Sorority Girls With Guns (10 page)

“
We want to make what
looks
like a sex tape to hold over Ball-Bearing-Balls’ head,” Morgan says.

“
Why do you need me?” Tiffany asks.

“
Because I told him off royally today,” Morgan says. “He’ll be suspicious if I suddenly want to sleep with him again, don’t you think?”

“
And I was there when she told him off,” I add. “But you weren't. We're going to be in the tape too, but we need you to lure him back to the motel.”

“
I see.” Tiffany smooths her hair. “So how do we make a no-sex sex tape?”

“
He’ll do most of the work for you.” I gesture out the window, where a bonfire indicates an early start to cocktail hour. “Once he gets very, very trashed, you start flirting with him. It won’t take much. Tell  him your room is closer and lead him back there-“

“
To Richard's room, of course,” Morgan says. “We made him get a single instead of sharing since he's supposed to be living like a rich person. I asked if we could borrow his bigger room for our plan to deal with you, money free, and he agreed..”

“
We’ll be hanging out in the bathroom, ready to take video on both our phones,” I continue. “But feel free to use yours as well for an additional copy.”

“
Get him drunker,” Morgan says, scanning the room to make sure no one is close enough to overhear. “Pop the cork on a bottle of wine or something. I’m sure we can find something cheap. Pretend to be drinking a lot yourself, but don’t.”

“
When he’s close to passing out, you’ll climb on top, start raining kisses down his neck or some other take-it-slow stall tactic,” I say. “Then you’ll start rocking back and forth, like you’re actually doing it.”

“
I doubt this will happen, but what if he actually manages to get it up?” Tiffany asks.

“
Fair question.” I shrug. “Just continue to tease him. Tell him you want to show him some special technique you learned, one time at band camp or whatever, then down another shot. How much you wanna bet he’ll do the same?”

“
And then what do we do?”

Morgan and I exchange mischievous grins. “Then the fun really starts,” I say.

Chapter Twelve

Biff is every bit the drunken fool we left this morning (which seems like decades ago, it was so fucking early). Tiffany and Biff are stumbling through the doorway, weaving like Lindsey Lohan fresh out of rehab.

I’m relieved that my time in the tiny bathroom with Morgan is almost over. I have never heard anyone talk so much about AP classes and how hard it is to finish at the head of
every
class she’s in. Seriously, if she’s the head of every class, who the fuck else would want to hear about it?

Tiffany is playing her part remarkably well, considering how little rehearsal she had. She’s sloshing cheap champagne (and when I say cheap, I mean, like, mouthwash in a glass bottle) into plastic cups so generously provided by the Roach Motel. As she slips into giggly-and-goofy mode, she pulls off her t-shirt and falls onto Biff, who’s sprawled on his back like a beached whale. Or Chris Christie.

“
You want another glass?” Claire knocks back her mouthwash/champagne, taking care to slosh most of it onto her face – or Biff. “Oh, let me clean that up.” She leans over and starts licking at Biff’s shirt. I wonder if she knows about all the toxic chemicals used in dry cleaning these days. Then I realize Biff probably hasn't gotten around to having that shirt cleaned in weeks. I'm not sure which is worse.

“
Another glass? Only if you spill it on me like that!” Biff crows.

“
I’ll see what I can do.” She sits up, arches her back and tosses her head, dirty blonde hair cascading to cover the side of her face pointed towards us and the camera. “Wait til you see what else I have in store for you.”

As Biff groans appreciatively, I gesture for Morgan to hand me the video camera, which she’ll take over when it’s time for my role. It’s on a mini-tripod I borrowed from Matt (I told him I wanted to take pictures of hot, shirtless guys at the beach, which wasn’t a lie except for the “hot” part). As quietly as possible, I perch the tripod on the counter and gently swing the camera until I have the best possible angle on the one-inch door crack. Fortunately, Morgan’s cell phone, Tiffany’s phone and about four GluedToYou buttons are both conveniently hidden inside the room, covering opposing wide angles so they sweep almost all of the room. We're uploading to the site but not streaming live, so we have the video but hopefully no one will ever see it.

I line up the shot so we mostly see Tiffany’s profile, and as we discussed earlier, she makes sure her hair is covering most of her face. The shot cuts off at what looks like her naked lower back (her hair is long enough to cover her tiny tube top bra), but because Biff is leaning back on a pile of pillows, his face is totally visible in all its moon-like glory. Oh, wait, maybe I’m confused with his ass. I can tell from the glazed look in his eye that he's just about to nod off. Tiffany waits, and then she strikes.

“
It’s okay,” she says, loudly. She’s straddling Biff just above his hips, bending over so her hair tickles  his face.

“
It’s…what? What’s okay?” Biff stammers, confused, his eyes open now but still glazed like a dozen donuts. Doesn’t take much when this guy is sober, let alone sloshed.

Tiffany flaps a green-speckled hand in the air. “It’s no big deal. It happens to every guy. Let’s just forget about it and have some more champagne, okay?”

“
Hu – what?” Biff struggles to sit up, something he has a lot of trouble doing with Claire sitting on him. He’s trying to see past Claire to the source of his un-standing ovation, but she’s not budging. I knew Biff's sexual prowess – or lack of it – was the weak link we needed to attack!

“
Let’s try something else,” she says. She’s sitting upright, pantomiming riding a mechanical bull. Biff, in his current state, gets a little transfixed with watching her writhe. She bends over, raining kisses down his stomach, and stops abruptly around the belly-button. 

“
Ooohh, don’t stop baby,” Biff mumbles, his eyes closed.

“
Just a second…I’m looking for it…oh, there it is.” I’m really sorry that we don’t have a close-up of her face for that one.

Biff’s eyes pop open. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“
Nothing. It’s just dark in here.” Claire bends over again, exhaling loudly in the direction of whatever she had a hard time finding. She told us earlier that she was absolutely
not
having sex (including oral) with Biff, and we agreed. No way I’d want to lick a lollipop after it had been licked by probably hundreds of other girls. Then dropped on the floor. In a whorehouse. Nope, my mouth wouldn’t get within a million miles of his limp spaghetti noodle.

Tiffany makes a few more noisy exhalations as her head bobs over Biff’s unimpressive nether regions, making a few slurping noises. The camera angle gets the bobbing head, of course, but stops short of showing anything that would earn an NC-17. In reality, all she's doing is blowing air on Biff's much smaller brain, and the slurping noises are just for show. Biff isn't really thinking clearly enough to notice, as we predicted.

“
Keep going,” Biff moans, unaware that  a  small electric fan could do the same job for him with a lot fewer problems.

She straightens, looking down at him. “I don’t think you’re that into it right now. Let’s take a break, huh? Are you hungry?” She hops off Biff and reaches for a bathrobe.

Biff sits up, panicked, and pulls down the sheet to look at his…lack of a reaction. And no, we didn’t spike his drink with
anything
to make that happen. Actually, we just got lucky - the combination of booze and performance anxiety (Tiff might have talked up her exes earlier) did that for us. Assuring him that it “happens to every guy” and having to “hunt” for it were the final kill shots for his libido. We were planning to focus on his one
little
problem, but Biff's own insecurities gave us a second.

  And yes, we got the look on his face in full 1080p HD.

Tiffany
says something about going for snacks and more drinks, waves at Biff and waltzes out the door in her bathrobe. Now here’s the tricky part: What if Biff decides he needs to use the bathroom? What if he wants to come in here and work on his apparently
very
small brain?

The only option would be to hide in the bathtub. I suspect that if we both appeared to be passed out, Biff wouldn’t give a second thought to why two women were in his bathroom. That sort of shit happens all the time at the sorority house, and in frat houses on campus. You find a naked person of the opposite sex passed out in your bathtub, you close the shower curtain and go shower at the gym.

Biff sits and stares at the General (which is what I think we should call it since it makes all his decisions for him, apparently).Finally, he mumbles something to himself about how “that girl wasn’t very attractive”, lies back on the pillows and reaches for the champagne glass.

We wait until he appears to be asleep, which doesn’t take long at all. When he’s snoring louder than the engine on his obnoxious truck, I slowly open the bathroom door, pushing up on the hinges to reduce creaking (I told you this is a crappy motel). Then I shimmy out of my dress (a Badgley Mischka LBD that has served me well over the years, since the bet prevented me from buying new clothes for the trip) and carefully hang it over the back of a chair. (From the look of the carpet, it hasn’t been cleaned since Baby Bush was in office.)

I slide into bed beside Biff, my boobs feeling absolutely ridiculous in a Victoria’s Secret push-up  bra I borrowed from Morgan. In my opinion, putting double-D’s in a push-up bra is like parking a Bugati on the deck of a yacht – it’s overkill and detracts from both pieces. But Morgan insisted it would look better in the video, and I thought she might be right – we wanted to highlight not only Biff’s poor performance, but his interest in tacky women as well.

Biff reeks of alcohol and too much Polo cologne, and the snoring isn’t making him any more attractive. Still, I have a job to do if I want to embarrass him and win the bet.

I snuggle up to Biff, trying not to wrinkle my nose in disgust. The camera is getting some of my profile, although most of it is obscured by blonde hair. I start raining kisses on his neck, shoulders and chest, thinking how much I’m going to enjoy washing my mouth out with Listerine when this mess is over.

Fortunately, Biff comes around quickly, still in a half-haze from the booze. “Hey, baby, you still here?” he asks, apparently unaware that I’m not Tiffany. To be fair, he’s mostly just seeing a lot of blonde hair and big boobs right now.

I nuzzle his neck. “Of course I am. You promised to show me a good time, remember?”
Biff chuckles. “Of course I did. Do you want to go again?”

“
We never went the first time, remember?”

Biff’s forehead slowly wrinkles into a frown. “What…I didn’t fall asleep on you, did I?”

“
Well…I was starting to think you didn’t find me attractive.” I pout, while climbing on top of Biff and straddling him like Claire did earlier.

Biff finally gets a clear look at my face. “Hey…you…you’re not…”

“
Not pretty enough? Is that it? Is that why you can’t…you know?” I feign hurt.

“
No!” Biff yells, struggling to sit up with me on his torso. I don’t weigh much, but I have very strong thighs from all that running, and my nervous system is functioning a lot better than Biff’s right now. “Of course not!”

“
Then let’s just relax and have a good time,” I say, playfully patting his shoulder and nudging him back down. “It’s no big deal. My ex-boyfriend used to have that same problem.”

“
I do
not
have a-“

“
Wouldn’t take the little blue pills, either,” I continue, edging down toward his hips in what I hope is a tantalizing display of sexiness. In reality, I probably look like a hot mess. “Said they were for old guys, like that dude Anna Nicole married for his money.”

I pause, leaning over so my overexposed boobs are even more in Biff’s face than they were before. “You know I wouldn’t do that, right? Go after a guy for his money?”

Biff shakes his head as if that can clear the effects of the alcohol. Good luck with that. And now he’s looking at me like he sees a train coming to run him over. “Of course not.” That’s about as big a whopper as the one I told when Tiffany asked me if  Lululemon pants made her ass look fat.

“
Good, because I wouldn’t.” I lean over further and start a trail of kisses down his chest. Ick. Good thing neither Biff nor the camera can see my face. “Because I don’t care about your money, Biff, or your truck or your trust fund. I care about you.”

I stop the trail of kisses and sit up abruptly. “I think…I think you’re just the kind of guy I could finally fall in love with,” I say, very quietly. Then I lean over and go to kiss him on the mouth, hoping he’ll pull away.

Fortunately, he does. “I’m not big on talking,” he says, jerking his head to the right and kissing my cheek instead. “Why don’t you just show me?”

I giggle and scramble back down his midsection, dropping a kiss here or there only because I have to. But I can tell that dropping the L word had its desired effect. His body tensed up as soon as I said it. There’s no way that he’ll be getting it up now, right?

But, amazingly, he does. Okay, time to go to Plan B, and I don’t mean the morning-after pill. “Do you have something?” I ask Biff. If he doesn’t, Plan B can still continue – I have one stuffed uncomfortably between my boobs, way down in the bra where it isn’t visible.

“
Like a condom? Oh yeah, never go anywhere without them.” He reaches for the bedside table, makes three tries at the handle, and then I lean over and get it for him. When I pull out the box of condoms, I realize he’s made this even easier for me.

“
Um…sweetie, I don’t think this is going to work.” I frown at the condoms.

He frowns. “Why not? I use them all the time.”

“
Honey…these are…”I trail off as I scoot back down and settle on his thighs, looking at something that could be a great ad for a get-skinny-fast pill. Then I look back at the condoms. “These say extra-large. And I read in Cosmo that when you use condoms that are too big, they’re much more likely to fail. And I don’t want to get knocked up, that would be just awful-“

“
Are you saying extra-large won’t fit me?” Biff yells. “What I mean is,” he adds, hastily. “Maybe you need your eyes checked, hon. I’ve been using this size for years, and I’ve never had an accident.”

I screw up my face like I’m thinking. “You’ve never had an accident that you
know
about. And I bet a lot of your exes were on the pill, too. I know these are too big, because my ex used the large and he was a lot bigger than you.”

“
Then why don’t you go have sex with him?” Biff yells, finally losing his temper for good. “This is what I get for slumming it with the working class – complaints about the best thing that ever happened to you. And don’t get any ideas about falling in love with me,” he adds, giving me a shove to nudge me off his legs. “I could never love someone like you. You should consider yourself lucky that I was even willing to give you the best sex of your life – at least until you ruined it with your whining, bitch.”

I bounce up off the bed, flinging the condoms at him. “Have fun using these alone, you bastard,” I yell. I grab the dress and pull it over my head, as Morgan emerges from the bathroom.“And just so you know, the rumor going around about you is that it’s the exact opposite, and I agree – you’re the worst lay ever!”

“
I told you so,” Morgan says, deftly grabbing her phone from behind the tacky alligator-shaped lamp on the bedside table.

“
What the fuck?” Biff stares at the two of us and struggles to get out of bed, hampered by the sheets and the amount of alcohol still in his system.

Morgan has the door open and I’m dashing out after her when he finally succeeds in jumping out of bed. “You come back here!” he yells. “You’re not getting away with this.”

Morgan and I are running at a light jog. It’s not like Biff’s going to run after us without at least putting on his underwear, right?

Actually, he never runs after us at all. We both stop and turn around at the sound of him puking on the floor. In Richard’s room.

“
Maybe he’s finally finding
himself
revolting,” Morgan says, with a shrug.

“
What are we going to tell Richard?” I ask, as she unlocks her car and we get in. From the open doorway, I see Biff finally straighten up, grab a bedsheet and stumble out the door.

Morgan turns on the engine and blinds him with the brights. Clutching the bedsheet around his waist, he stumbles up to the car window. “You won’t get away with this!” he yells, pounding a fist on the hood of the car.

Morgan unrolls the window half an inch with one hand and removes her Beretta from the glove box with the other. “You have two choices, Biff,” she says, calmly placing the gun in her lap. There’s no need to go all crazy waving a pistol around and attract attention – he knows it’s there, and keeping a gun in your car is far from illegal in this state.

Biff takes a step back. “I’ll sue you if you ever release that video.”

“
You could do that,” I say, leaning around Morgan. “But in order to collect any damages, you’d have to prove that a
lot
of people saw it.”

“
That won’t be hard,” Morgan says, helpfully. “Once we post the link on our social media sites, hundreds of people
will
watch in a few minutes. Then they’ll repost, and hundreds more will see it.”

“
And then when you sue us, publicity from the court case will draw attention to the video even after it’s taken down, and thousands of people will read about the case to find out what was in the video they can no longer see,” I continue.

“
What do you want?” Biff yells, pulling the sheet tighter around his midsection. “Money? You want money from me?”

“
We want the return of your insurance policies – all of them,” Morgan says, her voice cold as ice. “We don’t want you to hold anything over any girl’s head again, do you understand?”

“
Since we can’t trust you to hand over all the recordings, we’ll need your laptop and cell phone,” I say. “Also the passwords to all your email and online storage accounts.”

“
We want to make sure you never do this to anyone again,” Morgan adds. “You’ll get your laptop and cell phone back when we’re sure we’ve deleted anything that might embarrass anyone.”

“
And then I get my recording back?” Biff asks.

“
Then you have our word we’ll never release it,” Morgan says. She tosses a note written on motel-room stationery out the window. “That’s where you’ll meet us tomorrow afternoon with the items we discussed.”

“
Should you fail to show up, or delete the items yourself, or damage the equipment in any way-“ I start.

“
Or do anything to make us suspicious that you’re holding out on us,” Morgan adds.

“
Or make a copy we don't know about it and use it in any way later, we'll be sure to release our video then,” I finish.

Morgan puts the car in reverse and steps on the gas, peeling out of the parking and leaving Biff standing there clad only in a vomit-stained bedsheet.

“
What in the hell are we going to tell Richard about his room?” I ask as we drive away.

Chapter Thirteen

After last night’s escapade, Biff
did
turn in his laptop, cell phone, jump drives and passwords. He looked absolutely terrified stalking into the Tenbuck’s Coffee and handing us the jumbled box. We promised the safe return of his crap after we were satisfied. Right now I’m thinking it’ll take a week, since we have more pressing problems.

“
You know Richard, you haven’t been keeping up your end of the bargain,” I tell him as he slides into the booth across from us. “You were supposed to be living extravagantly.”

He rolls his eyes. “You obviously didn’t see the charges for the hotel mini-bar on your credit card bills.”

“
Believe it or not, eating a seven-dollar bag of M&M’s is not extravagant, it just seems that way to you,” Morgan says, studying her cell phone.

“
And then there’s the room itself,” I add. “You need to move into a nicer hotel, Richard.”

“
Or else we’re calling the bet in our favor,” Tiffany adds.

“
Does this have something to do with whatever the hell happened to my room last night?” Richard asks, eyeing us suspiciously. From what I’ve seen of last night’s footage, he was the wet blanket at an epic party thrown by Matt and Charlie, since he’d stayed with them while we were using his room.

I shrug. “Let’s just say, even after we doused the carpet with bleach, you probably won’t like the smell.”

Richard’s eyebrows shoot up. “You didn’t seriously douse the carpet with bleach?”

Morgan twirls a strand of hair around her finger. “If we didn’t, we knew you’d whine about us leaving a mess for the poor, underpaid housekeepers.”

“
We were just trying to be empathetic,” I finish for her.