The Blue Room: Vol. 1 Page 7

  “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 business card 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 t
onight,” 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’t 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 ecstasy 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.

  Come over, now. I want you.

  Chapter 12

  Demanding, aren't we?

  I blush when he answers me seconds after I text him.

  What can I say? I write back. I'm feeling...

  Bored? Lonely? Turned on? All three. I delete the words.

  I'm in the mood for some fun, I write.

  Terrence arrives within fifteen minutes.

  Immediately we are in one another's arms, kissing passionately, devouring one another like there's no tomorrow. Images of Roz and her mysterious patron flash through my mind: of the arch of her back, of how her long hair tumbled down, of how she screamed with the patron's tongue darting between that cleft between her legs. I want Terrence to do all of that to me. I want it now.

  Terrence seems to know what I want before I ask for it. Without words he's tearing off my panties, throwing them across the room, stretching my legs wide with his palms before pressing his lips against me, his tongue playful, teasing – bringing me so close to pleasure, then letting me come down, so that I can never approach orgasm. The feeling is exhausting, tantalizing. I want it to go on forever. My desire to come mingles with the desire to make it last all night.

  At last he uses his fingers, too, and then I'm over the edge. I come, so loudly that Terrence laughs softly, his chuckle deep in his throat.

  “And to think,” he murmurs. “When I met you, you were so...inexperienced. And now you're telling me to come over.”

  He traces my cheek with his fingertips, grinning. “Maybe you're the client?” he raises an eyebrow.

  “And you're the whore?”

  His smile darkens.

  “I don't like that word,” he said. “Not for you. Not for any of the girls.”

  “What are we, then?”

  “Escorts? Professional mistresses? Courtesans? Call girls?”

  “Does it change anything? Except the price?”

  Terrence looks grave. “It's more than a brothel I'm running here,” he says. “It's a fantasy. For men and women alike. A chance for rich men and beautiful women to – mutually – make both their dreams come true.”

  “Is that what you're doing?” I ask him. “Making all my dreams come true?”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  As he speaks, I feel almost ill. Part of me wants to call the whole thing off – to run away – to go back home to Vegas. I'm not interested in fantasy. I'm not interested in dreams coming true. Right now, I realize with a sickening jolt, I'm interested in a beautiful, unattainable boy with bright blue eyes and a wicked smile, who drives me wild, who I'm starting to have feelings for. The kind of feelings I can't trust. The kind of feelings that will make it really hard for me to sleep with just another patron.

  Maybe Roz will have the answers, I think. Roz will tell me what happened to Rita – and then I can leave...

  I don't want the money, anymore. I don't want the designer clothes or the lessons in the contemporary global economy. I just want what Roz had with that man. Something like real, genuine love. Something I can hold onto.

  “Staci?” Terrence is almost tender with me. “What is it?”

  “What's going on, here?” My voice is low.

  “What do you mean?”

  “With us?”

  His smile turns into a frown.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean – is this part of my job? Is this – training for my patron? Or is this something else?”

  He is silent for a while.

  “It was easier to think it was training you,” he said. “It was easier to think – that this was just a sex thing. Or an almost-sex thing. I don't know. That's what I told myself when I cancelled your meeting with – well, with the client.” He swallows. “But the truth is, I'm jealous. I'm not sure I want anyone else with you. I'm not sure I could stand to think about it.”

  “Can it be?” I try to sound smooth, but my voice is shaking. “Does the great Terrence Blue have...feelings?”

  “Maybe.” He shakes his head. “I mean – I don't do monogamy, Staci. I don't do relationships. With you, it started out as just attraction. But our chemistry is undeniable.”

  And it hits me.

  I want him. I want to be with him. Maybe not forever – I'm smart enough to know he'll break my heart – but right now, he's all I want. More than the cash. More even than answers.

  I don't want to sell my virginity for money. The
sex I want is based in feelings, in emotions. Dare I say it – in love.

  “I want you to take me,” I say. “I want you to make love to me – right now.”

  He looks at me in surprise. “Are you sure?”

  “If I'm ruined for your client, I don't care,” I say. “I don't want my first sex to be for money. I don't want the money. Not yours, not anyone else's.” I smile. “This one's on the house.”

  “Financially,” he stammers. “I mean – as a businessman, I should tell you that this is a very stupid decision.”

  “And as a man?” I ask him.

  His smile is sweet and sad. “As a man,” he said, “nothing could make me happier than to be your first.” He swallows. “If not your only.”

  “Do you have a condom?”

  He nods. He reaches in his pocket.

  And then we hear the shot.

  One big boom. The shattering of windows.

  I recognize the direction of the sound.

  “Roz...” I whisper.

  We rush to room 238, but we're too late.

  In Roz's hand is a gun. And in Roz's forehead is a hole, gaping, bleeding, the blood trickling down into her glassy, open eyes.

  Too many thoughts rush through me all at once. Panic. Terror. Fear. And rage – bitter, wild rage. I'm not seeing Roz's face there, there half-smashed with a bullet through the brain, but Rita's – the face of the girl I knew, the girl I loved, the girl whom I might have found, whom I'd almost found, and who was forever gone.

  What if I hadn't texted Terrence? What if I'd waited outside her door for the client to leave?

  Would Roz still be alive? Would she have told me the truth of what happened to Rita?

  I'm screaming, screaming my head off, barely aware of what I'm doing or why; I rush to her and then my hands are covered in her blood, Roz's blood, and still I'm thinking that it's Rita's.

  Rita…what’s become of Rita? Did she meet the same fate as Roz?

  *****

  This is the End of Part I

  Thank you for reading The Blue Room Vol. 1. This is a multiple novella romance series. Part two and three will be available for pre-order soon.