by Gow, Kailin
I don't care about his eyes, those shining, piercing blue eyes that get right under your skin. I don't care about his silky soft hair, black, to his shoulders, lustrous. I don't care about his face, chiseled to perfection, but with a few flaws that indicate mischief, nor harmony or his full sinful lips like a rock star’s lips.
“Staci?”
I don't care about his voice, either. Not when it's low and dark like this. Like he's whispering into my ear, trying to make me wet.
“How are you? I just came to see how you're doing.”
I wipe my tears away with the back of my hand. I'd melt into the floor if Terrence Blue saw me cry. I'm supposed to be worldly, street-smart, experienced. Used to the attentions of horny men. Not some inexperienced virgin recent college grad, desperate for a job but unable to cope with its demands. A girl who gets hysterical when a man puts his hand on her ass. I need to convince him that I can handle this. This job, this world. That I can sing my heart out, and shake my tits to boot.
Rita could handle it, after all. My old college roommate, Rita was a gorgeous girl with long dark hair and blue eyes almost as piercing as Terrence's. She'd funded med school on that stage. Sure, there had been odd times – times when she didn't come home at night, times when she vanished for weeks on end – but she'd always texted me. Just to say “I'm fine. Don't wait for me.” And she'd always come back. The last time, she told me she'd met someone. A wealthy man, a handsome man. A patron at the club. Mr. X., she called him. He was too famous, apparently, for me to know who he really was. She wasn't sure if he loved her or he loved her cup size, but she was happy. Happy enough to give up med school and live on his largesse. She left college and the last I heard, she was wearing Cartier. I figure she was happy. She wasn't broke, at least. And right now, not-broke was all I could focus on.
Well, that, and Rita.
One Facebook Message from her. “I'm in too deep. And I don't know how to get out.” Sent from the Grand Blue Towers, a luxury hotel where the Blue Girls were frequently put up for the night. She never answered my calls. She never answered my emails.
I was going to find out what happened to her.
“Staci?”
Did Terrence use this voice on Rita, I wondered? That smooth voice, so husky with need. I knew I couldn't trust him. But when I felt my nipples harden, involuntarily, I knew his voice had the desired effect.
“What do you want?” My voice was soft. I couldn't stand to look up into his eyes.
His fingers on my bare shoulders seemed to burn into my skin. I could feel him tightening his grip on me. “Man...I was so turned on watching you on stage just now, Staci. I've seen a lot of girls at this club. And not one of them has a delectable pair of tits like yours. I just want to take them in my hands...”
I didn't move. I let him touch my breasts. I froze.
“I want to take them in my mouth...”
“Is that part of my job description?” I jerked back. Got control over myself again. “Because I'm pretty sure that's illegal.”
“Your job,” Terrence leans in so close I can smell the musk on him, masculine, sensual, and delicious. “Is to create a fantasy. To make men's fantasies come true. And not just any men. Only the most prestigious, the most powerful of men come here, knowing how exquisite our tastes are in selecting women for the Blue Room. That's why we put you up in the nicest hotels, give you everything you could desire. Food, beauty treatments, etiquette training, pampering beyond belief...”
“So I can fuck whoever pays you?” Now I'm getting mad.
“You'll do what you're willing to do. Nobody is forcing you to sing.”
“I came here to sing,” I say, still barely believing Terrence's words.
“You did sing.” Terrence leans in and, before I can jerk away, takes my lower lip into his mouth, sucking it gently. It tingles and I almost moan. “You taste just as good as I imagined.”
I pull away. I'm not going to let him distract me, not for a second.
“You're expecting me to have sex with patrons if I want to keep your job.”
He doesn't listen. He's pressing me up against the wall, kissing me passionately, his tongue flicking against mine until I moan again in spite of myself. I despise him, but somehow I don't push him away.
I have to stay calm. To keep my job. To find out what happened to Rita.
But it's hard to stay calm when a boy who looks like Terrence Blue is pressing his body against mine.
“You surprise me, Miss Atussi. From the look in your eyes, I thought you wanted something else entirely. You're more than you seem.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You may act all sweet and innocent, Atussi, but when you're on stage, you're the sexiest woman alive. You want something. You have a hunger in you. And I want to find out what it is.” He presses my hand to the hard-on in his pants. It's enormous. Bestial.
But I push him away.
“I want you to stay...” he groans.
I want to stay, too. But I won't let him take advantage of me that easily. I took a deep breath, forcing myself back into control.
“Another day,” he says. “You get another chance. Understood?”
“I'm not going to whore myself out, Terrence,” I say.
I think I detect a hint of a smile. “Good,” he says. “But if you change your mind – remember, wealthy and powerful men take very good care of themselves. They have the money to. And they often make wildly passionate lovers. Most women would love to be their mistresses, to be taken care of by them, to be fucked by them.”
“Not me.” I make it as clear as possible.
But still, somehow, I let him trace his fingers up my inner thigh. I let him rub his fingers against my panties, then slide them aside. I feel those gasping tremors of pleasure as his fingers gently and tantalizingly rubbed the most sensitive and heated part of me to the point where I clench down on my lower lips to keep from moaning loudly, but my voice deep from the center of my chest groaned softly, “Oh, Terrence.”
His voice is husky with need.
“What if that patron was me?”
Chapter 4
My whole body is tingling. I've never felt like this before. The shiver running up and down my spine; the way my blood is boiling in my veins. The way my heart is ricocheting against my chest so hard that it feels like I'm being beaten up from the inside out. All of that is new to me – so new.
Sure, I've felt desire before. Or, at least, I think I have. I've kissed boys, and fumbled here and there, and from time to time explored the outskirts of that land of pleasure I've never visited, not really. I'm experienced enough, I suppose. Although – I think with a sigh – by the standards of the Blue Room I'm practically celibate. I'm certainly the only virgin here.
It's not that I have anything against sex. Sex is what brought me into the world, after all, the only good thing my father ever did for me. I never held out for any particular reason. Except maybe idealism. The idea that when I knew, I'd know. That this was the person I wanted to lose my virginity to. In my head it had been a romantic realization. All about love, about pretty pink clouds and princess ribbons, about rings and promises of undying devotion. I'd never dreamed that my body would respond to the touch of a man like this. I'd never dreamed that it would respond without any promises of romance all – and to the most repulsive man I'd ever met, a player, a huckster – and maybe more. Whatever happened to Rita, I have no doubt that Terrence, even if he's not behind it, knows what's going on. He knows where she is.
I have to remember that. I tell myself that much. I have to remember that, even when his hand is on my thigh, his fingertips tracing ever so slightly the contours of my knee, then sliding upwards toward my panties again, I have to remember that, even when his musk is filling my nostrils, driving me wild, driving me mad. I have to stay calm. Stay cool. Stay in control.
But I couldn't deny what my body wanted. Physically, all I wanted was for Terrence to have his way with me then and
there. I wanted it so badly I felt I could taste the need. I'd never known that sure a desire existed, a desire so strong, so potent, like the hottest spice or the most intoxicating wine, to make everything else in the world seem so vague in comparison. I'd never known temptation like this.
But I wasn't about to lose my virginity to Terrence. I know what it's like, after all, to get knocked up to a man who doesn't deserve you. I've seen men like him before. Players. Men who don't care about women except as receptacles for their desire and need. Good-looking men who have it all – wealth, looks, power, and that mysterious brand of sociopathy that so often comes along when you've got all those things in one package.
Men like my father.
Norma Rae, that was my mother's name. Stage name, of course – she wanted it to be Norma Jean but her managers said that was too on the nose. She wanted to go Broadway, go Hollywood. Instead, she went to my father's bedroom. He saw her in the chorus line and wanted her then and there, just like Terrence wanted me, just like I wanted him. In a movie, this would have been her ticket to fame and fortune, real romance. In a movie, he would have lifted her out of poverty and ambition and made her a star.
But life isn't like the movies. Life isn't like Hollywood. In real life, the men who seduce you knock you up and abandon you, leave you without a penny – a penny they could well afford. Just because they can. I mean, my dad wouldn't even have had to talk to my mother again, just to make sure she was taken care of. Men like him have secretaries to do things like that, remembering important things like their wives' birthdays and how many illegitimate daughters they have. But my dad, he didn't even care enough to send along enough money to keep my mom's health insurance going.
Pregnancy destroyed my mother's body. She always pretended like it didn't – joked she ate too much – but beneath the smile, beneath her attempts to spare me the guilt I always felt for existing, I saw the truth. Hollywood chewed her up and spit her out. Nobody wanted a showgirl with stretch marks. She never got married, never even had a boyfriend. Worked five or six jobs at once. None of them enough to give her insurance. None of them enough to treat the cancer that now ravaged her body.
She's in hospice, now.
And my father? He's probably here tonight. Sitting in the crowd. Putting those hundreds down another girl's G-string.
A girl no older than my mother was twenty-two years ago.
I would never have come back here, to dance for men like him. Not if I didn't want to know what happened to Rita. Not if I didn't want to get my own back on the Blue Room, and places like it – places that ruined the lives of the people that I loved.
I clung to that, and it gave me strength. It gave me the strength not to give in, even as Terrence moved his fingers over my most intimate part, giving me so much pleasure that I couldn't help myself when I moaned his name.
So, this is what desire was like. Scorching desire. The kind that leaves nothing in its wake but ash.
“So...” His voice is in my ear, tickling my earlobe, making my throat close up and my heart race. “What do you say?”
“To what?” I already know what.
“Me taking caring of you. Making sure you're at your peak, in terms of health and beauty. And if you so choose, you'll get first pick of the many, many men who will want to pick you. Move into Blue Towers. Get a King-Sized bed, a jacuzzi – all the luxury a girl like you could want.”
A girl like me. Like he knows me.
Like he knows what I want.
I want the truth. That's what I hope to find in Blue Towers.
“Will you be there?” I try to sound sassy, but it comes out a whisper.
“Do you want me to be?” He looks me up and down, his smile so sure, like he's already won.
I don't answer him. I don't trust myself to answer intelligently. I think my body will do the talking for me the second I open my mouth.
“I don't usually bother going into the Towers to visit the girls. Day to day maintenance isn't my style. It's not exactly my area. I don't mix business and pleasure unless I've got a very good reason to do so.”
He moves his hand away and I want to scream.
“Are all the girls who work here staying at the Towers?” Meaning, is Rita at the Towers now?
“Most, not all. Some live with their families. Not a lot, as you can imagine...”
“Do any – you know – go away with the patrons?” Is that where Rita went? Is that why I haven't heard from her since that last message?
“So many questions, Miss Atussi.” He pulls away completely. My flesh is on fire. “Are you planning on going away already – when just a second ago you said you didn't want to go away with any of us?”
“No – no.” I clarify quickly. “Why would I?”
He leans in and kisses me again. I don't know what game he's playing, but whatever it is, he's got the upper hand. I bristle at how easy it is for him. “Picture me as your patron. Your lover. Taking pleasure in giving your pleasure. Taking pleasure in tasting you.” His kiss is so deep I can barely breathe.
I close my eyes. Despite myself, I let him part my lips. I let him put his hand back between my legs.
“People always think this business is about women giving men pleasure. But not me. What can I say. I guess I'm a feminist.” I want to smack that grin off his face. Right after he finishes fingering me. “I think women should enjoy themselves just as much. Maybe more.”
“I have no problem enjoying myself.” I snap back into sense. “Responsibly.”
“Everyone here is safe, if that's what you're worried about. Members have to get an STD test before they get their card, regular check-ups thereafter. The girls, too.”
He moves his lips down to my breasts. I inhale sharply as he takes one of my nipples in his mouth. “Does this feel dangerous to you?”
I can only sigh in response.
“I knew it.” He smiles wickedly and I can't stand it; I let it happen anyway. “I knew it. I knew there was a bad girl in there somewhere. I saw it on stage. I saw the real you. Everyone saw her. And many people – they want to see her again. In a private room. Alone.”
He moves his mouth to my other breast.
“You are intoxicating, Miss Atussi. So pure – yet there's a fire in you. I'm sure enough of that. Maybe you'll even make me break my personal rule. If you want me to. I'll show you how to unleash that fire. I'll make you crave pleasure. I'll make you need it. Wouldn't you like that/ Wouldn't you like everything I could give you?”
I can't tell if he's playing me or I'm playing him.
What he's offering me is access, plain and simple. Access to him. And with it, maybe, the Blue Room's secrets.
“Yes,” I said. I don't know if I mean it.
“Then move into the Towers, Staci.”
I want to moan again.
“It's time to live.”
I nod. Slowly.
Even now, I don't know which of us is winning.
Chapter 5
My ears are ringing. The orgasm I've experienced is so violent, so earth-shaking, that the sky goes black and white above my eyes. I can't see a thing. I'm shaking, all over. My body is trembling like a twig in the depths of a thunderstorm. My skin is so sensitive; I can feel every inch of the satin sheets against my spine.
I look around me in shock. For a second, my hands clutch around empty air. My fingers trace nothingness.
Then...
Who was it that held me? Who was it that wrapped his legs around my waist, that thrust inside me, that let his chest clench against my chest, that let me feel his smooth skin, his taut muscles, his rippling strength?
I'm breathing shallow, hard, so loud I'm afraid I'll wake up the person in the room next to me. I'm breathing so hard I can't breathe.
It was only a dream, Staci. I feel stupid, saying it out loud. But I have to, to reassure myself, to stop my heart from beating as fast as a hummingbird's. Whatever I felt, whatever pleasure I succumbed to in the night – it wasn't real. That face
, those glittering blue eyes with that wicked smirk in them – I hadn't succumbed, not really. I hadn't done anything at all except dare to dream of Terrence Blue, the most dangerous man in Los Angeles. And the most sensuous.
He'd kissed me on the cheek when he brought me up to the hotel. “Room 342,” he'd said with a grin. “I'll be sure to remember that.” But he hadn't tried to come inside. He'd been a perfect gentleman.
“Tomorrow's Monday,” he had said before I went in. “It's your day off. You should do something special with it.”
“I don't want to do anything,” I'd said.
“Suit yourself. But I want you to know – you have the option.”
I'd spent a few hours just walking around the room, in shock. The Blue Tower was everything they'd said it was and more. I'd never even dreamed of luxury like this. Satin sheets, four-poster beds, a balcony with a view over Los Angeles, twenty-four inch plasma television screens, a minibar stocked with the finest liquors a girl like me could want. If my mother could see me here, I thought – with a pang – she wouldn't believe her eyes.
If my mother could see me here.
The thought filled me with shame. Me, here, in a hotel room that probably cost as much per night as a whole course of chemotherapy. I had a wild urge to steal something, anything – the art on the walls, the beautiful mahogany carvings on the mantlepiece – to pawn it that very night and run to my mother with the cash in hand and tell her to make one last attempt, one last-ditch try, to get out of that hospice. To survive.
Stupid girl, I'd chided myself then. Believing in last-minute miracles. Believing that any good could come out of a place like this.