“I can see why.”
Ben grins. “He’s one of the good ones, this Danny. He used to be in the Never Knights. But since his father got sick he’s been taking a more managerial role. Hanging up the whole guitar. Poor guy. He never wanted any of this, from what I hear. Just to teach music in California and play his guitar. But he figured—better him than Terrence.”
Better him than Terrence. I think longingly of last night. I can just about deal with one Blue boy in my life—but two? I sigh. Good thing Danny has a girlfriend—because I couldn’t withstand the advances of another one.
When we arrive at the Blue Room, the curtains are drawn tight around the stage. It’s a huge stage—it could fit a whole Broadway cast on it, I think—but tonight it’s a more intimate setting, and the deep velvet curtains are tight around the band.
I sigh involuntarily.
It could have been me, I think. It was me—for one night, at least. I had my shot. But now I knew I was needed elsewhere. For more intimate performances.
I’m prepared to hate Never Knight. A beautiful rock-star’s daughter making her own name for herself—yeah, right. More likely she’d been funded by Daddy’s money and fame. I can’t imagine her ever having it difficult in her whole life. Daddy had probably bought her a guitar by the time she was out of the womb.
But once the Never Knights started to play, I can’t deny that Neve is good. Very good. She has a raw sexuality—but more than that, she has a real sense of mischief, of fun. Like she is enjoying herself up there. She’s just singing for herself and for her bandmates, not for any of the men. She isn’t selling anything. She isn’t playing a role. She is just herself—powerful and fierce, and fiercely talented.
I am won over.
The rest of the band is just as good. The guitarist—“Danny’s replacement,” whispers Ben into my ear—is a tiny girl with an enormous pink bob and equally large saucer-green eyes, marked clearly in black liner. Her leather pants fit perfectly; her T-shirt is torn, showing off her perfect abs. She’s fierce, too.
Neve is a vision. Her silver dress shows off her long tanned legs, her curvaceous body. All the guys are staring at her. Including Terrence. My jealousy comes back.
Must be easy, I think. To be so sexy for yourself. To not have to put on a performance just for someone else.
“Hey, sexy!” I flinch as I hear Terrence approach Neve as she gets offstage.
“Hey, creepy,” she rolls her eyes at him before jumping into Danny’s arms, kissing him so violently that I feel ashamed of my earlier envy. Neve’s clearly besotted with Danny—and he with her.
The crowd’s going wild for their performance. They cheer, scream, and shout.
But what they don’t do is stand.
It takes me a second to figure out why.
People at the Blue Room want to stay in the dark.
I decide to sneak backstage. From there, I reason, I’ll be able to get a better view. Maybe one of the audience members tonight is my mysterious client—the one who, I’m sure, knows what happened to Rita.
I tiptoe backstage, ignoring Ben’s whispered protestations.
“Hey!”
One of the band-members passes me.
“Hey, yourself.”
He’s got big brown eyes and a charming, even innocent smile.
“Have a beer!”
I offer him one from my platter.
“Sorry,” he says. “Under 21.”
I look at him in shock. Of all the rules that are being broken here, I didn’t expect that to be the one people objected to.
“Seriously?”
He smiles bashfully at me.
Before I can ask him if he’s sure, his band-mate—a tall, lanky redhead with a carefree air about him–grabs it and downs it.
“Luc may care,” he grins widely at me. “But I sure don’t.”
“Steve’s above the law,” Luc rolls his eyes.
So’s everyone here.
“We’re gonna go meet some girls!”
Something about the way Steve says it stops me dead in my tracks. These two boys—they can’t be more than twenty—and they’re already seeking out prostitutes like us?
Prostitutes like me.
I’m almost ashamed. The thought that one of them could buy and sell me makes me feel sick. They’re both handsome, but in the moment I can’t be attracted to either of them. They’re just clients, after all.
“If you want to arrange a meeting with a Blue girl . . .” My voice is stilted and cold. Like Mrs. Walters.
“A Blue girl? What’s that?” Luc’s eyes are so wide.
“She means a groupie, stupid. Don’t you?”
A groupie. A nice, normal girl. One who wants to sleep with a rock star. And who doesn’t get paid. Who’s in it for the fun.
“Come have a drink with us!” Luc smiles. “Well, I’ll have an ice-tea, but . . .”
“I can’t,” I say. “I’m working.”
“When do you get off work?”
I can’t tell them the truth. I never get off work.
“I can’t,” I say. “I’m waiting for someone.”
I look over at Terrence to see his eyes are only for Neve.
The others pick up on it, and I curse my inability to hide it.
“Join the club, uh . . .”
“Staci.”
“Staci.” Steve grins again. “Me, I’m a player—I’m not going to deny that, but I have my limits. Terrence Blue has no limits. In number of women or in . . . the depths of his depravity.” He winks. “I hope you’re into the kinky stuff.”
I hope they don’t see me blushing.
“Terrence the Terror.” Luc sighs.
“You know him, then?”
“We know Danny. We’re friends,” says Luc. Then, “kind of.”
“Kind of?” I ask.
“I appear to be the only straight man in the world utterly immune to Neve’s charms,” Steve laughs. “I mean—I love her as a friend, but thinking about her romantically is like thinking about a sister or something . . . Luc didn’t feel the same way.”
Luc looks embarrassed.
“Oh,” I stutter. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to . . .”
“Ancient history,” Luc says with difficulty.
“Anyway, Luc’s got Riley now.”
“I have not!”
“Our guitarist. She’s getting all of his attention. Not everyone could step in into Danny’s shoes, but she sure has . . . I’m sorry. What did you say your name was?”
“Staci.” I shake his hand. “Big fan.”
“A groupie?” He’s teasing now.
“Sort of,” I say.
“How can you be a sort of groupie?” His language is aggressive, but the boyish smile makes it clear that Steve’s just a puppy.
Not like some of the men here.
What am I going to say? I’m the kind of groupie you pay.
“I only sleep with rock stars I really, really like,” I try to tease back.
“And?” Steve’s eyes are saucers.
“And I haven’t found one yet.”
It takes me a second before I realize I’ve accidentally let it slip that I’m a virgin.
“So what are you doing here, then?”
Oh, nothing. Hooking. Trying to solve my best friend’s murder.
“I need the money.”
Also true.
“You can’t work somewhere a bit less—sketchy?”
“Not at this money.” It’s nice to laugh about it. “Sketch is expensive.”
“What else do you do?”
“I sing.” I say it so confidently, like I’m not talking to a world-famous rock star.
“No shit. You good?”
“Yeah,” I figure I’ll put a little swagger in it. “I’m pretty fucking awesome, actually.”
This impresses them.
“Send me a demo sometime, okay?” Steve slips his businesscard into my hand. “We want to expand our own label.”
> “Is that what you say to all the girls you’re trying to sleep with.”
“Nah,” Steve says, just as he catches the eye of a beautiful pair of twins at the bar. “Just the ones I really, really like.” He kisses me lightly on the cheek. “See ya!”
Chapter 11
The next few days fly by in a haze. By day, I’m on a strict kale-and-vitamin-pills-diet, something I’m pretty sure is toxic but will probably result in me getting the clearer skin and “shiny” hair all the Blues girls have. What do you know?, I tell myself. It costs a lot of money to look this cheap. At night, I’m still on shadow-duty at the Blue Room. Perfect for me to figure out how the girls are chosen, how the best girls attract their clients. Which one might be my mysterious patron.
I wonder why no other patron’s been chosen for me. After all, I’ve been here five days, with my so-called virtue still intact—in name, anyway. Has Terrence said something? Are they holding me for that patron? And if so—what are they waiting for? I’d told Terrence—I was ready, willing, and able to do whatever I had to do. I wasn’t scared.
After four days of this, I’m going stir-crazy. I almost wish for a client just to make the loneliness die down a bit. With no internet, there’s just the hotel’s mediocre list of new-releases to choose from, and I’ve already burned through all the sequels and action-films on offer. All that’s left on my TV on-demand is the porn, and I get enough of that already.
I decide to head to the cafeteria.
Not that it stocks much, of course. It’s where we can all go to get gluten-free snacks, bits of lettuce, and special green tea. I figure it’s time to meet some of the other Blues girls.
They’re all sitting together, and immediately I feel like it’s middle school all over again. I’m the new girl in the lunchroom, and everyone’s already goth their cliques down-pat. There’s three of them—all a little older than I am—one with jet-black hair and a nose-ring, one nearly makeupless girl with long natural red hair, and one Miss-America-looking brunette who looks like she’s just missing a tiara.
“So,” whispers the Goth to the redhead, “what’s all the fuss about?”
“I mean, she’s pretty,” Miss America says, “but I don’t get why they’re all requesting her.”
All requesting her? But nobody’s been assigned to me yet . . .
“Maybe she can suck dick almost as good as Brandi here,” the redhead points to the Goth.
“Maybe she’s a really cunning linguist,” Brandi grins. “Like you, Scarlett. We know how good your French and Russian are.”
“She knows how to say prick in fifteen different languages,” says the redhead.
Miss America raises her eyebrows. “Maybe she’s a naughty school-teacher, like Julie. Giving discipline.”
“Whatever she’s got,” says Brandi, “Terrence Blue wants some of her. You know how rarely he visits the Towers.”
“Don’t be jealous,” Julie slaps her wrist lightly. “You know you’d blow Terrence Blue if you had the chance. And he wouldn’t have to pay for it either.”
“Let’s just call it a buy-back,” Scarlett giggles.
Then another girl walks in. Long, shiny dark hair. A self-assured walk. Dark olive skin.
“Rita?”
Against myself I whisper the name.
But the girl who turns to me in surprise isn’t Rita. Her smile, though, reminds me of Rita’s. So kind. So sweet.
“Sorry . . .” I say. “I thought you were someone else.”
“No problem,” she says. “I’m sorry—I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Roseanne.” She laughs. “Not Roseanne. Roz. I changed my name when I came in here. I think it sounds more . . .”
“Slutty?”
We both giggle.
“Staci,” I say.
“Oh, you’re Staci.” Her mouth drops open.
“Why, what have you heard?”
“Nothing,” her voice is sweet, almost shy. “Only that–,”
“What?”
“I know Terrence likes you a lot,” she says.
My ears turn crimson. Does everyone at the Blue Towers know about my little liaison with Terrence Blue? For all the talk of discretion and privacy, it sure feel like the girls here haven’t got any.
“Congratulations,” she says.
“On what?” Landing Terrence? The idea feels almost distasteful when I say it out loud.
“You know what it means, don’t you?” Her voice is low—like she doesn’t want the other girls to hear.
“No, what?”
“He’s saving you for someone really special. All the patrons have been asking for the new girl, and he’s been stonewalling them all. Whatever he wants you to do—it’s out of the ordinary. He only gets involved with the very best girls. The one he has plans for.”
I think of the patron—my mysterious admirer—and grimace. I wonder what plans he and Terrence have for me, in the end.
“I don’t know anything about any plans,” I say.
She raises a dark, arched, eyebrow. “Well, all I know is—you’re set up good.” Her smile turns wry. “It’s not all sordid here, you know. Some of us—we do more than play the part. We make it real.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean we fall in love.” She looks almost blissful as she speaks. “We’re brought into contact with some of the most handsome, most powerful, most desirable men in the world. And sometimes it’s about more than the money. More than the sex. Sometimes, some of us lose ourselves in the fantasy. We fall in real, honest, love.”
“I always thought that was a myth.” The prostitute with the heart of gold. Pretty woman. All fantasy. All illusion.
“Nuh, uh,” she shakes her head. “Not all of us end up bad. Some of us get married—or at least, become long-term mistresses. Some of us get the money to start our own businesses, to pursue our dreams . . .”
“To go to med school?”
I decide to see how much she knows.
As I expect, her smile vanishes.
“When I came in . . .” She’s putting it all together. “You called me . . .”
I nod, slowly.
“You want to know what happened to . . .”
Again, I nod.
The girls at the other table are leaning in—trying to pretend like they’re just stretching. They don’t fool me. The walls have ears, here. Nowhere is really private.
“I’ll tell you more tonight,” she says. “Come to my room. It’s number 231. I’m down the hallway from you. After eight.”
I can hardly contain my excitement. For the first time since I’ve gotten to the Blue Room, I’ve got something close to a lead. Roz knows who Rita is. She knows what might have happened to her. She knows something.
Alone, in my room, I watch the hours tick by until 8 pm. I’m antsy—fidgety. I can’ t focus. I don’t feel like a sexy glamorous femme fatale at all—just a bored kid who can’t sit still. My thoughts about Terrence, my desire, everything—goes out the window. I’m focused on Rita, and that’s all. I’m focused on finding the truth about what happened to her. And I’m close. I’m so close I can taste it.
I watch the clock tick by. 7:40. 7:45. 7:50. The wait is excruciating, but I comfort myself with the thought that my search for answers might finally, finally, be at an end. This much, at least, I can look forward to.
At 8 pm I slip out of my room and tiptoe down the hall, trying not to attract too much attention. Already I know the others, girls like Scarlett and Brandi and Julie, are onto me. The last thing I want to do is give them more scope for gossip.
Roz’s door is slightly ajar. She’s left it open for me.
I don’t bother knocking. I don’t want to attract any attention. I just push it gently open and slip in.
And then I see her. Completely naked, her back facing me, her long lustrous hair tumbling almost to the sheets. Her back, arched. She’s moaning.
She’s sitting on the side of the bed, her legs stretched open wide; I can see the e
cstasy shuddering through her. I can see him only in shadow—the man she’s with—on his knees before her, his head between her legs.
He’s going down on her. I flush in embarrassment, but my redness has another cause, too. I’m aroused—without knowing why—by the sight of it: by Rita screaming in ecstasy, by the man’s tongue probing between her legs.
A surprise client? It shouldn’t surprise me. Last-minute changes seem de riguer here in the Blue Room.
I know I should leave. I know I should get out. But I’m frozen to the spot, watching the two of them, watching how much Roz is enjoying herself.
Could I do this? I wonder. Could I enjoy it? My whole body is tingling with excitement just thinking about it. For the first time, my body is so on fire I can’t stand it. This isn’t just desire. This is passion: overwhelming, overflowing.
Now Roz is raising him up; they’re kissing, devouring one another, while she slips her hand down to his waist and begins massaging his member.
The lights are off, and I still can’t see his face. Just his body: young, taut, handsome, as he thrusts into her, as she cries out.
“Oh, yes!” Her words run together. “Yes, yes! Oh—I love you—yes!”
It’s just an act, I tell myself. She’s saying what prostitutes are paid to say. But as she cries out “I love you” over and over, as she wraps her legs around his waist as he drives deeper into her, she seems totally genuine—totally enraptured. Totally in love.
I remember what Roz said earlier. Some girls fall in love. She’d looked so happy, then. Her cheeks had been pink, flushed.
Yes, I decide. Roz really is in love.
The man thrusts into Roz one final time and they come together, as one, shuddering with joy.
At last I am able to tear myself away from the sight. I run down the hall and reach my room. I’ve never been this aroused before. I can’t stand it.
Against myself, my fingers search for my phone, scroll through for Terrence Blue’s number, text him the words that have been floating around in my head all day.
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