by Alice Ward
On the outside, they looked like they had it made — this was a good brothel, with pampered harlots shagging the rich and famous. The two or three thousand a night they earned was much more than street prostitutes saw from their efforts, but there were expenses to keep the women dressed, fit, and ready for servicing the high-end needs of the clientele. There was a price that wasn’t monetary too.
The women worked hard and put up with strange requests. Some had regular customers, and not all were kinky and deprived, but most of the men had specific desires that were expected to be met without complaint. They didn’t pay top dollar for a hug.
Brandy huffed impatiently. “Can you save the drama for after the show, please? We have a full house tonight. The girls thought you were going mental. Apparently, Janis was in here earlier wanting to borrow something, and you were a human statue. Snap out of it.”
I shook my head, unable to believe how callous Brandy could be at times. She was hotter than hell in her tight, sparkly outfit, but sounded like a drill sergeant. “There’s no drama. I’m trying to adjust. It’s hard to go from where I was to…” I waved my hand around the small room, “this. I’m a Grammy award winner, for goodness sakes.”
Brandy narrowed her eyes, her chin lifting as if I’d insulted her personally. “Well, you can’t be headline news every day, Ad—” She shook her head and gave me a tight smile. “Sorry… Mona. And you can’t stop assholes from being assholes. However, if you could try and do normal for a minute, that would be great for me.”
I knew her frustration wasn’t entirely with me. She was too young to be playing the role of business manager, housemother, and shrink to unbelievably gorgeous but broken women.
Despite my understanding of her role in all of this, I couldn’t relax.
“Sure. No problem. Normal coming up.” My voice rose an octave, the hairs on my neck standing up as sarcasm dripped from my words. “I’ll just put this little getup on, and me and my fucked-up face will hobble out to the stage and pretend my life isn’t completely over.” In spite of knowing my anger was irrationally directed at a woman I loved, the only friend I had left, I still lashed out at her.
“Your life is not over.” Closing her eyes for a beat, she took a deep breath, and when she focused on me again her whole demeanor was different, calmer. “I made sure of it. Now, I want you to take a second to be thankful. You’re not a rock star anymore, Adara slash Mona, you’re just like the rest of us now, but we don’t have it so bad. I wish you’d realize that.”
“I’ll never be like you.” I didn’t mean to say it, but the words were out, hanging between us.
Her chin tipped up another fraction. “Jack Marshall made an offer for you.” Her tone was one she used with the other girls, never me. “It’d be a chance to earn back some of the money Nate’s family stole from you.”
I stared hard into her eyes, our reflections meeting in the mirror. “We discussed this before I came here. I won’t sell myself. Ever.”
She rolled her blue eyes. “You sold yourself every day before. On the cover of CDs, t-shirts…”
She was waging her own war, and I knew it, but I wasn’t a willing ally. All those rich men sitting out there getting rock-hard while fantasizing about their dream night with a woman featured in a glossy catalog. They were nothing to me. Billionaires picking women from a menu like they were filet mignon. To Brandy, though, this was everything, her fucking utopia.
“Doesn’t Jack Marshall have a new wife and a baby, anyway? These men disgust me, and I’ve been in even lower places than this before, so I know disgusting when I see it. I’ve played to packed stadiums. I danced on that damn dancing show everyone loves, for god’s sake. I’m not stooping to fucking Jack Marshall.” I didn’t know why I was antagonizing her, but I felt like a fight. I needed to duke out the demons in my head.
Her eyes narrowed. “Well, that’s what you might have to do now. No one out there knows shit about your Grammy or the stadiums you’ve filled. Here, you’re just a prelude to a good fuck.” Brandy tucked a stray hair into the heavily hair sprayed twist on my head. “Yes, Jack has a new baby, the time men need their paramours the most. Now, dear, take it or leave it. This is your life, and if you don’t get out on that stage on time, dressed and ready for this, I will have no choice but to end your contract.”
Housemother had won over friend, and while I’d goaded her to it, I wondered if she would carry through with her threat.
“I’m the best thing you have going here,” I reminded her, quietly adjusting my black lace butterfly mask over the garish scar that crossed over my eye, running from my left temple and cutting deep into my left cheek.
It’d been two years since the accident and still the scar was impossible to miss. One hundred stitches and a couple cosmetic surgeries had not been enough to erase that ugly mark.
“No, Gina’s pussy is the best thing that has ever happened to this place.” Bran’s matter-of-fact tone was like a new stab to an old, festering wound. Brandy Collins was just as misleading as the mixed drink she was named after. She was sweet with a kick that took you by surprise when you thought it was going to go down smooth.
She’d been my best friend growing up in foster care, and was eventually adopted by her aunt because her mom was too much of a drug addict to get her back legally. She did see her mother at times though, unlike mine.
My mother never came for me. Typical Annie story, only the sun didn’t come out… I was never adopted, never had a family of my own.
Never would now.
The last time I saw my mom was when I was twelve, in court with my social worker. She seemed really happy and looked clean and pretty. Pride for the way she had changed practically burst from my chest that day, and I just knew I would be home with her in no time. The judge gave her a list of things she had to do to reunify with me, and I never saw her again. I’d never even met my dad.
When my mom’s reunification time was up, I was sent to a group home. My foster mom and dad had four other foster kids, Brandy being one of them. The only thing I’d had left of my old life was my voice, and that saved me… and in a way, Brandy saved me too.
“Seriously? Gina’s damn dick ditch?” I decided not to let her get to me, and instead of showing my hurt feelings, I goaded her. “You ever try it?” I knew she messed around with girls from time to time, but Harmon Adler, the owner of Jewel, was her everything. She didn’t play at being disloyal to him and had expressed several times that this was the best she would ever get in life.
“No, but maybe you might want to. It might take that crazy edge off.” She was half kidding, trying in her own way to slide us back to normal again.
“Think I’ll take a rain check.” I slipped my leg into its flesh-colored brace. It wasn’t too bulky but kept me from falling over.
“Don’t knock it, a good muff munch might be all you need to straighten yourself out.” Her tone was serious, but she twinkle in her eye was anything but.
We were good.
I stood with great effort, feeling naked in the pale leotard that hid my body, along with the gauzy, iridescent gown that floated around me. While I wasn’t fully exposed, the contours of my body were well-defined. I had butterfly wings, but I’d put them on just before the show, or I would be knocking precious trinkets from their perches every move I made.
I was ready-ish.
Brandy’s muscles visibly relaxed. “I know this isn’t what you wanted.” Absently, she stroked the gossamer gowns hanging on the rack near her, sympathy in her expression. “But it’s your reality now.”
“Yeah.” I gathered the wings into my arms, trying to swallow the knot that manifested in my throat and conceal the hurt begging to seep out of me.
“None of it was your fault. If his family hadn’t taken everything, you’d be somewhere else, maybe even back in the spotlight where you really belong.” Like the Brandy I knew well, she both encouraged and damned in the same breath.
“I’ll never be back there.
” My life was hell, but going back, facing what happened, I could never do that.
At least here, at Jewel, I was safe. I had to remember, no matter how bad it got, I was safe here… with Brandy. Behind the mask.
“You had nothing to do with his death, Adara. Sorry… Mona.” She sighed and pressed her fingers to her temples, as if attempting to cement my stage name into her mind. “His family had no right to blame you. You were both victims. It’s just, you never have been one to fight back, you let people run all over you and now you’re here. I can’t do more for you than give you a place to work and live. The money’s good, right?” Her smile would have been infectious if I had any feelings left other than anger and grief. She’d always had that magnetic smile.
When we were teenagers, she’d say something like, “Adara, let’s go to the liquor store and get beer.” She’d hit me with that smile, and the next thing I knew, I’d be sitting on the ground behind the liquor store sipping from a tall bottle wrapped in a brown bag.
She wore that same smile when we were sitting in the police station, waiting for our foster father to pick us up after we were caught underage drinking at a party.
“Party… was… da… bomb!” she’d cheered in the back seat of our foster father’s SUV, and even he fell under her spell, which propelled us into uncontrollable teenage giggles.
There wasn’t much giggling going on these days, but her smile still did the trick. I smiled back, and even as the now unfamiliar muscles went to work in my face, it was just easier to give in.
“The money’s fine.” I patted my hair like I thought I was a diva, tilting my hip in an outward thrust. “I’m in it for the fame anyway. Who doesn’t want to be a butterfly?”
We both laughed as I turned and checked my mask again in the mirror. I never took it off. I had a drawerful of different ones, in many colors, but for Jewel, I preferred black. Made in Europe, the lace on the mask was exquisitely beautiful, contoured to cover the ugliness underneath. My masks were the few things I possessed that really belonged to me.
Because so very little belonged to me anymore. The smile faded as the memory assaulted me, refusing to leave me for long.
After the funeral, Nate’s family sued for our estate since we weren’t married and hadn’t been together long enough for common law. Somehow, they’d won. They got everything, our house, our money, our Grammy. That gilded gramophone and this scar were all I had left.
I could’ve fought them to retain what I needed to finish the surgeries necessary to minimize the scar, but I didn’t have any fight left in me. Not that there was that much money left. Nate had managed our money, and I’d been too in love at the time to realize I shouldn’t have trusted him so much. The gash on my face was the only thing I possessed now that connected me to the man I thought I’d grow old with.
I faced Brandy. “Okay, I’m ready.” I wasn’t really. Who was ever ready to perform for a bunch of lust-infused billionaires? In the two months I’d been doing it, I’d been sick with nerves every time.
“Well, girl, you look stunning, and you’re only fractionally less famous than Gina’s golden vagina.” In a casual motion, she turned for the door, throwing back over her shoulder as if it were an afterthought, “You should give Jack Marshall’s offer some consideration. All you’d have to do is let him have you for one night.” Her smile bedazzled the words, almost making them seem like the deal Jack was offering would be a good thing for me.
Brandy could convince a person to buy shit in a ziplock baggy if she sold it with that smile, but she would never… ever… sell me that.
The blood in my veins heated up. “There’s one thing that keeps me from jumping from the roof, Brandy. I’ve never sold my body for sex.” How dare she insinuate that I should even remotely consider Jack’s vile proposal.
She lifted a shoulder and tucked a strand of long blonde hair behind her ear. “He’s into straight-up vanilla, all you’d have to do is lay back and enjoy the ride.”
“Fuck you.” I wished I had the energy to throw something at her.
She had the balls to wink at me. “Yes. All he wants is to fuck you, just once. Don’t throw this away so fast. It’s a chance to earn back some of the money Nate’s family stole from you. Consider it, that’s all I ask.” She glanced at her watch and snapped her fingers. “Okay, time’s up, get your ass out there.”
Brandy shuffled behind me as she shooed me out of my dressing room. I really wanted to hate her, but I hated myself more. Brandy was just being Brandy. She’d never changed, never had to.
I took a deep breath, quieted my mind. Just go out there and do what you do best, Adara.
Shit… Mona.
CHAPTER TWO
Roman
One of my exs once suggested that life didn’t fit into my life unless it involved a business meeting.
The downside to owning a business based on the internet was that it never shut down. There was zero off time in the internet trading world. Someone was always awake somewhere, so at any given time an internet entrepreneur who was sleeping or out on a date was missing an opportunity.
Because of my jampacked schedule, I was notoriously late and gunned my Mercedes S65 Cabriolet through the light that was about to turn red.
That day, business involving my international trading company was taking place in the form of eighteen holes of golf with the head of the PGA. My company was working on a deal with the Professional Golfer’s Association to sponsor next year’s tournament, and I’d signed my brother-in-law slash business associate and myself up for a round of golf as a warmer.
While I was always a little on the late side, my brother-in-law, Peter, was worse. Pulling up outside his building, I laid on the horn and thrummed my fingers on the steering wheel. Two honks later, he finally opened the passenger door.
“Pete,” I scoffed as he slid into the polished leather seat. “What part of one o’clock don’t you understand?”
“Stand down, man, it’s one-ish. Close enough in normal people world.” Peter dove for the radio the minute he clicked his seatbelt, and his fingers danced over the radio controls. “I can’t do zombie death marches today.”
“Classical music is relaxing.” I seized his hand, holding him back from slaying Bach for Beyoncé.
He slumped into an overexaggerated pose, his gaze shifting to the roof. “Why do I hang out with you again?”
“I’m your boss,” I reminded him with a note of deep satisfaction.
Three years ago, when my twin sister, Liliana, introduced me to Peter, I was in utter shock. He was the same age as me, thirty-two years old, and he spoke and acted like a perpetual teenager. I couldn’t have approved of him less. However, he was the kind of guy who grew on you. He had a magnetic charm. Liliana was madly in love with him and she, being my twin, was my world. She’d always been a bit juvenile in her behavior, so it was a “match made in heaven” as they say.
Eventually, I saw what Liliana admired about Peter after spending more time than I cared to with him. He was fun.
I didn’t really do fun. I wasn’t a fun guy.
But Pete brought fun to the table, and sometimes I took a little fun away with me. As it also turned out, he was one of the most successful eco-adventure entrepreneurs in the business. I’d amicably bought his company and have made him millions, many times over.
I liked the fierce, no-nonsense reputation I’d built, but I was still a nerd in some instances. Peter raised my coolness quotient by more than I cared to admit.
“So, explain to me again why you aren’t taking the mini excursion to Banff this week? I got the wifi all sorted, you can work on the road.” Peter’s tone told me he was expecting me to be overjoyed.
I rolled my eyes, checked the time, and pulled out into traffic. “What about accessible wifi makes you think I’d consider it? How is staying in a hotel room in the middle of the wilderness even remotely fun by anyone’s definition?” Even though I would love to breathe in the crisp Canadian air, I consider
ed it my job as his brother-in-law to mock his enthusiasm for all things outdoors.
“Dude, it’s everything. Unspoiled nature, fucking elk and bison.” His face lit up with excitement.
I had to interrupt him before he could launch into an exhaustive list of benefits of driving a large vehicle when bringing down large game. “As much as I’d love to go, which I hope you know is just me saying something to be polite, I have to take a Korean client to Jewel. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to fuck any elk or bison.”
It felt good to make a pretty decent joke out of an uncomfortable confession. My cool meter was rising.
Peter’s mouth dropped open, and he gripped the dash. “You’re ditching me for a sex club?”
“A client. I’m ditching you for a client.” This clarification needed to be made — I didn’t ever partake of the goods at Jewel.
“Dude…”
“Mr. Dickson.” I resorted to his last name when he really aggravated me. Because, god, he really was a dick. “If you call me ‘dude’ again…” Heat built under my collar, and I shifted in the driver’s seat, never wanting to break my impeccable facade of authority and command. Peter could test every one of my limits.
“Don’t ‘Dickson’ me around.” Pete barked out a laugh. “You’re not just taking a client, are you? You’re going to have a good time with a woman, right?” When I didn’t answer, he did a mock headbutt. “You’re an idiot.”
I flashed him an intense glare.
He completely ignored my I’m getting angry, don’t fuck with me vibe. “A well-advised person would sample the goods. It’s a sex club, come on.” He smiled devilishly with full disregard of my need for decorum.
“Among other things, there’s a nice restaurant. The sushi’s great.” So’s the anonymity. I sped onto the interstate, feeling a jarring sense of discomfort.
“Scantily dressed other things. No one goes there for the food.”
“They have an excellent chef. Besides, I usually stay in the lounge and let my clients accompany each other into the offer room — the theater. Wait.” I held up a hand between us. “I’m not having this discussion with you.” Peter was baiting me, trying to get me to admit to paying for sex. An indescribable fire spread across my chest at the thought.