by JL Mac
“Thank you.” I nod.
“Come with me. Doc’s here now so we can just deal with him first then handle the rest. We have a lot to go over,” she laughs while my gut twists.
“Oh. Okay.” I hurry after Mercedes as she puts it in high gear and speed-walks toward the long corridor at the back of the club.
As I walk behind her my mind drifts to Beast and I wonder if he’s here. “So who else is here?”
“Oh, I think a few of the girls are in the dressing room. Doc is in back waiting for you. Murph and Beast were here earlier but then they left. The usual,” she shrugs casually.
“Oh.” Mercedes leads me around a corner to a small lounge area. I have to stifle a humorless laugh. Who knew strippers and criminals needed an employee lounge complete with a small kitchen and a sectional sofa in front of a television. I scan the room and notice the middle aged, bald man digging through a leather sided bag at a long dining table.
“Doc, this is KO. KO, this is Doc.” His eyes widen and he smiles politely, thrusting his hand out to shake mine.
“Please, just call me Abigail.”
“KO is quite catchy though.” He smiles, showcasing a single dimple in his wrinkled cheek.
I shrug noncommittally and look down at the things he’s laid across the table. I spot three little specimen tubes, a rubber tourniquet, a needle for drawing blood and a bandage.
“It’s policy that all girls have to have a full blood panel done before you take your first client as well as on a regular basis. Don’t worry, Doc gets it done fast. You’ll be working ASAP.” Mercedes explains with her hand on my shoulder as though my obvious worry is fueled by need for income. In part that is true I suppose. The rest of me feels queasy at just how surreal this is and what it means.
Prostitute!
“And what’s the panel for?”
“All the typical things. STD’s of course. That and drugs. Beast prohibits drug use by his girls.”
I have to stifle the sarcasm that is clawing at my vocal cords. So his crime organization can sell dope and make loads of cash doing all sorts of illegal shit but his “girls” can’t use drugs? Hypocrite. It’s neither here nor there for me because I don’t use anything illegal and only drink now and again socially, but I find his rules absurd. Absurd or not, it’s a little insight—a detail I can make note of when I add notes on my laptop later.
“Oh. Okay. Should I sit just anywhere?”
“Oh, just sit here, KO—er—Abigail.” Doc pulls a chair from the dining table for me and I settle back and look to Mercedes.
“So all the girls have to do this?”
“Yep. Once a month. Doc stays pretty busy,” she smiles.
“That must be a lot of blood work. How many girls are there?” I try to sound casual as I watch Doc fasten the tourniquet around my arm. I ball my fist a few times out of habit and notice the glance that passes between Doc and Mercedes.
“Oh, it’s always changing. You know us women. One minute we want one thing and then the next we’re off to do something else,” she shrugs. So far, Mercedes seems like the only person I’ve encountered in the entire outfit that may give me something helpful. Everyone else is as tight lipped as it gets. I decide to drop the inquisition until I have her alone.
“That’s that,” Doc announces as he places a bandage over the vein in the crook of my elbow.
“Thank you. When do you think the tests will be back?”
“Oh they’ll be faxed to Mr. Ferguson right away. These are done stat.”
“Oh.” I nod but feel uneasy about the idea that Beast is going to have an intimate look at my personal medical information. It’s ridiculous considering just last night I was in his lap, grinding against his cock like a horny sorority girl.
“Let’s head back to the dressing room and we can go over everything then we are off to handle the fun part. Shopping!”
“I—uh—I can’t really afford to go crazy—” I begin.
“Oh, you didn’t think you’d pay for anything today did you?” Mercedes asks completely aghast at the notion of me paying for my own shit.
“Uh, well, yeah?”
“No way! Your one of Beast’s girls now. You pay for nothing work related,” she says grinning. “Now lets go. Lots to do.”
I only nod my head and hurry behind Mercedes as she heads back into the hall, leading us to an area of Eden I haven’t seen yet. The dressing room is something straight out of a movie. Makeup vanities are lined up against three walls. Little cushioned stools are in front of each mirror rimmed with large dressing room bulbs. The place smells like the perfume warehouse in the mall but it’s clean. Cluttered but clean.
“Never leave your shit out. The dancers are famous for acquiring things that are left sitting around,” she winks. “This will be your locker. You can keep your wardrobe here, shoes, makeup, shower bag, all of that. You really won’t even have to be here much but it’s here for your use if you need it. It’s convenient to get ready here. Okay, let’s see,” she frowns. “What else? Oh! We need to get your locator activated. Super important,” she says ticking things off on her fingers.
“Locator?”
“Oh. Sorry. I’m getting ahead of myself.” Mercedes shakes her head and laughs thrusting her left arm out. “This bangle is important and mandatory. Beast is weird about the girl’s safety so each of us wears a GPS tracker which is conveniently imbedded in this gorgeous little bangle. You can wear the bracelet or the anklet, your choice.”
Mercedes runs her fingers over the silver—or white gold—whatever—bangle. It’s thin. Maybe a quarter of an inch thick and is encrusted with tiny sparkling stones. “Diamonds on top but underneath,” she says lifting the bangle so I can look between her skin and the underside of the bracelet. “… is a little knot. See it?”
The little bubble part of the bracelet is small and barely noticeable. No larger than a packing bubble. “That’s the tracker. You will get one of these and you wear it at all times. If you pry or tamper with it, it will alert Beast and Murphy. It’s for your protection.”
“Yes of course. Genius idea.” A knot twists in my gut and I feel like someone just slapped a collar and leash on me.
“So it’s on, tracking all the time?”
“Yep. Some clients can be creeps you know?”
“Not really.” I sigh, and she pats me on my shoulder and smiles sympathetically. “Don’t be nervous. You’ll be great. Beast doesn’t let his girls get into trouble. He’s a good guy.”
I can’t even stop the scoff that flies right out of me. Mercedes cocks a questioning brow forcing me to rein myself in. “I just mean—you know, High Knoll we’re talking about,” I whisper leaning in. “I’m not stupid.” I continue whispering and allude to something that I really have no clue about.
“I don’t know how things are at the other clubs you’ve worked but we don’t talk about the guy’s business,” she whispers back pretending to check out the interior of my assigned locker.
I glance over my shoulder noting that another woman is sitting at her vanity watching us in the reflection of her mirror.
“Who is that?”
“That’s Kate, Beast’s occasional plaything. She hates you already.”
“Why would she hate me?”
“Rumor is Beast found a new toy,” she smiles eyeing me from head to toe again.
“No. Not even,” I shake my head more than ready to change the subject and leave my newest enemy alone in the dressing room.
“You should know that Beast always has what he wants and if the rumor is true and you’re what he wants—you’re already his,” she says shaking her head but smiling at the same time. “But it’s not a bad thing,” she goes on putting that consoling hand on my shoulder for the third time in less than an hour. “Like I said, he’s a good guy. Really.”
I swallow the nerves down and completely ignore her declaration. Already his? In what fucking capacity?
“So what else do I need to know?” I
ask cheerfully and just loud enough for our eavesdropper to hear. She dismisses us and gets back to straightening things at her station.
“Want to go grab a late lunch and we can go over the dirty details?”
“Sure,” I shrug.
Mercedes whips around and looks confused. “Ugh! Do you remember where I sat my phone down?”
“Um… ”
“Must be on the dining table in back. Come on,” I practically chase after Mercedes. The woman has got to be high on speed or about five energy drinks. We hurry down the hall towards the lounge we’d just been in. As we move past Beast’s office door, my eyes drift in to find Beast unbuttoning his blood-spattered shirt. I freeze in my tracks causing him to look up at me. Stormy gray eyes burn a hole in me and I’m struck dumb. His crisp white shirt is hanging open at the front showing a path of slightly tan, defined bricks stacked up his torso. Flecks of blood are smattered up his right sleeve. Mercedes doesn’t even register that I’ve stopped following her as she turns right into the lounge. Frozen in place, I watch Beast stroll towards me, unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves as he comes closer. He slips out of the shirt and wad’s it up, dropping it in the trashcan beside the door.
“See you tonight, Abigail,” he says easily in that rich, deep voice then shuts his office door in my face. I stare at his door for moment before my brain catches up.
“Found it. Where do you want to eat?”
“Um, I’m not very hungry so whatever you want is fine with me.” Any appetite for food has vanished into thin air. Definitely not hungry and how could I be? I just saw fresh blood all over Beast’s sleeve. He had to have shot someone. Or beat someone with something blunt. A bat? A hammer? A mallet? The blood is not what has vanquished my appetite.
It was the tingle of desire that gathered at my center the moment I saw him, blood and all.
Mercedes’ car isn’t a total shocker. She slips into the driver’s seat of a Mercedes and grins at me. “I’m guessing you get paid well.”
“You will too,” she winks as she puts the car in drive.
“How exactly do we get paid? How much?”
“Cash. Beast handles all the transactions, clients, and rendezvous points. You’ll get paid based on … how particular your client is.”
“Which is to say?” I lead.
“Well, some clients only want a date. Nothing more. Some clients have very specific needs.”
“Is some sicko going to make me change their adult diaper and feed them a bottle to get their rocks off?”
“God, no!” Mercedes erupts into a bout of fitful laughter as we pull into the parking lot of a sandwich shop. “Some of the men you meet with want plain old sex. Nothing weird, nothing out of the ordinary. Some will want the pleasure of your company to events. Some will want to do other things. You’ll have to discuss your personal limits with Beast and when a client requests an appointment, Beast matches them with the girl that fits the bill for what they are attracted to and what they happen to want from her.” She shrugs like it’s all so straightforward.
“Is there anything you refuse to do?”
“Not really. Money talks,” she says mirthlessly, giving the first glimpse of a not so sweet and bubbly side of her.
“If you don’t mind me asking, why did you choose to do this?”
“Why not? I figured men were using me anyway. They’d take me out, date for a bit then one of us was always on to the next. Why not get paid for it? Besides, my mom needed the money for the best treatment. It was a no brainer and I don’t regret it.”
“How much did you bring in last year?”
“Enough to pay off my mom’s house and get her a new ride so she doesn’t have to take the bus to her dialysis appointments anymore.”
“She’s lucky to have you.” I said, reaching over to touch the back of her hand on the shifter. I mean it too. It’s clear to see that she isn’t necessarily proud to sell her body, but it’s obvious that she’s proud to have provided for her mother and who am I to judge? I’m getting ready to whore myself out in hopes that it will lead me to Alana or whoever took her.
“Thank you. Now, enough of the heavy stuff. Let’s eat and discuss clothing and hot wax. You’ll need both. Wax today and if we don’t have time to get much shopping done, you are welcome to borrow from my closet anytime. I bet we are the same size.”
I replay Mercedes’ words as I get myself ready for the night. She looked just as shocked as I feel.
“First client tonight?” She squeaked into her cell phone as I walked out from the wax appointment that was oddly painful yet exciting. My eyes bulged to the point of pain but I forced myself to rally and pretend it was good fortune that has me getting a quick start on earning my first paycheck. Mercedes rattled on after that, asking me if I was too sore to accept work for tonight and telling me more than I wanted to know about the sorts of people I could encounter. Willing my hand to apply my lipstick without shaking is difficult when she covered the chapter dealing with older men. She’d advised that when an “older gentlemen” came around, they often had… “prescription assistance” but it was always wise to manually assist them achieve…
Well, fuck.
Inhaling deeply through my nose and exhaling loudly through my mouth, I closed my eyes and conjured an image of Lan. I need to forget the details and focus on my mission. I need to find my center and forget the details. Bring Lan home. Music from my phone fills my ears and I take a few more calming breaths before getting back to the ugly business of looking like a pretty whore.
And business it is.
Just business.
A means to an end.
Lan.
There’s no use in hashing out the menagerie of thoughts running wild through my brain. No, I need to get my shit together. If I’m going to have to be an escort, especially if there is anyway my sister is ensnared in Boston’s underworld, I’m going to be the best whore on the planet.
With a confident nod at my reflection, I gather my things and go about my routine of hiding away any evidence of my real identity in the floorboards while donning the façade that is Abigail Tally.
I’m not stupid enough to believe that him leaving me alone in here means I’m alone at all. He’s left me in his office more than once now. He doesn’t seem bothered by it and it’s no wonder why. I don’t bother checking for the surveillance. It’s here. Why else would he leave me alone in his private office—an office from which he likely runs an entire criminal enterprise?
I stroll around the space checking out the things he has lying around. A signed baseball sits on the shelf in a little wooden cradle of some sort. The glossy wooden legs are formed in a sort of upside down teepee, cradling the ball like the trophy it is. I turn the base of the pedestal enough to see the autograph. It’s scribble of course, which makes it difficult to read.
I turn towards his desk and survey the things littered across the top, trying to get to know Beast a little more. He has a variety of things. A crystal clock. A fancy wood grain pen. A bottle of water. He has an iPod sitting on his desk too. I pick it up and scroll through his music. He has good taste where that’s concerned. I make sure to bump the computer mouse on his desk, bringing his computer screen to life. A prompt for a password lights up the screen and I inwardly curse my luck. I was hoping I’d be fortunate enough to not have to try to break into his computer. I haven’t the slightest idea how to do that. I may need to call Hack again and beg until he relents.
The remote to the flat screen TV is sitting beside his iPod and I pick that up and press a button to wake it. The screen saver flickers and a DVD menu lights the screen.
“Humph.” He has a DVD of a fight on. I click play and the screen jolts to life right in the middle of a fight he must have been watching. I lean back against the front of his desk with ankles crossed in front of me and watch The Beast of Boston dance around the ring. His opponent Jimmy ‘The Juke’ Guidry, according to the ticker at the bottom of the screen, lunges toward Beast threate
ning with a rapid-fire series of jabs. Beast dances around, dodging his opponent with ease and grace. His face and body is slick and covered in sweat but his expression is cool as can be. His short hair appears darker with the sweat soaking through it. His hair is longer on top now, which I like very much despite myself. I ignore the fact that my tongue slipped across my lips at the sight of him sweat-slicked and breathing heavily.
“Boxing fan?” Beast says from the door to the office. I school my face and remain leaning against his desk but sit a little straighter. He strolls into the office and goes to the shelf with the baseball. He tweaks the stand and the ball by a hair’s breadth telling me exactly what I already know. I’m being watched.
“I guess a little.” I shrug and tear my eyes from Beast to continue watching the fight. He walks slowly toward his desk, his hands in his pockets like he hasn’t a care in the world. I stay right where I am and keep my eyes on the fight. The Juke seems to be growing angrier and more desperate by the minute as Beast glides around the ring, slipping just out of reach. I have seen this type of thing before in other fights of his that I looked up. Beast seems skilled at provoking his opponent to act, to lunge, to end themselves. Perhaps he does this in all areas of life. He weaves a scenario, a web, a trap to easily ensnare his victims. A bright white-hot streak of worry skates through my veins at the thought. I swallow and continue watching The Juke try and fail. He lands nothing and his fury is obvious. Beast rounds his desk. I can feel him come to a stop right behind me.
Without a sound he leans over his desk, silently planting two big, scarred fists on either side of my hips, caging me from behind. My heart speeds but I keep my focus directed at the screen.
“The thing about boxing,” he begins in a deep whisper from right behind me. “…is that there’s so much more to it than swinging. The entire time you’re dancing in that ring, you’re studying, watching your opponent, making note of how they react, how hard they hit, what their combinations are, what motivates them to withdraw, to attack… ”