Dangerously In Love (14 page)

Dottie’s shrieks along with her contracting vaginal muscles heightened Reed’s arousal. He made guttural growling sounds and then an utterly inhuman roar as his sea of lust gushed inside the elderly woman. Afterward, drained and limp with satisfaction, he collapsed upon Dottie’s frail chest. She grunted from the pressure of his weight.

“What the fuck?” he exclaimed as he inhaled the strong stench that filled the air. A frown of confusion covered his face. Then sanity slowly returned and he looked upon Dottie in horror. Jumping to his feet, Reed hurriedly stuffed his unclean member into his boxers and pulled up his pants.

Dottie lay on the plastic-covered couch with her legs gaped open. She shuddered. Moaned. Writhed. Reed wasn’t sure what was wrong with the old bitch. Her spastic body movements strongly suggested she was having a seizure.

Dry heaving, Reed covered his mouth with his hand and backed away. Feeling close to vomiting, he didn’t dare risk going near her to check out her physical status. The best he could do was cast a curious last glance at the quivering figure on the couch before making a quick getaway.

“
Y
ou’re gonna like your first client,” Hershey said confidently. “Barry’s real easy. No sex. He just wants a dinner date. You know…a companion. He loves my chocolate girls.”

With a shoulder holding the phone to her ear, Chanelle gazed at her outgrown nails, which were badly in need of a fill-in. The appearance of her fingernails pretty much spoke to the state of her financial affairs.

“How much does this date pay?” she asked suspiciously. An easy date probably didn’t pay very much. Chanelle appreciated Hershey for looking out and trying to ease her into the game, but her money was looking too funny to waste time getting her feet wet. She needed to dive right in and make some real money.

“It pays well.”

“How much?”

“Five hundred for a few hours.”

Chanelle almost choked. “He’s paying that much money just to take me out to dinner?” She scowled at her nails.
I gotta make a quick trip to the nail salon; can’t allow a five-hundred-dollar date to peep these trifling fingernails
.

“So how much do I have to give you?”

Hershey laughed. “Girl, don’t be tryin’ to count my money; I take mine off the top.”

“I get the whole thing?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Thanks, Hershey.”

“You’re welcome. So look, after his check clears, I’ll drop the money off at your place.”

“Suppose it bounces?”

“Barry’s a regular; his checks are good. Anyway, don’t start thinking every date is gonna be this sweet; just consider this as…you know…as a sign-on bonus. Starting you out with Barry is my way of saying, welcome to
Hershey’s Smooches
.”

At seven that evening, in a fancy downtown restaurant, Chanelle sat across from her client, a mature white man—oh hell, he was old, at least forty—but he was well-dressed and had a wealthy, distinguished look that worked for him.

Despite her beautiful French manicure, she felt awkward and unrefined. The double sets of silverware on each side of her plate intimidated her. She nervously wondered how she’d be able to handle the intricacies of social etiquette for two hours when she didn’t even know which eating utensils to use.

Overtaken by a case of the jitters, she buried her face in the menu and scanned the appetizers: frisee salad with lardons, barigoule artichokes and leeks, black truffle dressing, caramelized onion and stout beer soup, warm potato blini…
what the fuck?
Nothing sounded appetizing or even remotely familiar. She sighed and prepared herself for a long, drawn-out evening.

“What are you having, Chanelle?” Barry asked.

It sounded weird for a client to use her real name, but somehow her alias did not fit with the modern art deco dining room. She looked up at Barry and was momentarily mesmerized by a painted glass mural on the wall behind him. If the richly decorated restaurant was indicative of the kind of things Barry had to offer, Chanelle figured it would be in her best interest to get over her nervousness.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” she said, flicking her tongue across her lips flirtatiously and throwing him a sexy smile.

Barry blushed as if he’d been given a gift.

And a gift she was indeed, she reminded herself. After all, it was her beauty, her bangin’ body, and her skin tone that Barry was most interested in, not her social skills. Still, she made a mental note to buy an etiquette book. Oh hell, who was she fooling—she hated reading. She’d be better off buying a DVD on the subject.

Barry ordered a bottle of wine as well as their appetizers. When the model-thin, Scandinavian-pale waitress whisked away, Barry leaned in and whispered, “
That
is not my idea of beauty; I think the western world has gone quite mad in encouraging young women to look like human toothpicks. You, on the other hand, are the epitome of everything desirable in a woman.” He settled back in his chair, smiling and nodding approvingly.

Chanelle couldn’t agree with him more, but decided it would be in poor taste to admit that she knew she was the bomb. “So, what do you do for a living, Barry?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Legal stuff,” he said with a grimace. “I spend an inordinate amount of time kissing up to judges. But it pays off,” he said with a modest shrug. “I earn a decent income.” He frowned again as if his words were distasteful. “And I’ve made some good investments.” He made another don’t-blame-me-because-
I’m-rich shrug.

Chanelle sized up Barry. Everything about him looked expensive: his suit, his watch, and his haircut, a stylishly tousled mass of layered locks, must have cost some bucks. Hell, she’d gotten a whiff when he stood up to greet her—Barry smelled expensive, too.

“Are you married?”

“Divorced.” He shook his head and gave an uncomfortable chuckle. “Now, that was a very messy phase of my life. My wife ran out on me and then tried to take me for every cent. But she didn’t win. I’m still trying to heal from that devastating experience, but overall…I can’t complain.”

Chanelle couldn’t complain either. She felt like she’d hit the jackpot. This wealthy, yet unassuming and unmarried man was open game. Visions of a wonderfully idle suburban lifestyle danced across her mind.

The server returned with their appetizers: crab cakes surrounded by a spicy sautéed blend of vegetables. Hmmm. Chanelle hadn’t seen any crab cakes on the menu. Now, if the menu items were called by their right names instead of describing everything in fancy terms, such as
pomme
this and
frisee
that, she could have ordered her own damn appetizer.

She watched Barry pick up a fork and a knife and imitated his choices. She sliced into the crab cake. “Mmm,” she moaned, closing her eyes as she chewed.

“Oh, you like it?”

“Love it.”

“Yes, the food here is of the gods,” Barry said, picking up a piece of crab cake with his fork turned upside-down. Chanelle decided against mimicking that move. Surely, handling a fork in such an awkward manner would interfere with the enjoyment of her food.

When the server returned, Barry ordered the entrée, blackened sea bass. The side dishes had fancy-sounding names, but turned out to be sautéed celery, potato strips, and cucumber slices, all in their own tasty sauce. No bread was offered with the meal, so Chanelle didn’t press the issue, but she sure could have used some bread and butter to sop up the various colorful sauces.

“There’s nothing like a good bottle of wine,” Barry said with a satisfied smile as the server popped the cork. “You’re going to love this.”

Chanelle took a sip and had to fight the impulse to spit out the dry, bitter liquid. Quite frankly,
nasty
was the only word to describe the wine Barry had ordered. Swallowing was a serious struggle, but she felt obliged to indulge Barry. He seemed so proud of his choice. She took small sips to give the impression of savoring the taste. She even swirled it around in the wine glass as Barry did and she hoped all her swirling would give the nasty shit some badly needed flavor. It didn’t. Damn, she wished she could add a shot of some peach schnapps to sweeten it up a bit.

Barry had kept up a continuous and often humorous stream of conversation throughout the delectable meal. Chanelle felt completely relaxed with him. She was so enamored of him—his intelligence, confidence, and his wealth—she’d already begun envisioning the indoor and outdoor Jacuzzis she’d insist upon after their wedding day.

“Do you have plans for later this evening?” Barry wanted to know.

“No, I’m free,” she said without hesitation.

“Would you like to come back to my place? I promise I won’t touch you; I’m really harmless,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m enjoying your company so much, I really hate for this evening to end.”

Chanelle felt the same way, but she faced a moral dilemma. She couldn’t in good conscience extend her time with Barry without further compensation.

As if reading her mind, he said, “Look, I’m willing to pay for your time. How does six hundred dollars for another few hours sound? You don’t have to tell your employer about our little arrangement. I don’t know what she paid you, but I paid her eight hundred dollars for your time tonight.”

So…Hershey earned three hundred dollars. Hmmm. Not bad for just sitting on your ass. But man, I can’t believe this dude paid for such an expensive meal plus eight hundred for two hours of conversation. Now, he’s willing to kick in an additional six hundred for more conversation. Barry must be rollin’ in dough and I plan on rollin’ right along with him
.

Heart palpitations began the moment Barry pulled his Mercedes into his driveway. Chanelle gawked at the large modern home that sat on many acres of professionally landscaped grounds. Without even seeing the inside of the house, she knew she could get used to living like this.

Barry walked her through the huge living room, past a large den, and down a long hallway, then past a back stairway. Finally they walked into the media room. “I thought you might enjoy relaxing and watching a movie.”

Speechless, Chanelle could only nod. The screen in the media room was almost as large as a screen in an actual movie theater.

“More wine?” he asked.

“Uh, do you have anything sweet?”

“Would you like a Kir?”

“What’s that?”

“White wine with a shot of crème de cassis. I think you’ll like it.”

He left Chanelle ogling her surroundings, but was back in a flash with the drink in hand.

Chanelle took a sip. “Mmm. Now, this is good.”

“Glad you approve. Look, check out the movie collection. I’ll give you a tour of the place in a minute; I want to get out of this suit and put on something comfortable.” He patted her on the shoulder and quickly made his way out of the room. Chanelle could hear his footsteps as he cheerfully trotted up the back staircase.

Uninterested in looking at movie titles, Chanelle decided to roam the downstairs unescorted. She wandered into the kitchen. It was a wondrous open area with granite kitchen counters. The island and counter bars seated up to eight guests. Fabulous! Chanelle couldn’t cook, but she’d certainly start taping some of those cable cooking shows to prepare herself for her new wife/hostess role.

She climbed up on one of the leather-cushioned stools and swiveled around as she checked out her soon-to-be cooking area. Merrily, she took big sips of her drink. She’d already forgotten what Barry said the drink was called, but whatever it was, it was delicious and the way she was guzzling it down, she’d be ready for another drink soon.

A door in the kitchen opened to the terraced backyard. She had instant visions of elaborate, catered cook-outs. She looked around as far as her eyes could see in search of a pool. With all this ground, there had to be a pool somewhere. She closed the door and returned to the media room to wait for Barry to start the tour.

While waiting, she snapped open her purse to admire the six hundred dollars he’d slipped her for coming to his home. Hershey would pay her the additional five hundred in three days, Chanelle assumed. Damn, she’d earned eleven hundred dollars for an evening of dining and chitchat with a rich, handsome man.

Good looking out, Hershey!
she said to herself.
And good looking out to you, ex-wifey!
She raised her glass in a toast to Barry’s ex-wife for paving such a smooth path for her. If things worked out as she planned, she’d never have to turn one damn trick. She’d be Mrs. Barry Whatever-the-hell-his-last-name-was as quickly as she could sweep him off his feet.

She just had to figure out what he was looking for. She’d be whatever he needed. She couldn’t care less about the race thing, the class distinction, or the difference in their ages. Barry was husband material. That was all that mattered, she decided with a satisfied smile.

“Chanelle,” a high-pitched voice called.

Startled, Chanelle jerked around. It sounded like a woman’s voice; was she hearing things?

Chanelle gasped when Barry sauntered in. He was wearing makeup, an elaborate red wig, high heels, and a tight-fitting sequined dress. “Come, come.” He beckoned with fluttering fingers. “I promised to give you a tour.”