “I’ll be there. Serving drinks. That’s all I do . . . now.” The now is final and I wonder how much of Ben was really for sale. “I’ll keep an eye out for anyone sketchy.”
I’m not sure how to feel. Part of me is nervous—it’s one thing to be one-on-one with a client, quite another to be peacocking around in front of several of the Blue Room’s most important, most notable clients. Trying to compete with the other girls there. Who am I kidding—I’m nobody’s competition. These girls have been in the business for months or years. They’ve been whipped into shape by Mrs. Walters—and those that haven’t have been kicked to the curb long-since. I’m going to be the newbie. The bottom on the totem pole. Fresh meat. It’s been like that every job I ever worked in Vegas and LA alike. Last on, first off. That’s what they say.
“The Never Knights are playing tonight,” says Ben. “So it’s not going to be quite like usual Apparently Danny Blue has been pushing to give the Blue Room a better image.”
“Who’s Danny?”
“Terrence’s half-brother,” Ben explains. “He’s not like Terrence. I mean—he used to be, from what I hear, but now he’s a one-woman man. A Never Knight man, at that. He’s sworn off his bachelor days—and his old way of doing things. If he had his way the Blue Room would be shut down completely, or turned into a more conventional theater or music venue. He’s weirded out by the whole sex thing.”
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