The Blue Room Vol. 7 Page 2

  But this girl is utterly unfamiliar to me.

  She whimpers again, squirming to get out of her bonds. She's clearly frightened out of her wits.

  “I'm so sorry, sir,” I say. “I assume this is a Blue engagement?”

  “You're fucking right it is! And if you don't get out of here right now...”

  “I'm so sorry to disturb the pair of you,” I say, “but there's a minor bureaucratic snafu that needs to be cleared up. You see, this girl has not completed her registration yet as a Blue Girl. Not all of her paperwork is in order. Including the ironclad confidentiality agreement all our girls sign up to. And until that's in order, you may want to refrain from any...more interesting activities that might inspire a girl to want to run to the press or the police: those twin bugbears in our line of work. We want you to be protected, you see, sir. At the Blue Room, we take these things very seriously. After all, how else can we protect our distinguished clients, such as yourself?”

  I'm laying the flattery on thick. I need a trowel. I bet there's one in that sicko's duffel bag. “We want to ensure that all our distinguished guests can come here without ever worrying about their privacy being compromised. We prize discretion. It's how we ensure that in this world of the powerful, the famous, and the rich, pleasure is taken as seriously in as business. Take that away, and both business and pleasure fall apart. Nobody would be working, nobody would ever trust another person with any confidential information. Businesses would fail. Partnerships would dissolve. So you see, it's vital that we wait before all the necessary paperwork is in order.” I give him my most obsequious smile.

  I could buy and sell this fucker overnight.

  “Why wasn't this relayed to me before? Mrs. Walters said...”

  “Am I right in thinking that Mrs. Walters was reluctant to set you up with someone new – but that you demanded it anyway?”

  A lucky guess. Guys like this shitbag never take no for an answer.

  He grunts.

  “It's for your protection, sir. And I apologize for the oversight.”

  Mr. S. stares at the girl on his bed. He licks his lips with a fat tongue. “Fine,” he says. “I trust the Blue Room will see to it that every point of discretion is adhered to to the letter. And every identity is kept secret.” He gives me a pointed stare. He knows I know what he means. If I don't make sure he gets his rocks off tonight, and safely, the Blue Room could be gone overnight. And plenty of people can “get disappeared,” too. When you're that powerful, you can disappear anybody.

  “We'll of course compensate you for today. And make sure you can have the services of someone more experienced.” There's got to be someone in the Blue Room who specializes in creeps like these. Maybe even likes the BDSM. There's got to be someone who's willing to do it, if I offer a few thousand dollars – hell, maybe more – as a bonus for putting up with this guy.

  “I know who I want,” Mr. S. says. “But your establishment keeps refusing to give her to me. Some attention to customer choice you've got there?”

  “Who do you mean?” I ask. But my heart is sinking. I've already got a feeling I know the answer.

  “I want that blonde beauty I saw singing in the Blue Room Lounge last month,” says Mr. S.

  My heart hits my stomach.

  Of course, I think.

  He wants Staci.

  Chapter 2

  I feel sick as I stare at Mr. S. Of course he wants Staci for himself. Who doesn't? Since she first arrived at the Blue Room, Staci Atussi has been making madmen out of all of us with equal vigor. No man is safe from her. Not that she knows it. Staci is no seductress – she hasn't been trained, hasn't been taught. Nobody has told her how to seduce men. Mrs. Walters has not made her up to be the femme fatale she is. In fact, it's that very natural quality in her – Staci genuinely loves sex, loves making others feel good, loves feeling good herself – that is so intoxicating. Everything about Staci's mind, her body, her very spirit, reflects the joy she takes in the sensual act. With others. With me. And so she's overwhelming in a way I never thought a Blues Girl could be.

  Terrence wants her. And while he may tell himself she's one of his many – another conquest-figure he can add to his harem, another notch on his bedpost – I can't imagine that he feels anything less strong than what I do, either. After all, Terrence is a Blue. He has the Blue eye for beauty, for pleasure, for power.

  And so, apparently, does Mr. S.

  I don't respond to Mr. S's insinuations. I remain implacable, my face placid and still. I pretend that I don't even know who he's talking about. Hell, I pretend I haven't heard him.

  I see a small silver key on the bedside table, just out of the naked girl's reach. I go to it, pick it up.

  Yep, it's the key to her handcuffs. Without asking Mr. S., I uncuff the girl. It's one thing I can do tonight that isn't a mess, at least. And I get to piss off a jackass like Mr. S. to boot, which is an added benefit. As I take hold of the girl's wrists to unlock her from her cuffs, I see that she visibly stiffens, then takes in a sharp, sudden inhalation of breath. I try not to look at her: at her naked body, her shapely breasts, her long legs browned with a golden tan. It isn't right, I know. But I can tell from the sound of that sigh that despite our circumstances, despite her fear, she's aroused by my touch.

  My trousers get tight for a moment.

  It's her eyes, I think. Those big brown eyes. That sweet looking doe-like face, like she's a baby deer lost in the woods or something. They remind me of someone. They remind me of Staci. So innocent – so wide-eyed in every sense of the world. And with so much potential for power underneath. With such a rapacious capacity for passion.

  I can't deny, the girl is pretty. And physically, I'm aroused, looking at her. Once upon a time I would have considered hitting on her – after a respectable amount of time had passed since her ordeal. After she got home safe to...wherever the hell her home was. But I'm not that asshole any longer. And Staci has made me immune to the sexual charms of other women. I no longer want them. When I look at this girl, all I feel is compassion.

  I rub the girl's wrists.

  “There, now,” I say. “The blood will be flowing like normal soon. You'll feel better in a second.” Like I even know what I'm saying. What am I, a doctor?

  “So,” Mr. S. says, looking incredibly annoyed, like a cat who has just had its mouse taken away to safety. “When can I see that buxom blonde, eh?”

  Clearly Staci is the only thing standing between him and some serious rage about the fact this girl's going home unbruised. I don't want to piss him off. Correction: I do want to piss him off, but it wouldn't be good for the Blue Room. And right now, the last thing the Blue Room needs is more pissed-off, unstable clients.

  Mr. S. continues. “I've kept requesting her,” he says. “Over and over. But she's always busy. Or so I'm told. Mrs. Walters is a tricky one. And my patience for these...antics is wearing thing.”

  I grit my teeth and silently stare up at him. How I want to punch this sick bastard right in the face. How dare he think of having sex with Staci. Hell, how dare he even lay eyes on the girl? His disgusting fantasies, his savage cruelty, belong behind bars, not anywhere near my girl...

  My girl? I can't believe I'm thinking those words. I've never thought them before. Not since...

  Not for a very long time. Let's leave it there. But somehow, Staci makes me crazy. She makes me want to be a better man.

  “Sorry,” I say. My voice notches just a little louder and I wonder if Mr. S. can tell he's made me angry. “She quit.”

  “What?”

  “The lifestyle,” I say curtly. “It wasn't for her. Sorry.”

  “B-b-b-ut I just saw her,” Mr. S. is sputtering. Spit flies out of his mouth. “She walked right into B-b-b-lue Towers a while ago. I saw it!”

  Shit.

  I think fast.

  “She was just gathering up her things,” I say. “But she's gone for good.”

  “Why?” I see jealousy in his eyes. “Is sh
e seeing someone? Is she getting serious with another patron – is that what this is?”

  I give away nothing.

  Then, a certain perversity moves me to goad him further.

  “Yes,” I say. “As a matter of a fact, she is seeing someone. Someone special. It is my understanding that they are engaged to be married – or at least they will be, soon.”

  Mr. S. looks furious.

  “Well, fuck this...” he says.

  Then he grabs the girl. Before I can stop him, his large hands are dominating her fragile little wrists. She's whimpering. Actually, she's screaming again.

  “I don't care if you haven't got your paperwork in order, you stupid bitch,” he says. “I came here to get fucked. I paid to get fucked. And I'm going to fuck something tonight.”

  “If only you'd go fuck yourself,” I mutter under my breath.

  “Fuck, I wanted her so badly. That face. That voice. That body. God, she was a prize. Now all I get is sloppy seconds.” He claws roughly at the girl's full breasts. She's screaming.

  “That's enough!”

  Now he's really set me off. And I don't care what the Blue Room officials say. I'm in charge now. This is my establishment, and I won't have anyone molesting my people. Especially not a dirtbag like this guy.

  “No!” I shout. I slam the guy against the wall. I've got him pinned nice and good, so that he can't move. Figures a guy like this would be a coward. He's probably never picked on anyone his own size in his life.

  “Go get dressed,” I say to the girl, without looking at her. “Go to Mrs. Walters. Explain what happened. I'll be up there soon.”

  The girl whimpers again. Then she grabs hold of a sheet to cover herself as she scrambles for her clothes. Out of the corner of my eye I can see her dress and leave.

  “Now, brother,” I say, with a smile that barely contains my fury. “Let's establsh a few ground rules here. When a woman doesn't want to be touched – doesn't want to be fondled – doesn't want to fuck you or be fucked by you or have any sort of fucking going on while you're in the general vicinity – that means something pretty fucking simple. Don't fuck her. Here. In the real world. In the Blue Room. I don't give a fuck. No means no, fucker. So take your fucking hands off her. And please do not violate our fucking policies at the fucking Blue Room, or I will personally tear up your fucking membership card and pocket your fucking subscription fee myself. Enough fucks for you, mate?”

  Now I've made him mad.

  Mr. S's nostrils flare. His eyes blaze. “How dare you,” he's practically spitting in my face. “Get your hands off me. What the hell makes you think you can touch me, deny me the girl I want, threaten my membership? Who even are you, anyway? You must not value your life. Or the safety of your precious Blue Room? Do you want me to bulldoze this place to the ground? Because I could, with just one phone call. I could bring your whole world crashing down till all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't reassemble you. Is that what you want? So try me, you little upstart pipsqueak. You just try.”

  I stop myself. I pull back. I straighten my jacket. If there's anything I hate, it's an egomaniacal douchebag like this guy. I'm used to it all the time in my own business. But I know Mr. S. isn't one to kid around. He means business.

  “I apologize,” I say, although it galls me to say it. “It won't happen again. But you know how these things are. That poor girl was frightened of you. She's not used to having – shall we say – a real man, with all the primal male urges that entails. I could tell in a heartbeat she wouldn't be able to handle your – ah – manhood. We'll find you a suitable consort so that you can still enjoy our services. Hell, make it two. And drinks are on the house tonight.”

  He looks at me with a piglike face. That's the thing about cowards. They're so easily cowed, when given an excuse.

  “That's better,” he says. Slowly, dully. Like the idiot he is.

  I call up Mrs. Walters, much as I hate to do it.

  “Listen, Mrs. Walters,” I say. “I'm looking for something very special Two women who are really into the rough stuff. I mean, really into it.”

  “Mr. S again?” I can tell by the sound of her voice that she's had those phone calls before.

  “I need two girls. Offer each girl double – no, triple – the normal rate. I'll pay for it out of my own pocket; we're comping the client.”

  “What did you do?” She sounds wryly amused.

  “Can you find them?”

  “Brandi and Julie are usually good for his tastes,” says Mrs. Walters. “They enjoy that sort of thing – or they're willing to put up with it.” Then: “Good for you, Sir. He deserved someone taking him down a peg.”

  I've never heard Mrs. Walters be anything less than businesslike on the phone, anything less that complete in her conviction that the customer is always right.

  But then she's back to her old self again.

  “Brandi and Julie will be in the room immediately, Sir.”

  “Right,” I say to Mr. S., slamming shut my phone. “Two girls are on their way to you right now. Compliments of the house. You'll enjoy them.”

  “I'd better,” Mr. S. growls.

  I leave the room. I feel like I can finally breathe again. But the air of this place sickens me. The smell of the carpets, the smell of the flowers so artfully arranged on each floor, they all sicken me now. All I can smell is the degradation, the sickness, the pure rottenness of this place. I understand how my nephew Danny feels – being willing to turn on your whole family for the love of a girl.

  But how do you tell the girl you love that you not only used her as bait to try and catch a killer, but that...your mission was more insidious even than that?

  No matter what, it feels like I'm going to lose her. And that sickens me. It terrifies me.

  No, I think. I have to make it right. Whatever it takes.

  Whatever it takes to keep her safe.

  Chapter 3

  Right now, all I want is to go straight to Staci Atussi. To take her into my arms. To caress her: slowly, sweetly, surely. To feel her golden-brown skin become alternately tight, then slack against my own. To feel her, every inch of her. The idea is so sweet to me. I want to be inside her. My cock is hard inside my trousers. Part of it is residual arousal at the sight of the naked girl. Part of it is the thought of Staci: of how desirable she is. The fact that every man wants her with the savage fervor that I do is part of her charm. I would give anything to go straight to her door and pick her up in my arms, lock the door behind us, take her over and over again until we are both sapped, both spent. But there are other things I have to attend to. Business matters.

  First things first, I hear Gloria Tannenbaum's voice in my head. When I was a young businessman, it was Gina who always taught me the rules of making money. Get your head in the game. No distractions: not ever. First things first, she used to say to me. And business always comes long before pleasure. Always.

  Lessons I'd learned long before I met Staci Atussi. Lessons I'd always held on to until now. But somehow Staci has a funny talent for screwing with my head. She's good – devilishly good – at making me feel like everything I've ever learned is wrong. Like I've been wasting my time with stupidity like making money, like being powerful. When all that really matters is being in Staci Atussi's arms.

  Screw it.

  I head to Mrs. Walters. It's the last place I want to be right now, but I need to sort out this sickening matter of Mr. S. and his proclivity for sensitive young girls. I wish I could do something, but the impression I'm getting is that, no matter how powerful the Blue family is, we're nothing next to the clients of this place. They could have us bulldozed to the group with a single phone call. Still, I'm going to do my best to keep this place halfway respectable at least. I have enough on my conscience. I don't need rape, too.

  As I make my way to Mrs. Walters' office, where I know that poor girl will be waiting for me, I dread the look on her face. I dread the look in her eyes. I've seen her at her most vu
lnerable. I almost feel guilty having even looked at her in that state. This is not going to be a pleasant meeting.

  Bzzz, bzzz, bzzz. My phone goes. I look down to see a text from Terrence pop up on my screen.

  I need your help, uncle.

  Staci is freaking out.

  Staci. Staci. Staci. Always Staci. What's going on now? I furrow my brow as I try to make head or tail of such a strange message.

  What do you mean? I type.

  Danny and I are here. She's having a breakdown or something. Acting super-paranoid. I don't know what's going on with her. Danny and I are trying to keep her calm and explain everything but we are having to restrain her to keep her from running out of here and telling the world about us.

  Shit. My heart tightens with worry. What's happened to Staci? She's been acting so strangely lately, ever since that last night in my beach house...does she know something? Has she figured something out?

  Poor Staci, I think. If you knew what was really going on, you would be paranoid, too. Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not all out to get you.

  I have to get this done, first.

  I head to Mrs. Walters' office. She is sitting straight-backed in her chair, her spectacles perched ever so perfectly upon her nose. She looks up when she sees me and smiles.

  “Mr. Blue,” she says. “Our estimable chairman. Always a pleasure.”

  “I'm here about the girl,” I say. “Where is she? God, what a mess...”

  She furrows her brow. “Julie and Brandi?” she asks me. “I sent them off a couple of minutes ago, just like you said.”

  “Not them,” I explain. “No, I mean...the other girl. The one Mr. S. had before. You really have to start registering the girls faster, Josephine. This girl was working without her info in the system, without a photo, without an NDA signed. It doesn't matter. Pay her double her usual salary Triple. She put up with enough shit tonight to last her a lifetime. She ought to be getting damages from that asshole for life...”