Chapter 13

“You got a job doing what?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, watch it! Quiet down!” Lindsay ripped the Bluetooth device from her ear and switched her smartphone to speaker mode. “Chillax, okay? I don’t want your parents or brother to hear you and have any suspicions about me and what I’m doing here.” If word ever got out, RIP my life.

“Okay, okay, okay.” On the other end of the line, Evelyn Bancroft needed a moment to harness her thoughts. “This was ... unexpected.” Another long pause ensued before Lindsay’s lifelong best friend back in Citronelle said in a whisper, “You got a job at a whorehouse? You’re a prostitute? What the fuck, girl?” Evie hesitated again. “Don’t worry, I’m in my bedroom. No one can hear me.”

“I like it.” Lindsay wished Evie had a calmer, more open-minded reaction to this stunning news, but expected this. The pair of eighteen-year-olds grew up two blocks apart in the shadow of Joshua Tree National Park in the southeastern California desert and had been BFFs since kindergarten. They were exact replicas of each other in certain ways and Lindsay believed she could trust Evie with anything. And this working at the brothel thing? It was eating Lindsay alive, and she had the burning need to tell at least one person back home about it.

Just not her mom or dad.

Or her three sisters.

Any of them would kill me if they found out.

And especially not Zack.

God, no.

“It’s not as sketch as you think. I did almost a year’s worth of research before...”

“Why would you get a job at a whorehouse?” Evie cut Lindsay off in mid-sentence, her voice an impassioned whisper. She glanced all around to make certain the coast was still clear. “What did you call it? A brothel? Jesus Christ, Lindsay. Aren’t those places swimming in drugs and disease? How did you get mixed up in this?”

“It’s not as sketch as you think,” she repeated. “It sure beats the hell out of living and rotting away in Citrosmell. I’ve done that long enough.” Lindsay’s snippy retort was accompanied by the classic teenage rolling of the eyes. “People and society in general have unfair misconceptions about whorehouses and the sex industry. E, you know me, and know I’d never get mixed up with drugs and...”

“What do your mom and dad think?”

“They don’t know, and you can’t tell them. You can never tell them.” Lindsay rolled onto her frontside upon the bed, her eyes wide, her tone as lethal as it had ever been. “God, Evie. They’d freak out. You can’t tell Gina, Jennifer, or Alison either.” She fidgeted with the edge of her pillow. “You’re my best friend and I’m trusting you with the single biggest secret I’ll ever have in my whole, entire life. Don’t. Let. Me. Down!”

“I won’t, I won’t.”

“You have to swear. Swear to me you won’t tell anyone.”

“Yeah, yeah, I swear.”

“Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear.”

Lindsay’s lungs deflated. “Thank you.” Evie was the one person Lindsay confided in about everything. She’d never stab me in the back. But admitting this to her still seemed like a massive risk. An unnecessary one too. Don’t worry, you can trust her.

“Come to think of it, yeah, I guess your mom and dad don’t know yet. But I can tell you this: I ran into your mom at Citronelle Market the other day and she was grilling me about you. She kept saying you skurted off to Las Vegas and was sure you’d gotten into some sort of trouble and was acting like I knew all the details. She demanded to know what you’re up to and I’m like, Leslie, I don’t know. I swear to you, Lindsay didn’t tell me anything either.”

“Did Mom believe you?” Mrs. Anastacio telephoned and texted Lindsay daily and wouldn’t stop pressuring her about why she’d decided to leave home and move to Nevada. I’ve never seen her act this hardcore. Lindsay had been able to fend her off so far but didn’t know how much longer she could continue to do so.

Evie’s laugh faltered. “No. Leslie called me a liar.”

Lindsay groaned and covered her aching forehead.

“She’s gonna find out one way or another. There’s no way around it. She’s also pestered Katie and Shannon and it wouldn’t surprise me if she hops into her station wagon any minute now and drives off to Las Vegas and rips the city apart searching for you.”

“I’m not in Las Vegas. I’m in this little town way north called Flagstone.” Lindsay massaged her temple again and winced. “It’s gonna be such a disaster when the shit finally hits the fan. I’m not looking forward to that moment at all.” She drew her shoulders back and flexed. “At first, I told Mom and Dad I got a cleaning job at the Citadel Resort on The Strip but figured it would be too easy for them to catch me in a lie. So, I told them I quit – it wasn’t the right fit – and have been working for this cleaning agency as an outcall maid. Told them I have a friend named Pamela and share an apartment with her in Henderson.”

“Henderson? Where’s that?”

“Just south of Vegas.” Pamela told me she and Colt got married there ten years ago.

“And Pamela? Who the hell is Pamela?”

“She’s an actual friend of mine. A coworker.” My future wife! “Mom demands I text her back every morning and every night, too, to let her know I’m still alive. That someone didn’t murder me or something.” Lindsay bounced a stiff glare off the far wall. “I’m old enough to take care of myself, you know? I don’t know why Mom has gotta be throwing shade all over me the way she does. I don’t need her help or her protection anymore.”

“She’s worried about you. That’s why.” Lindsay sensed Evie was worried, too, and wanted to be certain she was okay. “I know you’re adventurous and have a wild streak a mile long, but my God, becoming a prostitute? This is so unlike you.”

“I know.” Lindsay closed her eyes to absorb the reality but instead focused on all the money she had made thus far and how her new career was already jumpstarting her life. Giving it the kick, the boost, it so desperately needed. “I had to ditch Citronelle and this was my best option.” No, it was my only option. I was a failure in school and I’m not smart enough – good enough – to go to college.

... I refuse to sling corn dogs for the rest of my life.

“Lindsay. Wow. I’m not passing judgment. Please don’t think I am. It just hurts like a bitch that you’re four hundred miles away and not part of my daily routine anymore.” Evie touched her chest and fought against the threat of tears. “I miss you.”

Lindsay inclined her head. “I miss you too. I miss you more than anything or anyone back home. No matter what, Evie, can we just continue being us? I’d like that, I need that. No matter how far apart we are, you’ll always be my best friend.”

“Of course. I’d do anything for you.”

A few moments later, their conversation had shifted.

“Remember when you ate that apple pecan salad in Talia’s car and you forgot to ask for no bleu cheese? You decided to take out the bleu cheese and when you left, to like, leave and go home, you left your garbage in the car and the whole car smelled like bleu cheese.”

“Oh my God. I still can’t believe I did that.” Lindsay couldn’t suppress a grin as she enjoyed a Diet Mountain Dew. She’d since wandered off to the kitchen and was surveying the snack possibilities. “Talia was so pissed.”

“It’s too bad you skipped town, you know. Talia is hosting a post-graduation party Friday night at her house.”

“Oh yeah? Who all is coming?”

“Hmm, I think it’s gonna be Clancy, Anna, Katie, Shannon, Peter, and Celeste. It won’t be a true party, I guess, more like a small gathering. Talia’s mom is cooking dinner for everyone.”

“Celeste?” Lindsay’s nostrils flared as she snatched a sleeve of crackers from the cupboard. “Talia invited that inbred skank?”

“Zack is coming too.”

“Fuck Zack!” Lindsay let her guard down with her best friend, not concerned with putting up a false façade or trying to sound ladylike. “That snot-nosed prick can go to Hell for all I care.” She had the urge to fan herself. “He’s another reason I wanted out of Citronelle.”

“Zack has been asking about you too. He said he talked to you the other day and you were rude to him. Also says he’s going to find you in Vegas and win you back.”

“Good fuckin’ luck!”

Lindsay dated Zack off-and-on throughout high school and to say they had a unique relationship would be an understatement. Zack wasn’t the best or most thoughtful boyfriend. He was the quintessential, arrogant class jock and put himself and his needs way ahead of Lindsay’s. He was the top dog at Citronelle High and Lindsay the armpiece – his little sex puppet.

No matter how many times Zack frustrated and angered her, and she swore she’d never date him again, Lindsay would invariably wind up getting fucked by him later that afternoon or evening in the back seat of his car. Or in the auditorium after the school day ended. Or sometimes in the desert flatbed behind his house.

Or some other, random place.

Having sex and receiving its pleasures was hardwired into Lindsay’s nature and, the miserable truth was, she had no one else to choose from in that hole-in-the-wall town. I’m a nympho; these nine days at the brothel has proven it. Her first boyfriend, Dustin Gadberry, caught her making out with Zack after school one day and instantly cut all ties, ending their relationship.

It had to be Zack, unfortunately. Dustin refused to have anything to do with me after he caught me cheating. What harm was there with an innocent cocksucking at the pool party that night? I mean, seriously? Come on, Dustin. It’s not like we were married. Who else was she going to curb her sex addiction with? Donald Stanlick? Ewwwww, gross ... the indignities. Lindsay could never look past Donald’s pocket protectors and the way he slobbered all over the place during lunch hour. Disgusting!

Lindsay’s submissive tendencies were fostered and developed during the three years she spent dating Zack. Hate to admit it, but he’d make me lose my mind every time we had sex. Zack wanted to control her and make her his own, but unlike Sammy, do it in a bad way. Zack could’ve cared less about me unless I was sucking his cock or taking it doggy style in the back of his Mustang.

With the guys she sees now, they’re a lot older and more mature – a lot sexier, too – and with Sammy, specifically, Lindsay believed he cared about her and would never harm her. Darius and Tony would provide and take care of me, too, if given the opportunity. It feels super primo to finally be around adults who are just as mature as I am. Lindsay wanted Sammy to make her his submissive pet, but unlike Zack, she trusted he would have her best interests in mind. Sammy was dominant and demanding with me last Tuesday night but was a cuddlebug afterward and gave me the best massage I’ve ever received.

Would Zack ever do that? Oh, hell no. Zack wanted constant massages and foot rubs, but never returned the favor with something sweet of his own. Fuck him!

“I’d like to branch out and escape Citronelle too,” Evie said later in the discussion. “I had a job interview yesterday at a movie theater in Palm Springs.”

“Yeah? How’d that go?” Back in her bedroom, Lindsay was enjoying the afternoon snack.

“I think it went well. No idea if I got the position yet, but they promised to call back in a few days and let me know. It will be a long commute each day, but worth it, I think. It was my first real interview too. I was so nervous.”

“I can understand that.” Lindsay’s heart dried up in her chest and she blew strands of blonde hair across her forehead skyward. “I had to go through an interview before getting hired here as well. It was gruesome. Scariest thirty or forty minutes of my life.”

“Clancy and I stopped at the arcade yesterday in Palm Springs, too, and won Paul and Norman, these two cute stuffed squishmallows. Clancy said I hit the jackpot. I reached the five-hundred-point mark on the whac-a-mole thing and he suggested instead of accepting a job at the movie theater, I should become a professional whacker.”

Lindsay burst into hysterics. “Trust me, it pays well!”

“We ended our trip to Palm Springs by buying ice cream at this joint called Scoops ‘o Joy.”

“I’ve heard of that place.”

“It was so good because it has a bunch of different ice cream flavors, and then you can add any kind of cereal mixed in with the ice cream, and they like, really like blend it up together so it wasn’t just like chunks of cereal. It’s blended into the ice cream, and it was so good. So many toppings and everything; it was so good. Best ice cream I’ve ever had, not cappin’.”

“Sounds tempting,” Lindsay said. “I’ll have to try it next time I’m in town.”

“So, you meet up with guys and have sex with them?” Evie sounded incredulous. This was a profession she had zero knowledge about. “C’mon, tell me more about what you do. Spill the tea.”

“Yeah. That’s what happens in whorehouses, you know. There’s sex. Lots of sex.” I prefer the word brothel but think it’s best I be brutally honest and to the point. Why sugarcoat it? This is the only way I’ll get Evie to understand. “Clients pay money and the in-house prostitutes – we, us – fuck them.”

Another long stretch of silence prevailed – Evie is trying to wrap her head around all of this – so Lindsay said, “I’ve had sex with eight guys over the past eight days.”

“Eight guys? Wowwwww.” To her credit, Evie managed to keep her voice under control so family members wouldn’t be privy. “You’ve only had sex with Zack and Dustin before this.”

“Yeah, eight guys.” And three women, too – Pamela, Kenzie, and Becky. Lindsay wanted to admit that as well but wasn’t brave enough yet. I’ve had a crush on Evie for as long as I can remember and she’s one of the reasons why I’m so attracted to girls. Perhaps one day, Lindsay would finally reveal her feelings. I’m in love with her and always have been. “I was with three guys this past Saturday alone.”

“Wow. Eight guys over eight days? And three in the same day? I can’t believe you, girl. That’s freakin’ insane.”

“I like it. I’ve met some interesting people too.” I fucked a Black guy. Lindsay also debated whether she should disclose that. Probably not yet. And Sammy? Hmm, I’d love to share you with Sammy in a threesome, sweet thing. Talk about huge dicks and how you’ve always wanted one!

“So, these guys ... your customers ... aren’t there all the time, right? What do you do in your downtime?”

“Normal stuff, really. First thing I did this morning was stream some Gossip Girl and clean my room. It’s kind of like, raining outside, it’s cloudy, so I’ve taken it easy for the most part today, I’ve relaxed. No clients for me yet.”

“But one could show up at any time, right?”

“Yep.”

“That’s crazy. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Oh, dude. You have no idea. It’s taken some getting used to, that’s for sure.” Lindsay’s laugh was dampened as she imagined Evie lounging in her bedroom. She’s so cute when she’s barefoot and chill. “Hey, you enjoy sex as much as I do, right? Look at how many times you’ve done the nasty with Clancy over the years.” I wish I could’ve joined in so he and I could tag-team you. “I think you’d enjoy working here too.”

“No! No way! Lindsay, don’t say that!”

“All right, all right, I won’t. I’m sorry.” Lindsay giggled. “Didn’t mean to tease you like that.”

“This is super crazy. And don’t worry about me telling your family or anyone else who knows you here either. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Again, thanks. And thank you for being my sounding board.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve been my sounding board a million times in the past.”

“I’ve netted four thousand bucks here over the past eight days.” Lindsay puffed her chest out. “Nine days, really. That’s money I keep, take-home pay. Before taxes and fees, at least. And I still got two weeks to go before my first week-long break. My goal is to have a gross of twelve thousand on my first paycheck.”

“Wait! What? Hold up a second! Slow down.” Evie’s jaw was dangling open, and her tone had dropped several octaves. “Did you say twelve thousand? As in dollars?” She choked on her own words. “Holy shit!”

“I’m buying a car with my first paycheck.”

----

Topic: I’m so sorry

Private Message to: Pamela_HER

From: ChazWazzle

I’m so sorry

Sent: July 25, 2018, 9:12pm EST

Dearest Pamela,

First off, thank you for responding.

>>> It’s been difficult to keep up with your endless barrage of messages, Charlie, and it’s never a wise idea to contact Colt (AKA my boss) and vent your frustrations about me to him. There was no need for you to involve him. Please don’t do that ever again.

I apologize for making that phone call. Perhaps I overreacted to your silence after you e-mailed me three days ago? I’m a total fuck up, Pamela. I’ve been one my entire life and will never change. Maybe now you understand why I’m alone.

I promise not to bombard you with messages anymore. Nor will I dial Colt up again. At the time, I thought it was the only way to break through to you.

>>> Life is a process. There are several things I’m doing to make life better for me and my family.

That’s wonderful! I’ve been worried about you and hope things work out for the best. I really, really do.

>>> I receive countless e-mails from both potential and recurring clients every single day and always do my best to respond to everyone. But sometimes, it may take a day or two. Or three. Or more. The brothel keeps me busy and I have plenty of outside interests too.

Remember when I told you I got angry at my niece because she didn’t call and thank me for the flowers I sent to her? Same thing applies here. I didn’t get angry at you, per se, but overreacted when I didn’t hear from you. I sent you that long, straight from the heart apology for the offer I made but haven’t heard from you since. Not until today, at least.

I felt guilty after sending you the original message where I asked you to come to Detroit and visit me. I felt like an idiot. I knew there was no way you’d agree to it and I’m fine with that. I shouldn’t have even considered it a possibility in the first place.

>>> I like you a lot, Charlie. You’re a sweet guy with a massive heart. But I’m cool if you decide to move on and see someone else at the house or even another house. It is your decision and I won’t be upset or take offense.

Pamela, I don’t want to see anyone but you. You could throw five of the most stunning courtesans in the world at me, tell me I could be with them for however long I wanted for free, and I’d still want to be with you and pay whatever price. I felt such a genuine connection with you and know I’ll never have that with another working lady.

Yes, I’ve pulled back my feelings, but you have no idea how sacred you are to me. Those two days with you were the happiest two days of my life, beyond a shadow of a doubt. My sister asked me, why did you spend $17,000 on this girl? I said Pamela makes me happy and she’s priceless. That’s the God’s honest truth. For once in my life, I knew what happiness felt like.

And for a couple of days, I thought I had lost you. Twice. The never-ending influx of messages? I panicked. I’m so sorry. I cannot say that enough.

I’m not blaming you for your silence. I’m blaming myself.

I’m not trying to make you feel sorry for me, either, but I was close to crying with Colt on the phone about you yesterday. I’m being honest. I’m big on honesty. You’ve been better to me than anyone I’ve ever known, and at first, I thought I had pushed you away. It wasn’t the fact I may never see you again, talk to you again, whatever. The most upsetting thing was the fear I pushed you away and somehow scared you. It tore me up inside.

Listen to me. The ramblings of a thirty-six-year-old man who lives alone with his two cats. I hope I don’t sound pathetic to you.

>>> Girls like Scarlett and I (and the rest of us at Happy Ending Ranch) are here to make you smile and we’re always willing to see you and make your day full of sunshine kisses. It’s what we’re here for.

Including Scarlett in our party was a mistake and I regret it. Please don’t tell her I said that. I don’t want to hurt her feelings. But if I could go back in time and change anything about our parties, I would’ve focused strictly on you. A threesome was a good idea at the time, I guess, but Scarlett turned out to be needless filler. There was zero connection and I got the sense after leaving and thinking things over she was bored and simply tolerated me.

I never had that sense about you. I now realize this is your job and you make every guy feel like a million dollars, but I don’t care about that. I’m not thinking about that. I’m thankful to have met you and, no matter if I paid you or not, you gave me the greatest happiness I’ve ever experienced. Priceless, Pamela. That happiness is priceless and worth any amount of money.

Can we forget everything that happened after I left the ranch last Wednesday? You told me I was your second favorite client behind Lazerblade from the forums and I left on such a high note. I want us to pick up and go from there. I want you happy while we’re together. I know we’ll never be together for real now, but I at least want to be your favorite customer. I’ll never ask or hope for anything to happen between us outside the house again.

I promise.

I need to respect the fact you’re busy and cannot write me back all the time too. Again, same idea with my niece and the flowers. My sister scolded me for expecting an immediate call back. She said the same thing could apply with you, too, and maybe I blew everything out of proportion.

Pamela, I’m sorry for all of this. Please, believe me.

I’ll be flying into Vegas for my next vacation on Sunday, September 23, and landing before midnight. I’ll drive straight to Flagstone and would like to stop and visit with you for a few minutes before closing time. In the morning, on the 24th, I want to see you at 10:00 and will purchase eight to ten hours of GFE time. I’d like to buy you lunch and do all the things we did last week (and more).

I hope that isn’t too early for you. If it is, let me know, and I’ll push the time back. Remember, I’m on East Coast time and 10:00 will be 1:00 to me.

Can you be there for me on September 24? Pretty please with icing on top? Depending on finances, I’d like to party with you another day or two as well. I’ll have to see where I’m at moneywise.

I know I’ve changed my plans a couple of times, but I’m certain now with the 24th. I’ll let you know about any additional dates should I be able to afford them. I’m not looking for an hour or two. I want all-day experiences. Anything less is unacceptable in my eyes.

I am so happy you wrote me back. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I promise to relax and take it easy from now on too. I want everything to be positive and for us to enjoy each other.

Love always, Charlie

***

“Sweetie, are you okay? You’re pale as a ghost.”

Pamela McCarron’s sluggish, watery eyes shifted from the laptop and focused on her husband, who was standing outside the doorway to the adjoining washroom. Colt was bare-chested and wearing a pair of black sweatpants that hung low on his slim waistline. In the darkened bedroom, Pamela still noticed the muscles and cuts of his broad chest. She took a moment to admire the image before clearing her throat and calmly answering, “I’m fine. Just got an e-mail from Charlie is all.”

“Oh? What does Romeo have to say now?” Colt ran a towel through his freshly washed hair and strolled over to the king-sized bed that Pamela was relegated to. The forty-four-year-old cozied close and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “All good?” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Dark eyes, a jaw chiseled and layered with his trademarked five o’clock shadow, a woodsy, masculine scent – exactly the way Pamela preferred him. Not to mention, of course, Colt’s wet, tousled hair.

Sexy.

“Yeah, all good.” Pamela closed her eyes and nestled her chin into the crook of Colt’s collarbone, yet again relying on the peace and security that only his presence provided. Pamela hadn’t led the purist of lives and had several things she wished she could take back and do over again herself, but one thing was for certain: I know I’m safe and cared for whenever Colt is with me.

“You have a good shower, baby?”

“Lonely shower.”

She bit her lip. “I wanted to join you.”

He traced his fingers down her side. “Then why didn’t you?”

Colt’s amazing, tender touch was a reminder that, at least for the time being, Pamela wasn’t at the brothel. “Because I can barely walk.” No customers to compete for and, if she was chosen, overexert herself to satisfy. I’ve had enough of that this past week. No possibility of getting jarred awake from a much-needed nap because of the deafening blare of the lineup buzzer. I won’t be selling another piece of my decency tonight. No having to deal with in-house drama and the cattiness of certain other working ladies. I still can’t believe Aaliyah got angry at Lindsay and quit.

No, Pamela was 2,500 miles away and in her hometown of Fairfax, Maryland, and wouldn’t return to Nevada for a minimum of two weeks. This is my haven and the best place for me. She was glad Colt asked her to step away from their professional personas and travel to the East Coast where they’d be close to friends and family alike. There is no need to be at the ranch with the shape my back is in now anyway. Best of all, it would provide a welcome change of pace, an opportunity for Pamela to be a normal person, to breathe, and contemplate the future and her options. Something that rarely happened anymore.

Fairfax encompassed the western shore of Hawk Cove and was a stone’s throw from Rocky Point Park. A blend of residential, professional, and recreational development, Fairfax had evolved over the decades from a summer beachside destination to a year-round community that offered refuge from the bright lights of Baltimore. With all the benefits of “in town” urban living, the neighborhood maintained its “small town” feel. Downtown woke up with early morning exercise classes and sidewalk cafes stayed busy late into the night.

Pamela and Colt took a nonstop flight from Las Vegas yesterday afternoon and landed at Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport in Arlington, Virginia, just before midnight. They ordered an Uber and arrived some twenty-five miles north in Fairfax after one o’clock.

It was the first time they had been home in two months.

The cross-country journey posed its share of challenges as Pamela’s back flared up midway through and she experienced varying amounts of discomfort the rest of the way. At one point, Colt lifted the armrest between their first-class seats and cradled her across his lap. She protested at first, feeling silly, but relented. Colt queued up some chillstep on his phone and popped one earbud into her ear and the other in his own.

“Close your eyes and rest, sweetheart.” His voice was a whisper as his hand kneaded Pamela’s lower spine. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.”

Later, her back locked up and she couldn’t walk, so Colt pushed her through the airport in a wheelchair. Tears of frustration gave way to anger, and Pamela snapped at him in the terminal for no reason. Knowing moments like this would occur during her recovery, Colt took the outburst in stride, showing no reaction to it, and then held her hand and kissed it in their Uber ride home. “I love you. We’re going to make it through this.”

Pamela grew up and attended school in Fairfax and her parents still lived there today. She and Colt enjoyed dinner at the Prescott household earlier tonight and were joined by her two sisters, Paula and Candice, and several other family members as well, including her grandparents.

Compelled to fib, Pamela told everyone she injured her back on a hiking expedition at Mount Charleston. She came to Maryland to be evaluated by Dr. Pietz, the physician she trusted most, but hoped to return to Nevada in mid-August with a clean bill of health. Pamela had no plans to tell any family member she was a prostitute and suffered the spinal fracture with a random john.

“Charlie wants an eight- or ten-hour party with me again at the end of September. Perhaps two or three long parties over several days, I don’t know.” She blew out a breath that seemed resigned. “Says he has to look at his money first.”

Colt’s right eye twitched and his brows furrowed. “Are you going to party with him again?”